Hi Everybody! Sorry for the wait! My computer was actually broken and I needed to send it in to get it fixed. But here we are! Warning: Graphic chapter.

3. The Tapes

"Lizzie, are you going anytime soon?" Reddington asked, sniffing and placing his fedora on his head, his eyes tired. He interlaced his finger and leaned back in the cheap office chair, feeling his back creak in protest. Liz glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and noticed him work his jaw, blinking slowly.

"You don't have to stay."

The two had stayed in the storage locker all day and most of the night. A cheap desk clock blinked 12:45 and cartons of eaten takeout littering the plastic table in the corner. The stale smell of wontons and fried rice hung in the air and Reddington was getting slightly claustrophobic. He felt sorry for Dembe, who had been silently sitting outside for hours on end.

They had hung a large whiteboard on the end wall and Lizzie was standing in front of it, pictures scattered, connected by drawn lines and notes scrawled in spare areas of space, making the whole thing look like a jumbled spider's web. Liz's bun had grown messy, strands trailing away and framing her face like dark little whispers. Her blazer was tossed in the corner, the sleeves of her navy blouse rolled up to her elbows. Red watched as Elizabeth's bottom lip was constantly held between her white teeth and he admired how sharply her eyes shown, darting around the pictures, the gears in her head turning as she tried to connect the dots.

"You can go home if you want," Liz sighed, wiping at the strands that tickled her nose. "I'm fine here."

Reddington cocked his head. "You're going to stay at home?"

She faced him fully then. "Yeah." The solid line of her mouth and the way she looked at him did not warrant question.

"Alright, if you're sure…." Raymond wasn't one to lie to himself. He was willing to admit that he didn't like the idea of Lizzie being alone at the house. However, the way she held him in her gaze made him decide against offering his guest room for another night.

He pulled on his jacket and headed towards the door of the storage locker, the cement walls feeling as if they were starting to press against his shoulders. When Reddington's hand touched the cool metal of the doorknob, he turned.

"If you need anything, I'm only a phone call away, Lizzie."

His words warmed her, the deep huskiness making her momentarily forget what she was doing. Elizabeth keen was starting to notice the little changes about him. The way his chin dipped to his chest whenever his mind was wandering or the way his voice lowered a few octaves whenever he spoke with her in private. The words grew low and quiet, as if he was trying to keep them to just themselves, a little secret they shared.

Liz didn't smile, but her eyes were soft when they looked at him. Red couldn't help himself from staring for a moment longer, his lips curling into the small smile of contentment that he couldn't control. The spell was broken when she looked away and Red forced himself to leave.

"She's staying?" Dembe asked as soon as the doors of the black Lincoln shut.

"Apparently so," Reddington mused, Resting his elbow on the car door and running his thumb over his bottom lip.

The rest of the ride was silent.

The two didn't speak until they had made their way up to Reddington's door. The brass key flashed on the ring before Raymond hid it in the lock, the deadbolt sliding away with a click. Passing through the threshold, Reddington couldn't resist the gnawing anxiety at the back of his head.

"Dembe, would you actually go back and-"

"I'll park down the block and keep an eye on her," his friend answered, already knowing what his boss was going to ask.

Red's eyes crinkled with gratitude.

"Just keep the door locked," Dembe shouted over his shoulder as he made his way back down to the car.

Once the door was softly locked behind him, Red lit a few lamps, preferring the soft, warm light over the brightness of the ceiling bulbs. His fingers curled lazily around a crystal tumbler, the ice clinking softly as he dropped them in with the delicate silver tongs. Reddington was always meticulously careful as he made his drinks. The step by step process that he always followed when he poured his scotch would calm him, such as routines always did. He would lose himself in the short time it took for the amber liquid to spill lazily over the clear ice and pool in the bottom of the glass, and by the time he finally settled down to actually take a sip, he felt like it was earned.

Technology irked him, but nonetheless, Raymond pulled out the thin black laptop from underneath the mahogany coffee table. Opening it up, the buttons glowed blue and the screen hummed to life with a little spinning light wheel. Red took another sip before he got up and went to his own bedroom. A small black safe sat nestled in the back corner of his closet, the keypad glowing a soft green in the dim light. The buttons beeped silently as he typed in the code. Inside was a little black cd case, along with a few fake passports, fancy watches, and worn photographs. He didn't have time for a trip down the shadowy memory lane tonight. He grabbed the cd case and made his way back out to the living room, already yearning for another sip of his drink.

The laptop had gone into sleep mode and Red swiped his fingers over the mouse pad and the screen flickered back to life. Carefully, the man unzipped the cd case and pulled out the top disk, its face shiny and reflective in the low light of the apartment. Slipping it into the computer, Red leaned back, his fingers closed around the cool glass of his tumbler, and sipped at the scotch.

The image that popped up was a medium quality shot of a kitchen.

Elizabeth Keen's kitchen.

Reddington spared a small little smile as he watched her walk in, her business slacks and blazer traded for a pair of washed and worn jeans, an old t-shirt draped over her upper half. Her hair was up in a ponytail and he watched as she swiped away her bangs before she pulled open the refrigerator. Raymond's eyes followed her fingers as they tapped the fridge door. As she rummaged around inside, Red looked at the glowing date in the corner of the screen. The video had been recorded a week ago.

Liz pulled out an onion, some mushrooms, two steaks packaged from the supermarket, greens for a salad, and a bottle of wine. Raymond huffed a chuckle as he watched her pour a glass, the wine a dark red, before she started cooking. The onions and mushrooms were sautéed in butter and garlic, the steaks put on a broiler pan and in the oven. Very simple meal, yet Reddington was entranced by the way Elizabeth Keen moved elegantly around her own kitchen. He couldn't draw his eyes away from her hand, gently cradling the wine glass, setting it down in order to stir this or toss that. The ponytail swayed with each movement of her head, dusting the base of her neck between her shoulder blades and Red briefly wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers through the dark strands or over the softness of her skin.

For a moment, Raymond Reddington allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he imagined the heavy smell of steak and mushrooms, tasting her wine on his tongue instead of the scotch.

Movement across the screen brought Red's attention back to the surveillance tapes. Tom had arrived home from work. Reddington's eyes darkened as he watched the snake move behind Lizzie and wrap his arms around her middle, resting his chin on her shoulder and murmuring in her ear. Reddington worked his jaw in agitation as he watched Liz turn in Tom's arms and playfully encircle her arms around his neck. The two kissed and Red slammed the screen of the laptop shut, probably with much more force than what was warranted.

He took a deep drink of his scotch, his throat bobbing in anger as he swallowed, the burn not bothering him in the least. Reddington idly traced his fingertips along the rim of the glass, feeling cool traces of the alcohol on his skin. Eyes stared into nothingness and he worked his jaw again as the man's mind wandered back to a memory.

Six days previously

"What the fuck are you doing here?" the man spat, little flecks of apple spewing from his mouth as he coughed and scrambled to stand.

There was a click and he was reminded that the black gun clutched in the shadow's hand was loaded.

"Sit back down," a low voice ordered, sinister and quiet like the deadly growl of a panther. "Grayson Moss, it's been a while."

"Reddington," Moss muttered, nodding and settling back down in the chair, his eyes wide and flicking around the dim room, trying desperately to find a distraction or escape route. His cellphone was sitting on the table opposite him, out of reach and useless. The sides of Moss's face glowed blue with the light of the five computer screens crowding for space on the table. The half-eaten apple had tumbled to the floor. The room was silent for a heartbeat or two before Raymond spoke again, the barrel of the gun still trained unforgivingly between Grayson Moss's eyes.

"I think it's been ten years. The last time I saw you, you were secretly transferring about $400,000 from one of my overseas accounts." Raymond chuckled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes and the sound was cold, "That was my Cayman Islands money."

There was an ear shattering crack and Moss screamed, cursing with everything he had as the bullet shattered his right knee. His hand clutched at the wound, blood pooling out and messing his hands, little white slivers of his devastated kneecap sticking to the fabric of his pants.

"Why are you watching her?" Raymond Reddington asked, cocking his head towards the screens, speaking loudly to be heard over Moss's screeches and cuss words.

"Fuck you!" Moss shouted, tears streaming down his face and his cheeks flushed red.

Reddington lowered the gun, his lips pressed in a thin, unamused line. Stepping forward, he lifted his foot and slammed his heel into Grayson's wound, only upset for a moment that the blood might stain the leather.

"I asked you a question, Grayson."

Moss doubled over in his chair, screaming again from the kick.

"He said his name was Tom! Keen, he hired us! Told us to set up cameras and watch!"

"Why?"

"I don't know! He told us to set them up two days after you turned yourself in. Paid for us to watch her every move, there are cameras everywhere. We were watching for you! You requested to speak with Elizabeth Keen, Tom, or whatever his name was, knew that you two would interact. He wanted cameras in case you were at the house!"

"How long have you been working for him?"

"Every day, 24 hours, we're always watching. I've seen everything." Moss's eyes were pressed shut against the pain. White dots sparked behind his eyes and he felt nauseous.

"Who does he work for? How many people work for you?" Reddington asked, the idea of this creep watching Elizabeth hungrily churning his stomach with the heaviness of anger.

"Fuck you!"

The crack of the gun and Greyson's foot was shot, eliciting another piercing screech. "God, Reddington, what the fuck is the matter with you! Tom Keen just knew about me from some bank robberies and heists that I'd pulled. He found me and my guys in San Antonio and paid for us to come here. I swear I don't know, please…stop this!"

Reddington remembered hearing about one of Grayson's jobs in south San Antonio. He and several of his partners burst into a bank and robbed as much as they could before locking the door with several pipe bombs inside. The man was sadistic, doing things for the thrill and for the money. Grayson Moss had always wanted to be one of the big players, and he believed that unmatchable violence would get him closer to the top. He had probably daydreamed as an assassin or professional criminal. In reality he was just a trigger-finger that was good with computers.

"How many disks are there?" Red demanded, flexing the fingers of his free hand and cocking his head to the side, his eyes glancing down to see Greyson's blood start to ooze thickly on the ground.

"I don't know, ten, fifteen? They're in the book there, the black book!" Grayson was paling, his hands shaking as they clutched at his knee.

Reddington snatched up the black cd book and slipped it into his pocket. He unplugged the standing hard drive of the computer and was satisfied when the screens went black. He then turned and shot the processor, the computer shattering in a flurry of sharp plastic and sparks. Reddington was frustrated, knowing that Grayson wasn't lying. It was obvious he had blindly accepted whatever job Tom Keen had offered if it had a large enough price tag. Moss had made his living by sneaking, laundering, smuggling, hacking, and killing. No doubt Moss saw the potential to climb the latter of crime, and he saw Tom Keen as an opportunity.

The phone on the far table started to buzz and vibrate. Reddington turned and picked it up, looking at the sleek screen as it lit up with caller ID. Raising his eyebrows, Red slid his thumb across the screen and silenced the phone.

Next the gun was pointed to Moss's forehead.

Red's lips pressed together harshly and Grayson didn't like how dark his pupils shown.

"Telemarketer," Reddington murmured.

The bullet pierced Grayson straight between the eyes. Red noticed that the apple had started to brown before the blood started to pool around it.