The Concierge & The Citadel

by RosalieReddington

"There are few that understand love and loss more than I..." Raymond Reddington once had a relatively normal life. A wife, a child, a few good friends. Fate was unkind when it took those he loved. Now, as he faces death row, fate returns a familiar face that will bring memories, joy, and love back to Red's life. Pre-Blacklist Years. (Mostly) Cannon Compliant.

44. Dilettantes & Delinquents

Derby Square - Douglas, Isle of Man - January 8th, 2000

Tires screeched and squealed along the cobbled street, leaving long streaks of burnt rubber with every hairpin turn.

A sleek black sedan took the corner first, as fast as its driver dared, and grateful for the distinct lack of early morning traffic to bar its path.

Two dark SUV's came barreling after it, just narrowly avoiding the fleet of luxury vehicles lining the street as they did so.

The chase circled the park once, twice, with the SUVs fighting to overtake the much nimbler sedan with every stretch of straight road. A stroke of luck gave them an in when the runaway driver hesitated between rounding the corner again or veering off to the right and making a break for the main drag.

The larger vehicles split, coming up alongside the sedan and preparing to box it into the copse of trees up ahead.

When they each jerked their steering wheels inward to force the collision, the driver slammed on the breaks and did the very opposite, banking left with an almighty screech and side-swiping the rear of the left SUV before pelting out onto the main drag as fast as the car could go.

The SUVs' front corners collided with a loud crunch, rendering them incapable of giving chase.

The first car's occupants swung their doors wide and let out a string of curses.

"Shit."

"Dammit."

"We had him! What happened?"

"Buggering hell-"

Sika Boateng's head and shoulders appeared from the shattered sunroof of the other SUV, which had taken the brunt of the impact and could no longer open its doors.

"Are you lot alright? Where's Ezra?"

A motorbike came skidding around a nearby corner, its engine roaring loud enough to swallow Sika's question.

"I'd say he's hopped the motorcycle." Skip groaned sarcastically, "I doubt he'll be able to catch up to him now, though."

Agent Knightley took several steadying breaths, a hand to her stomach and her eyes pinched shut. After a moment, she pulled out her phone. "We need to call Reddington. If we want a prayer of getting to the Jailbreaker before he's out of the country, he's our only chance."

The others grumbled their agreement, and while she informed Reddington of their situation, Skip slid from the driver's seat to help Sika climb gingerly down from the roof of her transport.

Inside the fleeing sedan, the driver pulled a burner from the depths of his coat pocket and auto-dialed the only number in its contacts.

"Spyhop Whale Watching Tours," a smooth voice chimed through the connection, "How can we be of service?"

"It's the Jailbreaker; I need to travel, and I need to speak to your employer."

The woman on the other end hesitated.

"Monsieur, Mademoiselle Øllegaard is currently in a business meeting-"

"I don't care," he snarled, "Get her on the phone, now. Tell her it's Rodney. Tell her the Isle of Man safe house is compromised, and I need her help."

---

Black Site #88 "The Abbey" - Undisclosed Location, London, United Kingdom

Dembe appeared in the door of Red's ensuite with burner in hand.

"The Cromwell called; the Jailbreaker slipped through their grasp," he held the device out to him, "Again."

Raymond paused in his shave, straight blade poised over his Adam's apple as it bobbed in time with the low chuckle rumbling through his chest.

"I can hear you laughing."

The shrill voice had issued none too politely from the earpiece, making Dembe smirk as well.

Taking the device and bringing it to the clean-shaven side of his face, Red replied: "Agent Knightley, I'm not accustomed to hearing your dulcet tones this early in the morning. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The Jailbreaker," Emma gave a weak groan, "We lost him in the chase."

He froze mid-stroke once more, "You alright?"

"Yeah," came the grumbled reply, "We totaled the transports..." a weary sigh echoed through the line, "Again."

Raymond tutted and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could focus on his jawline. "Didn't they teach you all in the academy that you're supposed to tail the target onto the freeway so you have ample room to maneuv-?"

"Do you have any intel on where he's headed or not?" Knightley barked, apparently in no mood for his taunting or tutelage.

"No." Red replied, flatly, "I'll reach out to my contacts in the underground and see where we might look next. I'd recommend some aspirin and a nap, Agent Knightley."

With one last swipe to his cheek, he finished and snapped the burner closed.

"Give it an hour," he advised, handing the phone back to Dembe, "Once the steam's left their ears, set them on the trail of Rosalie's Irish property manager. Impress upon them the importance of taking this one alive."

"Unlike the Portuguese associate?"

"Unlike the Portuguese associate."

The younger man pocketed the phone with but one quirk of his brow. "Rosalie believes her man in Ireland may have been involved with that property manager she lost to the German and Basír last summer?"

"On top of using the safe houses for unvetted clientele." Red reminded him, "She now knows that Norrick was aware of the latter, so she can't give Fionn the benefit of every doubt on the former. Her business can't permit that kind of risk. Putting Albert's team on his trail to find out what he knows is the best possible recourse."

Dembe nodded his understanding. "They will have the lead by noon."

He left the room and, once alone, Red slipped a secondary burner from his trouser pocket.

Flipping it open, he dialed the only number in its contacts and waited.

The line rang thrice before being picked up, a warm playful voice setting immediately to chastising him.

"This is the third safe house you've burnt this week, you naughty boy..."

"I've been busy." He replied, grinning into the warm towel he used to wipe the last remnants of shaving cream from his face. "So, is your plan working?"

"...Like a charm."

Even thousands of miles apart, Red could tell sight unseen that Rosalie's lips had curled into a smirk to rival his own.

---

-Flashback-

The Armel Château - Céret, France - December 22nd, 2000

Upon recovering from a spectacular hangover, Raymond took a brief trip to Paris and back before coming to call at the Armel estate.

Rosalie, for her part, pretended to act surprised.

"I do hope you know, I'm not fair game for our little wager until I've left Céret." She'd said upon finding him and Dembe waiting patiently in the foyer.

Red had smirked and shifted the large box he held to one of his arms, freeing up a hand for her to hold.

The small, secretive smile she gave when she took it made his heart squeeze rather painfully.

"What is that you've got, anyway?"

"I promised we would do this together," he reminded, his tone serious, "Every shred of intel we've gathered on the man known as Basír Maharaj, and what little could be gleaned about his German counterpart, are all here in this box."

This had taken Rosalie by such surprise, she didn't find her voice again until they'd reached the top of the staircase.

Cedric Durant waved them down from the door of his hidden study, and the trio quickly filed in before they could be seen by any of the château's prying eyes.

A fresh tea tray had just been delivered, with enough fine china and accoutrements for a half dozen or so people.

"Forgive the liberties," murmured Cedric, "I thought the consigliere's study might be ideal for your meeting, Sœur. We don't know who might be listening in otherwise." He made to graciously take his leave, but Rosalie's free hand quickly shot out and grabbed his wrist.

"Frére," she pleaded, "Will you stay? I value your council."

Cedric nodded without hesitation, closed the secret passage, and spun the ancient locks until they settled into place with a series of heavy metallic thunks.

The now-foursome took to the study's small seating area without preamble, fixing them all a cup of tea and clearing a space on the consigliere's desk for the box of intel Raymond and Dembe had brought with them.

Rosalie, having been ushered into the tall wingback chair behind the ornate desk, took a steadying breath before settling into the seat. "Alright. Walk me through what you've found, and where we are at this point."

Raymond and Dembe spent the better part of the next hour laying out every piece of intel they'd gathered, with the occasional addition from Monsieur Durant. They'd explained how they had been in contact with the Armels' right hand man since shortly after Rosalie had visited the Abbey, and how their mutual exchange of intel had allowed them to pursue Basír and the German from multiple angles for months.

A look of deepest fondness passed from Rosalie to Cedric at this, with the latter merely shrugging and dropping his gaze to his teacup.

"So you hit a dead-end after New York?" Her attention returned to Red, who proceeded to pluck a series of photographs from the scattered array of intel.

"We chased him to his next assignment in Abu Dhabi," he said, handing her a trio of snapshots they'd managed to get during the chaos of the Jailbreaker's work. "A client caught up in Al Wathbah-"

"-Mejia." Finished Rosalie, "I remember him; he recovered in my network for two months before moving on. What happened after the break at Al Wathbah?"

Dembe shook his head, "We were blind from that moment onward. Whispers came up from the underground on occasion and we chased them the moment we had actionable intel, but every time we were long past late."

"That would be your doing, Sœur." Cedric smirked over his teacup, and Rosalie smiled ruefully.

"Oui, Rodney reached out to sequester in my network the very same day I set Mejia up in my black site in Nepal."

"We should have known." Dembe chuckled, and the others sniggered as well.

"So what was your little band of feds up to all this time? Surely you had to have been giving them other actionable intel?"

Raymond nodded. "They had the Envoy Collective to disassemble. Once MI6's tech team broke into David Edgar's laptop and burner, the agency had more leads than they could possibly manage."

"I see..." said Rosalie, fidgeting with the corner of a photograph as she thought. "So the German could provide no other leads? The last contact Basír's had with the Jailbreaker was the retainer made back in July?"

"Yes."

"What do we know about the retainer?"

"The retainer was set the same day I turned myself in to MI6." Said Red, "The specifics were not communicated to the German. He did, however, intimate that Basír and his counterpart had tasked him with engaging the same Jailbreaker's services shortly after they first hired him in 1993. They'd both been living in the UK and ended up in a spot of trouble. The German was hired to front the cash to the Jailbreaker, who in turn engaged the services of any freelancers he required to get Basír and his friend to their final destination with new papers and an introduction to the local syndicate."

Rosalie's brow drew into a puckered frown at this. "And you undoubtedly can't pursue the freelancers because Rodney would be the only one who knew which players he hired for the job?"

"Precisely."

A terse silence descended on the foursome, broken only by the occasional clink of a teaspoon against porcelain.

"If I were to get you a meeting with the Jailbreaker, it would need to be done with the utmost care." Rosalie's worried gaze finally moved from the carpet and settled on Red. "Rodney is an excellent client, but if he had the faintest inkling I'd willingly allowed you within a hundred feet of him, he wouldn't hesitate to sell me out to the entire underground. I can't put my business in jeopardy."

All eyes moved to her, arguments poised on every tongue in the room.

"However," she sighed, "We can't afford to wait. Basír and his partner are somewhere planning their next move, perhaps already pressing their advantage against my network. The risk is too great not to pursue the Jailbreaker."

Red rested his elbows on his knees, breathing a sigh of relief. "We can keep you insulated, Rosalie."

"Oh I know you will," she insisted, setting aside her cup and flashing him a cunning smile. "Because I've already got a plan."

Raymond and Dembe exchanged looks, then turned to Cedric, who could be seen smiling into his teacup. The man had obviously been pressing his advantage in knowing both sides of the aisle.

"Rosalie and I have been discussing the breach to her network extensively," he explained, bringing the cup back to rest in its saucer, "We've come up with a plan, but in order to execute it we would need your assistance and your secrecy."

"Anything." said Red, barely waiting for the request to leave the other man's lips. His focus shifted to Rosalie. "Anything you require from my syndicate, it's yours."

A luminous blush rose to Rosalie's cheeks, but she did not look away.

"He cannot be taken into custody." She countered at last, holding her chin high as she set the stage for their negotiation.

Red grinned to himself, feeling that familiar thrill skate across his nerves. "You just want someone to get close?"

A tell-tale glint sparked behind her eyes. "I want your people to get so close to nabbing him they can tell you what the man ate for breakfast before he's even had the chance to digest it."

"That will heighten the sting when MI6 realizes they won't get to arrest the Jailbreaker." said Dembe, his tone a warning one.

Rosalie was quick with a rebuttal.

"They'll nab a slew of minor players in the process. I can give them that."

"Your people?" he balked, "You're willing to trade your own to keep one client out of custody?"

"Raymond knows as well as I Rodney can never be apprehended. If he is, he's as good as dead. His clientele will come out of the woodwork looking for his head, simply to ensure his silence. Even if your feds managed to get hold of him, they would be in grave danger every second he was in their custody. Besides, the people you will be apprehending in my organization are dead wood."

"Skimming off the top?"

"Slipping in their own clientele." Rosalie replied, turning and nudging another scone onto his plate with a wink. "I found out from a handful of my maids."

Red sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Rosalie's right, she can't allow that to continue."

"No," she agreed, "They're taking risks with my network behind my back; I need them cleaned out."

"They could talk..." reminded Cedric, setting aside his cup.

"Oh, I expect them to." said Rosalie, her eyes never once leaving Red, "Just as I expect you to let me know what they say."

Raymond chuckled throatily, "Well, that kind of valuable intel comes at a premium, my dear."

A look was exchanged between Cedric and Dembe, who rose as one and made for the secondary exit. "We can relax in Florian's study while they hash out the details," advised the former under his breath, "I don't believe we're needed for this part, and we should keep Teddy and Horace out of the loop for the time being."

Dembe merely nodded and joined him in the hidden elevator, giving a knowing smile to Rosalie before its doors closed.

She tittered to herself, then turned sheepishly back to Red. "Alright then, name your price."

A lengthy pause met this request, and Rosalie might have blushed again had Raymond not looked so damn sincere.

"A date. "

"With me?"

"Well, I'm certainly not asking to take Teddy out for a night on the town."

The dour look shot his way had Raymond laughing that deep, throaty laugh of his.

"We're not dating."

"Yet."

Rosalie give a good-natured roll of her eyes and stood to join her companion on the loveseat.

"So..." she demurred, not quite meeting his gaze, "This date you're asking for, it would be in the future?"

He nodded, turning into her when she took the seat next to him. "At a time and place of my choosing."

"Hmm..." Rosalie peeked sideways, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What have you got to lose, little dove?"

"The upper hand;" said she, "I told you we weren't going right back into being involved, and here I am being blackmailed into a date. Need I remind you, you're supposed to be the one getting back into my good graces, not the other way around."

Her pretty features glowered up at him, pinched with disapproval. That, combined with the sheer indignation in her words made it damn near impossible for Red to keep a straight face.

"Consider it compensation." He crooned, fingering one of her curls and allowing himself a small smile, "Given what service I'm providing, even if I were a perfect stranger you wouldn't be sending me off empty handed, would you?"

A slender brow arched in his direction.

"So I'm a commodity to you?"

The statement was damning, but the amusement flickering behind Rosalie's cool facade gave her away.

"I'm a man of no small means." Red soothed at once, "There isn't a commodity I can't buy if I want it badly enough. Your time, my dear, is the rarest of gifts only you can bestow, and the only thing that could possibly sway a man like me."

Another blush stained her cheeks, and he smiled at having smoothed those ruffled feathers of hers.

"I suppose that's fair," Rosalie conceded after some thought, then added, "I'll make you a deal; if you want a date, I want-"

Raymond roared with laughter.

"Now wait a minute, so you get to protect your client, have dead wood cleaned out of your syndicate, and you get to demand something else from me?"

"I demand to have the upper hand." Rosalie retorted, her wry smile turning into a full-on grin.

"Alright, alright," he gave a dramatic huff, "Spill it. What are your terms?"

Red's breath hitched when she hooked her finger in the knot of his tie and pulled him in closer. Her nose brushed his teasingly once, twice, before she whispered:

"Just a little something, darling."

His voice dropped to a low growl of its own accord. "A little something, hmm?"

"Something you already enjoy immensely..."

"Oh? And what is that?"

A heady pause unfurled, swallowing all sound between them until the only thing they could hear was the soft rush of each others' breathing.

"Telling me stories."

"A story?" He swallowed heavily when her little pink tongue darted out to wet her lips, "That's what you want, little dove?"

She nodded.

"Which one is it this time?" He murmured, "That one about the Van Gogh Poppy Flowers or that unfortunate incident in the village in Mongolia?"

Rosalie laughed and flopped her head onto the back of the couch, giving him a much-needed reprieve. "You've given me one of your favorite books," she reminded, and Raymond was surprised when her fingers trailed the length of his tie before threading themselves with his own.

"So tonight, when you're in bed, I'd like you to call me..." her eyes batted innocently up at him, "-and read it to me."

Thoroughly distracted, it took Red several seconds to respond.

"You price is a bedtime story?"

"Yeah," said Rosalie, rising to her feet with a note of finality. "You want back in my good graces, lover boy? I expect stories and a few sonnets to mend my wounded heart."

Red vaulted out of his seat with a cocksure smile, taking her hand and kissing its surface to seal their agreement. "To a deal well struck, Mademoiselle Øllegaard."

Rolling her eyes once more, Rosalie pestered him into the elevator's hold, pretending not to be affected when his arms circled her middle and his lips found her neck as they descended into the château's main level.

---

-Present Day-

The Peninsula Penthouse - Hong Kong - January 8th, 2001

Rosalie wasn't sure how she'd once again found herself bullied into the bath, but there she sat in the center of the Hong Kong penthouse's obsidian tub with the contents of what looked to be an entire botanical garden bobbing around her.

She'd just gotten off the phone with Rodney, who'd called in an uproar after having been damn near cornered by MI6 agents a quarter-mile from the Isle of Man safe house in Derby Square. The team had been getting closer and closer with each passing go, having barely given the man more than a couple days' reprieve since they'd returned from the Christmas holidays.

The result was a positively irate fugitive blowing up her burner for the third time that week with nobody to blame but himself.

The man's insistence on utilizing his own transport network to get to and from the safe houses gave Rosalie a ready-made alibi as to why he kept getting intercepted en route, and only hubris kept him from accepting her repeated offers of sequestering him in her black site network.

She took solace in the knowledge that it wouldn't take much more meddling on MI6's part to get Rodney to the point of burying his pride. Once in the hands of her associates, Raymond could make his move and unearth the team of freelancers who allowed Basír Maharaj & company to escape the UK and get introductions into mainland Europe's underground.

Amidst this internal calculating, Qiaolian bustled from one end of the tiled room to the other, pilfering the contents of several cabinets and drawers to gather up an array of bottles, jars, and scented sachets. Her slippered feet padded to the water's edge every few seconds to toss something new into the concoction, narrating her choices as she went.

"Water drawn with peach and willow branch."

She upended a large jug of milky white water into the steaming bath.

"Lilac flowers."

She untied one of the sachets and allowed the pale purple flowers to cascade onto the water's surface.

"-and pearl powder." A wooden spoon was dipped into one of the green jars she'd pulled from a nearby shelf, its glimmering contents scattered atop the lilac as well.

"What does all this do?" Rosalie asked, balancing one of the flower petals on the tip of her index finger.

"Rids one of darkness and bad luck," said Qiaolian, picking up her supplies and returning them to their designated places.

"You think I'm unlucky?"

A thinly penciled brow arched in Rosalie's direction. Her frown deepened when a glass of dark red wine was placed beside the tub.

"You have been weighted down with sorrow and despair. There is little difference between the two."

"...How did you know?"

The older woman nodded sagely. "Your gentleman friend has not been here for many, many months. Still, you have emerged anew and your complexion is lighter. This will help."

With that enigmatic statement, Qiaolian shuffled out of the bath, the patter of her slippers disappearing down the hall before Rosalie could utter another word.

A lotus flower bumped her knee as it floated by, setting Rosalie's mind adrift in memories of the last time she and Raymond had been in this very room. A smile curled at her lips recalling how they had laughed so easily, teasing each other with wit and wiles, every little flirtation setting the air between them ablaze...

Those reminiscences were quickly interrupted by a low buzzing noise.

The burner beside her vibrated noisily against the tub's granite ledge, its tiny screen illuminated with the only number in its contacts.

Another smile met this view, and it only took a moment for Rosalie to pluck the device from its perch and bring it to her ear.

"This is the third safe house you've burnt this week," she chastised at once, "You naughty boy..."

"I've been busy," came Raymond's mischief-laden response, "Is your plan working?"

She sank back into the hot water with a contented sigh, "Like a charm."

"I take it Rodney has reached out?"

"Oh yes, a half-hour ago, right in the middle of my meeting with a new client. He's madder than a hornet."

A note of concern entered Red's voice.

"He doesn't blame you, I trust?"

"No, no," she assured, "Your people have been good about waiting until he's a respectable distance from the safe house before engaging. How you managed to get the Feds on board with that is beyond me. Isn't door-kicking their favorite pastime?"

"I told them the truth;" said Red, "Your homes are impenetrable. All they'd manage to do if they bust in with guns blazing would be to get themselves killed and allow their target to slip away via one of the establishment's plethora of secret exits."

Rosalie hummed to herself, "Well, whatever they're doing, keep them at it. We're very nearly there."

"How many more times should we take a swipe at him?"

"Two more ought to do it. Once he's making the hand-off into the black site network, you can swoop in and try to take him."

A tutting noise met this challenging statement.

"Try, hmm?"

A pout immediately wormed its way into Rosalie's voice. "Oh c'mon Ray, you've gotta let me save face on this one."

Another low chuckle met her ears, and she didn't even have to guess what would come next.

"What's in it for me?"

"Well...What do you need?"

"Not something I need," he corrected, "Something I want."

Rosalie shifted a little, her cheeks suddenly burning hot and her mind rudely supplying her with a fresh wave of memories of an endless night learning about needs and wants with a certain fugitive, in the very penthouse she was currently occupying.

She hurriedly cleared her throat, "Well, I guess...what do you want then?"

"I want you to come to New York this weekend."

The request was uttered with such rapidity, there was no doubt in Rosalie's mind that he'd been waiting for the right opportunity to ask it.

Her eyes narrowed to slits as she plucked the wine glass form the rim of the tub and took a healthy sip. She let him stew in silence before replying, "You're not trying to lure me into a trap, are you Raymond dear?"

"Certainly not," he soothed at once, "Consider it a momentary armistice."

Rosalie burst out laughing. "You're calling a cease-fire?" she crowed, "Already?"

"A temporary one." Red corrected, voice wreaking of delicate indignation.

"Why in the hell would I do that?" She asked, dumbfounded as to what he could possibly say to sway her opinion on the matter.

Was he trying to bypass their little arrangement already?

The thought made a cold dread settle inside Rosalie's chest. He'd been so adamant on wanting to make things right between them. Now that she'd came up with a plan that both satisfied her need to re-affirm his trustworthiness and allowed them to have a bit of fun...he wanted to call it off?

What the hell?

As though sensing the path her mind had taken, Red quickly divulged the purpose behind the request.

"This is important Rosalie; I know you've been of a mind to diversify for a while now, and I believe the new client I've taken on will be just the avenue you've been looking for."

"A business meeting?" She found the reply wholly insufficient, "You want me to come to New York for a business meeting?"

"Yes," said Red, "I've actually been holding this client at bay since last August. You want to know whether you can trust me? What better way to truly test my conviction than to step into a negotiation with me?"

This gave Rosalie pause. She couldn't deny that he was right to push for a deal between them. Rebuilding that trust was going to take time and patience, but this first step was arguably the most important. He wasn't calling it off or shying away...far from it. He was diving in headlong, with everything he had.

"The fact that I would have an excuse to take you out on that date afterwords," his tone turned instantly impish, "Well…we can discuss that when you get here."

Rosalie grinned in spite of herself, the smothering worry that had claimed her dissipating just as quickly as it had came.

"We're not dating," was all she could manage, in a tone so half-hearted even she struggled to believe herself.

"Of course not, my dear."

She could hear the smile in Raymond's voice as well.

"But you just said-"

"You're mistaken," he insisted in a very business-like manner, "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Raymond..."

"Rosalie."

"Stop it."

"Hmmm…no."

A laugh snuck out of her at such a petulant retort. "I have to go now, you abominable boar."

"So we're on for Saturday in New York?" He pressed is advantage, refusing to budge from the line until he had his answer.

"Hmmm..." she mimicked, "No."

"I'll make reservations for seven." Red soldiered on, "Le Coucou does a delectable rabbit three ways."

"Raymond."

"Rosalie."

"You're incorrigible."

"Oh?" He sounded amused, "Are we back to pretending you don't enjoy my misbehaving? So soon?"

Rosalie dissolved into peals of laughter, taking several seconds to compose herself before finally putting a finger to what was worrying her.

"What if I'm not ready?" She asked, prodding one of the floating lotus flowers with her toe. "What if I get to New York and I'm just...not ready for that?"

Raymond took a moment to consider the matter. "Then I'll go back to the safe house, sequester myself in the master suite, and call you just as I've done every night since we left Céret. I believe we should be on chapter 21 by then-"

"Just like that?" Rosalie couldn't help the disbelief coloring her voice. "You would just say okay and be done with it? You would actually wait?"

"Sweetheart I know I'm a scoundrel, but do you really think I'm that kind of scoundrel?"

The comment was only a little chiding and, for her part, Rosalie felt her insides give a feeble squirm of amused chagrin.

"Of course not, but...I know you, Ray. When you want something you'll gladly needle your way into getting it. It's always been done good-naturedly, but still-"

"Speaking of good-natured," he said, guiding the subject elsewhere at top speed, "How's your new pilot working out? Is Otto as cantankerous as he was when we met?"

---

-Flashback-

The Armel Château - Céret, France - December 21st, 2000

Rosalie knocked on the door of Florian's study, a bloody mary in one hand and a half-eaten bacon gruyere scone in the other.

"Entre, mon trésor."

A slender digit pushed a pair of sunglasses up the bridge of her nose as she stepped inside the blinding room. The sun was beginning to set, and with the study facing the west, the space was ablaze as always.

Florian sat behind his desk, smirking over his teacup while Rosalie poured herself into the seat opposite him.

"Maman informed me you wished to talk?" She sighed, slouching into the warm leather and stretching her stockinged legs onto the other seat as well. "Something about a pilot, if I heard correctly?"

"How was your evening, chérie?"

Rosalie leveled him a stout look from behind her shades, knowing full well he knew where she'd disappeared to last night, and with whom. It had been her hope that he would have let the matter go unaddressed.

Apparently, he was not letting her off so easily.

"Is this about me leaving you and Marietta alone with dear Marcello?"

A knowing grin curled around her straw, taunting Florian with its non-answer.

"Oh Marcello left moments after the rest of the guests," he informed her, "Some business in Madrid, he could not stay longer."

"Shame."

"Hmm."

"Perhaps you might know, mon trésor..." Florian casually crossed one leg over the other, "I seem to be missing a trio of highly rare vintages from my private stores."

"That was all your wife's doing," she insisted at once, gleefully throwing Marietta into the line of fire. "I wanted no part of it, and I assure you my dear Pére, I am paying the price for my indulgence as we speak."

Florian fought back a grin whilst his fingers drummed against the desktop.

"Three bottles of Veuve Clicquot...That is an impressive feat, Rosalie. I'm amazed you alone could drink that much."

A deep, low chuckle resounded in the room when she squinted at him over the top of her sunglasses, the glare only broken when she turned her head with a scoff. "Oh Pére, the whole château knows I was with Raymond. What are you playing at?"

He flashed a victorious grin. "I take it the night went well, then?"

A sidelong glance was spared for the door, behind which she knew Otto Henschke stood sentinel.

"We reconciled our differences." She said, cryptically, then added in a murmur, "He's helping me with a bit of business, to get back in my good graces. So, we will likely be seeing more of each other."

The old mobster gave a warm, genuine smile at this.

"I am most relieved your mother's meddling bore the desired fruit. If Raymond can rise to the challenge of reclaiming your heart, I will be a very happy man indeed."

Rosalie smiled to herself. "Now that I've satisfied your curiosity, what of this pilot business?"

"Ah yes," Florian sighed, "Speaking of business...I have a proposal for you."

"What kind of proposal?"

"Placing your pilot; someone outside of your syndicate that I know I can trust to ferry you safely from locale to locale while keeping me in the loop."

Rosalie sat up at this, losing her grip on the pickle she had been using to lazily stir her drink. "Who?"

"Otto."

"Otto? What about him?"

"I wish for you to take him on as your pilot."

Her gaze fixed on Florian, countenance rife with suspicion.

"Otto's a bodyguard." She reminded, "One I've already sacked, I might add."

Monsieur Armel held up a staying hand, "Otto retired from our guard at the beginning of this year. After a brief respite, he returned to Corsica to pursue his pilots license, and has been training directly under Raphaël ever since."

"You are preparing him to take over once Raphaël decides to retire?"

"Oui."

Rosalie's scowl deepened. "-and because of this, you expect me to take him on as a pilot?"

"I expect you to take him as your pilot as a favor to me."

Any retorts turned to ash in Rosalie's mouth.

It was the rarest of instances when Florian asked a favor of her. In the time that she'd been under his wing, Rosalie could only recall one other time in which he'd done so.

It had been the eve of her departure for South America, when he'd first taken her to Bedrock and requested she accept the property as her safety net.

Rosalie has been reticent to accept something so lavish, but the old mobster had been so sincere, so desperate in his pleas for her to accept the gesture of his continued protection.

That was the first time he'd called her 'Fille'...'daughter'.

She had been their own for so long at that point, it was only natural, but hearing that formidable man give a name to the loving relationship that had blossomed between Rosalie and the Armels...she couldn't have denied him even if she'd wanted to.

"Fille?"

The word was gentle, just as it had been that day. It was once more, above all else, a plea.

"Why?" She asked, "Pére, you must know I can seldom bring myself to deny you anything, but Otto betrayed my trust. Help me understand why you must ask this of me."

"My dear," he began, "It is of no secret to either of us that you have a clever enemy on your heels. Even as we speak, he is no doubt planning his next move."

Rosalie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, a hand coming up to remove her sunglasses.

Florian quickly tugged down one of the curtains to give a reprieve from the early evening sun.

"You want to position Otto near me so you have a pair of eyes inside my syndicate. Someone you trust."

"Oui."

Florian considered the door for a long moment before murmuring, "Your people cannot be trusted until we've unearthed which of them has been working with this Basír fellow behind your back."

Rosalie nodded. She couldn't deny her suspicions when it came to her associates. Though she was now confident neither Teddy nor Horace were involved, the evidence that one of her higher-ranking people was a turncoat could not be argued away.

"Mon trésor, you are under siege, try though you wish to deny it. Your guard are questionable at best; I know you have faith in them, but Theodore in particular-"

"Teddy would never-" she barked, but Florian's icy stare fixed on her with such intensity it made her falter.

"The only reason I haven't thrown him and Horace into the château's iron underbelly to rot until one of them confesses is the unfortunate fact that I can't fathom a motive for either of them. Besides, if I took them it would leave you without a security detail, and Marietta has made it abundantly clear you would never allow me to part with Leandre and Hugo-"

"Certainly not!" Rosalie agreed, "Your security is far more important than my own."

"It is not." Florian insisted, "Not to me."

The two frowned down at the massive Caïd's desk between them, one trying to desperately to persuade, the other trying just as fervidly to understand.

"I beg you, ma fille, take Otto for me. Take him so that your Pére can sleep at night knowing at least one true Corsican is at your side."

Rosalie lifted her gaze and deflated at the blatant worry hollowing Florian's pale blue eyes. The bear of a man she knew and loved now had a haunted look about him.

"Please Rosalie," his deep voice fractured with the request, "Let me protect my daughter the only way I know how."

"Okay."

The word was out of Rosalie's mouth before she could even stop to consider it. Anything to soothe that wretched look on his face. Anything to calm the worry in his heart.

"I have one condition."

The criminal in her had blessedly risen to the occasion, demanding what she required to take Otto back into her confidence in any measure.

Florian settled back into his seat with a deep, steadying breath. "Name it, Fille, and it is done."

"I wish to speak with him directly." She said, adding, "Now."

"Otto!"

The man in question stepped back through the study door, his expression more timid and hopeful than Rosalie had ever seen.

"Caïd." He acknowledged Florian's call with a quiet nod before turning furtively toward Rosalie. "Mademoiselle."

Rosalie eyed him with intense scrutiny, not saying a word. It had been so long since she and Otto had spoken she'd quite forgotten him.

The sharp angle of his face, the dark brown mop of curls on his head, how boyishly young he looked with a freshly shaven face, the odd accent that wandered some no-man's land between French, Bavarian, and English... He'd been such a grump in the short time he'd worked for her, that she'd barely bothered to get to know him before sending him back to the Corsicans.

"Do you wish for this arrangement as well?"

The blunt question was fired in his direction without preamble.

Otto nodded eagerly, "I...I know I was not an ideal bodyguard for you," he conceded, "If I'm being honest, body guarding was never my strong suit."

A brow arched at this admission. Rosalie could not deny she was rather surprised by his honesty.

"The Caïd has been kind enough to grant my request to seek my pilot's license and train to replace Raphaël." He shuffled from one foot to the other, "I may be pants at body guarding, but I'm a fair flyer, Mademoiselle-"

"Are you still Florian's man?"

Otto froze.

Florian was notably silent, fingers steepled in front of his lips, awaiting the other man's answer.

"I...well, I was told you wanted-"

"Will you be Florian's eyes and ears within my syndicate?" She pressed, demanding an answer.

"Yes." Otto didn't dare look away from Rosalie's frigid stare. "Were I to become your pilot, I have already given le Caïd my word that he will be appraised of your every movement, and every move your people make behind your back."

A drop of icy quiet settled between them all, making the lack of noise in the room somehow more deafening than the ballroom they'd all been in the night before.

Rosalie took a step closer, eyes boring into Otto's before, at last, giving him a curt nod.

"Swear it." She commanded, "By your standing as Les Beaux Voyous, swear that everywhere my empire touches, you will treat with the same reverence and discretion as that of Corsican ground."

"I do-" whispered Otto, eyes wide.

Rosalie shook her head, "Make no mistake, Monsieur Henschke, I am demanding the rule of Corsica in taking you into my syndicate. The laws of Le Milieu apply to every corner of my network. I demand your loyalty and your omertà. Swear it, and I will take you on."

Otto stood frozen for a moment before removing the heavy ring on his middle finger to reveal the jet black Corsican 'C' tattooed there.

Bending the knee, he curled his fingers into a fist with the 'C' flat to the ground at Rosalie's feet.

"I, Otto Henschke, will hold your interests in the same esteem with which I uphold my role as les beaux voyous. I will keep my place at your side with utmost discretion and steadfastness. I will carry you over the curve of this earth in safety and comfort; I will guard your back from those within your syndicate who try to cause you harm. You have my loyalty, and my omertà, just as le Caïd."

This seemed to appease both Florian Armel and his daughter. The latter of which reached down to cup Otto's chin and guide his gaze from the floor.

"Well then...Welcome back to the syndicate, Otto Henschke."

---

-Present Day-

Rosalie couldn't help but roll her eyes, "Otto is no doubt with Teddy and Horace, busily being cooed over by my property manager."

A telling silence met this response.

"...I take it you're in Hong Kong, then? Qiaolian is the only property manager I recall that incessantly dotes on your clientele."

"..."

"..."

"No..."

Even Rosalie could hear the lie in her voice.

Red laughed heartily, "You know I'm going to have associates on your doorstep within the hour, right?"

"Ugh!" Rosalie hoisted herself from the tub and downed the last mouthful of wine in her glass before scrambling for a towel and wrapping it about herself. "I was just starting to relax, you tyrant."

He chuckled again. "You're the one who set me on your tail, and gave away your location, I might add. You expect me to just let a lead like that go sailing by?"

Rosalie halted in her tracks, a realization coming to her. "If you had really wanted to catch me, you wouldn't have pointed out my little slip."

"I would," said Red, "If my ultimate goal was to ensure your safety. You must be more deliberate with what you say, little dove. One can give away a great deal in a simple phone call."

"Dammit."

Padding from one end of the master suite to the other, Rosalie began throwing things in her suitcases. She halted for a second to lean into the outer hall.

"Oi, you three, we're leaving in ten!"

Raymond could be heard chuckling merrily to himself from the phone's earpiece, the sound of chaos unfolding on the other end of the line obviously giving him no small measure of enjoyment.

"Laugh it up, chuckles." Rosalie set the device to speaker mode and tossed it on the bed next to her bags. "Since you've gone and forced me to abandon my ceremonial bath, you can keep me company while I pack. I believe we were on chapter sixteen."

Red, still laughing to himself, could be heard fishing a book from a nearby shelf and rifling through its pages.

"Ah yes," he began, clearing his throat, "'I felt there was no one as kind as you; no one who gave me reasons that I understood for doing what at first seemed so hard and-unnecessary...' "

---

Teterboro Airport - January 15th, 2001

"I was starting to doubt you, Red."

Earl King was relaxing against the hood of his Range Rover, a bored look on his face as they waited on the arrival of the elusive innkeeper he'd been looking to acquire for the better part of a year.

Reddington, who had just returned from speaking with his associate in the tower, merely chuckled.

"I told you it was going to take a lot of persuading to get her anywhere near you after that wretched proxy of yours."

Earl huffed, his warm breath billowing to form a cloud in the cold January air.

Damn that David Edgar.

Red was right, if it hadn't been for that little rat shooting the whole exchange to hell, Earl could have engaged the innkeeper's services long ago. Hell, they could have been finished by now.

He'd never fathomed it would take this long to gain an audience with Øllegaard.

It was mildly infuriating. Men like Earl King did not simply wait. It was a waste of time, a waste of money...but in the end, it would be worth it. She was the top of the food chain in the safe harbor game. The global underground had been whispering about her for well over a year, with every criminal enterprise on the planet turning over rocks in search of her.

That, perhaps more than anything, is what made Rosalie Øllegaard so desirable. The demand for her expertise was astronomically high, but to actually find her, let alone gain entry to her fabled network, was a level of exclusivity only key players could ever hope to achieve.

Even the Kings, a paragon of wealth and influence, could not buy, cheat, or bribe their way in due to the careful distance they kept from the underground itself.

When Earl had stumbled on none other than Raymond Reddington in the wreckage of David Edgar's train car all those months ago, he knew he'd somehow lost a penny and found a golden egg. It was why he was so quick to take care of the mess, and to offer Reddington a buy-in on his project in Bolivia.

The Concierge of Crime was not merely Mademoiselle Øllegaard's self-appointed gatekeeper; he was the man to whom most of the underground looked when they needed a backer, broker, or purveyor of any kind. To have Reddington and Øllegaard both in his pocket was the boon Earl needed to ensure he came out on top, not only at his family's next auction, but every competition thereafter.

With his younger siblings out of the way, he need only quash his elder brother. One last competitor stood between him and the succession. His new contacts were going to help him accomplish that. He would have the best.

"I told you she would choose the Challenger."

The low whooshing of twin jet engines had started in the distance. A singular jet was making its final descent into Teterboro, and Dembe Zuma had quickly pulled out a pair of binoculars to check the tag.

Red turned to his bodyguard with a chuckle. "Alright you dirty cheat, how did you know?"

The younger man smiled serenely, the first show of emotion Earl had ever seen on him.

"Rosalie liked the separate sleeping area on your jet." He explained, eyes still hidden by the binoculars, "You may have built out the space into a glorified bank vault for you to do business, but with the long flights she's been doing, I have no doubt she will have kept the space's initial purpose and simply built to spec around it. Besides, Florian flies a Bombardier. If he had any influence in her purchase, he would prefer her to invest in something similar. Nimble, but formidable."

Formidable was the appropriate descriptor as the shiny new bird came barreling toward the tarmac, its wheels down and wings prepped for landing.

The jet touched down smooth as silk, taxiing the lengthy runway before coming to a halt a hundred feet from where the men stood.

Papa Romeo Seven Three Niner was a beast of a bird, but sleek and elegant as well. The body was half white, half deepest blue, and Earl noted more than a few custom additions to its build as the roaring engines started to wind down.

A singular gray g-wagon came rolling up to the plane, its driver hesitating when he noticed the interlopers.

The jet door soon opened, extending a set of steps for its passengers to disembark.

The first man had deep bronze skin and shiny black hair that'd been slicked back into a ponytail. A pair of dark aviators covered his eyes, but did not manage to obscure the suspicious scowl he directed at Reddington and company. The second person, with hair a soft sandy brown and whose pale face seemed only a little more agreeable, looked to be the innkeeper's right hand man.

He stopped halfway onto the first step and drew his weapon, turning back to the jet's interior and conferring with his charge before turning to descend the stairs once more.

The driver assisted the plane's stewardess in packing a trio of overnight bags into the rear of the SUV before passing the keys to the scowling guard at the base of the steps, whose eyes never left their group.

At long last, a woman emerged from the confines of the plane, her features puckered in a frown to match that of her security.

She descended gracefully onto the tarmac, her men moving as one to flank her on either side. The wind picked up immediately, whipping the long, honeyed curls beneath her beret into a frenzy. Even in her heavy wool coat, Earl could make out the generous curve of her silhouette, and might have stopped to admire it, had he not noticed the twin firearms tucked subtly at either side of the dip in her waist.

"Rosalie," Red crooned, tipping his fedora and stepping forward, "A pleasure, as always."

She stopped a couple of feet from them and gave the man an appraising once-over, his serene face reflected in her dark sunglasses. "Raymond, this had better be good."

Earl vaulted from his spot against the car and came strutting into view at Reddington's side.

"Well hello there. I'm Earl King."

The whole party bristled at his interruption.

"Rosalie-" the taller of the two guards lurched forward, but was caught by a hand smacking against his chest.

"I don't want to hear it, Horace. Get in the car."

"But Rosalie-" The other interjected, equally as disgruntled, but the woman was having none of it.

"Car. Both of you. Now."

Both guards hesitated, sparing a look of identical suspicion for Earl and Red before doing as they were told and retreating to the waiting vehicle.

Once they were safely in the confines of their transport, Rosalie turned back to Earl with a caustic glare.

"You."

"Me?" Earl grinned, "That's not the greeting I was expecting."

He glanced momentarily at Red, who looked positively delighted with the woman's ire.

"I told that little weasel you hired back in June," she snarled, looming of Earl, "The two of you can go pound sand."

Earl scowled, but any response was derailed by Reddington's smooth, plying voice.

"Now my dear, if you recall, Earl and I ensured Mr. Edgar did indeed take a dirt nap for his slight against you. Might such loyalty inspire a momentary stay of your discontent?"

Mademoiselle Øllegaard considered Raymond for a moment, her regal features softening slightly. "I suppose...for you, I can spare a moment."

Red flashed a charming smile at this, daring another step forward, leading with his hips so that he was dominating the woman's sphere. "I have a proposition for you. One that will make you unholy amounts of money."

Her lip curled into a smirk. A finger extended, reaching out to rest on his chest and applying just enough pressure to set him back on his heels.

"I'm up to my eyes in an expansion at the moment." She replied, "I haven't the bandwidth to spare."

Turning on the ball of her foot, Øllegaard made to leave them there on the tarmac.

Earl turned baleful eyes on Reddington, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat, still utterly delighted by this turn of events.

"What if I told you I've found just the off-shoot you've been looking for?" He called, and to Earl's surprise, the woman halted in her tracks.

Retracing her steps back to where the men stood, she removed her sunglasses, revealing a pair of crackling smoke-colored eyes that glowed almost silver in the afternoon sun. "An off-shoot, you say?"

"You tasked me with keeping an ear to the underground," Reddington reminded. "You've wanted to diversify," he made a sweeping gesture to Earl, "I've brought you a template, upon which you can cast the cornerstones of an entirely new venture."

"...Explain."

"Good heavens, not out here. Perhaps one of your infamous establishments could accommodate us? I fear I've been bragging you up to my friend here for months."

Mademoiselle Øllegaard was not fooled by his pandering, but she also seemed to recognize that she would not be getting another word out of Reddington until they were safely in private.

"Very well," she said, "The 75th street safe house should do nicely."

Red grinned. "Excellent. We'll follow your lead."

The woman's tone turned playful as her eyes traveled from Raymond to Dembe.

"Do try and keep up this time, boys."

---

Rosalie's Transport - January 15th, 2001

The din Horace and Teddy made upon Rosalie entering the vehicle was deafening.

"Stop!" She bellowed at once, "For Christ's sake, let me close the door before you both start firing off."

Horace peeled out of the landing strip the moment the passenger door was shut. "We've got to get out of here."

Rosalie braced herself as he took a sharp turn out of the airport, sending the contents of the boot flying. "Oh calm down. I thought you'd be pleased, weren't you the one wanting me to take on Earl King in the first place?"

Teddy whipped around in his seat, his face ashen. "Rosalie, that's not Earl King."

"What?" She froze, halfway sprawled across the backseat as Horace took another turn at speed.

"We don't know who that man is," said Teddy, "but Horace and I vetted Mr. King before your meetings with David Edgar, and that is not the same man."

Shock and confusion warred in Rosalie's mind. "Why would Raymond bring me an imposter?"

"We don't know," said Horace, "but we're not bloody well going to wait to find out. Shit...they're right behind us. I think I can lose them in the tunnel-"

"No!" Rosalie turned in her seat, checking to make sure Red's sedan was firmly on their tail. "Something's not right. Raymond would never bring a false client to meet me. Either he knows and has good reason for the lie or he doesn't know and is now in danger. If we make a break for it, we'll be leaving him and Dembe in the company of a potential enemy. Don't you dare lose them."

"Rosalie..."

Horace glanced to the rearview mirror, meeting her eyes with a deep set frown.

"Go to the upper west side safe house." She commanded, unblinking, "The one on 75th. If the man is nefarious, I'd like to handle him on my own turf."

After a brief stalemate, the man nodded and let up on the gas.

"What the hell is Reddington doing here?" Teddy wondered aloud, eyes glancing surreptitiously between Rosalie and Horace.

"I don't know." She fibbed, "Some kind of business deal. He wouldn't say more until we were somewhere secure, so I offered up a safe house."

"You're telling me he hasn't reached out to you at all since that night at the château? You do realize we know he stayed that night? You never said what happened..."

"Everyone in Céret was aware he stayed the night, Teddy. We were just talking. We got horrendously drunk and he ended up sleeping in the dome. After that, I sent him home and we continued about our separate business. There's nothing else to say."

Rosalie casually crossed one leg over the other, doing her best not to look as guilty as she felt lying to her guards.

Teddy seemed surprised by her response. Horace, pleased.

"Have you seen me taking calls from him?" She barked when the former simply stared at her for a long beat.

"Well, no...but-"

"Then rest assured I'm just as surprised as you are by this whole mess. The only reason I was going to hear Earl King out was because Horace was the one to suggest I work with him in the first place. If it hadn't been for his poor choice in proxies, I probably would have taken him on last year. Now, I want to know who he is and why he's impersonating a potential client to get to me."

Horace sat a little taller in his seat.

"Still..." he grumbled, "Reddington bringing him along and knowing we were coming to New York, it's too coincidental."

"I agree," said Rosalie, "Which is why I want you to do some digging within the associates, see who else had advanced knowledge of my travel plans besides the two of you."

This seemed to appease Horace, and at long last, he relaxed fully into the driver's seat.

Rosalie blew a curl out of her eyes. "Teddy, please reach out to our account rep at Monarch Douglas, let them know I'll be postponing our meeting until tomorrow morning. Once that business is done with, we'll immediately take off for Phnom Penh. If one of you can reach out to Otto while I'm meeting with Raymond, that would be ideal. I don't want to linger in the states."

Horace spared another glance for the rear-view mirror as they exited the shade of the Holland Tunnel. "Oui. I can review our fueling stop-overs with him this evening."

"Excellent."

They arrived at the 75th street safe house a short half-hour later.

Pulling up to the high-rise, the passengers disembarked, entered the foyer, and quickly boarded the elevator.

Once the capsule was on the move, Teddy and Horace turned to face Earl and his lone guard.

"Weapons, please." Said Ted, holding out an expectant hand which Horace mirrored.

"I beg your pardon?" Earl chuckled, not moving an inch.

"A mere precaution." Rosalie soothed, not even bothering to turn around as she faced the elevator doors with Raymond at her side. "You are not yet in my network, and I do not have the luxury of giving potential clients the benefit of every doubt."

Raymond muttered under his breath, "Worried he'll try to abscond with you like another dashing fugitive you know?"

"Who?" She whispered in a tone of utmost innocence, "Baldur Magnusson?"

Her cheek earned her a highly affronted scowl from Red, and a poorly-concealed snort of laughter from Dembe.

The clicking of metal could be heard behind them as Earl and his guard handed over their firearms, just in time for the elevator door to open, leading directly into the penthouse's foyer.

"Gentlemen," Rosalie gestured down the hall, "The study is the third door on your right; I believe that would be the best venue for our meeting."

---

Raymond led the way into the familiar safe house, gesturing for Dembe to go and relax in the home's ample sitting room.

Not needing to be told twice, Dembe made for the comfort of a nearby armchair, nabbing a book from one of the shelves as he went.

"Your man should join the others." Red advised, jabbing a thumb in Earl's direction. "Rosalie doesn't tolerate extraneous associates being in on the deal-making process."

The guard visibly hesitated, sharing a fretful look with his employer. "Do you think that's wise?"

Red merely laughed and sauntered into the study, doffing his coat and hat as he went.

Earl followed shortly after, sans guard, and looking only a smidgeon worse for wear.

"Relax, Earl. She doesn't bite unless provoked."

"Giving away my secrets already, I see?"

Rosalie stood framed in the doorway, pulling off her leather gloves and tucking them in her coat pockets.

Raymond eagerly stepped forward, helping her out of her coat and hat to hang them alongside his own. The soft, heavy fabrics felt heavenly in his hands. He remembered this particular emerald trench quite fondly.

"Carrying?" He asked, holding out an expectant hand for her firearm.

"But of course." She replied, narrowing her eyes and handing both over.

"Hmm..."

Catching Rosalie's arm before she could make for the sitting area, Red smirked and crooked a thumb beneath the sleeve of her dress. Circling the digit teasingly against the inside of her wrist, he felt the brush of warm metal meet his touch, and quickly hooked the heavy ring about his finger before his companion could pull away.

The razor-sharp dagger slid out with a whisper, and Raymond quickly fished the other from its resting place as well.

Rosalie merely scowled up at him, earning a playful smirk in response.

"The first time I met with Mademoiselle Øllegaard," Red intoned, releasing her and sparing a sidelong glance at Earl, who was watching the exchange most intently. "The poor dear wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. When I finally did manage to pin her down, she pulled a pair of these on me-" he dangled the blades from his index for the other man to see, "-threatened me with a gun, and gave my best guard a concussion, in no particular order. Forgive me, but I now know better than to step into any negotiation without properly frisking her."

Earl gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Well Madam, I take it he deserved it?"

Red turned to find Rosalie settling herself into the leather wingback at the head of the sitting area. She leaned conspiringly toward Earl, "He snatched me from the lobby of one of my own personal safe houses. After I'd led him on a cross-country goose chase, that is."

A cheeky grin illuminated Earl's face. "I think someone's still a little turpentined about it," he inclined his head in Raymond's direction, "The old boy completely left that part out."

The three of them laughed at this, and once Red had seated himself in the armchair across from Earl, he cleared is throat.

"Now then, back to our discussion on the tarmac-"

"I'm going to have to stop you there." Rosalie interrupted, shifting in her seat to face Earl head on. "I'm afraid you haven't been honest with me, Mr. King."

Raymond's head turned with an audible 'crick'.

"When I boarded my transport here, my men informed me that you are in fact, not who you say you are." Rosalie continued, "I would like to give Raymond the benefit of every doubt, but my men vetted Earl King twice. They are thorough and cautious, and they know what Earl King looks like. You are not the man they spoke to. You were not David Edgar's client. Which begs the question...who the hell are you?"

A roar of indignation pooled at once in Red's chest.

Rosalie would never lie about something this important. Neither would Horace or Teddy.

He didn't understand. Kate Kaplan had vetted Earl personally. They knew damn near everything there was to know about the man and the King family. They were stupidly wealthy and used their profit for a bit of grey-area investing, but that was all they could unearth. They weren't even fully integrated into the criminal underground; how could he have missed this?

Guilt settled like a stone in Raymond's stomach. The thought that he had already failed Rosalie, so soon, repeating like a broken record inside his mind. That same voice that had convinced him she was safer without him came roaring back as loud as ever, damning him for having the audacity to even try for a life with her.

Red tossed his head, fighting to cast the voice from his mind.

"Ah," said Earl, who somehow seemed perfectly unfazed, "I had hoped ambiguity would work in my favor in this instance, but I see your people are very thorough. That's good."

Both Raymond and Rosalie were silent at this. Identical looks of heated suspicion bore down on the man, demanding an explanation.

He merely crossed his legs, folded his hands in his lap, and stared blithely back at them.

"Earl." Red snarled when, after nearly a full minute of silence, his patience had reached its end. "Explain."

Earl chewed the inside of his cheek. "You wouldn't understand; you're not a King."

In the past several months, Raymond had heard that phrase fall from Earl's mouth more times than he deigned to count. It was starting to grate on his nerves. 'You're not a King'...as though being a King somehow excused the man from common sense.

The coup business they'd become embroiled in near the Alto Plano had shown these shortcomings in spades. There'd been more than a few times in the preceding months where Red had been forced to bring Earl crashing back to reality to keep them both from getting killed.

It would seem the man's serenity needed shattering once again.

"I don't believe you understand the gravity of your situation, Mr. King."

It was Rosalie who took up the task of dragging him to earth first.

Earl's head swiveled to her, as did Red's.

Straight-backed and foreboding, she leveled Earl a lethal look.

"You are in my network now." Rosalie reminded, "Your security is down the hall, surrounded by our guard. You might have faith in his abilities, but I doubt he could take on three highly-trained men singlehandedly, let alone fast enough to prevent me from doing some real damage."

She extended her hand wordlessly toward Red.

Allowing not one moment's hesitation, and without taking his eyes off Earl, he set the blades he had confiscated in her upturned palm.

"Now wait just a minute-"

Rosalie slipped one of the rings over her middle finger, her hand habitually setting the black blade spinning round and round and round.

"I can hurl one of these at just under thirty miles an hour," she said, watching the dagger's slow orbit around her finger. She flicked the metal deftly, making it spin faster and faster until it came to an abrupt halt, caught between her middle and index finger.

Her eyes were locked on Earl.

"At a mere five feet apart, I might be able to bury the whole damn thing in your chest."

The corner of the blade had nicked the place where her fingers joined. Red felt a burning approval when Earl gulped, watching one small droplet of blood trickle into her palm.

"I suggest you start talking, Earl." He suggested evenly, "You recall what happened to David Edgar when he slighted Mademoiselle Øllegaard. I won't hesitate to do the same to you if I find out you've made me lure a coveted business partner into dire circumstances."

It took a few more moments of stubborn silence, but Earl finally caved.

"Your men did meet with Earl King." He sighed at last, "Francis Earl King. I am Thomas Earl King. My elder brother is Samuel Earl King, and my father, simply T. Earl King the fifth."

Raymond and Rosalie both frowned, eyes flitting momentarily to one another before falling back on their target. There were a multitude of possibilities as to why the Kings would apply such a peculiar naming convention, but they couldn't dwell on that now. There were far more important questions to ask.

"If my men vetted Francis, why would he tell them his name is Earl?" Rosalie asked, "Why would you tell Raymond the same?"

Earl actually chuckled.

"As I said, you aren't a King, so you wouldn't understand-"

Red couldn't hold back a roll of his eyes.

"Mr. King," Rosalie snapped, "I'm not permitting this negotiation to go a single step further until you've given an adequate explanation." She switched grip on the blade she held so its tip was angled pointedly at Earl's knee. "Try me."

Realizing she was not about to back down, and obviously coming to terms with the fact that Red would be of no assistance, the man huffed through his nose and began:

"The King family is one of the wealthiest and most prolific families on the planet. Maintaining our wealth and influence is a full-time occupation every member of the family is inducted into by birth. Every son is given the same middle name, and does business on behalf of the family under the name Earl King. It's a tactic to ensure the longevity of the family name and its good standing. Because we are all Earl King, any business my brothers and I conduct ultimately affects the reputation of us all. Keeps us honest, if you will."

Raymond suddenly recalled a portion of Kate's background report on Earl. "This is true;" he told Rosalie, "Kate looked into Earl when I agreed to work with him. She did find that he had brothers, one recently deceased."

Rosalie nodded her understanding, but her eyes did not leave Earl. "So what did Francis want with me?"

"Our father tasked the three of us with furthering the King family assets through the purchase and development of extensive properties. Five estates a piece, no more, no less."

"Francis wanted to contract me for his sites?"

"We all did." Earl admitted, "Estates for a family like ours must be built in the utmost confidentiality, with the greatest sense of security and luxury. You are no secret in the underground anymore, madame innkeeper. My own father intimated that the one to garner your cooperation would be most favored to win. It quickly became a race to see who could engage your services first."

The frown Rosalie was sporting deepened further still. She turned to Red, "This was what you meant by an off-shoot?...The development of custom safe houses for private clientele?"

Raymond nodded. "Comfortably in your wheelhouse without overtaxing your network. It would be the perfect avenue for diversification."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Rosalie's mouth, but she managed to subdue it. It was the only hint she gave that the suggestion was pleasing to her, and it was for Raymond's eyes alone.

"And what would you 'win' upon gaining my expertise?" She directed the question back at Earl.

"Why...bragging rights, of course."

Neither fugitive missed the momentary hesitation in his words, no matter how smoothly the lie was uttered.

"If Francis was the one to hire the Envoy Collective," said Red, tabling his suspicion for the time being, "Why were you the one who turned up that day on the train?"

Earl's face twitched. "Francis was the one who died, as you mentioned. It was the end of June last year. I found his correspondence and records with the Envoy Collective among his personal belongings, along with the date, time, and location of your next meeting. None of us had even known that he'd found the means to an introduction with Mademoiselle Øllegaard. I believed it best to take the meeting in his stead."

"That's why you killed David Edgar." Raymond realized, "So he couldn't attest that you weren't his client."

"I don't tolerate loose ends;" Earl shrugged, "The deal I would be cutting would be no different than my brother's."

"Yet you still lied."

"I truly did not believe it a matter of import. She would still be doing business with the King family, the request would be the same-"

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Rosalie's warm, sincere voice broke up the rapidly-kindling volley occurring between Red and Earl.

The latter gave a curt, deferential nod. "Frank was a reckless kid. Too much hutzpah to truly succeeded at anything outside of getting himself in trouble. With his departure, Samuel and I are now to provide seven estates to the family portfolio."

"How many of these sites have you begun?"

Earl smirked. "Not a one. I was holding out for you, my dear."

Rosalie's eyebrows shot to her hairline, "...and when is your deadline?"

"It was the beginning of next year, but my elder brother has already built out two of his locales while he remains on the lookout for you. I need to start showing progress on my end."

"Didn't bother to share with him what you found in your younger brother's things?" She retorted, knowingly.

"We may have lost a brother, Mademoiselle, but that certainly wouldn't put an end to our sibling rivalry."

Rosalie considered it for a moment, her eyes fixated on the coffee table.

Red could practically hear her mind whirring into action, calculating all the potential vulnerabilities such an alliance could cause, and comparing them against the implied benefits. He waited on tenterhooks for her verdict.

"Alright." She said at long last, "I could be compelled to take you on, as long as Raymond's good opinion remains unchanged."

Red nodded in response. Though Earl had not been forthcoming in the peculiar circumstances of his identity, Raymond had seen enough of him to know that he was relatively harmless, and agreed that the potential boon from this little project far outweighed any risk Rosalie incurred with getting involved with the King family.

She continued, "Do you have any questions for me?"

Earl shifted forward in his seat, his expression suddenly eager. "The build-out of your safe houses, I've heard rumors that they are stocked with all manner of secret access, hidden compartments, advanced security, etc... Is this true?"

Rosalie smirked and placed a gentle hand to Red's forearm, angling her head toward the door.

Recognizing the request immediately, he stood and walked over to the entrance, tracing a hand along the frame's outer edge. Finding what he was looking for, he popped the brass key from its hiding spot and walked over to the wall of built-in book cases.

Sliding the key into a slot beneath the crown molding, he turned and waited for the locks to tumble.

Earl gasped when, as one, the book cases bumped out from the wall, swinging forward on accordion hinges and nesting themselves neatly out of the way.

The hidden space behind was the same as the others Red had seen, only this one was a much larger contraband stash. Weaponry and protective equipment on the right, cash, transport keys, and tradable substances on the left. An old-fashioned bank vault door sat in the center, covering the entrance of what Red knew to be the abode's escape tunnel. The outfit was standard for her operation, but no less impressive in its execution.

"How do you not get robbed blind by clients?" Earl breathed, eyeing the small mountain of neatly-stacked unmarked bills with a look of utter befuddlement.

Rosalie arched a brow in his direction. "How terribly gauche; my clients are far above common theft, at least where I'm concerned. Rest assured, nothing leaves my safe houses without my notice, and I charge a breathtaking interest rate on any amenities guests might try to pilfer."

"How?" he said, "Your clients, they've agreed to this?"

"Mr. King, I have earned my place in criminal society for a reason. I don't work with your run-of-the-mill street thugs."

Rosalie's smooth, confident voice politely put Earl in his place. "If you wish to garner my expertise, know that the secrets of my network are my own. I can build you estates to make you the envy of the underground, but ultimately I answer to no man. Not even you."

Red fought to maintain a neutral expression. He couldn't help it, he was so damn proud of her in that moment as Earl sat there gaping like a fish, the realization that he'd just struck gold entirely self-evident.

"Deal." He agreed, holding a hand out for her to shake. She did so, then nodded at Raymond to close the compartment.

Once the bookcases were settled back into place, Rosalie rose to leave. "I'll leave you to hammer out the details with our broker." She turned to Red, giving him a covert wink, "I trust Raymond to find a place of equal footing."

His face hidden safely behind Rosalie's silhouette, Red winked back, ensuring he would find that 'equal' footing firmly in her favor.

"Along with a healthy finder's fee, I trust?"

She tittered, "I'm sure Thomas can accommodate, since he's been the one hunting me all these months."

Earl looked only mildly put out.

"I'll expect a list of preferred cities for your sites as soon as possible. Once I've spoken to my team of realtors, I should have listings for you to review by the end of next week, and we'll go from there." Rosalie gathered her belongings and flashed both men a charming smile. "The safe house is at your disposal for the evening. I will let my property managers know you will likely be staying the night."

Her eyes lingered on Red. "Mr. King, if you have any extraneous questions, Mr. Reddington here will know how to reach me."

With that, she slipped out of the study, leaving the pair bereft in her wake.

"Wow..." breathed Earl, still caught somewhere between admiration and fear, "She certainly wasn't what I had expected."

Raymond chuckled darkly, recalling how he had felt the very same upon his first meeting with Rosalie. "She's incomparable, and endlessly skilled. Your brother won't know what hit him."

A wide, victorious grin split Earl's face when he turned back around.

The exchange had gone better than Red could have possibly imagined, and having Rosalie entrust the end result to him, leaving the fate of the deal in his hands...

It spoke volumes.

He could rest comfortably in the knowledge that she saw his desire to build back the trust between them and was giving him every opportunity to do so. The thought made him feel lighter than air.

"I believe we deserve a lunch break after all of that."

A brief reset and some refreshment would be an excellent lubricant for their next round of negotiations. He was pleased when Earl heartily agreed.

Halfway out the door in search of Dembe, Raymond halted in his tracks.

He couldn't help himself.

"David Edgar, he mentioned Rosalie is known by a moniker in the underground, but he couldn't remember what it was."

Earl looked up from his lap, where he'd been busily cutting and lighting a fresh cigar. He raised a brow, waiting for Red to finish his thought.

"I've only ever known her as Rosalie..." A thrill skated Red's spine, excitement building in his chest at possibly knowing the answer at long last.

"Out of curiosity, your father, what did he call her?"

A long plume of pale smoke rushed from Earl's mouth as he took a puff, smacking his lips and savoring the flavor.

He turned to Red with a knowing smile.

"The Citadel. They call her, 'The Citadel'."

Raymond's world went silent at the sound of the name. Everything simply stopped.

The Citadel.

She's the Citadel.

The name made his chest ache.

A citadel was a fortress which commanded a city; a haven for those in need of safe shelter.

A defender. A safe harbor. A stronghold.

He could not think of a better name for Rosalie Øllegaard.

Realizing he was stood frozen in the doorway, Red forced his feet to turn and leave.

Earl's voice stopped him.

"Hey, Red."

He turned to see the man grinning broadly.

"Is it fitting?"

Raymond nodded, a soft smile overtaking his features to match the warm, effervescent feeling that seemed to radiate from his very soul.

"It's perfect."

---

The Soho Safe House - January 15th, 2001

That night, Rosalie was curled up in a heated daybed on the roof of the SoHo safe house, Raymond's book in hand.

After leaving the negotiations in his capable hands, she and her guard had left for lower Manhattan to keep their distance from their uninvited guests and get some shut-eye.

Otto had just left to pick up takeout for the group when Earl King himself turned up at the abode in one of 75th's emergency transports, his list of preferred locations in hand and a request to stay at the SoHo safe house on his lips. 'What better way to get a feel for an innkeeper's mettle than to partake in one of their preferred homes?' He'd said, escorting himself inside before she could even decline.

The intrusion rankled, but Rosalie allowed it as a gesture of good faith.

Horace and Teddy were deeply suspicious of King, especially upon his request to stay in the same safe house.

They calmed, however, when Rosalie reminded them that Kate Kaplan herself had done the background check on his family and confirmed at least that piece of the story to be true. Horace seemed particularly pleased that she'd taken Earl on, even if he was not the same client that he'd suggested back in July.

With her team satisfied and Teddy successfully occupying Earl with talk of locales, Rosalie had retreated to the rooftop lounge to be alone. She'd been snuggled under a mound of fur blankets for the past quarter of an hour, trying to focus on a paragraph she had already read three or four times, when something hit the ground nearby with a loud 'thwack'.

Rosalie shot up at once.

Another clang issued from what sounded like the fire escape.

Pulling her firearm from its holster and slipping stockinged feet back into her boots, she tip-toed in the direction of the noise.

The roof was quiet and still. Nothing seemed out of place until-

A projectile soared up and over the edge of the roof, landing on the deck with a crack.

Rosalie stepped closer. It was...a rock?

"What the hell?"

Another, slightly larger and with a bit more speed behind it, came spinning into view. After coming eye-level with Rosalie, it plummeted back down, hitting the fire escape twice and ricocheting off an ensuite window with another smack before shattering on the concrete below.

"Shit."

A male voice hissed the explicative with every loud clang the stone made on its descent.

Rosalie scoffed, recognizing the particular baritone immediately and stowing her weapon. She leaned all the way over the roof's edge just in time for yet another projectile to come zooming upward. Her hand shot out, snatching the thing in mid-air before casting a scrutinizing look at the culprit standing rooted in the alleyway.

"What do you think you're doing, Mr. Reddington?"

Raymond positively beamed up at her. "I'm throwing pebbles at your window, so to speak."

"That's not my window."

"Whoops." He winced, then waved an airy hand. "Ah, well."

"What are you doing here, Raymond?"

"I came to see you."

Rosalie felt a warm blush fill her cheeks. "I believe I left our deal in your capable hands, are you here to tell me you couldn't manage on your own? Is that why Earl was so insistent on staying here tonight?"

The knowledge that Earl King had wormed his way over to Rosalie's safe house seemed to be neither surprising nor appealing to Red.

"Come down," he called in a murmur, "I can tell you all the sordid details over drinks, perhaps dinner?"

"I don't think I will," said Rosalie, extending her hand over the edge and allowing the stone in her hand to land like a grenade at Red's feet.

He leapt to the side with another string of curses when gravel exploded in every direction, and she tittered when he squinted up at her with a look of reluctant amusement.

"Alright then, how about a concert? Chico Hamilton is live at the Vanguard tonight; we'll miss it if you don't hurry up and decide to come with me."

"Dinner, drinks, and a show?..." She gave him a stout look that only made him grin more. "You do know what that sounds like, right?"

He shrugged, "You got your story; I'm here to collect on that date you promised."

"Now?"

"Now."

"I have a client in here," she hissed, pointing at the brownstone beneath her feet. "Your client."

Raymond gave a throaty chuckle.

"All the more reason to find anywhere else to be. You forget, I've been working with Earl for months now. All that money and the man can't buy good taste or sense."

Rosalie laughed and cast a covert glance toward the cantilevered door leading back inside.

She suddenly realized how much she really, really wanted to go with him.

"You wouldn't want to go back on your word, would you?" He teased, somehow knowing she wasn't the least bit opposed to his suggestion.

"Scoundrel." She countered, "Why should I go anywhere with the likes of you?"

"Because I'm a damn good time." Red expounded his own virtues without hesitation, "I'm an excellent kisser, light on my feet, good for a laugh...what's not to like?"

A brow arched in his direction. "Someone's cocky."

Though she could see the wealth of ill-behaved retorts swimming in his eyes at this remark, he simply replied, "C'mon, Rosalie. Come out and play."

The request had Rosalie's cheeks burning so hot it tickled her nose. Her lips finally tilted in a reluctant smile, "What's in it for me?"

He tutted. "A night of adventure with a dashing criminal isn't enough?"

Rosalie considered him for a long moment, happily letting him sweat.

"I want something sweet." She said, at last.

"Anything your heart desires." He promised, barely waiting for her to finish the request. "Now come down. If we don't hurry we'll end up with cheap seats."

"Alright," she caved with a laugh, "Give me two minutes."

Turning on the ball of her foot, Rosalie made for the entrance, slipping inside the glass door and hurriedly crossing to the master suite.

"Rosalie."

"Dammit..." she whispered under her breath, lifting her head to find Horace reaching the top of the stairs. She hitched an innocent smile on her face. "Yes?"

Horace scratched absently at the back of his head, setting his jet black curls bouncing. "I just- I wanted to say I'm really proud of you, how you're handling this business with Reddington and King. You've handled them both so well. I'm a lot less worried you'll fall for the former's old tricks."

"Ah, well, that's me." Rosalie shifted awkwardly, "All grown up."

Horace glanced at the bedroom door. "You going to bed?"

"Um...yeah." She said, thinking it as good an excuse as any.

Her mind halted, at once providing a devious addendum.

"I know you must be exhausted, and I hate to ask it of you-"

"Anything." Horace insisted eagerly, as she knew he would, "Anything you wish Rosalie, I'm happy to help."

Rosalie fidgeted with the sleeves of her dress, "Keep Earl away from me. Tell him I'm in conference calls with our team on the ground in Thailand or something, I don't care. There should be no need for him to bother me tonight, and though I'm confident he's not an enemy, I'm still wary of him."

A firm, serious nod met this. "Of course. I can take up guard outside your room now, if you wish-"

"No!"

Both Horace and Rosalie's eyes widened.

"Um, no," she amended, more politely, "That would look most suspect, and I've already troubled you so much. I believe Otto just arrived with our order from that Sichuan noodle shop Caroline recommended; go grab some dinner, have a drink, and relax. You'll be able to monitor the main staircase and intercept any advances Earl might make from the comfort of the couch."

"You're not going to eat?" Horace questioned, a note of concern entering his voice. "Are you not feeling well?"

"Oh no, I'm fine," she insisted, "Just tired, really. I think I'm going to give Qiaolian a call to check on the progress with the Taichung safe house, then get some rest."

"Well, if you're sure. We can put yours in the ice box, or one of us can bring it up?"

Rosalie was practically bouncing with impatience at this point. "You know what? That sounds great. Give me a half-hour or so, I think I'd like to shower as well once I'm done with Qiaolian. If one of you could bring mine up, that would be lovely. If I'm still in the bath just leave it on the vanity."

Horace smiled at this, a warm, genuine smile that made Rosalie's stomach turn with guilt.

"Sure thing, Rosalie. If I don't see you later, sleep well."

"Thanks Horace, you too." She kept a smile plastered on her face as she cracked open the door and backed into her room, giving one last false cheery wave before closing the door in his face.

A soft groan left her lips as soon as she was alone. The heavy, icky feeling in Rosalie's stomach fought with the ebullient thrill she had been experiencing since agreeing to Raymond's request for a date.

She didn't have time to stop and consider the consequences of her deceit, and truthfully she didn't want to.

Donning her coat and scarf, she waited none too patiently for the sound of Horace's retreating footsteps. Once she heard them dissipate, she scurried into the ensuite and pulled a white noise machine from the depths of a supply closet.

Setting it inside the bathtub, she ran the power cord to the closest outlet, set the timer, and turned on the machine. The sound of gentle rain filled the bath, and once Rosalie had closed the door behind herself, she thought the resemblance it made to a running shower was serviceable.

A sable muff was pilfered from the walk-in closet, along with the pale beige beret she had been wearing earlier that day. Once dressed, Rosalie peeked her head out of the door to see if anyone was in the corridor. Certain the coast was clear, she turned off the bedroom light, slipped out into the hall and up to the roof without a single soul knowing she'd gone.

"And here I thought you decided to stand me up." Red called when she reached the firescape, chuckling when he was flashed a choice finger in response.

Making quick work of the stairs, Rosalie reached the end where a ladder waited to bring her down to street level. She unlatched it and allowed the heavy metal to drop with a loud clang before descending rung by rung.

Unbeknownst to her, the ladder hadn't descended entirely, and once her slight weight had moved on its frame, it rocketed down another couple feet.

Red's hands instantly shot up to catch her around the middle, relaxing when the ladder stopped a few feet above the ground.

"I've got you." he whispered, urging her to let go of the rungs.

She did so, dropping into his arms with a muffled, "Oomph!"

Raymond took delight in her predicament and basked in the renewed closeness, purring playfully, "Well well, Mademoiselle. Funny meeting you here in a dark alley at night, no security in sight."

"Where we off to, Scoundrel?" She smirked, allowing him to set her on her feet before looping an arm through his and guiding them to the mouth of the alleyway. "The Vanguard's up the road a ways."

"Oh Chico actually doesn't start till ten," Red intimated with a grin, his smile widening when she leveled him a perfectly scandalized look. "That reservation I mentioned with Le Coucou, however-" he glanced at his watch, "-is in fifteen. More than enough time if we catch a cab."

Rosalie could only titter and shake her head for his antics. Honestly, she should have known. Raymond never did anything by halves.

As he led her out into the night, beaming that boyish, playful smile, a comfortable familiarity set in that she had sorely missed. Dinner together surely wouldn't be too untoward...

Besides, if he wished to woo her all over again, who was she to complain? There were certainly worse things he could do.

Come to think of it...

She quite enjoyed it last time, too.

---

Soho Safe House

"Will you take these upstairs?"

Teddy held out a couple of takeout containers to Otto.

"Rosalie's?"

"Yeah. Horace said she might be in the shower still. If she is, just leave them on the vanity."

Otto grinned and whispered, "Avoiding King, is she?"

Ted snorted as well. "Like the plague. We're to tell him she's on the phone with her team on the ground in Asia all night if he comes to call."

Both men shared a hearty laugh at this, the latter picking up the containers and taking them upstairs shortly thereafter.

With a brief knock to the bedroom door, Otto heard no answer. He poked his head inside and caught the sound of running water issuing from the ensuite.

Remembering Rosalie's request not to be bothered, he quickly set the takeout containers on the vanity along with a pair of chopsticks and a bottle of ramune, then headed for the door.

His fingertips had just closed about the handle when he heard a roll of what he swore was thunder issue from the ensuite.

"Rosalie?"

His call went unanswered.

Stepping further into the room, he called again.

"Mademoiselle?"

Still, no answer. Another rumble issued from the bath.

Otto knocked thrice on the door, waiting for any kind of response before cracking it ajar.

No steam issued from within. It was obvious the shower wasn't actually running.

He stepped inside, giving a brief look around.

No clothes were scattered in the walk-through closet. Nothing was amiss. The lone window was firmly latched.

Yet, if Otto didn't know better...he would say Rosalie had snuck out.

He turned to the tub. The curtain was drawn.

"Rosalie?"

When still no voice answered, he reached out a hand and tugged back the curtain.

There was nothing inside except a small noise machine on the floor of the tub, playing rain sounds.

Another crackle of thunder issued from the device.

Otto's brows rose. Rosalie was gone, as were the coat, hat, and scarf she had been wearing earlier. Off gallivanting with Reddington, no doubt.

He chuckled aloud; some things never changed.

Without a word, he picked up the machine, switched it off, and set it back in the tub.

Horace would want to know about this.

He would be furious, Otto knew. The man had been insufferably pleased by Rosalie's indifference to Reddington during their meeting today.

That indifference must have been a facade.

Otto found himself wondering what good it would do to drag Horace into it. Rosalie was going to continue doing what she wished, with or without the man's involvement. What could be gained by ratting her out?

Come to think of it, Otto was supposed to be Florian's man, not Horace's. What was it to him if Rosalie wanted to go sneaking off with an old flame? 'I'm her pilot now,' he reminded himself, 'Not a bodyguard. Her hijinks aren't my responsibility anymore. It's no longer my job to get in the way.'

Otto realized with a smirk, that he could let Rosalie have her fun and bear none of the consequences.

After several long moments mired in thought, he threw up his hands and chuckled aloud. He left the room untouched, closed the door behind him and made his way back downstairs.

Horace was still holding down the couch. "Did she eat?"

"She was occupied," Otto replied, not lying per se, "I left her order on the vanity as you said. We should leave her be for the night."

"Agreed," said Horace, taking a sip of his beer and settling back into his takeout.

Otto let out a slow, steady breath of relief, an action that did not go unnoticed by Teddy.

The two shared an awkward look.

The former shook his head minutely, mouthing 'Reddington', while the latter did his best to stifle a laugh.

Yep. Some things never changed.

---

7th Ave

Dinner at Le Coucou had been a delectable affair.

As promised, Raymond and Rosalie had enjoyed a succulent rendition of rabbit three ways, as well as an abundance of oysters and champagne beforehand.

To their mutual surprise, the return to romance was easy for them. Their drunken confessions in Céret seemed to have eased the hurt and disappointment they'd harbored until naut was left. There were no lapses in conversation, no awkward or uncomfortable tiptoeing around certain subjects. They laughed, they flirted, they over-indulged and under-estimated how much they had missed each other in their months apart...It was as though no time had passed between their last date and their current one.

The result of such revelry was two drunk, merry fugitives weaving their way up 7th avenue with much talk and laughter.

Strolling along hand-and-in-hand, they took their time reaching the red awning of the Village Vanguard. A queue had formed outside, stretching single-file around the jagged edge of the wedge-shaped building's pointed corner.

The other attendees were bundled up against the cold, making it easy for the pair to slip into the throng unnoticed.

They huddled close together for warmth, though it was hardly needed thanks to the abundance of alcohol coursing through their systems.

As one, the line shuffled forward a few steps every couple seconds until Raymond and Rosalie were next to enter the establishment.

A tall beanpole of a man guarded the fabled red doors, checking tickets and sending patrons down in small groups. He merely grunted when Red gave him a covert nod, and once the previous group had reached the bottom, he sent them down as well.

Raymond led the way down the steep flight of stairs descending below the building. The low roar of voices within was almost enough to bury the gruff voice which berated him upon his reaching the bottom.

Almost.

"You missed the eight o'clock!" barked the little woman helming the battered desk beside the entrance, her face puckered in a disapproving frown.

The woman was Lorraine Gordon, the establishment's guardian and proprietor, as well as a very dear friend.

Hand still outstretched to assist Rosalie down the last few steps, Raymond pouted at Lorraine's tone. "My dear, when have I ever made an early show? I bought tickets for both merely to ensure I could accommodate my plus-one."

Rosalie stepped through the entry, glancing curiously between her companion and the elderly woman squinting at him over her legal pad.

"Lucky for you I still have seats." Lorraine teased, smirking up at him. "Now, don't be a putz, Raymond. Introduce me to your little friend here."

Only mildly put out, Red turned to Rosalie and noted the amused smirk she too sported.

Well, two could certainly play at that game.

Her eyes widened comically when his expression turned instantly mischievous.

"Lorraine, this is Petty Officer Virginia Sherman, my date for the evening. Virginia darling, this is Lorraine Gordon, the owner of the Vanguard."

Rosalie's mouth fell open, then quickly closed with a snap.

"Petty Officer, huh?" Lorraine's tenor softened slightly, "I was a war wife myself once." She swung her legal pad recklessly in Red's direction, "One would think a woman such as yourself could snap this one into shape so he can arrive on time."

Rosalie gave a nervous laugh. "Something tells me, madam, that you know very well not even I could accomplish such a feat."

The older woman grinned when Raymond heaved a long, exaggerated sigh.

"Well, what're ya waiting for?" Lorraine barked at him, "Your usual table is open and you're blocking the door."

"It's lovely to see you too, my dear." Raymond stooped to place an impish peck to the woman's cheek, and she allowed herself a wry smile before waving him away.

His hand slipped to the small of Rosalie's back and ushered them toward the row of little white bistro tables nestled against the red banquettes lining the club's viridian outer walls.

Taking the reserved seat situated just outside the stage lights' reach, they removed their coats and ordered a round of drinks.

Rather than take the little rickety chair across from Rosalie, Red joined her on the cushioned banquette, sliding in close to her side, crossing one leg over the other, and draping an arm along the top of the booth.

"Lorraine is a dear." He murmured in her ear, nodding to the waiter when he dropped off their drinks. "She's been the guardian of this haunt for decades now. There's not a soul in the jazz scene that doesn't know, love, and revere her as the Vanguard's fervid protector."

Rosalie watched intently as the woman in question badgered another couple into their seats. "She seems like a character."

Red laughed. "Yeah, Lorraine's a real peach. As long as we behave ourselves and don't talk too loud during the set, she won't pay us much mind. I've watched her welcome some of the biggest names in jazz to this very stage, as well as bounce countless celebrities from this very banquette for being belligerent during a set."

Rosalie shrugged, "She's a New Yorker, and one with the added responsibility of ensuring the continuity of a global institution. She's gotta be brusque to handle this place."

They both sniggered and sipped their drinks, murmuring back and forth in each other's ears to be heard above the din of the other attendees.

The stream of people descending the narrow staircase soon tapered off into a trickle, and the house lights flashed low.

Red waved down the waiter to top off their drinks before the set could start.

"So," Rosalie whispered when the door closed and the last of the night's guests settled into their seats, "Chico Hamilton, hmm? I must admit my taste for jazz lingers with the big band style, but I recall there were quite a few Chico records in your apartment in Paris-"

"Our apartment."

Raymond swore he could feel the heat of her blush on his own skin. He chuckled low when she could neither meet his gaze or argue with him about just whose apartment it was overlooking the Place des Vosges.

He did not apologize for his boldness, nor would he. Rosalie knew better than anyone that once he'd set his mind to something, he was not to be outdone. That was their apartment now, and would be forevermore.

The room went dark, save for the spotlit stage and the small strip of light which cut the room in two somewhere off to their right.

Lorraine's brusque voice split the darkness.

"Well, what're ya waiting for, get up there!"

The room erupted into raucous applause as five musicians emerged from the small strip of light and made their way through the crowd.

Chico Hamilton brought up the rear of the group. A tall, broad shouldered man, he weaved his way to the front of the little stage without issue and looked up into the spotlight with a big, beautiful smile for the crowd.

There was no other word for it; Chico was cool. Dressed in bootcut jeans, a dark button-down with several buttons undone, and a gold chain glinting bright amongst a fine dusting of black curls, he commanded the stage without even trying.

No words were spoken to the crowd. He merely took his seat at the drum kit, rapped smartly on the edge of the snare, and the other musicians burst into the first track of the night.

They started with a favorite, Forest Flower, followed by Blue Sands, The Sage, and Mysterious Maiden. Raymond whispered in Rosalie's ear all the while, giving her a play-by-play of each soloist and pointing out each riff and turn.

A quiet thrill blossomed in his chest when she started leaning into his words, resting her head against his and shifting so she was fully nestled in his hold.

His hand moved to draw little circles on the back of hers, trailing teasing fingertips up and down the length of her arm as he spoke.

"I know you might prefer big band, but the smaller ensembles are where the true magic happens. Quintets, quartets, trios, they're far more intimate. The smaller size highlights exceptional individuals instead of burying them behind a wall of sound. Artists in smaller ensembles get better acquainted with each other's styles, they learn to rely on each other, to lead and follow in one another's creativity."

Chico began to ride the high hat, masterful in his movements, leading the others into the next stanza with ease.

"Rhythm's so important to jazz." Red continued, "To any music, really, but especially jazz. The others can't explore the boundaries of their playing without the solid foundation Chico provides. Like trying to build a skyscraper on a cloud; it's simply not possible."

"I see what you mean." She whispered back, "These smaller ensembles, they rely heavily on trust, don't they? The other musicians trust him to keep the ground steady beneath their feet; Chico trusts them to lean in and give it their all. When the lead is exceptional, they're all free to explore."

He watched her beam at the quintet as they swung into their last number, felt her little foot bounce in time with the music.

"Precisely, little dove."

---

The SoHo Safe House

Horace's guard was not tested until late in the evening.

It was nearing midnight when Earl King finally entered the main living area and made for the central staircase, not even noticing Horace's presence.

"Mademoiselle Øllegaard is in the midst of a major expansion." The guard barked at once, rising from the seat nearest the stairs and positioning himself as a barrier between them and Earl. "Your little meeting forced a number of important matters to be pushed back. Unfortunately, Rosalie will be on the phone with her property managers in Asia for the remainder of the night catching up. I'm sure you understand."

For a moment, it looked like Earl was going to argue. He drew himself up, puffed out his chest and cast a disgruntled glance toward the staircase, then...stopped. Still puffed up, he took a sharp breath in then drew a list from his chest pocket. "Certainly." He said through a flat smile, "If you could return these notes on her suggested properties, I would be much obliged."

Horace smirked and plucked the note from Earl's fingers. "But of course. I'll bring it to her attention first thing in the morning. Have a pleasant evening, Mr. King."

The bodyguard did not move a fraction of an inch until King had turned and made his way back down the lengthy hallway towards the guest suites.

When alone once more, Horace spared a thoughtful look for the second floor.

Rosalie wished to rest. The note could definitely wait until morning.

He set it on the countertop beside a few of Teddy's things, confident the younger man would find it when he returned from wherever it was he'd run off to.

---

The Village Vanguard

Chico and the quintet had just thanked their audience for coming out and kicked off the last number, a lovely rendition of Sweet Lorraine in honor of the lady of the house who had so graciously invited them back.

Red found his attention oscillating between his companion and the band. The quintet was in rare form, but the way Rosalie smiled at them, whispering excitedly to her companion whenever she heard a turn or beat she particularly enjoyed, made focusing very difficult.

Did she have any idea what it meant to him, to have her here?

Red didn't think so; how could she? Nobody knew the importance this place held. Not even Dembe knew that this underground sanctuary had been his only solace that fateful year...

He could feel eyes on him, and looked up to see Lorraine leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room, watching him and Rosalie intently. The faintest hint of a smile played at her lips.

Only Lorraine remembered how alone he had been. How he had dragged himself into the bowels of the building multiple times a week to hear hundreds of bands from the safety of the club's shadows, head covered to hide the grotesque array of stitching and bandages from the many surgeries it had taken to transform him into the man he was today.

Lorraine had noticed, of course, on his very first night in. Nothing escaped her keen eye.

After that first show, every time he came in with a fresh set of bandages and a gingerly walk, her eyes would soften with pity, and that mothering hen would come out in spades.

The bar would always have a couple bags of frozen peas in the ice chest if the pain got beyond what the meds could smother. Lorraine was notorious for swapping his drinks with water or soda, knowing that he wasn't supposed to be drinking with whatever pain relievers he was on. There were a few times where she'd forced a carton of some soft food or another on him from the deli across the street, be it gelatin or some kind of salad, demanding he eat or she'd throw him out. She never made good on that promise, and never got annoyed or let the bouncers shake him if he accidentally nodded off in the middle of a set.

Hell, he'd even spent the night in the club once or twice when his body hurt too much to get back up the steep set of stairs. On those nights, she'd left him to doze on the banquette, draped in a light blanket with a stack of hand towels to cushion his head. In the morning, she'd shooed him out with a two-pound bowl of oatmeal and a warning that she better not see him out of bed at that night's show.

Badgering was Lorraine's peculiar way of caring for people.

Red suddenly recalled the many times Rosalie had done something similar. Bullying him into the shower, pestering him to let her tend his wounds, to eat, to sleep. The two women were cut from the same cloth, and he was a grateful recipient of their unrelenting care.

It was like Lorraine had seen into his thoughts. She gave a tilt of her head toward Rosalie, as if to say, 'It's about time you brought someone here. I'm glad you're not alone anymore.'

He smiled softly back at her and nodded. Lorraine's attention returned to the band on her stage.

When Raymond had completely recovered and was ready to step into his role as the Raymond Reddington, he'd sent an obnoxiously large bouquet of flowers to dear Lorraine, along with a note to explain his future absences. He went from being in the club four, sometimes five days a week to once every couple months, if he could manage it. This time, it had been over a year.

His focus returned to his companion, delight still evident in her features, her foot still bouncing in time with the music.

Raymond had never brought another soul here. Truthfully, he had never wanted to.

Something about sharing this place made him feel like he was revealing an intimate corner of himself. A perilous portion of his life had been rode out in this basement, and there was no small measure of fond protectiveness he felt for the establishment and its owner. He had always wanted it to be his own secret hideaway. His.

That was, until a little French innkeeper had stolen his heart and ruined him entirely.

Now, all of a sudden, Red didn't want to keep the place a secret anymore. He wanted Rosalie to know the Vanguard and love it as much as he did. He wanted to introduce her to Lorraine and watch as she charmed her way into the elder woman's heart as well.

He wanted to show her all of his favorite places. The places that made him. Where he found happiness, where he buried his grief, where he was born, where the man he used to be had died-

An icy feeling dropped into Red's gut at that last thought.

He'd never wanted that before. The very thought of telling Rosalie everything made a weight settle on his chest that made it hard to breathe. He'd always insisted that she could never know the truth about who he was. Save for himself and Dembe, only five others knew the whole tale. Even Kate Kaplan didn't know everything. He couldn't possibly add another.

Yet...

The crowd erupted in applause, a number of patrons standing from their seats to celebrate the end of a most excellent performance.

Raymond felt momentarily abashed, having missed the last number entirely. He quickly stood and applauded with the rest.

Chico, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, bowed and smiled and thanked the crowd profusely, gesturing to each of the other ensemble members in turn.

---

"I don't care where you go Red, you just can't stay here. Now get this lovely young woman a cab, before I box your ears."

It was nearing two in the morning when Raymond and Rosalie were finally shooed out of the club, having been commandeered by Lorraine to stay for drinks after the end of the set.

Even the establishment's regulars were now long gone. Only the band members, Lorraine, and a few of her closest friends had remained to drink, laugh, and talk until the wee hours of the morning.

Lorraine and Rosalie (or Virginia, rather,) had been hitting it off swimmingly, as Red knew they would.

The women had sat and talked for well over an hour about beloved musicians like Thelonious Monk, whom Lorraine had tirelessly championed when he was an up and coming jazz pianist, and Barbara Streisand, who had protested the Vietnam war at Lorraine's side back in the sixties.

Rosalie had listened with fascination at each and every one of her stories, amazed at the intriguing life she had lived.

The trio had now said their goodbyes, with Raymond and Rosalie assuring they would visit the club more often as they made for the exit.

"Hey, Sailor."

They were halfway to the door when the voice called and Red froze, turning slowly around only to find Chico standing there, mopping his brow and flashing that dazzling smile.

"Thought I didn't recognize you in the crowd? How've you been?"

Rosalie looked between the two men, and for the first time in her memory, found Red to be utterly starstruck.

He scratched at the back of his head, "I uh...I've been alright. Haven't seen you since that crazy night in Panama City."

"Juanita." Chico grinned, knowingly. His eyes caught Rosalie's and crinkled with delight. "I see you aren't alone this time. That's good...That's good."

He stepped past Red, took Rosalie's hand in his and placed a whiskery kiss to its surface.

"Evening, my doll. What's a beauty like you doing with a rascal like him?"

Rosalie laughed, "You know, I keep asking myself the same question, but he still manages to get me on his arm. I think I like a little scoundrel now and then."

Chico howled with laughter, a jeweled hand coming up to scratch at his mustache. "Well it's a mighty fine thing, too. You be sure to keep my young friend here company, hmm? It might have been many moons ago, but I remember him being a pretty cool cat."

Raymond turned pink at this, and all three laughed as Chico made his way back toward the rest of the band.

Rosalie turned back to her companion, a devilish smirk on her face. "So...sailor. Am I your Juanita for the night?"

The two sniggered, waved farewell to Lorraine and the rest, and made for the exit once more.

Still laughing heartily, they barely managed to pour themselves up the Vanguard steps without incident.

The alcohol had snuck up on them while they were safely in their seats, but now that they were up and about, the two felt giddy and stupid.

The doorman snorted when they stumbled out onto the sidewalk, giggling and shushing each other loudly as though they'd better try and maintain what little dignity they had left. After a couple more boisterous farewells, they were making their way back down 7th avenue.

"God, I've had far too much to drink." Rosalie huffed, breath billowing in the cold January air. Her footsteps halted when she noticed Raymond was no longer with her.

He was rooted to the spot at the corner of the triangular-shaped block, eyes fixed on the little apartment building behind the Vanguard. The tiny storefront beside it had changed. The once powder blue awning was now the color of pale sunlight mixed with stripes of bright green. The bay window was dark, the outdoor furniture still stacked neatly inside the store's shadowed confines.

A soft gasp rose from his throat when a light burst into life within the garden level apartment next door. A memory swam into startling clarity inside his mind, bringing back a moment that felt as though it were from another world.

---

-Flashback-

Perry Street, West Village, New York, New York - 1991

A young woman stood outside a small Italian bakery off the corner of Perry and Waverly, tidying up the outdoor furniture so she could close for the night.

The sounds of the city drifted to her on the air. Car horns. Sirens. Rumbling trucks.

A soft groan of pain reached her ears, barely more than a whisper.

She turned to see a man shuffling laboriously up the concrete walk, keys in one hand, a paper subway ticket in the other.

He didn't walk like a normal person. The woman thought he walked as though he were actually trying to move as little as humanly possible.

She watched him for a few long minutes, when he reached the stoop of the old apartment building next door. It looked like it was agony for him to raise his hand and slide the key into the lock.

Unfortunately, the keys slipped against the metal surface and fell with a jangle onto the concrete step. He stared down at them in what could only be described as utmost dismay.

The woman set aside her cleaning supplies and hurried to help.

He'd hardly managed to stoop himself more than a couple inches before a whimper sound in his throat. The woman appeared at his side instantly, fished the keys from the ground for him and slid the correct one into the lock.

When she turned to smile kindly at the man, she gasped.

His face and neck were heavily bandaged. It looked like the pale gauze extended beneath his shirt. It was turning red in some places.

The one unbandaged eye narrowed, admonishing her for her shock, or perhaps, suspicious of her assistance?

The woman did not know.

Stepping out of his way, she wished him goodnight, and returned to the safety of the bakery. Inside the darkened doorway, however, she waited and listened.

He grunted and groaned while he turned the key in the lock and stepped over the threshold. She felt for him.

He must be in so much pain.

The woman thought and thought as the night grew more quiet...What could she do to help this man?

Putting away the remainder of the bistro tables, a thought occurred to her.

Whenever her Nonna or Nonno was unwell, her parents always brought them food to nourish them. A white bakery box lay unsuspectingly on the kitchen counter, waiting. She took it, thinking her parents would not be too upset with her.

Entering the refrigerator, she pulled out a half-dozen arancini in various flavors, thankfully still warm. A few of her Nonna's egg custards followed, as well as two healthy servings of her Mamma's fabled lasagna. The box was quickly loaded up, along with a handful of utensils, napkins, and a couple bottles of water from the beverage fridge.

The woman locked up the bakery with box in hand, and made it to the front of the threshold of the building next door before realizing she didn't know which unit the man lived in.

Glowering at the brick structure in frustration, she noticed a little light flickering inside the garden level apartment that hadn't been there before. Come to think of it, the place had been pitch black for the past week. She'd bet anything that it was him.

Thankfully, the apartment's windows were within reach when on the sidewalk. She hurried over to the far one and rapped smartly on the glass.

The light inside disappeared.

She knocked again.

"Hello?"

The man didn't answer.

"Hello? My name is Gina, I'm from the bakery next door."

Still, no answer.

"Hello? Please, I just want to give you something."

The bars on the window slid open with a rusty creak. The man she'd seen earlier stood half-shaded in moonlight.

His shirt was gone, but the bandages remained, covering him from the top of his head to the waistband of his jeans. Even his arms were wrapped down to the elbow.

Gina did her best not to look surprised. God, he must be in agony.

"I...I thought you might like some food." She set the box and the bottles of water on the window ledge, not wanting to frighten him by getting too close. He seemed to spook easily.

The man stared at the offering with his one good eye, as though calculating the likelihood that she might try and poison him.

After what felt like days, a bandaged hand reached out and pulled the box inside, setting it and the bottles of water atop the radiator. A low, garbled voice replied,

"Tha-ank You."

Without another word, the window swung closed, and the night was still and quiet once more, leaving Gina to wonder at what kind of monster could leave a man in such a state.

---

-Present-

"Raymond? Is everything alright?"

Red snapped out of the memory with a jolt. The garden level apartment was dark once more.

"Yes." He remained staring at the storefront, working to cobble a straight thought together.

"There used to be the most lovely little Italian bakery here," he said, managing to grab onto an explanation that didn't involve a boldfaced lie. "We still need to get you something sweet, I thought they might...might have something."

"It's two in the morning," Rosalie sighed, a little glum, "All the bakeries are closed..."

She tucked her hand in his and began to lead them along a quiet stretch of West 4th street.

Other drunk revelers from places like The Slaughtered Lamb and Down the Hatch were winding their way from bar to bar in a similar state, clinging to each other and cackling with inebriated glee.

"Oh, I've got the perfect place." said Red after he had come back to himself, "I'm a man of my word, little dove."

He led them down West 4th and took a right on MacDougal, where a sea of young college students were filtering in and out of various bars and restaurants.

The crowd made for easy cover as they slipped through the throng in search of sweets.

Without warning, Raymond swung them into a dark stairwell leading to another basement-level shop at the foot of one of the buildings.

Rosalie gasped when he pressed her up against the rough stone wall and traced his lips teasingly along the column of her neck.

A chorus of wolf-whistles met this action, which dissipated as soon as the rascally youths above found something else of interest to them.

"Are we still being watched?" He purred in her ear, easing his companion back to Earth.

"No..." she said, after taking a moment to gather herself. "What exactly is it that we're doing down here?"

"You said you were craving something sweet," Red teased, making her giggle, "And this late at night? Ice cream is the only way to go. Now, you be my eyes."

The eyes in question flitted briefly toward the heavens, but Rosalie shielded him all the same as he bent to inspect the padlock on the shop's door.

"Of all the things to risk your capture over…" she tutted, "Fleecing an ice cream shop? Honestly."

"Anything for you, little dove." He chuckled and fished the lock picking kit from his coat, "Ah...How predictable."

She couldn't help but peek curiously over his shoulder. "No dice?"

Raymond plucked a thin, hooked tool from the kit with a flourish. "This particular lock is steel jacketed, completely uncuttable, and protected by ten thousand possible combinations-"

He slid the metal hook between one of the numbered wheels, popped the bottom of it with his palm, and sent the open lock clattering to the ground.

"-Ten thousand combinations, of utter disappointment."

Rosalie laughed when he turned and swung the shop's door wide.

"So..." he said, "Rocky Road or Rainbow Sorbet?"

They hurried inside, closing the door behind them and checking the place for cameras. When none were found, they made their way over to the industrial freezers lining the wall behind the counter.

Red opened the first two, which held only five gallon tubs frosted with ice, far too much for them to carry.

The next two were more promising. The multitude of metal shelves bore row upon row of colorful little half-pint containers. Pulling out a few, he checked their labels.

"What kind of ice cream shop is this?" He grumbled at once, frowning at one batch after the other. "Bourbon Peach Bake? Burnt Marshmallow? Earl Grey?...What the hell kind of flavors are these?"

Rosalie's hand shot out and plucked the periwinkle and eggshell cartons from his palm. "Yeah, I'm gonna need all of those except the peach." She reached past him to take an egg yolk colored as well. "Ooh, honeycomb! What else is there?"

Raymond smirked to himself as she wriggled her way in front of him, effectively boxing him out of the ice box.

"I should stock the safe houses with these, the flavors are so interesting- Oh, here you go!" She handed him a pastel green one, followed by a bubblegum pink, then a cacophony of other colors.

"How much ice cream can you eat, woman?"

"They're not all for me," she insisted, "The green one is for you. 'Sicilian Pistachio', I think you'll like it. Plus a few more to try, just for fun. The pink one's for Dembe; he likes Marion berries and cheesecake, so that's right up his alley...Hmm, Teddy...Ah!" She fished out a violently yellow carton and shoved it into Red's hands. "Praline Butter Cake."

A pinched look soured her features as she eyed the carton. "I always hated praline. It was everywhere growing up...way too sweet."

A couple more half-pints were loaded into Raymond's already full arms before Rosalie finally shut the freezer door.

"Are you sure you're finished?" He teased, "There might be a flavor or two in the back we might have missed."

Rosalie leveled him a dour frown, opened the freezer once more, reached blindly inside and fished out another container. This one was coral-colored, and the top read, 'Hazelnut Fudge Cookie'. She set it atop the stack, crowning the hoard with a flourish.

Red chuckled when she crossed her arms, an arched brow daring him to say another word. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut and proceeded to help bag up their plunder.

She nabbed a few spoons and a stack of napkins while he fished a roll of 100's out from his jacket and thumbed a couple out onto the countertop.

"We should get out of here before-"

A bright light shone through the glass storefront, casting a wide white beam along the floor.

Rosalie gasped and threw herself at Red, pushing them both into the shadow of the shop's only storage closet.

He didn't miss a beat, spinning on the ball of his foot to catch her to his chest while pulling the Browning pistol from the small of his back in one fluid motion before they hit the closet's open cabinets.

The beam of light traveled along the shop's walls and floors, searching for anything out of place. Reaching the countertop, it stopped.

Light poured over the bag of ice creams, the only evidence that anything was amiss.

The two fugitives held their breath, waiting to see what would happen. Eyes met, the sudden renewal of such close quarters proving to be a distraction.

Raymond thought he might kiss her, when the shop door opened with a chime.

"Police! Anyone in here?"

Rosalie shifted in his hold, her arm extending to the rack of aprons beside them.

"No..." he whispered.

"Shhh..." said she.

In the space of a breath, she'd donned the apron and poised herself at the edge of the light's reach, a plan already formulated.

Sensing he was not alone, the cop called out once more.

"Police! Is anyone in here?"

Rosalie took that moment to leap out into the light, holding her empty hands aloft and affecting a frantic, high-pitched voice as she did so.

"Officer, officer, thank goodness you're here!"

Red had to bite his lips to hold back the loud snort of laughter her comic portrayal instigated.

"Take it easy, miss. Do you work here?"

"Oh yes officer, I live in one of the apartments above. I noticed a light was left on down here, so I went to check and there was a man in here, robbing the cash register!"

"Alright, everything's okay, is he still here?"

"No," Rosalie sighed dramatically, "He just took off down the back alley towards Washington Square-"

"Stay here," roared the officer, "Backup is on the way!"

Red could hear heavy footsteps taking off through the shop. He flattened himself to the wall as much as he could, not moving a muscle. The cop ran right past him, barreling through the door at the back of the shop and turning left into the alley.

"Wait." Rosalie hissed under her breath, seeing Raymond preparing to move in her periphery.

Another shadow and bright light appeared across from her. A different voice issued into the room.

"Don't worry, miss. We've got you covered. Everything's going to be okay."

"Oh thank you officer," said Rosalie, taking a step forward and renewing her fake hysterics, "Is...is it just the two of you? What if the burglar comes back?"

The footsteps moved further into the shop. "Help is on the way, don't you worry. They should be here in five-"

The voice halted and was followed by the loud clamor of something heavy crashing into one of the small metal tables.

"Son of a bitch, that hurt."

When Red spun out from the closet, it was to feel Rosalie's hand snatch at his scarf and pull him bodily toward the back door.

"C'mon," she hissed, cradling her other fist to her chest, "We've gotta get out of here before the rest of them show up."

Raymond reached into his pocket to pull out a few more hundred dollar bills and a pen. Taking one of the napkins, he scribbled a quick note of apology, then tucked it and the cash beside the register for the owners to find.

His hand leisurely closed around the bag of ice creams, tossing the last of the assortment inside before joining his companion in the back alley.

"How's your hand?"

"Fine, fine," she murmured distractedly, leading them in the opposite direction that the cop had taken. "We need to get south of Houston street without being seen. Once they see you on the cctv footage outside MacDougal street, they'll try to put the whole of the Village into lockdown. You won't make it back to the upper west side tonight, you'll have to stay at my place. "

"Making it to SoHo without being seen is going to be impossible;" said Red, lengthening his stride to keep up. "Triangle Social Club is across the alley; we could ask the Genoveses for help."

Rosalie laughed. "As much as I liked Vinny and the boys, something tells me you'd rather not be in their debt. Besides, I know how to get us back without being seen. Keep your hat on."

They hurried along the alleyway heading toward lower Manhattan to the tune of more police sirens. Upon reaching the first intersection, Rosalie threw an arm out, keeping Raymond from stepping out onto the street. She pointed at the lit corner of a building down the road.

"There's cctv at that ATM. It'll see us if we step onto the sidewalk. This way."

She led him to a metal side door within the alley, which led into a dark, grungy looking bar.

"Hi Alfred!"

A grizzled old man in an oversized vest stood behind the bar. He hardly paused in the polishing of his glasses to give them a careless wave. They didn't stay, merely cutting through the emptying bar to slip inconspicuously out the front door.

The dwindling crowd gave them cover while Rosalie led them to the mouth of another alleyway further down the street. This one stretched for blocks ahead, and Red could see cars passing on a busy street at the alley's end.

"This leads straight to Houston." She explained, "Once we cross there, the next alleyway will take us to the safe house."

"This is incredible." said Red, "We really aren't appearing on any cameras?"

Rosalie beamed as they passed the alley's halfway point. "Nope. Not a single one. It's one of the reasons I bought this particular brownstone; the alleyways surrounding it make for excellent escape routes."

They crossed Houston with ease, and both breathed a little easier at passing the southern boundary of the Village. They were now safely in SoHo, where the authorities could not issue a lockdown without reasonable evidence that they were there, which Rosalie had guaranteed they wouldn't have.

The safe house rose from the horizon at the same time that the sounds of a helicopter reached their ears.

The two made a run for the fire escape, scurrying up as quickly as their feet would carry and pulling the ladder up after them.

Only when they were safely atop the brownstone did they stop and laugh at their predicament.

"Of all the things to nearly get caught over," Red huffed, winded from the climb, "Breaking and entering an ice cream parlor. The things I do for you, woman."

Rosalie tittered and kissed his cheek in thanks. "The outdoor kitchen is shut down for the season, save for the coffee maker. Would you like some espresso to go with your something sweet?"

"Yes, please."

While she got the coffee brewing, Red wedged the extra ice creams they had pilfered for their guards in the shadow of one of the many snow piles littering the rooftop.

The helicopter grew louder in the distance. They turned to see its flashing lights and bright spotlight sweeping over the streets of the Village.

"Perhaps we should go inside..." Rosalie murmured, setting aside the steaming cups of espresso and putting the machine back in its cabinet.

Raymond shook his head. "The glare off that cantilevered door would draw their attention if we moved it now. Is there somewhere warm up here where we can wait it out?"

She pointed to the daybed she'd been occupying earlier that evening. "That daybed is heated, and the canvas top completely encapsulates it."

The helicopter started making long sweeping passes over the Village and its boundaries, getting closer and closer to their location.

"That'll do."

Red crossed to the daybed, pleased to note it was also nestled under a tall pergola which he knew to be covered in purple wisteria during the summer months. The added cover would help. Undoing the catch, he found the space empty save for a couple fur blankets and the copy of 'The Age of Innocence' he had gifted Rosalie after the ball in Céret.

"I was reading out here when you showed up," she explained, appearing at his side and settling the piping hot cups atop the electric fireplace built into the daybed's headboard.

Slipping off their boots and tucking them safely beneath the side table, they climbed onto the plush cushion and swung the canvas dome shut just in time for the helicopter to rush over the top of the building.

The blinding spotlight swept directly over them, bright enough to completely illuminate the covered space despite being diffused by the canvas overhead.

The pair froze beneath the light. The glow lasted for less than a second before veering off across the roof and out of sight. The thumping of the helicopter blades faded into the distance as well.

They waited until the night was nearly silent before finally letting out the breath they'd been holding, turning toward one another, and promptly dissolving into a fit of laughter.

"Well this is certainly one for the books," Rosalie sighed, reaching over Red's shoulder and switching on the small fireplace.

The long thin flame burst into life, and within seconds began to pump toasty warm air into the small space.

They removed their outerwear, setting them in a neat pile at the foot of the bed.

"Well this is cozy," Red chuckled, relaxing into the cushions and fingering one of Rosalie's curls.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you planned this." She said, stealing a sip of her espresso.

"Trapping you in a cozy little cocoon away from our security?" He shrugged, "Well, that is something I would do."

Rosalie eyed him suspiciously, then leaned into him.

Their noses bumped. They laughed.

Red tilted his head, beckoning her near.

Soft lips grazed his own, teasing with how close they could get without kissing him.

They trailed up his cheek to brush against his ear as Rosalie whispered, "Pardon my reach."

Another chuckle arose at this, and just as quickly as she had leaned in, his companion was nestled back on her side of the cushion with her espresso in one hand and a half-pint in the other.

Raymond did not give chase, though Rosalie was grinning tauntingly at him.

"Someone's impish today."

"A brush with the law will do that." She replied, moaning her approval as the first spoonful of her chosen flavor hit her tongue.

The trove of ice creams was nestled between them, and Red set about making his selection as well.

The green half-pint labeled 'Sicilian Pistachio' was easily spotted amongst the other containers. He plucked it out as well as a spoon and napkin before turning to eye Rosalie's selection.

"What'd you get?" He asked, popping the lid on his own and taking a spoonful.

"Honeycomb," she sighed with relish, spoon still poised at her lips, "It's divine."

Red grinned when Rosalie wriggled under one of the fur blankets with her prize and took another spoonful from the golden container. Trying his own treat, he groaned at the rich taste of pistachios on his tongue.

It was definitely worth a run-in with the law.

His amusement grew when, two bites in, Rosalie gave a sidelong glance at his green confection, lifted her spoon, and stole a swipe from the top.

"I beg your pardon."

"Mmm..."

She flopped against Raymond's shoulder and held out her cup for him to sample. He took a spoonful and brought it to his lips.

The combination of his and hers was fantastic.

"Oh," he took another spoonful of hers and then a swipe of his, "These are better together."

"Mhm." Rosalie tapped her spoon thoughtfully against her bottom lip. "It's almost like..."

She sat up quickly. Snatching the discarded bag, she upended the remaining half-pints onto the daybed, sifting through flavors like 'Burnt Marshmallow' and 'Durian Banana' until she found a dusty pink hued container and sent its lid flying.

A quick dip into its contents and a gasp of excitement later, she climbed into Red's lap.

"This one, this one!" Her spoon moved from his, to hers, to the pink one, setting each container on the ledge as she went. Finally, she held out the bite for him to try. "Tell me what it tastes like..."

Raymond obediently opened his mouth, taste buds immediately set alight by the mix of honey, pistachio, and rosewater.

Without warning, a memory unfurled around them that set his pulse racing.

---

-Flashback-

Black site #53 a.k.a 'Daphne' - Lefkada, Greece - February 12, 2000

It was pouring when Rosalie and Teddy finally returned from Siena.

Soaked through and laughing raucously, the two pushed each other several times as they tip-toed into the safe house's dark foyer at half-past three in the morning. The warm space felt stifling after being out in the cold wet ocean wind.

"Open a couple of the south-facing windows on your way to bed, will you? Get some cross-breeze going on the second floor." Rosalie kicked off her sandals and rifled through the bag in her hands to pull out a small trio of pastry boxes, holding them out to Ted. "-and share with Dembe and Kate if they're still up."

Teddy merely chuckled, took the boxes and disappeared down the hall with a whispered, "Cheers!"

Rosalie took the remaining pastry box, spun on the ball of her foot and made for the master bedroom. Finding the bed empty when she arrived, she turned right around and made for a hidden doorway out in the hall.

A set of narrow steps extended before her in the dark, leading up to the home's tallest and most secluded point.

Pastry box still in hand, she carefully ascended the black staircase until she emerged in the quiet bonus bedroom she'd shown Red days earlier.

The smell of rain permeated the space from the handful of open windows. Rosalie shivered at the feel of her cotton dress, still thoroughly damp, clinging to her figure. It was significantly cooler up here, and she was unsurprised to hear the soft breaths of her dozing lover drifting from the plush bed nestled across the room.

A crackle of lightning rippled across the sky, illuminating the massive window angled over the sleeping area and scattering flecks of light on the sleeping form of Raymond Reddington.

A soft smile curled at Rosalie's lips. Her feet carried her toward the still figure like he was a magnet.

He was laying on his stomach, comforter and flat sheet folded over neatly at the foot of the bed.

An eyebrow arched for his attire, black boxer briefs and not a stitch else.

It wasn't often that Raymond slept in such a state of undress. His subconscious mind, always on high-alert, would seldom ever allow him to sleep peacefully knowing he wasn't prepared for an attack at any moment. Knowing he was vulnerable, particularly as he was now, dead to the world and sprawled on his front.

Rosalie liked to think it was a testament to the safety he felt in her sphere. He felt safe with her, safe enough to set down his guard for a moment and sleep deeply.

He hadn't even heard her enter the room, which was telling in and of itself.

Crossing the room, she set the small white bakery box on the end of the raised bed's side panels, then turned her focus to Raymond once more.

One of his legs extended the length of the bed in a straight line. The other hitched upward, showcasing the solid musculature running up his legs, over the taut curve of his backside, and up the broad stretch of his scarred back.

She couldn't wake him.

Correction, she shouldn't wake him, but...it was more than Rosalie's life was worth not to crawl onto the bed and shower him with affection.

Indenting the foot of the mattress with her knee, her body moved of its own accord, slowly working its way up the prone figure of her lover, tracing gentle, barely-there kisses to the backs of his knees, his thighs, the slight dip of his hips, and the whole length of his spine.

Only a few happy little sighs escaped her companion as she wandered, finally coming to roost on his backside, her thighs straddling his hips comfortably.

Rosalie tilted her head, a few blonde curls falling in front of her eyes.

She should leave him be. He was sleeping so well...

Ignoring reason, her body bent forward, pressing her torso to the warm expanse of his back.

"Mmm..."

The low, rumbling noise vibrated from Red to Rosalie through every point of contact between them.

Her hands smoothed up the plain of his back in a tender caress. Migrating to his shoulders, she finally felt him stir, her nose crinkling with a mixture of guilt and pleasure.

When her palms smoothed over his clavicle once more, two hands, much larger than her own, lifted from the mattress and threaded their fingers through hers.

A small giggle left her when he gave a mighty tug, tucking their entwined hands beneath his chest so her palms rested over his heart. The action brought Rosalie flush with Red's back once more.

"Mmm..." he growled low again, a thumb brushing over the backs of her hands.

Rosalie dropped a renewed smattering of kisses along his spine before turning to rest her cheek between his shoulder blades and listen to the steady rhythm of his heart. Calm, slow breaths lifted her a few centimeters with every in & out.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she apologized, "You just looked so enticing, I couldn't resist."

A deep chuckle resonated in her ear. "Rest assured, I'm more than happy to be woken in such a-"

Red shifted slightly.

"Are you wet?" He laughed, reaching back to brush at the cold, damp cotton covering her.

A giggled erupted from Rosalie at this. "I beg your pardon? Must I dignify such a terribly gauche question with a response?"

Rising from the bed, she gave him just enough room to turn onto his back without leaving the cradle of her thighs.

Thunder boomed loudly outside.

"Oh, you are wet." Raymond purred, smirking when Rosalie shivered under his gaze. "You'll catch a cold, like this."

Warm hands smoothed up her thighs to her hips, guiding the damp fabric up and over her head. A low hum of approval tumbled from the man beneath her, greeting her naked form with approval.

"Not a stitch underneath; what a delectable surprise."

He tucked a hand behind his head, simply admiring the view for a moment.

Rosalie felt her skin burn hot under his attention, warming her without the need for touch.

A drowsy smile beamed up at her, the hand not supporting Red's head reaching up to cup her cheek. "How was the bachelorette party my dear?"

"It was certainly raucous," she laughed, turning to kiss his palm, "Jacopo's daughters are something to behold, particularly when plastered. I think the eldest two could drink a troop of mercenaries under the table. Though, I cannot deny, enabling them by getting equally drunk and picking the locks on the wine cellar wasn't exactly my finest hour..."

"You, an instigator?" he teased, thumbing her lip, "Never."

Rosalie tittered, kissed the digit and allowed him to pull her down, fingers curled at the nape of her neck to bring her mouth within reach of his.

"I didn't expect you home tonight," he murmured against her lips, placing one chaste kiss there.

She grinned and gave chase, giggling when he eluded her.

"I missed that little laugh." His tone turned playful once more, "Is this what had you hurrying back? Looking for a little nooky?"

Rosalie dissolved into peals of laughter. "Nooky? Really?" She burrowed into the crook of his neck, giggling heartily enough to set him laughing as well.

Red smiled indulgently and hugged her close. "Convince me you didn't hurry home just to get in my drawers, little dove, and I might just let you have your wicked way."

Still giggling, Rosalie sat up and reached for the pastry box beside the bed.

"I hurried home to bring you something; Despina outdid herself this time."

Raymond grinned and rose up on his elbows so he could peer inside the box. A round dozen pieces of perfectly shaped baklava in varying styles rested within.

Plucking a golden confection from the stack, she held it out for him to sample.

He took a bite, letting out a low groan when the flavors of honey, rose, and pistachio flooded his tongue.

"I knew they wouldn't keep until tomorrow," she said, earnestly, "and as much as I enjoyed myself...I missed you."

Red swallowed and took the pastry box from her, setting it aside so he could pull Rosalie close and kiss her more.

Their lips met, his tongue tracing their seem, pleading for entrance she readily gave. The kiss deepened, Red's hands wandering the length of her back with relish, warm calloused palms adding to that decadent feeling.

A sigh left Rosalie's throat, the taste of honey and rose so sweet and sinful on his tongue. A little mew soon followed when her lover dragged blunt fingernails down her back, setting off a torrent of goosebumps.

Her hips dipped suggestively, stuttering when she came into contact with the hard evidence of her efforts.

She giggled for her discovery. "Missed me too, hmm?" Her tone was teasing as she her fingers traced the outline of the rigid erection waiting for her beneath the dark fabric, making Red gasp and hiss.

"Let me show you how much," he crooned, masterfully lifting his hips into her movements.

The delicious pressure this created left Rosalie speechless. Her hands moved to trace lovingly over his pectorals, using the leverage to seat herself more securely atop the man's hips.

"These have got to go..." She leaned back, fingers curling into the waistband of his boxer briefs.

He lifted to assist and sighed his relief at finally being free of the fabric's confines.

Rosalie wasted no time in raking her sex along his heated flesh, thrilling at just how hot and hard he was already. A rush of wetness greeted the brush of his head against her clit, the action inviting an ache that made her thighs quiver around him.

Raymond chuckled knowingly, dropping a hand to circle that bundle of nerves while she continued to coat him with her slick, making him moan in that bottomless growl that set her nerves skittering.

"Are you going to let me watch you, little dove?"

She nodded, a playful smile commandeering her features as she shifted back and proceeded to worship him.

Gentle fingertips smoothed through the soft curls dusting his chest, followed closely by her lips, tracing every aching inch of him all the way up to his neck, where she nipped and laved her tongue over his most sensitive spots.

Red's hands clutched at the little frame above him, keeping his lover close as she ravaged each of his erogenous zones until he practically purred beneath her. A grin curled at his lips when her fingertips threaded through the short hairs at his nape and tugged, exposing more of him to her wandering.

The man's nerves were on fire, sending frissons of pleasure from everywhere his lover's mouth touched.

"Tease," he growled when she sucked the delicate flesh of his earlobe between her teeth. She tittered when he opened to her all the same, tilting his head back to grant her better access.

Rosalie squeaked when his hands dropped back to her hips, digging thick fingers into the giving curve of her backside as he brought her flush with his aching cock once more.

Angling her hips for better purchase, she moaned in his ear when he dragged her bodily along his length.

"Now who's the tease?" she mewed, shifting so on the next stroke, his thick head notched itself at her opening.

"Sweet fuck..." Red snarled, head falling back into the pillows.

He wanted more than anything to bury himself inside her in that moment, with nothing between them. They hadn't spoken about it since that night in Paris, but Raymond was quickly reaching his breaking point on the matter.

Rosalie seemed to know this. Rising onto her knees, she circled her hips, grinding his sensitive tip at her entrance and damn near making him howl with desperation.

"I know what you're thinking," she cooed devilishly, biting her bottom lip and swiveling her pelvis again. "I've been thinking about it too..."

Raymond groaned when she lowed herself just enough for his crown to teeter on the edge of entry. Just another millimeter, and he would breach that tight hold the way he so desperately wanted...

A plaintive whimper rose from his chest when she released him from that wonderful torment, the cool night air ghosting over his member to make it give an equally desperate throb.

Settling a hand back behind his head, Red watched with a hungry look as his lover worked her way down his frame. When her tongue flicked at the head of his cock, a heartfelt moan ripped through him without warning.

The sound brought another smile to those lovely lips, which proceeded to wrap about his tip and suck rhythmically. Stars popped behind Red's eyes, lost to the pleasure of her touch, incapable of coherent thought beyond the bone-deep need for more.

It was always like this when they had to be apart. When he or Rosalie had to be gone for days at a time, that first night home was always a decadent affair. Often it was the missing party who could be found pinning their lover to the bed, spending hours re-mapping their favorite places, drawing out both their pleasure as penance for their absence.

Tonight it was Raymond's turn to be driven wild by his lover's attentions, and Rosalie certainly wasn't about to disappoint.

A hand flew up to cover his mouth when her tongue kneaded the sweet spot at his frenulum, demanding his undivided attention. Red bit down on the fleshy part of his palm when his head slipped past the tight seal of his lover's lips and deep into her throat in one slow, fluid motion.

The makeshift gag stifled the loud, ragged groan that met such initiative, keeping him from waking the rest of the house.

Rosalie giggled, sending vibrations pulsing along his shaft to further loosen his fragile hold on reality.

"Deeper." he purred, lifting his hips into her descent. "Just-" his voice caught in the back of his throat, "Just like that..."

Red's lungs heaved with sharp gasps as she settled into the rhythm of teasing his head and taking him down to the base. One of his legs soon started to twitch, the tremor emboldening the efforts of the woman between his thighs. His toes curled, the suction just perfect.

"Little dove..."

He was loathe to stop what she was doing, but it had been days since they'd made love. He missed her. Raymond craved that connection more than he longed for the release her talented mouth promised.

Releasing him with a soft 'pop', Rosalie seemed to know his wants before he could voice them.

Calloused hands reached out to bring her back within reach, settling her hips above his own and guiding her mouth back to his in a searing kiss.

"I want you," she sighed dreamily when they broke, "Inside. Please."

Raymond nodded, feverish already to give into that plea. He nibbled his way along her neck, chuckling when a disgruntled little growl met the sound of his other hand rifling through the nightstand drawer.

"We have an early flight tomorrow," he chided, "One we can't miss. At least, one I can't miss. Gavin will be waiting in Palmira; I promised to take care of everything."

Rosalie grumbled at the reminder.

"What does that have to do with whether or not we use a condom tonight?"

Red fell back into the pillows, grinning up at her. "Little dove I won't tolerate a time limit getting in the way of something so important."

Her pout deepened when he managed to fish one of the square foils from the drawer. "How long do you plan on taking with that particular venture, Mr. Reddington?"

A brow arched in her direction. "After Colombia," he promised, thumbing her bottom lip from between her teeth, "I plan on taking as long as I damn well please. Days. A week. Two, if we can manage it. How do you feel another black site protocol, my dear?"

Rosalie laughed throatily, "Raymond Reddington, you do realize you can't just cause a security breach every time you want to get me alone...right?"

"Why ever not?" said Red, feigning utmost surprise, "I've gotten away with it so far."

She shook her head and laughed again.

"Alright," she said, taking the condom from him and tearing the package open. "Humor me. Where will you take me?"

Raymond gave a guttural moan when she unraveled the sheath over his cock and immediately guided him where she wanted. Slick heat enveloped him, robbing him of speech for several long moments as his lover worked her way down his shaft.

"A deserted island, perhaps."

The tight hold quivered around him, striving to accommodate his girth. A whine rushed forth when Rosalie fully impaled herself on his length, feeling his head brush her cervix with how deeply he was settled inside her.

"Somewhere secluded," he promised, staring at the place where they were joined, gravel thick in his voice. "Somewhere only you and I will ever touch."

Thunder cracked loudly overhead. The rain picked up against the windows.

They both moaned when Rosalie lifted her hips, rising until Red was very nearly parted from her, then sank slowly back down to the hilt.

"God, I've missed this." She sighed, doing it again and watching enraptured as Red's eyes fluttered closed. "So, you want to abscond with me to some deserted isle?"

"I want to keep those precious few firsts to ourselves;" he corrected, "I want to take our time exploring such intimacy. I don't want to do so in any place that can be found, where anything could interfere, or anyone could interrupt. I want you, me, and not a damn thing else. If I have to steal you away to ensure ample time and privacy are ours, so be it."

"Oh?" A shiver traversed Rosalie's frame when his fingertips dragged feather-light up and down her sides, stopping at intervals to caress her breasts. She beamed down at him with a look that spoke volumes, then leaned forward to cradle Red's face in her hands, kissing him fiercely.

They found their rhythm here, the closeness precisely what they'd needed to lose themselves in one another all over again.

Red's arms circled Rosalie's waist, surrounding her with his strong, comforting hold as they chased that high.

Her body moved languidly above him, undulating her hips with practiced ease to steadily ride his cock.

Eager for more of her, Raymond fisted the honeyed curls at her nape and pulled them to the side, baring the long line of her neck. His mouth mapped every sensitive inch, inciting a fresh wave of goosebumps that had her clenching around him.

"Ray," she whimpered, "Please..."

His lips found hers, devouring them again. White-knuckled hands clutched his lover's hips, helping her keep that steady rhythm as her body began to buckle of its own accord.

They were nearing the precipice with every push and pull, suspending time for a few brief, blissful seconds.

"One day," he crooned, thumbing her nipple and thrusting sharply upward, "We won't have to wait for privacy or time. One day, it'll just be you and I, all of this behind us, safe and away from it all."

Rosalie gasped and whimpered.

Raymond had never made a promise so bold. Her dark eyes widened wonderously, mind crashing back into her body, still dangled precariously on the edge of euphoria.

Her lover didn't look away. He continued to meet every roll of her hips, driving himself deeper and more insistently into her aching core.

He could feel the tight tunnel start to ripple around him, gripping feebly at the turgid length hitting all the right spots inside her.

"I will love you without a soul to interrupt," Red continued his promise, voice shuddering as he clung to the last dregs of his control. "I will love you day and night. I will love you somewhere calm and beautiful, somewhere worthy of you, and I will walk away from it all, one day. You'll let me do that, won't you, little dove?"

Rosalie was lost in a haze, hands clutching to Raymond's chest, fingernails digging into the flesh and curls there, leaving little half-mooned indents of lust. "Ray-"

"Won't you?" He repeated, grabbing her ass and pushing her down into his upstroke. One of her feet shook violently against his thigh, she was so damn close. "Show me." Red growled, shifting her suddenly upright.

Hands scrambled for purchase on the glass window overhead, using the leverage to keep herself impaled on the man's cock.

"Yes!" Rosalie cried out, slamming her hips back into his, the first shocks of orgasm ripping through her without mercy.

Raymond kept the tempo, extending her pleasure into long, drawn out mewls of gratification. They'd undoubtedly woken at least half the other occupants in the house, but he couldn't bring himself to care. One hand reached to cradle her left breast, pinching and tweaking the tightened bud of her nipple with enjoyment for the aftershocks it encouraged. His lover continued to ride him all the while.

"Ray- Raymond..."

That sweet little sigh set him ablaze. Red renewed his efforts, thrusting up into his lover at a breakneck speed. As he teetered on the edge, a thumb snuck between them to tease Rosalie's clit, dragging her with him to another crescendo.

His other hand curled gently around her throat, relishing the feel of every ragged moan that vibrated against his palm. His fingers traced along the edge of her jaw to her nape, clutching her curls once more and bringing her mouth back to his.

A deep, guttural howl of pleasure caught in his throat, muffled by the dainty little tongue teasing him.

Raymond couldn't help but give himself over to the sensations wracking his body. His cock throbbed endlessly, emptying inside the condom, still shuddering with every rise and fall of Rosalie's hips as she pumped him with her scorching heat.

Another smaller orgasm coursed through her, clutching at his member and milking the last drops of his release into oblivion. He reveled in the shivers coursing through his companion, and the soft little mews she sighed in the crook of his neck. It was heaven to find this bliss again.

The night fell quiet, save for the thunderstorm crackling harder than ever overhead.

Raymond turned his head, still breathing heavy, and rested it against Rosalie's. Their breaths mingled while their bodies keyed down, identical smiles bright on their lips. His hand soon reached for the pastry box, swiping a droplet of the sweet syrup at the bottom with his thumb.

Turning to his companion, he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, coating the pink, swollen flesh with that glistening droplet. His own lips followed suit, claiming hers and kissing away the sticky sweetness before chasing any remaining traces with his tongue.

Rosalie moaned, opening up to him once more, thinking there would never be another taste half so sinful as honey and rose.

---

-Present-

SoHo Safe House - New York, NY 2001

Teddy returned from sweeping the block at half-past two.

"There's been a serious uptick in police presence over the past hour." He noted, seeing Otto and Horace still up. "Do you think we should mention it to Rosalie?"

Horace stood to do so, but Otto shook his head.

"Let her sleep. King's guard has ears on the police radios, he said whatever they're looking for, the search moved toward Battery Park. They're far south of us now."

---

The air in the covered daybed was stifling.

Red fought to key down his arousal and his racing pulse, neither of which were being helped by the way Rosalie was looking at him.

Deep grey eyes, glassy with the same lurid memory, raked his frame with obvious relish.

"Rosalie..." he growled, mouth watering yet his throat somehow riddled with gravel, "I'm a mere mortal man, here."

Rosalie grinned that mischievous grin that told him she knew precisely what she was doing to him.

"How you can sit here-" she cooed, smoothing warm hands over the burly arms that held her, "-arms full of me, eyes giving away every salacious thought in that clever mind of yours, and tell me to behave? Why, that's beyond the pale."

A chuckle rose in Raymond's chest, helping to dissipate the heady air around them. "Little dove, I would love nothing more than to initiate a repeat performance of that night in Greece..." He fingered one of her curls and thumbed her chin, "But when you and I cross that line once more, it will be with the full understanding that we are never to part again."

She sat up a little at this. "Oh?"

Raymond smiled softly. "My dear, how you can sit here, ensconced in my arms, still as breathtaking as I remember, and think I might make love with you then watch you leave? That is truly what's beyond the pale."

The lust-filled bubble they'd been suspended in popped unceremoniously. Rosalie beamed for his honesty, sighed and slid from his lap, snatching back her ice cream along the way before settling comfortably to his side.

"Alright scoundrel, why don't we pick up where we left off instead?"

Red wasted no time in pulling the battered book from the edge of the bed and flipping it open once more. He cleared his throat, and settled into the story where they'd left off the night before.

"'I swear, I only want to hear about you, to know what you've been doing. It's a hundred years since we've met- it may be another hundred before we meet again...' "

---

They had made their way through a pint and a half of ice cream, sharing bites between passages of the book until they were full to bursting and settled deeper into the daybed's comforting hold.

When it had been a while since Rosalie spoke or moved, Red spared a glance for the figure nestled beside him.

She was sound asleep, her head resting serenely in the crook of his shoulder. The sight made his heart swell painfully.

Ever so carefully, Red dropped his arm to circle her middle.

A victorious smile tugged at his lips when she let out a contented sigh and snuggled tight to his side, not stirring once.

"If you're going to snooze," he whispered, careful not to wake her, "I'm going to go start back at my favorite part..."

Raymond rifled through the pages with lazy enjoyment until he found the heavily notated passage he was looking for.

With a pause and a gentle kiss to the crown of Rosalie's head, he began:

" 'The longing was with him day and night, an incessant undefinable craving...He simply felt that if he could carry away the vision of the spot of earth she walked on, and the way the sky and sea enclosed it, the rest of the world might seem less empty…' "