A/N Reddington's guilt over their night spent together is compounded when Liz finds something she was never meant to see. Romangst/Suspense. Penultimate chapter. Disclaimed all the way home. Please do review, I love them so. :-)

As he stared at the young woman resting in his arms Reddington knew that sleep would elude him that night. Her dark lashes were closed, her tousled hair curled on his shoulder and her hand lay on his chest as she slept, blissfully unaware that the man in whose arms she lay was deserving of neither sleep nor rest nor peace. He replayed the evening's events in his mind – the wonder of her beauty and desire for him, the unearthly pleasure of taking her in his arms at last…the horror of what he had done.

Captor bonding. Her words wriggled like acid in his brain. He knew now that she had been right. Hell, he had known then. He had used the power he had over her to seduce her, and betrayed the trust of his oldest friend. When his reckoning came, even amongst a litany of egregious offences, it would weigh heavily on the scales. And what might he say in his defense? Only perhaps that she had captured him just as he had her. From the moment their lives became entwined he couldn't help but fall in love with her – he couldn't help it any more than she could.

After he was sure that she was deeply asleep he gently laid her head on the pillow, drew the covers over her, and crept silently from the bed.

She woke some time later to find the space next to her cold and empty. As she became aware of her nakedness against the sheets the enormity of what had transpired washed over her but, curiously, she wasn't afraid. After all, he wasn't some college boy who she was worried would leave and never call, and if he was going to kill her after having sex with her… Well. If that had been his plan, she would never have woken up. She almost laughed at the strangeness of these thoughts, strangest of all the thought that at some point amidst her fear and anger she had fallen in love with him.

Pulling on a blue robe, she stole downstairs and followed the sound of clinking glass to the door of the sitting room which stood ajar. He sat hunched in an armchair wearing his shirt and pants, with a wooden box open on the table beside him. A glass of scotch dangled loosely from his fingertips and he held what appeared to be a photograph in his other hand. He hadn't seen her, and she held her breath, watching him silently as he drained the glass, clattered it down on the table and cradled the picture in his hands like a baby bird. His breaths were ragged, torn edges of suppressed sobs.

She found herself consumed with curiosity; the atmosphere in the house and everything about her stay there was heavy with secrets she was dying to uncover. Who or what was in the photograph? An old lover, perhaps. Someone long since gone or deceased. Someone important enough for him to feel a sense of…what, guilt? Betrayal? Shame? Did he regret sleeping with her? Whatever it was, she had to know.

Suddenly he rose from his chair and replaced the photograph in the box, locking it with a resounding click. She darted into the nearest room and hid behind the door, watching him make for the stairs through the crack of the doorframe.

She did a quick mental calculation. There wasn't a household lock she'd come across that she couldn't pick in under two minutes. Even if it was really tough, she'd probably do it in three. Even if he went straight to her bedroom to check on her and found her gone, in that time she could be coming back up the stairs claiming she went to look for him.

As soon as he was out of sight she slipped into the sitting room and went straight for the box. She felt a pang of doubt when she saw the lock. This wasn't a standard keepsake box at all. It was as sophisticated as a home safe, and, judging by the weight, it was reinforced with metal on the inside. Top of the line technology, masquerading as a worn and much loved antique. She knew she should leave it, but she'd come too far. Since they'd slept together she'd felt a new energy and power that she couldn't explain.

She rifled through the desk in a frenzy looking for tools of the right shape and density. Settling on a large paper clip and a watchmaker's screwdriver she set to work on the lock. She almost had it several times and then slipped, determinedly beginning again, aligning the tiny discs inside the mechanism one by one until it finally clicked open. Hands shaking, she opened the lid of the box and gazed down at the photograph which lay on top of the papers inside.

The brain is funny, she thought - always finding strange ways to protect ourselves from danger, from truths we can't handle. Perhaps that was why, for just a moment, she wondered about the girl in the photograph, who she was and why she was wearing the same high school graduation robes as she had.

The mirage was pitifully short, and a second later a soft, anguished moan twisted out of her throat as she realized that it was her own, goofy, smiling teenage image staring up at her. It was a copy of a photograph her dad had on the mantle, though this one was still framed in the photographer's thick blue card, the ink worn and pressed with thumb prints. She felt nauseous.

"That lock is a Rosengren RKL 10" came Reddington's calm voice from somewhere behind her.

Yelping in fright she spun round to see him standing in the doorway. He was shaking his head fractionally, his expression placid except for his eyes which were wide and fixed on her.

"You picked it in under four minutes, that's impressive Lizzie. Sam taught you well" he added in a hard tone.

"No..." she whispered. "No, please no" she moaned as the implications hit her – he knew her father, he had deceived her. She had been right – it was all a sick game. Her heart was hammering so hard now she thought she would choke on it; all she could think of was running, of escaping his steely gaze on her.

"Lizzie" he warned, as though he knew what she was thinking.

"No! Whatever this is, I'm done, I can't-" she choked before bolting past him.

"Oh no" he said matter-of-factly, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her back in front of him. "We're not nearly done."

"What could you possibly say?" she stuttered, shaking in his grip. "How you've known my father all along? How you've been lying to me the entire time?"

"I have never lied to you" he said emphatically. "I kept things from you - to protect you – but I never lied to you." When she looked at his face his eyes were almost frightened. It didn't matter, she thought. He'd been caught; it didn't change anything.

She took a shuddering breath. "How could I have been so-"

"This isn't your fault, Lizzie." He cut her off, as if unable to bear hearing her say that their evening together was a mistake. "It's my fault. And I am so deeply sorry."

She closed her eyes and allowed the tears to roll silently down her cheeks. After a moment she felt the pressure on her arm disappear as he released her and brought his hands to her face, gently wiping away her tears. She looked up at him and saw his face drawn with concern for her.

"How do you know my father?" She whispered finally.

She watched his face closely as he winced a little but said nothing. She tried again. "Why do you have my picture?" He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. She felt anger and frustration overtake her. "Who are you?"

He took a deep breath, his expression pained. "Elizabeth, as difficult as this will be for you to understand, you must trust me when I say that to answer those questions now would place you in grave danger. I can't do that, not to you. I know that you want the truth and I can only promise you that it will come. In time."

She wanted to scream at him, to tell him it wasn't enough, that he'd deceived her. But more than anything, she yearned for him to hold her. She hated herself for it, for her neediness, for her overwhelming desire for his love even in the face of this bitter betrayal.

She composed herself with enormous effort, swallowing and pursing her lips to hold back the tide of recrimination. "Tonight…Us sleeping together. Was it all just a manipulation?"

He shook his head sharply, his tone aching with feeling. "No. Tonight was… everything."

As she studied his features she realized not only how earnest he was but how afraid; his face and shoulders were rigid with tension and his eyes were almost haunted. That was the most frightening thing of all. She would take it all away if only she could.

She watched as he turned and walked slowly further into the room, pausing by a vase of the ubiquitous roses with which the house had been furnished since her arrival. In the dim light of the low lamp they looked almost black but then he lifted one out and she could see that it was a deep red, the petals velvety in the shadows.

He raised the flower to his face and inhaled deeply before turning back to her. "You know…there's an old Russian folk tale, Аленький цветочек." As he spoke the Russian he extended his hand to her, offering her the rose.

"The Scarlet Flower" she murmured, accepting the deep red bloom.

His forehead creased. "You speak Russian" he asked slowly, his eyes sharp and focused on her.

"Not really. I guess I've just picked some up somewhere along the way. It happens with my job – I understand half a dozen languages but I'm no good at speaking them. So - the scarlet flower?"

Reddington smiled softly and continued. "Once upon a time, there was-"

"Seriously?" she cut him off incredulously. "You're actually going to tell me a fairy story? Now?"

"In a manner of speaking" he said gently. "May I continue?"

She swallowed her protest and nodded, sitting down on the chaise. She held the rose tightly between her fingers, brushing her thumb over a thorn and allowing its sting to ground her.

"Well then" he said, satisfied. "There was a merchant with three daughters. Before he embarked on a journey that would take him all over the world to exotic, dangerous places he asked each of them what gift they would like him to bring back. The first two asked for fabulous jewels and wealth, but his youngest and most loved daughter asked for nothing but a single flower. She told him that it should be the most beautiful scarlet flower he saw on all his travels."

Liz sat back and allowed his rich, animated voice to wash over her. She had to admit, he was a natural storyteller.

"The merchant obtained wealth and jewels, but try as he might he could never find a flower that was beautiful enough for his most loved daughter. One day the merchant's ship ran into a vicious storm and he was thrown into the waves. He washed ashore on a mysterious island, on which stood an enchanted castle. In the castle grounds he found the most beautiful flower he had ever seen, its color as red as his daughter's lips and petals as soft as her skin.

The moment he plucked it he was set upon by a hideous creature, a wretch doomed to solitude and damnation on the island. The merchant pleaded for his life, and explained that the flower was for his most loved youngest daughter. The creature told him that his life would be spared but that his youngest daughter was forfeit. She must be taken from everything she knows to live with the creature in the castle. The merchant pleads, begs him not to take her. But his pleas fall on deaf ears, and it is with much anguish that he loses his daughter to the…creature."

Reddington paused and took a pained breath, before meeting her eye. Suddenly he broke into a soft laugh. "The girl…she is so… unpredictable. Hard, then soft. Utterly beautiful. The creature becomes captivated by her. Falls in love with her. Eventually, unable to resist any longer, he seduces her."

"It's Beauty and the Beast" Liz interjected.

"It's a Russian tale, but yes it does bear a striking resemblance to the French story."

"So they lived happily ever after?"

Reddington smiled sadly. "In some accounts. But folk tales are often more complicated than the versions we reserve for children."

Liz stared numbly at the rose in her hand. "She would have to give up her whole life to be with him" she said slowly.

He nodded tightly. "The creature's hideous appearance and solitary life were designed as punishment for his wicked acts. He couldn't be allowed to find happiness again. He hadn't earned it. And he couldn't earn it by costing a young woman her freedom. He had wronged her terribly. Some have it that the moment he kisses her the girl falls into a deep sleep. The land around falls into civil war. And the creature despairs. It's only when he can right his wrongs and bring peace to the land that the spell can be broken."

"And does he do it?" she asked tentatively. "Bring peace and get the girl?"

Reddington chuckled softly. "I honestly don't know. But I wonder…in finding the possibility of redemption…forgiveness…if he succeeded in his task…would the creature become less hideous?" He shook his head wistfully.

She studied him, the creases around his eyes deepening as he stared into a future that was doubtless as uncertain as that of the creature of whom he had spoken. "Perhaps she could help him. With his quest. It is the 21st Century, you know" she smiled.

Reddington laughed again. "Perhaps she could, at that. She is intelligent. Resourceful. I'm sure she'd be a formidable partner."

"You like telling stories, don't you" Liz said quietly.

"I do. The best stories are ones that tap into human emotion. Experience. The ones that tell us something about ourselves and the situations we're in."

She sighed in frustration, gripping the rose painfully tight in her hand. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me. I don't understand any of this. There's only one thing that I know for sure. And it's the craziest thing of all."

"And what's that?" he asked softly, his tone deep and almost apprehensive.

Liz swallowed. "I've risked everything. My career, everything about my life. Because I'm falling in love with you. That's all I know for sure. Whoever you are, whatever you've done. I love you."

Reddington paled and stared at her, his lips slightly parted in shock. It was long moments before he spoke.

"Lizzie-"

Just as he began to respond, a shrill ring from a cell phone cut through the quiet. He blinked and walked away from her to retrieve it from the desk, observing the screen and pausing before answering.

"Yes."

"Ray, it's Sam. Don't hang up. Dammit you need to listen to me this time."

"I'm listening."

"The truth is I have cancer, Ray. I tried to tell you before. It's bad. I don't know if I'm going to beat this. I need her back - I need to know that she's safe." Sam's voice cracked with emotion, and Reddington squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry, my friend" he answered heavily.

"I'm sorry too, Ray. But you left me no choice."

Reddington stiffened. "What have you done?"

"They're coming. The FBI. They're searching for her, Raymond – I left an anonymous tip, enough to help them find her. I didn't tell them about you, though God help me maybe I should have done. So unless you want to get caught you're gonna have to disappear."

"That was an extremely risky thing to do, my friend" Reddington said, his voice dangerously low. "How can you be sure that you haven't put her in jeopardy?"

Sam took a sharp breath. "Whatever's happened to you over the years, whoever you've become, I know you would never let anything happen to her. I'm still her father, and I want her back. This ends now. Ray" he added gently. "It's time to let her go."

Reddington was perfectly still for a moment. "I know" he breathed finally. "I know."

TBC