By four in the morning, the holding cell of the 17th was crowded, but subdued. At the far end a row of drunks leaned against each other, mouths open and snoring. On the left were a couple of bikers, comparing ink. They glanced up without interest as Harold drew up to the bars. Opposite, a trio of teenage boys with matching black eyes - and identical looks of blearily dawning horror - drew closer together.
And under the cell's single, dull light, Keen sat alone on the central bench. Hunched, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low. Staring at nothing much in particular.
"I've become used to receiving calls at all hours," Harold said. "But Mojtabai panicking at two a.m., because his systems flagged Thomas Vincent Keen, fourth grade teacher, getting booked for a bar fight? Can't say I was expecting that. Assault causing serious injury and assault causing bodily injury. What will the PTA think?"
Keen stood and took a couple of steps towards the bars. "About bake sales, traditionally. And book burning."
"The girlfriend's going to be fine," Harold said, when there was nothing further. "Lisa Markash: the woman you broke a man's arm for," he prodded.
"I didn't see any woman, guy wouldn't get out of my face. Why are you here?" Keen took another couple of steps closer - close enough to rest a forearm on the bars and effectively obscure his side of the conversion from the surveillance camera in the hall. "Have another job for me? Sorry. I retired."
"We both know there's a difference between retirement and redundancy," Harold said dryly, and received a wry nod in return. "You need to pull yourself together."
"What, you think I'm slipping?" Keen bared his teeth in a sharp grin. "I didn't have to be here. I could have put the cops down and been gone."
Which was interesting, Harold had to admit. Keen couldn't possibly think he'd be safer inside a police station, abundance of security or not. Curiosity won. "What do you think that proves?"
"Nothing, I guess. I don't know." Keen shrugged, almost uncomfortably. "But it should mean something, right?"
Apparently neither of them understood his motives. Hardly confidence inspiring, but not entirely surprising either. "Normally, I wouldn't consider congratulating someone for not assaulting an officer of the law," Harold said. "However, I appreciate your baseline is a little lower than most."
"Funny. Why are you here?" Keen asked again.
"I'm here to expedite processing, preferably before someone decides to try shooting fish in a barrel. I told them you're a C.I.," Harold explained, not bothering to hide his distaste at the lie. "Due to testify on a high profile case. You aren't being charged."
"Okay, kind of buried the lede there. But why you?" Keen pressed. "Ressler I'd get - I've seen the guy's apartment, he has literally nothing better to do. But you don't have as much time on your hands. Did you sell your soul again? Hey, how's Charlene? I hear marriage counselling is-"
It was the verbal equivalent of depth charges: firing to see what hit. Trying to make him reveal his intentions. Harold was a big enough man to admit that there was a mean, but entirely justified, amusement to be found in Keen's agitation.
"You're not going to make me angry," he said, levelly. "So I suggest you save your breath."
"You're seriously underestimating how annoying I can be."
"And you forget which division I head." Harold smiled thinly. "If I put Agents Keen and Ressler in timeout corners, do you honestly think I can't deal with you?"
Keen's crooked grin reappeared. "That's the plan, Harold? You're going to deal with me."
"Apparently." Harold raised a hand to beckon the duty sergeant from the desk at the far end of the hall. "After processing, take a cab to Ressler's apartment."
"Why would I do that?" Keen stepped back, eyes narrowing.
He looked suspicious; in fairness, Harold had to admit he had every right to be. "Because I gave you an order."
"I don't have to take orders from you." Keen's wary expression deepened to a frown. "I don't work for you."
Harold said nothing, waiting with a benign smile for the penny to drop. When he saw horrified realisation hit, he nodded. "Our mutual friend gives such thoughtful gifts."
As the sergeant made her way towards them, Keen's gaze moved across his face, searching for some indication which way this was going to fall. Harold stayed carefully impassive, giving him nothing.
He waited until he saw frustration before going on. "We have a very small window of opportunity where we may be able to arrange your association on a formal footing. Having you on board will give us an insight into Reddington's organisation that I suspect we're sorely going to need."
"And Liz?"
"Will be made aware of the situation. If she chooses to see you, that's entirely within her purview, but unless she does, you do not interact with her in any way. Am I understood?"
"Understood." Keen said promptly. "I'll take a cab to Ressler's."
His expression was guileless, but not overly innocent: the perfect balance of sincerity and annoyance, with a carefully measured trace of grudging concession.
Harold shook his head, grimly amused despite himself. "I can't trust a word you say, can I?"
The sergeant unlocked the cell; Keen smiled and said nothing.
-o-
"Shut up and stand still," Don muttered without much hope, and regretted his life choices. Specifically, the ones that had him awake at five a.m. and crouched in front of a man that he hadn't much liked even before he turned out to be a mole.
"But this is so sudden." Keen held still, at least, as the ankle monitor snapped closed - one out of two wasn't bad. "And RFID tags are a lot more discreet."
"Yeah, discreet isn't what we're going for." Don stood and turned to his laptop. On the map of his neighborhood, a little green dot blinked reassuringly over his apartment building.
He turned back. "I was holding out for a neon sign reading "felon" we could stick on your back, but Director Cooper thought this would work better. One strike and you're out - cut it and you're taking your chances in Supermax. If you even make it that far."
"Fine." Keen bent to tug his the cuff of his jeans over the tether. The shaped of it was visible if you knew to look, but not immediately obvious. "If you're not going to let me do what I'm good at, what will I be doing?"
"To begin with?" Don smiled beatifically. "So much paperwork you'll wish Zanetakos took her shot."
-o-
Aram considered himself a good person - he tried to be a good person, anyway. He gave to worthy causes, he volunteered his time. He was supportive of his friends and called his elderly relatives regularly. He practiced a firm catch and release policy for both bees and spiders, and he kept his carbon footprint to a minimum.
Basically, he was almost certain he didn't deserve to have Tom Keen suddenly appear in his peripheral vision.
A minor heart attack and an embarrassing yelp later, he realised Ressler was there too, and that no one seemed to be reaching for a firearm.
"I mean, hi," he stuttered. "Hello."
"Keen has a list of names we need you to cross reference with the information from Reddington, as well as any other databases that might be relevant. He's here to help, so don't be afraid to ask any long, boring questions. Okay? Great."
Ressler clapped Aram cheerfully on the shoulder, repeated the gesture with staggering enthusiasm on Keen and made a break for Cooper's office before Aram could manage a protest - or question. Or actually, a second breath.
"Uhm. Okay!" Aram gestured to the spare chair. "Well. Welcome to the team, I guess? Ressler spoke very highly of you."
"No, he didn't," Keen said, sitting.
"Okay, no, he didn't. But when you were helping Agent - Liz - Elizabeth - Keen - when you were helping, he did say you probably wouldn't murder us in our sleep. That's better than eighty-four percent of the people Reddington has given us."
"I will definitely not murder you in your sleep," Keen promised solemnly.
"And in return, I will take that at face value. Additionally, I will choose not to consider any loopholes."
A vague air of tension vanished as Keen relaxed back in the chair. "I know what you did for Liz."
Oh. Good. Aram narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "There aren't any open graves in our future are there?"
"No offence, but you seem kind of high strung for this line of work." Keen's eyebrows rose. "Weren't you with the NSA?"
"I'm not a field agent," Aram said, unsure why he was explaining himself. "I'm not trained to be around…"
"People like me."
"Or Mr. Reddington, he-" ... wait. "How did you know I worked for the NSA?"
"I guess Ressler must have told me." Keen's eyes widened in overblown innocence "You want those names now?"
In all honesty? No. No he did not. Aram nodded and clicked open the database. "Let's do it."
-o-
"No, stop talking. Let me see if I got this." Liz stopped pacing and deliberately faced away from the office window, removing a laughing Jacob and Aram from her line of sight. Apparently they'd developed quite the rapport over the past week.
She crossed her arms and looked down at the carpet, studying the awful pattern. As improvisational meditation went, it was surprisingly effective.
After a deep, calming, breath, she looked back up. Cooper and Ressler sat rigidly in their chairs, expressions uncomfortable.
Good.
"Tom," she began, acidly, "stayed in the city with a target on his back, but didn't tell me, in case I got hurt. You both found out, but didn't tell me, in case I got hurt. Instead, you went to Reddington and somehow convinced him to help."
She let her tone slide into derision. "I have no idea why he agreed, but I'll go out on a limb and assume it was in case I got hurt. And during this extended meeting of the boys' club, it didn't occur to a single one of you, at any point, that I should be consulted?"
"You couldn't be seen to be involved-" Cooper tried.
"Oh, please," she snapped. "None of this had to go on official record."
"You aren't always objective when it comes to Keen," Ressler muttered defensively.
"Are you kidding me?" She rounded on him in disbelief. "Who in this room is? If you remember, I was married to the man and still turned him in for questioning. Whatever my feelings are, they do not inform the execution of my duty. And who, exactly, thought that 'father knows best' was an appropriate stance?"
Cooper raised his hands an inch from the desk, a partial acknowledgement. "This could have been handled better," he agreed. "But you need to understand that my decisions protect this division. We're under greater scrutiny than ever before and I will err on the side of caution until we know exactly who's looking.
"I called you in now Keen has given us the names. Although it would be helpful if he were available for further questioning, we could release him at this point - he may even leave the city if you're the one telling him to. What do you want to do?"
And there was the million dollar question.
The anger drained away. Not because she agreed with Cooper - if no one ever made a decision for her again, it would be too soon. But she was learning, one gut wrenching lesson at a time, to only fight the battles she needed to win.
However furious she might have been, this wasn't one of them.
"The fact I agree with what you've done, and that also believe he may be useful, doesn't negate the fact you did it without involving me," she said levelly.
"Understood."
"Okay. So I'm assuming you didn't just call me in here to give him his marching orders."
"We'd like to run a name he's given us past Reddington, but he's reinstituted the previous arrangement - all consultation is through you,"
She blinked, remaining anger washed away by sheer disbelief. "You wouldn't have told me at all if you didn't have to, would you?"
"Honestly?" Ressler shook his head. "No."
Liz grit her teeth and nodded. "What's the name?"
"No name," Cooper said. "But the individual is known as the The Matter Miner. It seems unlikely Reddington wouldn't at least have heard of them."
"I want to question Tom before I talk to Reddington. Unless you think I might get hurt," she added as she headed for the door.