A/N Reddington is reluctant to release Lizzie, but feels guilty when he realizes she'll be spending her birthday in his custody. He decides to make her day as lovely as possible, but is plagued by his feelings for her. Is there such as thing as dark fluff? Birthday parties and glitter with a side of imprisonment/obsession? Disclaimed! Please do review – I love them so :-)

Several days passed without further incident, and Reddington was alarmed at how quickly he had come to crave her company. He owed his success in large part to his ability to read people, to gauge their reactions and manipulate their responses, and without really acknowledging what he was doing, he began to memorize every smile she had given him, every blush, and the comment or gesture with which he had elicited it from her. He treasured those moments, and as the days went by he became more and more convinced that she was softening towards him. He could feel that she was holding back though, and was determined to erode her defensive barriers. However much she gave him – a smile or a sweet little laugh – it wasn't enough. He knew it was time to let her go, and certainly long past the few days he had intended her to stay with him. But he wanted more.

It was for that reason that another day passed, and another, and the files for the Major's candidates for her protective detail lay neglected in his desk drawer. Right now at least, she was his and his alone. He did however succumb to an uncharacteristic pang of guilt when it occurred to him that her birthday was imminent. She would be forced to spend it away from her friends and away from Sam because of his selfish desire to keep her for just a little longer. He quashed the uncomfortable thought, and focused instead on the pleasure of being more than an invisible benefactor for one of her birthdays. Just one, he thought, out of so many – it couldn't hurt. He would make it lovely for her.

When she was a child he used to send a gift every year which Sam would place in the pile of his own gifts to her. It was the only way it could be done, and he accepted that Sam should take the credit as long as he was provided with photos of her on her birthday and a report as to how his gift was received. He smiled, remembering the preposterous giant yellow teapot playhouse he'd sent for her fifth birthday. She'd been afraid of it at first, but had soon grown to love it.

Things became more complicated as she grew older. He'd wanted to send more substantial gifts, but couldn't without raising questions, especially after she left home. He'd settled for marking her birthday in more abstract ways, such as ensuring that her college societies received an endowment on her birthday. One year, in a pique of whimsical profligacy, he'd had a star named after her - 558932/df-Elizabeth. Of course the damn thing impossible to see, and so when he looked at the night sky and saw the North Star, he imagined that it was her star, guiding him home as it had sailors for hundreds of years.

This year he knew exactly what he was going to give her. He'd wanted desperately for her to have it on her eighteenth birthday, but there was no way to give it to her then without drawing suspicion. The time had finally come – never let it be said that Raymond Reddington was not a patient man. He had his associate in Moscow retrieve it from the safety deposit box in which it had been stored for over twenty years, fly over and deliver it to him personally.

On the morning of her birthday, Liz woke with a sinking feeling. It wasn't as though she had made any birthday plans before she was taken; she hadn't been good at keeping up with many college friends, and her colleagues at the bureau resented her success. Still, it highlighted the reality of her current situation – she had been kidnapped, and would not be able to celebrate her birthday.

It was with puzzlement then, that she entered the breakfast room and found the table festooned with delicate silver and lace streamers, vases of fragrant pink roses and lilies, champagne, tray upon tray of pastries and stacks of colorful macaroons.

Looking around with her lips parted in surprise, she spotted Reddington standing beside her chair with a knowing smile on his face.

"Happy birthday Lizzie" he said softly. "Buck's Fizz?"

"I don't understand…" she began.

"Well I know it's a little early to start drinking, but it is a special occasion…" he twinkled at her.

"How did you know?"

"I have my ways" he responded smoothly, handing her a champagne flute which she accepted hesitantly.

"Thank you" she said guardedly. "Did you tap your pastry source in the East Village again?"

Reddington smiled smugly. "No, this time I tapped my source in Paris" he replied, laughing as her eyes widened. "Some occasions require nothing less."

Their extravagant breakfast was interrupted when a man in a suit entered the room and whispered in Reddington's ear, causing him to frown.

"Do excuse me Lizzie, I shall return momentarily."

Outside the door Reddington accepted a cell phone from his employee and moved to the library. He closed the door behind him before putting the phone to his ear.

"Sam! To what do I owe the pleasure so soon after our last conversation?" He inwardly cursed himself for his snippy comment, but Sam's call had broken his rapport with the girl and stirred the guilt that had settled in his stomach.

"Cut the crap Ray, you know why I'm calling. It's her birthday – what do you think you're doing? Why is she still there?"

An irritated expression crossed Reddington's face and he began to feel warm. "I'm perfectly aware of that Sam, and I assure you that while it's regrettably necessary for her to remain, she'll have a most pleasant day. I hope you're not questioning my motives after all these years my friend" he said pointedly.

There was a pause at the other end of the line before Sam spoke again, his words a little slurred. "Is she frightened? Don't scare her Ray, please."

His words twisted in Reddington's stomach like a knife. "What do you take me for, Sam. She's perfectly fine. She's an FBI agent for goodness sake, not a child."

Sam let out a strange little laugh. "Exactly. She knows what goes bump in the night now, just like we do, eh Red."

Reddington shook his head, a cold fury creeping over him. Added to that he was also concerned – this didn't sound like his friend. "Sam, you sound drunk" he said testily. "Is everything alright?"

"I need her, Ray. I need my butterball. Let me speak to her." His friend's normally stoic voice had dropped to a whine now, and it sickened him.

Usually a master of controlling his emotions, Reddington felt unpleasant spikes of anger and shame flare inside him. How dare Sam do this! How dare he insinuate that he might pose a threat to her. He'd had her for over twenty-three years, and he couldn't let him have a few days with her? Had Sam noticed what a beautiful young woman she had become? Reddington took a sharp breath, troubled by the direction his own thoughts were taking. He'd never consciously felt jealous of Sam before. Such a short time with her and he had already grown so possessive. He needed to end this conversation.

"Sam you know you can't speak to her while she's here" he said with a calmness he didn't feel. "She can't find out about her past. You'll get her back soon enough."

"Ray-"

"I need to go" Reddington said in a clipped tone. "Goodbye Sam."

He tossed the phone on the table, and took a few deep, calming breaths through his nose. He needed a drink. He smiled then as he remembered the girl in the next room, sipping champagne and savoring Ladurée macaroons on her delicate tongue.

Nerves loosened by the champagne, they spent a pleasant day together in a delightful haze, sharing stories about past birthdays. He listened in delight as she recounted her own version of the monstrous yellow teapot and awkward teen parties, and relished making her laugh in spite of herself with his own tales of birthdays spent in Afghani opium dens or fleeing rebels in the southern Sahara with nothing but a set of ornamental butter knives and 5 kilos of premium Moroccan hashish.

The truth was that the only birthday he really celebrated each year was hers; that she was alive to see her birthdays was his greatest achievement, while his own birthdays served as little more than a bitter reminder of his own egregious downfall.

In the late afternoon he donned an apron over his charcoal suit and set about whipping up a birthday dinner to remember. He wanted the perfect setting to give her his gift. To most people, having the dinner catered for them would be considered luxury, but for him the guiltiest of pleasures was opening another bottle and enlisting her help in the kitchen. He cherished the domesticity of it, the pure joy of preparing a meal for her as he watched the flush of a sublime 2003 Lafite creep into her cheeks after he topped up her glass. She was getting a little tipsy and he knew he was encouraging it, determined as he was to relax her, to get through the last of those barriers.

When the time came, she announced with a playful look that she was going to change for dinner and emerged in a midnight blue cocktail dress that robbed him of speech for a good minute. Of course, he had included an evening dress in his inventory, but that did nothing to lessen his surprise and delight at her graceful form swathed in the dark silk. Exposing her arms and shoulders, the dress also revealed the yellowish remains of the bruises she had sustained at the hands of the Lorcas. It pained him to see it, but he took comfort in the fact that she was healing.

After a moment she drew her arms around herself self-consciously. His silence seemed to make her insecure and he was brought back to earth by an almost shy "what do you think?" from her.

"I think Aphrodite herself would burn with jealousy" he responded quite seriously. "There is perhaps something missing though. Come and sit down" he commanded with a small smile.

She did as he asked, and he removed a velvet box from his jacket pocket. He opened it in front of her to reveal a diamond and sapphire necklace, the jewels twisted into the most intricate and delicate leaf shapes designed to grace the wearer's neck like an exquisite sparkling vine.

He watched her reaction carefully, hungrily, observing her features glide through shock, confusion, and pleasure, before settling on an uncertain expression whereby she chewed her lower lip adorably.

She looked up at him. "I…this is so beautiful – really the most beautiful necklace I've ever seen – but I don't see how I can accept it" she said, sounding troubled. "I'm an FBI agent, I can't-"

Reddington shook his head dismissively and removed the necklace carefully from its box before slipping it confidently around her neck, gently sweeping her hair aside to fasten the catch. She seemed to hold her breath as he touched her, but she either didn't dare or want to protest further.

"Simply stunning" he murmured, looking down at her. "Rumor has it that this necklace once belonged to Tsarina Alexandra herself. After the Russian revolution, jewelry and other valuable commodities were seized, and while many were sold to support the manufacture of farming technologies, others vanished and eventually ended up in the hands of a multitude of organizations, including the KGB would you believe. Anyway, I can assure you Lizzie, this necklace is rightfully yours. The paperwork is all in order, if that's what you're concerned about."

She looked at him in puzzled wonderment as he led her to the dining room.

They ate by candlelight, and as he looked at the softly glittering jewels adorning the graceful turn of her throat he thought briefly of her mother, of Katerina Rostova, to whom the necklace had once belonged. The girl was certainly as beautiful as her mother, but despite her wit and guile there was an innocence about her which Katerina never had, and which he found utterly enchanting. She had allowed herself to be swept up in the birthday fantasy that he had created and had trusted him enough to become inebriated.

After dinner he watched her closely as she sank giggling onto a chaise in the sitting room, her eyes more than a little unfocussed. He quietly acknowledged to himself that he had done this to her, however unconsciously, setting the scene from the beginning with the champagne breakfast, and refreshing her glass at regular intervals. It wasn't unusual for him to engage his business associates and adversaries in this way – how many arms deals had been brokered to his benefit after the other party had proven themselves unable to hold their liquor – but she wasn't an adversary, or an arms dealer with whom he had wanted the upper hand. She was a girl, and he had never desired anything or anyone as much as he did her in that moment.

She laughed suddenly, breaking him from his reverie. "You know one of my favorite things about today?"

"Tell me" he said softly.

"Your apron!" she exclaimed, and he laughed sonorously. "You're a wolf in sheep's clothing" she giggled.

His smile faded. "And without the apron?" he inquired, regarding her intently.

"A wolf in wolf's clothing of course" she sighed sleepily, and his eyes darkened fractionally.

He watched as she leant her head back to rest on the chaise, her eyes fluttering closed and opening again, her scarred hand resting limply on the cushion, palm exposed. He was almost certain that should he offer to help her to her room, that should he kiss her, that should he initiate something more…he would receive no resistance from her. It both troubled and excited him.

"I'm sorry" she said thickly "but I think I need to go to bed."

He rose from his chair as she pushed herself up off the chaise, her long legs wobbling underneath her. He was by her side in an instant, steadying her with a warm hand at her back. She clutched at his arm and smiled up at him, her eyes glazed. "Thank you Red, for everything. I had a wonderful day" she slurred.

"I think we need to get you upstairs" he said quietly.

"Hmmm, yes please. I'm sorry" she mumbled.

"You have nothing to be sorry for sweetheart" he murmured, walking her on shaking legs into the hallway and up the stairs, his hand firmly at her waist.

When they reached the top of the stairs she turned to him and spoke with surprising clarity, her blue eyes blinking up at him earnestly. "You know…you need people to think you're a monster. Anything else makes you vulnerable. But you're more than that…you're a kind person. Goodnight, Red."

He watched, rooted to the spot as she disappeared into her room, closing the door behind her.

"Goodnight Lizzie" he breathed. "Happy Birthday."

TBC