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.

45. The Jailbreaker, Pt1

A/N: Well, well, well, look who decided to show up :)

In all seriousness, thank you for your patience. I've been waiting since the prologue to reach this point of the story, and I couldn't let it go out into the world until it was just right. I'm posting in two parts to make it more manageable. Part 2 will be up on Sunday, 9/11.

Pour your favorite beverage and settle in, hope you enjoy!

Suggested Listening: 'Us' by James Bay

Prose Mentioned: 'The Age of Innocence' by Edith Wharton

'Persuasion' by Jane Austen

'Your Hands' by Pablo Neruda

Safe house inspiration:

Rosalie's Jet: 2022/05/01/transport-j-bombardier-challenger-pr739/

Black Site #88 "The Abbey": 2021/01/30/black-site-88-the-abbey-london-uk/

Black Site #68 "The Portal: 2022/09/08/black-site-68-%eb%ac%b8-the-portal-seoul-south-korea/

---

The SoHo Safe House - New York, NY - January 14th, 2001

Raymond stirred to the sound of sleeting rain pelting the canvas dome sound was so soothing, he nearly fell right back into sleep's warm, peaceful embrace.

Gentle fingertips carded softly through his hair, and the scent of a luxurious perfume bloomed with it, coaxing his eyes open with the promise of a beautiful woman.

He looked up to find Rosalie watching over him with that warm, tender smile, one hand still threading through his hair, the other indenting the bed on his opposite side. She was freshly showered, coiffed, and dressed.

"Good morning, scoundrel."

Red smirked and stretched away the sleep from his limbs. "Good morning."

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, tracing the apple of his cheek with her thumb.

He leaned into the touch with a hum. "I did, didn't even hear you get up."

She smiled. "I tried not to wake you. It was important I let Horace and the others see me up and about, least they discover my late night wanderings with a certain fugitive."

They both sniggered at this.

"Don't tell me you're off again, already?" He sighed, tracing the tip of his nose along her wrist. The warm bouquet of her perfume was particularly concentrated there, mixing beautifully with the scent of her delicate skin.

"I am." Her brow puckered in a frown, "I've got an early meeting with Monarch Douglas, then a long flight to parts unknown."

Red chuckled, "Off to count your coin?"

"Just an overview;" said Rosalie, "I needed some kind of excuse to come to New York."

He grinned and placed a kiss to the center of her palm. "I'm glad you did."

"Me too."

She leaned into his touch when he reached to cup her face, holding his warmth to her cheek.

"When can I see you again?"

"I'm not sure. Taking on Earl's project means this year is going to be another mad dash...We'll have to meet on the fly, if we can."

They sobered a little at this, meeting each other with similar looks of disappointment.

"We'll make it work." Red soothed, "We'll meet in the middle when we can. Your work with Earl will at least provide a little cover for us running into each other now and then. We can plan dates around that."

His frown deepened when her shoulders drooped further.

"I've gotta go," Rosalie said, after several long moments.

She bent to kiss his cheeks and forehead.

Raymond shifted slightly, his lips catching hers in one small, chaste kiss.

Rosalie gasped when she felt something cold slip over her hand at the same time.

He watched her expression intently as they broke and she looked down at the cold metal band circling the middle finger of her right hand, its deep blue-green gem winking up at her.

"Oh..."

The word was uttered almost reverently. As Red had hoped, a smile of deepest fondness wiped the worry from Rosalie's features as her eyes took in the sight of the familiar grandidierite ring, now back in its rightful place. He took that hand and placed it over his heart.

"Our momentary separation does not change the fact that you are formidable, my dear." His fingers tip-tapped along the back of her hand, "Your handling of Earl King was exquisite. You deserve to keep this memento of your success."

She simply sat there, admiring the glinting jewel.

Red thought about telling her what he'd learned from King about the fitting name the underground had given her; it was a major accomplishment to be given a moniker. This particular status symbol crowned her as the latest and most illustrious in an elite group of criminal innkeepers. He knew he ought to tell her, but an indulgent part of him wanted to wait, to make it an event, something special for her to remember forever.

His many names not withstanding, a fugitive was typically only named once, and the underground was seldom ever this kind or creative.

Raymond's mind swam with grotesque monikers like 'the Puppeteer', 'the Bastinade', and 'the Stewmaker'. So ineloquent, so coarse. But, 'the Citadel'...truly lovely, and deserving of the joy it would undoubtedly bring when she heard it. It should be a special moment.

They could sneak off to one of the private properties he'd heard so much about, or perhaps a long weekend on Lake Como...He would plan something memorable, he decided; invite their friends and the Armels, make a party of it. She would enjoy having her favorite people all under one roof for a night of revelry. This summer, perhaps, when the weather was better-

"Thank you."

Rosalie's voice, suddenly timid, interrupted his thoughts. She looked up from the dark jewel, a minute frown puckering her brow once more.

"I feel a little nervous accepting it, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't missed this ring dearly."

"It's yours," he replied, "No strings attached, no expectations. It was only ever a gift to celebrate your success."

A small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, and she leaned forward to kiss him soundly on the lips.

Red hummed his approval, deepening the contact without hesitation.

She pulled away before they could lose themselves entirely. "I've gotta go."

He groaned and gave chase, placing another peck to her cheek and earlobe.

"I told Horace I left my book up here, and if he comes looking we'll both have hell to pay."

A hand shifted through the blankets, fishing out the little red hardcover with a flourish.

"What's it worth to you?" He crooned, chuckling in her ear when she managed to snatch it from his grasp.

"There's coffee in the percolator," Rosalie replied, "Call me tonight? I believe we're on chapter 24."

Soft lips brushed his cheek once more before she stood, forcing some distance between them.

Raymond relaxed back into the daybed, slipping a hand behind his head and admiring the view as she smoothed the scant wrinkles they'd made to her dress. "When do you land? I'll call you then."

"Nice try."

Rosalie smirked when he pouted up at her.

"After being chased out of Hong Kong earlier this week? Those puppy dog eyes won't sway me, scoundrel. I'm not letting my location slip again."

The pout disappeared and was replaced with a grin.

"That's my girl."

Taking the book in hand, she gave his knee one last squeeze. "I let Dembe know you're here. He'll be waiting for you downstairs."

"Fly safe." Red said.

She nodded. "You too."

The quiet after her departure was not as uncomfortable as he'd feared.

Raymond enjoyed a piping cup of coffee on the roof while he waited, slowly waking to the day. He'd forgotten just how deeply he slept when it was Rosalie at his side.

When his cup was empty, he set it aside and reached into the nearby snow pile, pulling the only remaining half pint from its frozen confines. He made his way down the fire escape and wandered out onto the street where Dembe was waiting patiently beside the sedan.

Red lobbed the magenta container wordlessly into the air, and the younger man caught it with ease, a bright smile on his lips.

"You slept well."

Dembe had waited until they were both poised on the safe house's stoop before speaking, and gave a little snort of amusement when Red turned with his eyes narrowed.

"I don't recall it being a crime to spend the night with a beautiful woman." He replied, his tone wreaking of delicate indignation as he knocked on the door's face.

Earl's guard opened the door seconds later and ushered them inside.

Two maids and a valet were already bustling around the apartment. The former bore fresh linens and cleaning supplies from room to room, while the latter moved about the home's kitchen, meticulously brewing coffee in a pour-over carafe and setting out a variety of pastries fresh from the oven.

"Good morning, Leander!" Red quipped, greeting the familiar valet.

Leander beamed brightly over the top of the carafe. "Hello, Mr. Reddington. It is a uh...pleasure to have you with us once again."

It looked an awful lot like Leander was trying not to laugh. Raymond's face puckered when the two maids also passed by, giggling softly to themselves.

"Am I missing something-?"

Earl came striding out from the hall leading to the guest rooms and halted in his tracks. He took one look at Red and let out a loud guffaw.

Dembe seemed to be the only one not laughing, though not for trying. He bore an ear-to-ear grin and was looking studiously up at the ceiling.

"Alright," said Red, "What in Sam Hill is going on here?"

Leander, who was also looking anywhere but at Reddington, merely pointed to a large ornate mirror hanging on the wall in the sitting area.

Raymond walked over and peered into his reflection, finding what he was looking for in an instant.

A mark sat high on his cheekbone. Two, slightly more faded, stained his forehead and opposite cheek. The last was a lingering trace on his mouth. All in a familiar deep red hue.

All perfect little outlines of Rosalie's lips.

Try though he did to smother it, Red felt a stifling warmth spread from his neck to his ears, turning him pink.

The others were still laughing, and he soon found himself chuckling as well.

Caught between chagrin and a distinct note of masculine pride, he wiped futilely at the marks.

Seeing how clear each print was, he knew there was no chance Rosalie hadn't left them on purpose. She'd wanted to mark him, and for him to find that evidence later.

She'd also suggested he bully Earl a little before he left...

King was still howling with laughter, moisture beading at the corners of his beetle black eyes.

Raymond couldn't deny he'd been annoyed and suspicious when Earl had taken one of the emergency transports to meet with Rosalie at her own safe house. Even more so when finding out the man had decided to stay the night trusted Rosalie without question, but Red knew all too well what kind of man Earl King was.

Gluttonous. Reckless. Self-Important.

From their business relationship alone, Red could tell that Earl was not accustomed to hearing the word 'no'. Though he didn't believe the man capable of a true lapse in honor just yet, a protective corner of him was not remotely willing to test that conviction. It had been one of a round dozen reasons why Raymond had been so keen for Rosalie to join him last night.

One of the maids appeared at his elbow with a steamed washcloth and a placating smile, obviously taking pity on him.

Unless...

Is this what Rosalie had wanted? For him to be seen by Earl before he could remove the evidence of their evening? To subtly let slip that they were involved, so any notions of her being attainable were quashed before they could take root in Earl's mind?

Red couldn't think of another explanation. She'd left lipstick prints on him before, but they were always for him alone to find, somewhere hidden. These were blatant.

He was growing more confident by the second that she had wanted Earl to see, and she'd wanted Red to confirm it. Men like Earl didn't often take women at their word, but he wouldn't dream of even testing her boundaries if he knew she was intimately involved with Raymond Reddington.

Rosalie was already making her moves in the background. This was nothing more than her drawing the lines and setting the expectations for her future work with Earl King.

Clever girl.

Raymond took the towel, thanked the young maid, and set about removing the evidence of their evening wanderings, a satisfied smirk on his face.

They were going to pull Earl's strings to suit their needs, and the poor old boy would be none the wiser.

King was still howling with laughter. "Out painting the town red, I see? Re-acquainting yourself with the local flair? You should've told me, I would've joined. Your innkeeper turned out to be a real stick in the mud; spent the whole night working, didn't even see her once."

Red's smirk deepened.

The action was not missed by his target.

"Wait..."

Tossing the used washcloth into a nearby laundry basket, Red turned to take Leander's offer of a fresh cup of coffee and leveled Earl a smug smile.

"She wasn't working." Earl realized at last, "Øllegaard wasn't even here, was she?"

Raymond chuckled and sauntered over to the couch, lowering himself into its comfortable hold. "Forgive me for not extending an invitation. I'm not the kind of man to need a wing man, and I certainly don't share."

Earl's brows flitted toward his receding hairline. "So, you're involved with this woman?"

"We enjoy each other's company, and prefer not to label."

"Yet you prefer to keep her all to yourself?" another bark of laughter resounded from Earl before he turned his attention toward the coffee and pastries, "You old dog!"

With the man's back turned, the tension in Red's shoulders dissipated at last. They'd completely bypassed the challenge stage of this delicate discussion, and moved straight into the good-old-boy back-slapping portion. He fought not to roll his eyes. Glancing across the room, he saw Dembe do it for him.

The two shared a knowing look. At the very least, they could be confident any curiosity Earl may have had for Rosalie had been the very definition of fleeting. Now that the other man had been subtly warned that Red would be the one he'd be answering to on any untoward advances, they could rest comfortably in the knowledge it was safe for her to work with him.

A small, pleased smile tugged at the corner of Raymond's lips. He was suddenly impatient for the day to end so he could call and hear that mischievous little giggle of hers.

---

The Cromwell - Under the Thames, London, UK - January 14th, 2001

"Another week at Sheep's Rock could loosen your tongue, I suppose..."

They were three hours into the interrogation, and Agent Knightley was fighting to keep her eyes open. Leaning back in her chair, she allowed her feet to rest on the ledge of her desk, the toes of her trainers framing the edges of the projector screen which held the visage of a pale and disgruntled man roughly twice her age.

Ciaran Doorley, the Irish innkeeper who had been harboring the Jailbreaker, was returned to MI6 custody mere hours ago, and had not known a moment's peace since.

While they were working toward the Jailbreaker's capture, Reddington provided two new persons of interest to ask after. Basír Ocee Maharaj and his companion, an as-of-yet unnamed UK national believed to be of German origin. The DC6 were confident these new targets were the key to uncovering the Brothers Sionnach, and wasted no time in having Doorley brought back for questioning regarding this matter.

Doorley looked as though he'd rather chew off his own arm than answer any of Skip or Sika's questions.

The pair badgered him endlessly, fluctuating between bad cop and worse cop until he became too agitated and flustered to keep his story completely straight. He was starting to contradict himself, to let things slip that he didn't wish to tell. They were close.

It was Sika's turn to play hard ball. She sipped her tea leisurely, the calmness in her demeanor at complete odds with the relentlessness with which she interrogated the man. "We know you were involved in harboring the Jailbreaker. We nearly cornered him outside your safe house on the Isle of Man. You were captured less than a meter from the establishment's front door-."

Doorley laughed. " 'S not my safe house. I don't have any contact with the clients unless there's an issue at the site or they're in need of access to restricted supplies. You're barking up the wrong tree, m'dear."

Skip latched onto the qualifier immediately.

"So you aren't the brains behind this operation." he said, "Then who's in charge of the clientele?"

A cold and immediate silence met this. Doorley's watery grey eyes widened for a moment before they snapped to the stone wall behind Skip and Sika.

"Who is your employer?" repeated the latter.

Ciaran refused to meet their gaze or say another word.

"Who do you work for?"

"We could protect you, if you gave us their name-"

"You could get a reduced sentence-"

"See your family again-"

None of these suggestions garnered a response from Doorley. They continued badgering him for another quarter hour to no avail.

It was too late. The tension had been knocked right out of the room. All of the headwind they'd gained seemed to disappear like a ghost.

Doorley was a stone wall once more.

The two agents exited the interrogation room, heading for the dome where Knightley, Ezra, and Director Bazalgette were observing the proceedings.

"Get Reddington on the line. We can't figure out what's wrong with this guy-"

"No need, Agent Boateng, I'm already here." The familiar voice echoed in the darkened dome, drawing the combined gaze of the DC6 to the mouth of the entry.

Raymond Reddington sauntered the lengthy hallway with hat in hand, Dembe following closely at his shoulder. His suit was neatly pressed, and he beamed buoyantly at the group when he reached their circle.

"I admit I was surprised to hear the five of you hadn't suffered another vehicular incident this morning." he said, grinning broadly at the lot of them. "What are we at, four totaled transports and we're only two weeks in? That's gotta be a department record."

Not one of the agents laughed.

"He mentioned he doesn't interact with the clientele." said Skip, bypassing the awkwardness, "Do innkeepers typically have proxies?"

"No," Red's eyes traveled over the stack of takeaway boxes on Emma's desk, and she blushed when she caught the powerful scent of chili peppers that still radiated from them. "They do, however, have property managers. If they're a global shop, the innkeeper can't be everywhere at once, so they must rely on others to keep their locations up to scratch and tend to the needs of the clientele, particularly when the keeper is away. I take it that's our friend Doorley's occupation?"

"We believe so." Emma replied, dropping her legs from the desk and turning to face him.

"What do you mean, you believe so? You don't know?"

Emma shrugged beneath his shrewd gaze, too tired to care for his displeasure.

Sika stepped in. "We've been at it for hours, trying to get a word out of him. He let slip that he isn't involved with the clients, and the moment we brought up the person calling the shots, he shut down."

Reddington sighed, his eyes flitting briefly toward the heavens. "Give me five minutes with him, no cameras. I'll get him to talk."

"What?" Ezra blurted, "Not bloody likely."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"We can keep questioning him-"

"It's too late." Red turned to Skip and Sika, "You've already shown your hand. The moment you brought his employer into it, he turned on you. You've done nothing but remind him that the person pulling his strings will reward his loyalty far more than you'll ever be able to punish him for it."

"Like his employer can do anything about it, he's in MI6 custody now."

"You're showing your naïveté, Agent Sutherland. You can rest assured that wherever his employer is, she already knows whether or not Doorley's talking, and she will act accordingly."

"We can keep him in a holding cell. She can't do anything if she can't get to him."

"What is it with you Feds and sprinting toward the wrong conclusion at breakneck speed? You've lost your leverage, now I'm the only one he'll trust. It's that simp-"

"I think we should do it."

All eyes turned to Emma.

"What?" she asked, sitting tall in her seat, "Haven't we all learned by now that when Reddington says he's the only one who can do something, he's the only one who can get it done?"

Red stared at her for several long seconds in total silence, a peculiar look on his face.

"We can't."

Director Bazalgette's curt baritone cut through their arguing with ease. "Red, I've told you, we're on the books. We can't have anything out of line. Having one of the most wanted fugitives on the planet interrogate a suspect would be the very definition of 'out of line'."

Reddington's lips pursed in a tight frown. "Fine. We'll take another route."

Dembe stepped forward, setting a manilla file folder into his employer's outstretched hand.

Bazalgette eyed him warily. "What's that?"

"Another avenue of approach on the Jailbreaker." said Red, who turned and held the file out to Emma. "Basír Ocee Maharaj. One of the Jailbreaker's recent clients, also believed to be skulking around in the very safe house network where Ciaran Doorley is employed."

Emma took the file, and the others gathered in to peer at its contents over her shoulder.

"If he won't talk to us about his employer, he definitely won't talk to us about this." Ezra reasoned, catching the flaw in Red's plan.

"Besides," added Sika, "Doorley said he had little to no interaction with clientele. He probably doesn't even know this Basír person."

Reddington nodded along with their questions, removing his hat and spinning it in his fingers as he paced the room.

"That won't be a problem." he assured, "Word on the street is Basír was not granted access to the network, and was instead floating through it by bribing and blackmailing the innkeeper's property managers."

He pointed at Doorley's mugshot.

"Doorley's known to slip in his own clientele, off the books. If there's anyone who might've seen Basír or have a way to contact him for business, it'll be Ciaran Doorley."

This new lead set the DC6 ablaze with renewed vigor.

Bazalgette gave Reddington a nod, obviously pleased they'd come to an amicable agreement, before clapping his hands together and instructing his team on their tasks.

"Agent Knightley."

Emma turned to see Red smiling serenely at her. "Walk me out, won't you?"

A longing glance was spared for the packet of intel, which the agents had already set about scavenging. "But..."

She sighed and stood to follow the man out of the glass bubble, falling in step with him until they'd reached the halfway point through the tunnel leading to the Boar's Head.

"Your particular expertise in immigration could prove useful in this case." Reddington intimated, pulling another packet from his suit coat and handing it to her.

"What do you mean?" Emma flipped open the file to see a completely different dossier. "What can I do?"

Red looked over the file with her. "We aren't sure of Basír's origins or nationality," said he, "but we do know that he has a German counterpart who was a U.K. national up until 1993. The Jailbreaker is responsible for getting them both out of Britain that year and established elsewhere with a new identity. We also know that Basír put the Jailbreaker on retainer again just last summer. If we can find Basír or his companion, we'll be one step closer to trapping the Jailbreaker."

Emma nodded, flipping through the stack of papers with avid curiosity. This was the first time she exclusively was being trusted with a Reddington case.

"Wait..." she said, disappointment settling like a lead weight in her chest, "I can't...I don't have the clearance to review all of the immigration cases."

"You didn't then," Reddington corrected, "You most certainly do now."

A gasp echoed in the concrete tunnel as Emma recalled that she did in fact have top-level clearance now. She grinned in spite of herself.

"Oh piss it, I clean forgot!" She nearly bounced with excitement, "I do have clearance, and I know how to search the immigration archives, the others don't. Is that why you gave me this?"

Red smiled and tapped a thick finger on the file's edge. "This is an important case, Emma."

And for once, Emma could tell he was being sincere.

"It's an important case," he continued, "but it's also your chance to shine. You make an exceptional agent, Agent Knightley. It's about time the others got to see that as well."

Emma felt her eyes start to sting.

'Bollocks, not now!' she thought, trying to think of something funny or benign to keep her hormones from getting out of hand and turning her into a blubbering mess. "Thanks!" she managed to choke out through a watery smile.

Reddington turned to leave with Dembe in tow, but stopped and turned to give her a once-over that made Emma squirm like a bug under a microscope.

Honestly, she thought she never would get used to the way the man looked at her.

"By the way," he said, "You looked awfully peaky these past few weeks..."

A sickening feeling swooped into Emma's stomach at this.

Had he noticed? Had it been that obvious?

Could he tell she was pregnant?

"-but I see you're positively glowing today. I'm glad you're feeling better."

Emma couldn't bring herself to take a breath. "Oh. Er, thanks."

Reddington and his guard made their way through the entry hatch without another word, and Emma finally gasped a lungful of air when the metal grate clamored shut on the other side.

---

Rosalie's Jet - Russian Airspace - January 15th, 2001

"Good morning, Mademoiselle Øllegaard."

Rosalie sat up, looking blearily around the dimmed cabin until her eyes brought the other person into focus. She relaxed when a familiar freckled face swam into focus.

Caroline, her stewardess, smiled warmly back at her. "You slept quite a while. We've reached the Indochina time zone; I brought you a cup of mint tea to help with any residual jet lag."

"Thank you Caroline, and please, call me Rosalie. No need for the formalities." Rosalie took the cup gratefully and sipped its contents, "Where are we, precisely?"

"We're nearly at the edge of the Arctic Circle. We should reach the Russian mainland any minute now." Caroline set a small bowl of fruit and a few other accoutrements on the side table, "Hopefully these are to your liking, I'm still learning everyone's preferences."

"I'm sure they're just fine," said Rosalie, "How are you finding the jet? Otto and the boys are being accommodating, I trust?"

Caroline smiled. "Oh, they're perfectly amiable. Certainly better than some clients I've worked for."

Both women laughed.

"Well," said the former, "If at any time they get prickly with you or start getting too picky to put up with, you have my blessing to put each of them back in their place. That goes for any client that might travel on this aircraft as well. You don't have to put up with anyone's crap."

Another titter met this. "Oh, I'll keep that in mind," Caroline assured, "You know me."

They both thought back to the day they'd met.

The shiny new Bombardier jet had just been finished, and Rosalie had gone in search of a reliable pilot for the craft for over a month. She'd finally relented to a meeting with a charter service for her search when she and Josephine were on their way back from Kauai.

The meeting had been nearly over when the charter's owner suggested they go and meet the pilot he had in mind. In agreement, they had moved to the hangar next door only to find said pilot in a screaming match with a tall, pretty woman in a stewardess' uniform, her strawberry blonde waves starting to topple from the formerly neat bun atop her head as she gesticulated wildly.

The owner had broken up the argument, firing the woman for making such an embarrassing scene before apologizing to Rosalie, insisting that the stewardess was new and problematic.

The woman he'd referred to as Caroline, for her part, used her new-found unemployment status to inform Rosalie that the pilot she was being pushed to take on was a miserable old bastard notorious for two-timing his employers. Nobody else would hire the man, hence the owner's interest in recommending him.

One look at the guilty party had confirmed this story to be true. Rather than wait for an explanation, Rosalie had turned to Caroline, informed the woman that she liked her standing, and offered her a job stewarding full-time aboard her new jet. With a sickening raise in pay and benefits, of course.

It had taken another two weeks to pin down a pilot, but the pairing of Otto and Caroline was turning out to be a godsend. Rosalie had no concerns the woman before her would have no trouble holding her own against anyone.

"We're about two hours from Novosibirsk." Caroline continued, "Otto's already confirmed the fuel stop with the Bratva in charge. We'll be down twenty minutes, tops, before making the final leg to Cambodia."

Rosalie smiled. "Excellent. Once Teddy's awake, will you let him know we can meet after the fueling stop? There's no need for him to busy himself before then."

Caroline nodded and departed, leaving Rosalie alone once more.

She promptly fished the satellite phone from the depths of the bed, flipped it open, and dialed.

It took a few rings for Red to answer, but when he did, the gentle worry in his voice made Rosalie's heart tighten painfully.

"Hello there, Sleeping Tsarena."

"Ugh...I missed your call, didn't I?"

"Your new stewardess said you were dead to the world; I didn't want to wake you."

Rosalie fiddled with the stitching on the light duvet she was swaddled in. "Are you busy?"

A pause met this, and when Raymond spoke again, she could hear the smile in his voice.

"No little dove, I've got all the time in the world."

He didn't elaborate, instead waiting for Rosalie to ask for what she wanted.

"Would...would you like to talk for a bit?"

Red chuckled.

Rosalie grimaced and dropped her head to her hands. Her flirtation skills were a little rusty, it seemed.

"I would like nothing more, my dear. I take it you're on the jet?"

"Yeah," she moved so she could look out one of the cabin windows, "We're just coming inland from the Kara Sea."

Red fell stock still on the other end.

"...You're in Russian airspace."

"Is that a problem?"

"No. Just be careful with the Bratvas. They're notoriously prickly, and any hint of weakness from your syndicate will ensure they try and take advantage."

Rosalie smirked at the hint of worry which had returned to his voice. "Noted. You're somewhere over the Caribbean, are you not?"

She could practically feel the stout look he was leveling at Dembe.

"I see my guard is keeping you apprised of my travel plans."

"Why do you think I gave up mine so easily?" she tittered, "As clever as you are, even you would have a hard time pinning me down half the world away and at thirty thousand feet. A brief fuel stop will not be enough time for your people to move."

"A fuel stop inland of the Kara?" his tone changed to one of quiet excitement, "You're stopping in Novosibirsk."

"...Yes?" said Rosalie, wondering if she just shot herself in the foot again and he did, in fact, have associates in Siberia.

"Look out the window," he whispered, "Is there a river beneath you?"

Her eyes dropped to the ground miles below and saw they had reached the mainland, and a dark vein was indeed carving its way through the snow-covered scenery. "There is; it's a big one too."

Raymond was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again there was something akin to longing in his words that made Rosalie wonder at the place's significance.

"That's the Yenisei. You should see a big split in the river soon, where the waters encircled a small island with a copse of Siberian Pines. It's striking in the winter months, though when I went it was always the height of summer."

"You've been here?"

"Know it like the back of my hand."

Rosalie wondered at this. "Chico called you 'sailor'...Were you stationed in Russia when you were in the navy?"

Her brow furrowed. That didn't make sense, the Yenisei was a river. What would the navy be doing there?

"Little families congregate on that island year-round to fish for sturgeon, lenok, and grayling...it's a popular destination."

A grumble met the non-answer, but she didn't pursue it.

"Do you have our book?" He asked, offering an olive branch.

"I do." she sighed, "I believe I fell asleep somewhere in chapter 24."

"Ah yes," said Red, "Mr. Archer and Madame Olenska were at the inn in Boston, looking for a bit of privacy..."

Pages could be heard turning on his end of the line. He began:

'Being so quiet, so unsurprised and so simple, she had managed to brush away the conventions and make him feel that to seek to be alone was the natural thing for two old friends who had much to say to each other...'

Rosalie nestled back in the comfortable duvet to sip her tea and read along as he spoke. She had to admit the book had been a slow read at first, Wharton's particular brand of verbosity when conveying the complexities of 19th century New York society proved for a tedious first half, but the tale was getting better and better with every chapter. Now that the star-crossed characters were on the brink of actually confessing their mutual desire, the passages had begun to fly by.

Yet, as she sat there with eyes drifting cross the page, her mind began to wander.

She had slept for most of the flight, and as such, hadn't had time to mull over their night in New York. A vulnerable corner of her twisted and writhed with discomfort. After all this time, it had been so easy in his presence, it was as though no time had passed at all.

Had they matured at all in their time apart? Had anything truly changed between them?

Fear curled around her heart like a set of cold, heavy chains. Perhaps it had been too soon...

Their romantic outing had felt like the most natural thing in the world at the time, even when they were being chased by police. It was easy. Effortless.

That's what frightened her, how easy letting him in was turning out to be.

' "Oh, what's the use? You gave me my first glimpse of a real life, and at the same moment you ask me to go on with a sham one. It's beyond human enduring, that's all!"

"Oh, don't say that, when I'm enduring it!" she burst out, her eyes filling-'

What a joy it would be, to just let herself fall for him all over again; how much simpler this all would be. Giving in was far less agonizing than trying to stay away.

What could be wrong with admitting she was every bit as in love with him now as she had been when things ended between them? What could it hurt?

'Her arms had dropped along the table and she sat with her face abandoned to his gaze, as if in the recklessness of a desperate peril. The face exposed her as much as if it had been her whole person with the soul behind it.

Archer stood dumb, overwhelmed by what it suddenly told him. "You too-Oh, all this time, you too ?" '

Rosalie smiled, remembering what it had been like, that night in Sienna, when she and Raymond had finally confessed to the other all those secret wants to which they'd been clinging...

'He had known the love that is fed on caresses and feeds them; but this passion that was closer than his bones was not to be superficially satisfied.'

Gods, she had wanted him then. The kind of want that didn't simply press upon a person, but consumed them body and soul. It had felt as though her lungs were on fire, that if she hadn't said anything, if she couldn't have told him how her thoughts of him devoured her, she surely would have perished.

That feeling had rekindled in New York, just as quickly as though it had never left. It was every bit as powerful, every bit as all-consuming.

'His one terror was to do anything which might efface the sound and impression of her words. His one thought, that he should never again feel quite alone.

...But after a moment, the sense of waste and ruin overcame him.'

Rosalie's heart sank, a barely-audible gasp forcing its way into her lungs.

'There they were, close together and safe and shut in; yet so chained to their separate destinies that they might as well have been half the world apart.

"What's the use-when you will go back?" he broke out, a great hopeless How on earth can I keep you? crying out to her beneath his words.'

The passage had unknowingly plucked at the very heart of what was troubling her.

'What's the use-when you will go back?'

Her mind spun the sentence over and over again. Indeed, what was the point? How could one bring themselves to feel the love they held for a person when they knew it would never work?

Newland Archer and Elen Olenska were tied to their own fates; they could never be together without destroying everyone around them and possibly each other.

Were she and Raymond any different? Their situation felt every bit as hopeless. They would never be together without the constant threat of violence wrenching them apart; and what would happen the next time? Surely there would be a next time, if they continued on this road, and what would he do then? Would he end it again? Would she leave? Were they doomed to repeat this longing and loss for the rest of their days? How could they so much as date when they knew what waited for them-

"Rosalie?"

"Hmm?" She blinked several times, admittedly lost to where they were in the story.

"That's twenty-four, finished." he said, then added, "You seem distracted…is everything alright?"

Rosalie stopped to consider the question, though she knew the answer was a definitive 'no'. Perhaps it would be better to bring it up now, before they lost themselves in each other all over again? That would be kinder, surely?

"'How on earth can I keep you?' " she quoted, her voice thick with something that felt like grief, "It's so cruel, to feel as though the one you love is finally within reach, only to find there's still a chasm between you."

A lengthy pause met this.

"You think there's a chasm between us?"

"Isn't there?" she asked, "We've been apart for nine months. Even after our night in Céret, it took a month for me to agree to go out on a date with you, and even with that date going very well, I'm already worried about the next."

"I thought we had an enjoyable evening?"

Rosalie could hear the small frown in his voice.

"We did," she insisted, "I did. It just- It reminded me how easy it would be to fall right back into us and...I'm scared, Ray. I can't rush this; I need more time, but I know it would be selfish for me to expect you to wait around until I'm ready."

"My dear, what on earth makes you think I'm not perfectly content to wait?"

Her stomach dipped, feeling suddenly and inexplicably sheepish.

"It's been a long time." she reminded him, "Men forget easier; I can't lie to myself and expect you to put your romantic life on hold-"

"Little dove," a note of amusement could be heard in his words, "If that romance you speak of doesn't involve you, I don't want it."

"You know I can't fully bring myself to believe that."

"Why on earth not?"

Rosalie could easily see him puffing himself up in defiance of her misgivings. The thought made her smile.

"Do you believe me to be insincere? When I came to you in Céret, when I asked you to come to New York, did you believe me to have any intentions other than of showing you my conviction?"

"No, no," she assured, "I'm sorry. It's just- I feel selfish all of a sudden, making you wait when you could be seeing other women-"

"Rosalie."

The soft, tender way he said her name gave Rosalie pause.

"I don't have the vaguest inclination to go tom-catting around. I don't want to see other women; I want you. You're not being selfish by taking the time you need. This might come as a surprise, but I'm thoroughly enjoying the chase."

She shrank in her seat. "You…you are?"

"I am but a man, Rosalie. Pursuing you in this little game of cat and mouse is nothing short of thrilling. If you need more time, then that'll just make our eventual reunion all the more sweet-."

A pause interrupted the conversation. Dembe's voice could be heard murmuring on the other end of the line.

"Ah, hell…" Red grumbled, "I'm sorry little dove, I've gotta go."

"Go," she agreed, "Be safe; give me a call sometime."

He chuckled, "You know I'll be calling you tonight, right?"

Rosalie couldn't help a small, reluctant smile. "I look forward to it."

---

Undisclosed Location - Jekyll Island, Georgia - January 28th, 2001

St. Simon's Island whipped past them at speed, the dark water churning ominously below as they rounded the island's eastern edge. Another island emerged from the fog across the water, its lush greenery dotted with wood and stone manor houses.

"The lot is quite secluded." Rosalie said into her headset, directing Earl King's attention to a clearing near the edge of Jekyll Sound as they circled the property. "I've got people in the Jekyll Island Authority and Glenn County, they'll submit and approve all the necessary permits on your LLC's behalf, as well as provide inspectors who will look the other way on any adjustments made to the building's blueprint."

Earl chuckled. "I didn't think innkeepers abided by permit laws."

"Any innkeeper worth their salt abides by them and bribes what they can't abide. Do you know what the most common culprit is for burning a safe house?"

"Why the hell would I need to know that?"

Rosalie's eyes rolled behind her sunglasses. "When these homes are completed Earl, you will be their custodian. They're only useful as long as you can keep them secret and secure. I can build it, but you'll have to maintain them."

"Alright, I'll bite." he said, "What's the common culprit?"

"Nosy neighbors." Rosalie pointed out the side window, where one of the beach-dwelling inhabitants of the island could be seen holding their sunhat and watching the chopper curiously. "Law-abiding busy-bodies with nothing better to do than go nosing around where they don't belong. They're why I insist on being inconspicuous with design choices. The more the structure stands out, the more attention it draws. The last thing a safe house wants is attention, always remember that."

She waved Otto to bring the bird down.

The helicopter drifted to the right and began its descent, skimming over a small copse of live oaks before landing with a thump in the center of the pasture.

Once disembarked, Rosalie and Ted lead King and his guard toward a set of little flags denoting the location where the safe house's cornerstone would be set.

"I've had my best architect brought in to oversee development here." she explained, "He's been kind enough to block out the footprint for us."

They arrived at the crest of a small hill surrounded by bright yellow flags, the full scope of the home stretching out before them.

"This will be the center of the house." Rosalie continued, spreading her arms wide and turning to frame the home's north corner. "The study you wanted will be sequestered about there. While the bank of windows for the grand room will sit about here-" she turned to the southeast, "And it'll be flanked on either side by stone fireplaces."

King's beetle black eyes followed her every move, scouring the landscape with greedy delight.

"I've decided to model it off an old English hunting lodge I once occupied in Yorkshire." Rosalie added with a confident smile, "Deep mahogany wainscoting throughout, coffered ceilings, and a mix of light and dark stonework both inside and out. She'll be robust, and have a sempiternal air that would never allow your guests to believe she hasn't been gracing this hillside for centuries."

A low whistle met this bold statement. "What about the underground?" Earl asked, "I don't see that marked out."

"The underground contraband tunnels will extend from the heart of the foundation outward, like arteries."

Ted stepped forward, handing his employer a can of spray paint. She proceeded to mark a fifty-foot circle around them.

"Pathways will lead to the carriage house, dry dock, wet dock, and helipad..." she made marks for hallways leading away from the circle, "As well as a handful of dead end tendrils to snare those who wander."

Earl turned with a dark grin. "Booby traps? Mademoiselle Øllegaard, I didn't think you were the type."

"I spent the majority of last year in the Middle East and Northeast Africa. My current focus is Vietnam." Rosalie met his eye with a sly smile of her own. "Naturally, I've picked up on a few things."

A graveled laugh echoed over the pasture. "Well, all the more is my good luck."

They moved toward the back of the plot, Rosalie marking important features with spray paint all along the way. The rear of the home would be open to the bay, outfitted with the same bulletproof glass she'd utilized for the Abbey, so guests could enjoy an abundance of natural light during their stay. The boat house was already erected, a team of men were busily outfitting the exterior in pale river rock.

"We'll use the dock for a majority of the supplies. "The owners of the Jekyll Island Yacht Club owe me a big favor, so they'll be more than happy to turn a blind eye on any shipments you receive or guests you have in the future-"

"Rose!"

A pair of men decked in hard hats and boots had appeared from the boathouse interior.

Hector Lapiz, the home's architect, and Dominico Torres, his contractor, were Rosalie's favored pairing for development within the continental U.S.

The former beamed genially as he and his comrade trooped up the hill. His face, slightly sunburnt, crinkled with delight as a pair of gangly arms flung wide to wrap Rosalie in a crushing hug once she was within reach.

"It's been too long." he declared, "I take it this is your client?"

Rosalie nodded once he released her and made the necessary introduction.

"Hector, this is Earl King. Earl, Hector Lapiz. Hector's one of my best architects, and the man responsible for getting this property up and running in time for your next soireé."

Earl shook the man's hand. "Good to meet you, Hector. I'm looking forward to seeing your vision first hand."

Hector removed his hat and ruffled his hair, "Ah, well, the design is not my doing. One of the benefits of being on retainer with Rose is that her vision is always exceptional." He gave her a wink. "Detailed, inventive, usually within reason."

"Usually." Rosalie agreed, a smirk curling at her lips, "Hector humors me. Ultimately I have him and our shy friend Dominico here to thank for every safe house I've built below the Mason-Dixon line."

Dominico waved awkwardly from Hector's elbow, lips pursed in a tight line that might've resembled a smile if one looked closely.

"You use the same architects repeatedly?" Earl blurted, staring at Rosalie in open incredulity.

Both she and Hector frowned at him.

"Of course." she said, "There are precious few who have the necessary expertise to build my safe houses. When I encounter exceptional architects like Hector, I put him and his entire crew on retainer."

A dull puce color flooded Earl's face. "My apologies, I'm just surprised at this. When your entire business is predicated on secrecy, I find it difficult to believe you manage the level of secrecy you've touted. How could you possibly do so when so many external parties are privy to its locale?"

Hector and Rosalie shared an amused look.

"You gonna rat me out, Hector?" the former asked, a cheeky grin overcoming her.

Hector roared with laughter. When Earl still looked nonplussed, Dominico took pity on him.

"Hector and I are the only ones who know the purposes of the homes we build. Our respective teams and everyone else involved in our projects are told the home is for some real estate tycoon looking for a tax break."

"Not that far from the truth, eh Rose?"

"You think I still pay taxes?"

The threesome laughed; even Ted joined in before they were interrupted by one of the foremen arriving with samplings of river rock to discuss with Hector and Dominico.

Rosalie leaned into Earl's ear. "One of the most important lessons any criminal must learn, Earl, is that they can't do everything themselves. Associates are a requirement, not an option. ThinkMy architects and contractors are the only point of weakness in my operation. So I have to find people I can trust and keep them incentivized to maintain my secrecy. My teams are treated like family, and I compensate them well above market value. In return, I garner their loyalty. It's simply good business."

"That works?" Earl hissed, his tone dubious, "What's to keep someone else from paying him more to get their way into my house?"

A shrewd look passed between them.

"Some fugitives use the promise of extreme violence to keep their people in line." said Rosalie, unimpressed by his attitude. "I subscribe to the ideology that human beings are far more incentivized by gain than by consequence. When I take someone on, I make it abundantly clear that not only will I provide for them and their teams, I will always outpace a competitor when it comes to compensating loyalty. Most importantly, I make sure they know I won't kill them just for bringing it up."

"You sound soft." said Earl.

"It's my softness that keeps my clientele returning time and time again." she countered, "Remember, it's my people who are safe from retribution; I said nothing about my competitors."

"Money only goes so far, sir."

Hector had caught the tail end of their whispered conversation, returning to Rosalie's side with a pair of river rocks the size of hubcaps in his hands. "Knowing that my family and I are insulated by Miss Øllegaard's protection, that carries much more weight than you are giving credit."

Earl had the good sense to blush.

Dominico, ever the level head, glossed over the awkwardness with ease.

"If you'd like, sir, we can show you the progress on the docks, and go over the estimated timeline we have in place for pouring the foundation."

Rosalie nodded encouragingly, and Earl followed the pair toward the construction site.

She snorted indelicately when Hector gave the man a slap on the back and popped a hard hat unceremoniously on top his head, sparing a playful wink for Rosalie before guiding them into the structure.

Teddy fell in step behind them, making it halfway to the building before turning and looking expectantly at her.

A nod confirmed she was right behind him, but before she could make it much more than a foot, Otto appeared at her shoulder.

"So..." he sighed, waving Teddy on, "Are we going to talk about what happened in New York?"

Rosalie frowned. "What do you mean? Is there something happening in New York that I don't know about?"

Otto's mustache bristled when he laughed. "Rosalie, I know you were awol that night Earl decided to stay at the SoHo safe house."

A chill rose in the air between them.

"I don't know what you mean." she replied, "I took a long bath, then did some work over the phone with Qiaolian."

"I was the one who brought your takeout order upstairs." he said, calmly, "I went in, and you were nowhere to be found."

"I was in the shower-"

"I checked the shower."

"...You did?"

Otto nodded. "There was only a noise maker inside, making thunderstorm sounds. I was the one who shut it off."

Rosalie halted with a sigh. "Are you going to tell Horace what I've been up to?"

"If I was gonna tattle, Rosalie, I would've done it by now."

"Really?" she whipped around to meet his amused gaze. "You're not going to tell him? You're not even going to chastise me for being reckless?"

Otto grinned and shook his head. "I'm not the least bit inclined."

Rosalie stared at him openly, utterly baffled by this change in her former guard's demeanor. "You're really different this time around." she blurted, before she could stop herself.

Another sharp bark of laughter met this, and Rosalie smiled sheepishly.

"Oh, you know what I mean." she said with a wave of her hand, "When you were my guard you were kind of...well..."

"An arse?" he offered, shrugging when she nodded. "Like I said, I wasn't much of a guard. I didn't like the job to begin with, and no offense to you, but it was a difficult one. Now, my only responsibility to Le Caïd is ensuring your safe transport. I find that makes me much more amenable to your shenanigans."

"You're really not going to tell?"

The disbelief in her tone bordered on offensive, but Otto took it all in stride.

"It's your life to live, not mine to tell you what to do." He nodded at the sprawling property around them, "It's obvious you've grown with Reddington. You're more assured, more established. Everything I've seen of the network is polished...and you're happy with him."

Rosalie's chest swelled with pride. It took her some time to respond to such unexpected

"Thank you." she said, at last. "I've gotten so used to Horace's disapproval, it's nice to hear someone believe me when I say I'm making the right choices for me."

Otto shrugged. "Don't be too hard on him. I'm no longer beholden to your safety, save for when we're in the air; I can afford to be magnanimous. I'll admit, the job of keeping you alive is much, much easier when you're a captive audience."

They both snorted at this.

"Perhaps I'll learn to skydive." said Rosalie, off-handedly. "You know...for old times' sake. Would certainly break up the monotony for you."

Otto heaved a long-suffering sigh, and she was surprised to hear a little laugh leave him as he led them toward the docks.

---

Black Site #88 a.k.a 'The Abbey' - February 1st, 2001

" '...he had built up within himself a kind of sanctuary in which she throned among his secret thoughts and longings. Little by little it became the scene of his real life, of his only rational activities; thither he brought the books he read, the ideas and feelings which nourished him, his judgments and his visions.'

"Oh dear," Rosalie sighed, "I fear Mr. Archer is irrevocably taken with the Countess Olenska."

"I think you might be right." said Red, setting the book aside. His feet swung up onto the desk's gleaming surface and he leaned back in his chair, content to talk with his companion while he waited for the DC6 to arrive.

"I know I'm right." said Rosalie, "And get your feet off my desk. That's an antique, you know."

Raymond chuckled and did as she bid, settling himself in one of the leather club chairs instead. "What makes you so sure? You don't think Newland might be redeemable in the end?"

"What on earth does he need redeeming for?" she asked, shuffling a bit of paperwork around. "We can't control who we fall in love with. It's easy to condemn someone for allowing lust to run away with them, but that's not what's happening with Newland."

"No?"

"No. His mind is consumed by Elen, but not once does he wax poetic about her looks, the way most men do when they're lusting after a woman. When he thinks of her, he brings to her the best of himself: books and thoughts and ideas...the things he didn't know to value and search for in a partner when he proposed to May."

Red shifted forward in his seat. "You don't think he owes himself to May? To keep those promises he made to her?"

Rosalie considered the question for several long moments. "No, I don't think he does. I don't think anyone owes their whole life to someone else."

"Not even someone they love?"

"But you must realize, the promises Newland made to May…there was no love in them."

This gave Raymond pause.

She continued, "Promises made out of love, pure and genuine love, those are the ones I cannot imagine someone breaking easily. Newland and May married because Newland believed it was the correct thing to do, as did May. It's what everyone expected of them, and what I suspect they expected of themselves. Come to think of it, I doubt either of them thought much of what they actually wanted out of their lives. I'm not sure anyone did in that day and age." Rosalie heaved a sigh, "Newland made the right choice at the time, when he proposed to May, but the wrong choice when he went through with it to save himself from societal scrutiny. He's neither bad nor good, but I believe he deserves the chance to find true happiness. As does May, and I don't think they can find it while they're chained together."

Red slumped back in his chair, a bit disgruntled. "Every time I think I've got you all figured out, you knock me on my ass."

Rosalie giggled gaily, the sound delightfully familiar in his ears.

"Keep you on your toes, do I?"

He smiled, "I'm seldom surprised by anything, but each time I turn around you manage to surprise me, little dove. That's quite the achievement."

"...Red?"

Raymond turned to see Agent Knightley hovering in the archway.

"We're ready for you in the dining room."

He waved a hand, ensuring he was on his way before turning back to the conversation at hand.

"Is that a Fed I hear in my safe house?"

"When do I get to see you again?" Red countered, ignoring the question entirely.

A scoff reached his ears, bringing another smile to his lips.

"Don't change the subject." Rosalie chided, "About that little door kicker you've been bringing around, I hope you know that pregnancy scare of hers is going on your tab. I'm not made of money you know-"

"What?"

The word came out far more brusk than Raymond had intended. He cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, come again?"

"The agent that was staying with you when you were in Céret, the blonde. She was in the first floor guest suite, yes?"

"I believe so."

"Well, you were with me that night, and even high as a kite, I've never seen Dembe compelled to take thirteen pregnancy tests in a row."

Red shot out of his seat. "You're certain this happened during our stay?"

"Of course." said Rosalie, "To the outside world, you're not supposed to be in my network, so I always review your usage personally."

Of course. It all made sense now. The sickly pallor, the mood swings, her illness on the plane, a sudden uptick in spicy foods-

"Raymond, is everything alright?"

"Yes."

No, everything was most certainly not alright, but it wasn't Rosalie's to deal with.

"Will you be available tonight, if I called again?"

"I'm getting some sleep, then meeting with Earl regarding the interior of the Panama property, but I should be free around eleven your time."

"I'll call you then."

Raymond snapped the burner closed and strode out into the center of the abbey, happening upon the team of MI6 agents settling into their usual seats at the dining table.

Emma stood beside the bar cart, fixing herself a cup of tea with her back turned to him.

His stomach dipped when she reached for the pot of decaf usually reserved for Bazalgette and Dembe.

When she turned in search of the eyes she felt, Red caught the subtle glow he had noticed a few days prior. Even the jacket she wore was out of place, no doubt concealing the very beginnings of a bump.

"You're pregnant."

The statement might as well have been a flash grenade. There was an echoing beat of silence before the table at large burst into

"Wait-"

"Knightley?"

"Cheers!"

"Who?"

Emma looked like she might pass out. "I- N-no...What?"

"The pharma-cache at the safe house in Céret was missing certain supplies." Red shook his head, scowl deepening, "I should have known. All the signs were there. You should have told me sooner."

"I beg your pardon." she snapped, finally finding her voice. "It bloody well isn't any of your business."

The other agents shifted back in their seats, four sets of eyes flitting back and forth between the rowing pair.

"You should have told me." he repeated, "You've known since mid-December."

"I don't owe you anything, you entitled prat!"

"You owe your child safety." barked Red, "Had I known you were pregnant you would never have been sent into the field to chase the Jailbreaker."

"It's not up to you to sideline me!"

"Sideline? That's what you're worried about here?"

"Why do you think I haven't said anything? I've worked too hard for this. I won't be-"

"Emma!"

The harsh rejoinder brought Knightley forcibly back to Earth.

"You've been in three car crashes in the past month."

Emma shrank at this, realization dawning.

Raymond was breathing hard, working to keep his outrage in check.

"You and Skip have crashed three transports chasing the Jailbreaker. Who knows how much damage you may have caused that innocent child by withholding your condition. Christ, you both could have died!"

"I-" Emma's face paled, "I didn't think-"

"Didn't think?" he snarled, the disapproval in his voice making her shrink even further. "You didn't think your high-risk occupation could affect the health of your child? That's news to you?"

"I've just got this assignment!" she defended, "You don't understand, how could you? I've finally made it, and now my entire career is on the line! I don't want-"

Red rose to his full height, brimming with righteous indignation. "It's not about what you want! It's not about your career! It's not about you, K-!"

"Raymond."

Kaplan's crisp voice split the air, bringing the argument to a screeching halt.

Chagrin swallowed Raymond's ire when he looked around to see the four agents and Albert all staring at him with wide, surprised eyes.

"The Jailbreaker is on the move again. Malta. Two weeks." he jabbed a finger at Emma, "You will be on reconnaissance going forward. Get to work."

Without waiting for her protest, and without so much as a passing glance for the others, Red threw the packet of intel into the center of the table and stormed out of the room.

He didn't have to look to know it was Kaplan's quick footsteps following him.

They moved in silence toward one of the unoccupied guest rooms, the only enclosed spaces in the abbey's main level.

"That was uncalled for." Kate chastised the moment the door was closed behind her. "You were too harsh with the girl."

"Someone needed to be." Red fired back, "It's wrong for her to be in the field in her condition. They've managed to wreck their transports three times in the past month, three, Kate. You don't find that reckless?"

"She's not Katarina, Raymond."

"You don't think I know that?!"

"You certainly aren't acting like it."

"I know she's not Katarina. I just..."

Kate's eyes softened with understanding, erasing the last dregs of his anger.

"A child should be wanted. If she doesn't want it there are far kinder ways for her to handle the matter than simply throwing herself into the line of fire."

"I don't think that's what's going on with Knightley." Kate said, earnestly, "She may no doubt want the child, but with our interference, this is a tumultuous time in her life. It's reasonable for her to hesitate."

She took the seat next to Red, who scrubbed his face wearily. "When Kat became pregnant, she was so cold about it. She was never happy, never looking forward to being a mother...I remember thinking it would be far less cruel if she simply didn't have the child, rather than allow it to go through life with a parent who didn't want it."

A worn-out sigh issued from beside him. "I understand this hits close to home for you, but it wasn't your decision then and it sure as hell isn't your decision now."

He hung his head. "I know."

Raymond didn't move when Kate's hand came to rest on top of his.

"I'm gone three months, and you're already in pieces." A wry smile tugged at the corner of her thin lips, "Get it together and come back to the roundtable when you're ready. I'm sure Agent Knightley will let bygones be bygones as long as she's not relegated to desk duty."

He gave her hand a grateful squeeze and nodded.

Kaplan stood, brushed a bit of lint from her skirt, and left to rejoin the group in the dining room.

Left to his own devices, Red pulled the burner from his pocket without a thought and dialed.

Rosalie answered after a handful of rings. "Hello?"

Her voice was groggy.

"Ah hell...I didn't think you'd be asleep already."

"I'm awake." she mumbled, "Everything alright, darling?"

He smiled at the endearment, and the tension disappeared from his frame without notice.

"...Ray?"

"Tell me something sweet, won't you?"

"Sweet?"

"Mhm."

"Hmm...I was going to let it be a surprise, but you sound like you really need a pick-me-up."

"I do."

"Go to your room, then."

"Go to my room?" he pouted, "That's not very sweet, little dove."

"Har har. Go on, get up there."

Raymond did as he was told, leaving the secondary bedroom and making his way up the stone steps to the guest suite he usually occupied.

"Alright, I'm here."

"On the bed, under the top blanket."

He pulled back the top blanket to see another between it and the flat sheet. It was a deep oxblood red and looked soft as a dream. Running his palm over the fabric with a wide grin, he found it to be a very fine, familiar cashmere. The texture was so supple and inviting, Red couldn't help but bring a corner of it to his face, brushing the soft down against his cheek.

It was then that he caught the real surprise.

The blanket bore a lingering trace of Rosalie's perfume, as though the fabric had been gently laundered with the intoxicating scent.

"Oh my..." he crooned, flopping back onto the bed with the blanket twisted around him. "Oh, this is divine."

Rosalie laughed. "I thought you might enjoy the new turndown service; I know you haven't been sleeping well. This should help."

"It's just what I needed" said Red, stretching his arms lazily, "Ugh...Tell me something amusing before I have to go back to the door kickers."

Rosalie tittered to herself then asked, "Have I ever told you why my parents didn't let me have goldfish?"

An indelicate snort left him.

"No."

"Well, when I was a little girl, just learning how to read, I practiced all the time. Anyone with ears would be stuck playing my audience as I read every story in my Mother Goose picture book at a wholly unreasonable volume."

Raymond grinned, perfectly able to picture a miniature Rosalie bounding about barefoot with a book every bit as big as she was, demanding some jockey or trainer listen to her tales.

"Anyway," she went on, "When I ran out of family members and ranch hands, I decided I wanted my goldfish Henry to hear the stories, too."

"Oh dear..."

"Mhm. As you can imagine, Henry couldn't possibly hear with his head underwater...so, I'd pluck him from the bowl and plop him next to me on the floor while I read him fairytales."

Red burst out laughing, clapping a hand over his mouth to keep the sound from echoing out into the open abbey.

"You laugh," she chided, "But I went through five Henries before my parents said no more. He went to 'live in the pond beyond the north paddock with the other wild goldfish,' never to be seen again. I was devastated, but at least the local fish store didn't have to live in fear of seeing my daddy's pickup waiting in the parking lot at the crack of dawn to buy a new goldfish for me to kill."

"Oh my god," he sighed, still chuckling, "Those poor fish. I didn't know you had such murderous tendencies, you fiend."

"I hide them well." said Rosalie, sarcastically. "Besides, it would only be considered manslaughter. I didn't set out to kill them."

"Oh sure...Well, my little technicality, back to bed with you."

"Nope. Your turn. Tell me something exciting."

Raymond pursed his lips and thought of the only thing he considered exciting in her absence.

"I've set the agents on Basír's tail. Knightley is also beginning her review of UK immigration records for anyone who might resemble the German."

Rosalie gasped. "Really? How did you get them on board?"

"A partial truth," said Red, "I told them that Basír and the German have contracted the Jailbreaker, and if we want to get to him and his associates, we will need to go through a former client to do so. The Brothers Sionnach blew up another bridge last week, so the team is highly motivated."

"You're making our move."

"Yeah."

"That's wonderful;" she whispered, "That's really great, Ray."

He smiled. "I thought you'd be pleased."

"I am," she assured, "I'm terribly pleased. A light at the end of the tunnel at long last."

Red rose from the bed and neatly rearranged the blankets so they were flat once more. "On that note," he sighed, "I have to get back to work."

"Be nice to the door kickers, we still need their cooperation."

"Mhm..."

The grumble in his tone made her laugh again.

"Alright, I'll make you a deal, play nice with the Feds and I'll send you something else that's sweet."

"...You?"

Another grin split Raymond's face as Rosalie scoffed.

"Don't push your luck there, hot stuff."

---

Black Site #68 문 "Mun" - Seoul, South Korea - February 4th, 2001

"You know- You know you can talk to me about things...right?"

Rosalie lifted glassy eyes from the latest rendition of the Chiang Mai safe house's blueprint.

"Things?" she asked, blinking away the haze of intense focus.

"Yeah."

"Well, what kinds of things?"

"Anything, really. I'm just...I know more than I might let on sometimes, you know?"

Rosalie grinned when Ted's brows quirked pointedly, trying to will her to understand. "Teddy dear, are you trying to let me know you also know about Raymond and I?"

He grinned back at her. "So it's true? You're back together, then?"

"Not exactly. He's doing a little leg work to get back in my good graces, and we're seeing where it goes from there."

"Leg work?...Like what?"

She shrugged, "Like testing the network."

"That's him?" Teddy's eyes widened comically, "This mess with Chiaran and MI6, it really is Red?"

"Yes. I needed to burn the property anyway, and Chiaran needed to be removed in a way that wouldn't cause suspicion. Keep your voice down."

"That's why you hired that new property manager from Kent?" he whispered.

Rosalie nodded

"Wow..." Teddy whistled lowly, "Right under our noses, look at you."

She fidgeted with the blueprint, dog-earing one of its corners. "You're not upset?"

He waved an airy hand, "Nah. What's to be upset over? You've been safe, Ray's been helping you clean house, can't be mad about that."

They both spared a glance for Horace's sleeping figure across the living room.

"Oh, we're not telling him." Teddy said with a shake of his head and a look so serious Rosalie couldn't help but laugh. "I'd recommend telling Horace when hell freezes over. That, or whenever the first baby Reddington pops out, whichever comes first."

"Teddy!" she hissed, perfectly scandalized. He grinned, and a knock on the door sent him bounding away, safe from the reprimanding swat she aimed at him.

A vibration rattled from the console table, and Rosalie snatched up the burner before it could wake Horace.

"Were your ears burning?" she asked, once she'd made it halfway down the hall leading to her bedroom.

"That depends," Raymond purred, "Were you singing my praises?"

An indelicate snort met this. "Expounding upon your various misdeeds, more like."

A low, throaty chuckle issued from the device.

"Well, you certainly can't be lacking in fodder for that conversation."

Rosalie slipped into the master suite, finding the space exactly as she'd left it that morning, save for a new addition on the white comforter.

A mauve hardcover embossed with white and gold peacocks sat awaiting her perusal.

"Is this our next book?" she asked, flipping it open to find Raymond's sharp handwriting notated on each and every page. "Persuasion? I never pegged you for a Jane Austen fan."

"Yes." said Red, "We're going to take a break from the Wharton tonight. I've enlisted Teddy, he's going to make your excuses to Horace and the others while you and I have dinner and finish this in one sitting."

"Oh we are, are we-?"

Teddy bustled in at that moment with a bundle of takeaway boxes, a cold bottle of Soju, and a small crystal glass. He set the assortment on the coffee table with a mischievous salute, then promptly exited the suite.

Rosalie erupted into a torrent of giggles and wasted no time in rifling through the containers to unearth the treasure trove therein. A similar rustling could be heard on Raymond's end as well, interrupted by the occasional clinking of glass.

"What are you having?" she asked, grinning when a bottle was unstoppered with a pop.

"A fine selection of sashimi and nigiri." he said, then added, "Dembe and I managed to track your flight pattern to Tokyo, but lost the trail last night."

It was impossible to keep the delight Rosalie felt from leaking into her words.

"What a shame."

Another chuckle met this. "I'm sure you're terribly disappointed. I don't suppose you'll tell me, if I get close?"

"Oh, that's not true."

"No? Tell me then, little dove."

"You're...pretty close." she demurred, purposefully being vague.

"Too close for comfort?" he asked, pleased enough to know he was in the same region at the very least.

"Close enough to make me wonder if Teddy didn't let something slip."

"No," Red assured, "When I called yesterday to enlist his assistance for my little plan, I heard a Japanese ambulance pass by."

"I see." she said, popping the lid off her first container, "Well, since it was your idea, I'll let you read the first few chapters. I'd like to eat my sundubu in peace."

A telling silence followed her declaration.

"Korea, hmm? North or South?"

The words were laced with a shit-eating grin.

Rosalie threw down her spoon with a clatter. "Raymond Reddington, if you hop over here before I've had a chance to sleep, I promise you'll live to regret it!"

Red burst out laughing. "Oh? What are you going to do to punish me, little dove?"

"I'll let Horace have at you."

Another deep, throaty chuckle sounded at the threat.

"Well that's not how I planned on spending my evening. Perhaps I'll give you a temporary reprieve from our little chase."

"Damn right." Rosalie grumbled under her breath, making the man laugh again, "There's lots of cities in Korea that serve sundubu..." she added, moodily.

"There are," he consoled, "It would take at least...Fifteen hours for me to unearth which one is housing your jet?"

"Hmm...Twenty."

"Very well," chortled Red, "It'll be twenty hours before I come knocking on your door."

Rosalie settled back into her armchair with a contented sigh. "Thank you, darling. I'm ready when you are."

A smile could be heard as Raymond cleared his throat and began:

"'Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage...' "

"'I hate to hear you talk about all women as if they were all fine ladies instead of rational creatures. None of us want to be in calm waters all our lives.' "

They were a quarter of the way through, and a little tipsy already. Rosalie had traded off reading for a while so Raymond could finish his sushi in peace.

He chuckled to himself at the last passage, thinking Anne was barking up the wrong tree. She didn't understand the way men like Wentworth saw women. It was never that they thought them incapable or foolhardy, it was that men like him esteemed women so highly, prized them so dearly, their masculine pride would never allow them to treat one carelessly. That distinctly masculine need to protect and shelter became impossible to ignore when one was in her presence. He cherished his love, that's why he hesitated to take a wife while still in the navy.

But Red now recognized the arrogance in Wentworth's assumptions. By implying it is cruel for a sailor to marry a woman he loves because of the pain and worry that life could cause her, he denies her the chance to choose for herself just what she can bear in the name of love.

Raymond grimaced, knowing he too was once guilty of such arrogance.

As though coming to the same conclusion, Rosalie gave a muffled snort of laughter.

"Well, that sounds oddly familiar...Is this where you got the idea?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I learned my lesson, you little despot."

A renewed cackle met his ears, and Red grinned in spite of himself.

"'There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison.' "

Rosalie smiled, the passage feeling familiar despite having never read the book. Admittedly, her experience of Austen had never extended beyond Pride & Prejudice and Sense & Sensibility, but this one was turning out to be rather good as well.

As she listened to Raymond's deep baritone read on, she couldn't help but see them both in the places of Anne and Wentworth. They were like them, once. Perhaps still? Even now, she felt as though no two people walking this earth could achieve the kind of effortless union she and Raymond had once had. Even now she felt the dregs of it wrapping around her, soothing her as always.

That, Rosalie realized, was what made her so very nervous in rekindling their relationship.

The best of them was still there, and as such, could still be lost. Having mourned it once, she wasn't certain she could bear it again.

"'She thought it was the misfortune of poetry, to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoyed it completely; and that the strong feelings which alone could estimate it truly, were the very feelings which ought to taste it but sparingly.' "

"What's that book of poetry you always have on your nightstand?" Raymond asked abruptly, recalling the little green hardcover with fondness. He could hear the grin in her voice when she spoke.

"Ooh, Pablo Neruda."

He chuckled to himself, pouring another glass of sake. "You little sap."

"What can I say," sighed Rosalie, "I've always been a melancholic romantic."

"Please don't tell me it was sonnet seventeen that endeared him to you."

"God no, it was that one about the hands."

"The hands? What's so great about hands?"

"Not just any hands; his lover's hands."

Raymond grinned at the little note of defiance that had entered her voice.

"He tells her how the years of his life have been roadways of searching, how he had sought the softness of her hands, and when they finally came to rest on his chest, they were like the wings of a dove, coming to roost at the end of a long journey. It's a simile for finding one's soulmate."

"Well, it's certainly evocative."

"Say what you like, but I adore Neruda." she said, "He speaks of love as it happens later in life, not the wild throes of love in youth, where everything is all excitement and impatience. He talks about the person you find when it feels as though your whole life has been spent searching. His poetry is always filled with this mix of passionate, almost carnal sensuality, and deep, abiding devotion. I enjoy the duality."

Red smiled for her passionate defense, the thought that he needed to better acquaint himself with Neruda's work flitting briefly through his mind before she settled in and took up the next passage where she'd left off.

"'A man does not recover from such devotion of the heart to such a woman! He ought not; he does not.' "

"Oh, he's letting himself slip here."

"You think so?"

"Mhmm. He's talking about them, but not talking about them. He totally still loves her."

"Why are you whispering?"

"My sweet tooth is calling, aha!" Rosalie fished three or four frozen coconut halves from the ice box, sorting through them till she found one filled with a deep red sorbet. "Mmm...pomegranate- Oh! Shit, I have to be quiet, I don't want Horace find out what we're up to. Shh!"

A deep, throaty chuckle echoed endlessly over the line.

The sound was so endearing, Rosalie could think of nothing else as she scurried back up the stairs, completely missing the dark shadow that followed her from the far end of the hall.

The shape halted in its tracks when she slipped through the opened door of the master suite and murmured, "Alright darling, now where were we?"

It was hours later when they were nearing the end of the book.

The night was dark, and empty takeaway boxes littered the coffee table beside Red. An empty bottle of sake stood upright in one of the containers, another dead soldier dangled from his fingertips. The book hovered over his face, held open by a thumb. The burner lay open on his chest, Rosalie's voice murmuring softly as she flipped the page.

"'I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I'm half agony, half hope...' "

They were finally reaching the passage Red had been waiting for, and his heart slammed inside his chest when she hesitated over the words.

"'Tell me not that I am too late,'" she whispered thickly, "'-that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it eight years ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that- that his love has an earlier death...' "

Raymond softened when her voice caught, comprehending the passage at once. A little sniff met his ears, making his chest tighten painfully as he finished for her.

"'I have loved none but you.' "

A soft, shuddering gasp carried over the line. "Why did you pick this book?"

"Saying you're selfish for making me wait." he tutted, "Telling me I could be seeing other women..." Red let his disapproval hang in the air. "Do you have any idea how you've wounded me, little dove?"

"I told you, I'm worried," she defended in a small voice, the truth seeming to pour from her lips like a deluge. "This all picked up again so suddenly, and I don't want- I don't want you to shut yourself away, only to find it's not worth- that I'mnot worth the wait."

He snapped the book shut, a tight scowl furrowing his brow as he glared at the tome. "Not worth the wait?"

Rosalie gave a hearty, shamefaced sniff.

"Not. worth. the wait?" Red repeated, shaking his head. He would never understand how little value Rosalie believed she held, how easily she could convince herself that anyone could forget her or the way she made them feel.

Raymond would never forget. Not in a hundred lifetimes would he be able to loosen the hold her gentle heart had won over him. He'd come to terms with that reality in the past several months. It's what made him end their relationship, trying to protect her. It's what brought him back, when he realized how foolish he'd been to push her away.

"You have no idea what special kind of hell it is to dread every minor inconvenience, to live in terror of what unseen thing will take you from me next."

"Rosalie," Red whispered his disbelief, "Is that what you think? That I'm just going up and leave at the first hint of trouble?"

Her voice hardened with conviction, refusing to back down. "What am I supposed to think, Ray? You changed your mind now, I'm worth it now, but what happens the next time something happens? You want me to lean on you again, to be with you and trust you, but what happens when the German resurfaces? Where will you be then?"

"I'll be right here-"

"Like you were last time?"

"I was terrified you were going to be killed-"

"And I wasn't?"

"How can you possibly think-"

"You ended it, Ray!"

"You walked away!"

"Because you didn't want me anymore!"

A deafening silence met those words. The anger left Red almost at once, dashed into the ether by the reminder of how deeply he had hurt her.

Rosalie had convinced herself he couldn't possibly love her, to make it easier to let him go, and he had allowed her to do so.

That was a lie he could no longer abide.

"Little dove..." his voice was so soft after their row, he heard her breath stutter to a halt. "When will you realize you're all I've ever wanted?"

Rosalie was silent on the other end, save for a renewed sniff.

Raymond took a steadying breath and began to tell her the truth. "I ended our relationship because I knew my life was already endangering yours. When I went back to level the cartel, I realized I couldn't be the man I needed to be if I lost you. For the first time since I took up this mantle, I didn't know what to do. You did that. You shook the very foundations of who I am, and because I am a selfish, selfish bastard, I set about doing whatever I had to do to ensure your survival."

"I still struggle to understand how you could do it." she sighed, "What kind of promise could possibly be worth that agony?"

She needed an answer, Red knew, and not a half-truth either.

What could he tell her without unveiling the truth behind his life as Raymond Reddington?

That mantel which he spoke of had never weighed more heavily than it did in that moment, pressing upon him with the duty he owed and the promises he'd made. Thinking of Rosalie made his insides twist and flare with the same something that'd made him swear his fealty and protection to Katarina's daughter all those years ago. It was love, yes, but something deeper. Something like belonging. Understanding washed over him, at once terrifying and thrilling, yet unequivocally and absolutely true.

Rosalie was the end.

All these years he'd thought the finish line he was working toward was a peaceful death after a long watch of safeguarding Elizabeth. Now, Raymond recognized there could be something more. He wanted something more, and he wanted it with Rosalie.

What Red truly longed for was a beginning; a chance at what he'd so carelessly tossed aside in his youth.

He wanted to build a life.

"I desperately need you to be there at the end of all of this," he confessed, "Whatever end that may be. I need to know that one day, when the dust settles, I can come to you, lay this battle-weary body at your feet and tell you with absolute certainty I can walk away from it all. I've never wanted such a thing before, but I do now, Rosalie, and it's terrifying. It's terrifying, but I'm here. I'm in this. So if you need to be scared, then be scared; I'm just asking that you be scared with me. Because you're sorely mistaken if you think I'm not scared too."

A fresh lance of fear settled in Red's stomach when she didn't respond right away.

"...I'm sorry I snapped."

The sincerity of the statement was like a drop of golden sunlight in his chest. It bloomed effervescently, making a small chuckle bubble up with it. "I deserved a fair bit of it, after what I put you through."

"No, you didn't." she said, graciously. "I keep losing sight of the fact that you didn't really want to end things between us either. Me pushing you away because I'm afraid of being hurt again is no excuse."

"I'm sorry I hurt you, little dove."

A beat of silence fell between them, allowing the last of their mutual discontent to dissipate into nothingness.

When Rosalie spoke again, Red was pleased to hear a softer note edging its way in.

"I didn't know your side of things, not fully. I thought you were just throwing yourself on the sword of martyrdom, but you've actually been, well-"

"Having a bit of an existential crisis, yeah."

They both sniggered at this.

"For what it's worth, I'd do it all again."

"Oh yeah?"

That impish lilt to her voice had returned, making Red grin. "Every time, little dove."

"Me too, scoundrel."

The space of a breath spread itself over the line, and Raymond swore he felt something heal between them in its wake.

" 'I have loved none but you.' " He flipped open the book and picked up right where he'd left off, "'Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me here; for you alone, I think and plan.' "

"You have plans, for our life together?" asked Rosalie.

Red smiled to himself, "Yeah, I do. I'd love to tell you about them sometime."

"...I think I'd like that."

---

Undisclosed Location - Cape Town, South Africa - February 8th, 2001

"You're not putting a manor house here."

"Why not?"

"An English manor house. On the edge of Cape Town. Do I really need to explain this again?"

"Yes."

Teddy and Horace watched as the pair began to argue again until they were both blue in the face.

The latter leaned over with a whisper. "D'you think she's decided this freelance safe houses business isn't for her?"

Both guards did their best not to chuckle out loud.

"I think if she makes it through this without killing him," said Ted, "She'll never take another private client again."

"And if she doesn't?"

"If Rosalie blows a gasket, my money's on her. We'll be feeding what's left of King to the sharks just to hide the evidence."

Rosalie threw her hands up in the air, "Earl, did you see a single manner house when you were flying in? What about on the drive out here? Did you notice any building bearing Georgian or Victorian architecture during your ride?"

"Well, no-"

"That's because nobody in the area has an English manor house!"

"Exactly! I'll be the only one in the area-"

The two had been having this argument for the better part of two weeks as every blueprint Rosalie had sent the man for the Cape Town estate was shot down. Upon discovering King desired a Georgian-style manor house for this property, she had quickly set out to disabuse him of such notions.

Her warnings, it seemed, continued to fall on deaf ears.

"Earl, that's precisely why you can't have it. How many times do I have to tell you? A manor house is too conspicuous in the location you've chosen. You might as well build a big blinking neon sign that says 'Look at me, I'm right here!' "

"I'm paying for it, I don't see why I can't have-"

"Because the safe house will stick out like a sore thumb!" Rosalie bellowed, exasperated beyond words. "If the safe house sticks out, it is no longer safe! If you just want a house in South Africa, fine! But you hired me to build you safe houses of your very own, and I can't damn well do that with a homing beacon for a design!"

Teddy pulled out his wallet and fished a tenner from inside. "I'm betting they have this same argument on the way back to the airport."

"Oh gods," said Horace, fishing out a couple of bills as well. "My bet is they won't get off the property before they're at it again..."

---

Phnom Penh Safe House - Phnom Penh, Vietnam - February 11th, 2001

" 'Her hand remained on the key of the lamp as she turned to him slowly. The heat from its flame had brought back a glow to her face, but it paled as she looked up. "On business?" she asked, in a tone which implied that there could be no other conceivable reason, and that she had put the question automatically, as if merely to finish his own sentence.' "

"Oh!...Oh, she knows. She totally knows. May knows Newland's going to see Elen!"

"You think so?"

"You said you've read this before!"

"I have," laughed Red, "But that doesn't mean I'm going to spoil the ending for you."

"There's a fair bit of book left;" Rosalie thumbed through the remaining pages, "This definitely isn't the end, but May knows something's going on. Does she leave him? Archer and Elen haven't even kissed...I mean, they're definitely having an emotional affair, but still-"

Horace burst into the room with the other burner held aloft. "Rosalie, it's the Jailbreaker, there's-" he halted, seeing the previously unknown burner in her hand. "Who are you talking to?"

"Marietta." Rosalie lied with ease, muttering, "Une seconde s'il te plaît, Maman!" to Red before taking the phone from Horace's outstretched hand.

Raymond could hear her shoo her guard out of the room before putting the Jailbreaker's call on speaker.

"Rodney, is everything alright? What's going on?"

"No, everything's not bloody well alright!" the man snarled, his sharp tenor grating even through the secondary connection, "There were armed men waiting outside the Valletta safe house. We managed to drive past without notice, but this is getting ridiculous Rose, what kind of business are you running here?"

"What kind of business am I running?" Rosalie snapped, firing up at once, "I've been hounding you to let me sequester you in the black site network for a month! This is the fifth safe house of mine you've burnt, and I have half a mind to drop you as a client for it. None of my other clients are having this issue; so who exactly is after you, Rodney? Because if they're finding my homes, they sure as hell aren't some run-of-the-mill Feds."

"Now hold on a tick, I"m not-"

"Rodney, they're on you before you even get there. You're a liability!"

"If I'm compromised before I even arrive, it's because someone on your team has leaked my intended location!"

"My team doesn't even know you're in residence until you arrive. I put that control in months ago to accommodate for the fleas on your tail, Rodney! At your behest! Before you physically enter the safe house, I'm the only person in my entire syndicate who knows where you're headed."

Rodney fell silent at this.

"Shocking though this may be for you to find out," she continued, her tone cutting like a knife, "I don't spend my spare time pissing away my money by burning my own business."

"Rose, I- listen, I know you run a tight ship," the man began to backpedal, "I'm sorry, the stress has gotten to me but this has gotta stop. I'm faring no better in your network than I would have out of it."

Rosalie sighed, "Then let me pull you into my black site network, for heaven's sake!"

"I can't be sequestered, I have clients to tend to-"

"Rodney, you can't help your clients if you're dead! Make no mistake, if you get incarcerated, your prior clientele will have you taken out purely to cover their own asses. My entire business is keeping people safe. Trust me when I tell you, you need to lie low."

Rosalie waited on tenter hooks as the silence stretched for what felt like hours. Everything that she'd said was true, save for the notion that she wouldn't burn her own safe houses. She most certainly would, if it suited her, but Rodney need never know that.

The man had obviously come to the same conclusion as he growled, "Alright. I have one client currently in-process. I can postpone the others for a month, maybe two."

"How long until the client is secured and relocated?"

"Mid-March."

She sucked a breath in through gritted teeth. "A lot can happen in a month, Rodney. Are you sure?"

"I'll move up what I can, but I'm not making any promises."

At a stalemate, the two agreed that Rodney would take up residence at Rosalie's safe house in Catania for the time being. In the meantime, she would pull the security footage from her safe house in Malta and try to identify exactly which federal agents had traced him to the island and how.

When the conversation finally ended with a sharp click, Rosalie lifted the other burner to her ear.

"Did the Feds moved without your permission?"

"No, they didn't." Red assured, "Even if they wanted to, neither they nor I know the location of your safe house in Valletta. It can't possibly be them."

"So somebody else is on the hunt for Rodney."

"It would seem so."

"Shit."

Rosalie heaved another heavy sigh, burying her face in her hand. "I can count on one hand the number of people who knew about that particular safe house."

"Who are the weakest links in that chain?"

"The property manager and the maid."

"Then we start with them."

On the opposite end of the world, Red stood, writing Malta, AM on a slip of paper before poking his head out into the hallway.

Dembe was moseying past with a large glass of milk and a stack of lemon kolaches, his expression curious. He took the offered note, gave a singular nod, and continued toward his bedroom at the end of the hall.

"Don't think I didn't notice that blackberry one at the bottom." Raymond called, garnering an impish smile from his guard before he disappeared behind the oaken door.

"Are you boys sharing?" Rosalie grumbled over the connection, knowing full well how possessive they got over their desserts.

"Isn't it Haram to eat someone else's desserts?" pouted Red, pulling the door shut.

---

The Cromwell - Crossness Entrance, London, UK - February 12th, 2001

"The DC6 aren't going to like this."

Dembe was drumming his fingertips along the top of the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the side entry to Crossness station.

"They'll get over it." said Red, likewise occupied with watching the side door.

It'd been thirty days since Ciaran Doorley had been taken to Cromwell for interrogation. In that span of time, the DC6 had managed to garner very little about the man, and next to nothing about his employer, or Basír. The Ministry of Justice was moving him to a more permanent holding cell that morning, as the clock had runout on their ability to keep him.

Since Bazalgette had continued to stonewall Red's offers of assistance, the latter was left with no choice but to snatch Doorley in transport.

"Kate and the others are in place?"

Dembe nodded. "Toddrick and Wallace subdued the drivers en route. Baz is positioned inside the transport vehicle while they go in to fetch Doorley."

As if on cue, Toddrick and Wallace emerged from the side entry with Doorley in tow, assisted by agents Sutherland and Yadin.

Raymond and Dembe slouched in their seats, waiting until Doorley was loaded into the vehicle and both agents were back inside before starting the car.

Baz tipped his hat to them as he drove past, making for the exit with Kate Kaplan hot on his heels.

Dembe pulled the town car in a tight circle, following them out to the outskirts of London.

When they were sufficiently removed from the city, the transport vehicle pulled over onto a little-used maintenance road and stopped.

Red exited the town car, straightening his hat and scarf as he did so.

When Baz opened the rear of the truck, Toddrick and Wallace hopped out with a cheery wave, leaving Ciaran Doorley baffled and shivering in their wake.

Not wishing to interrogate the man in the frigid outdoors, Raymond hopped up into the cab, removed his trench coat, and offered it to Dooley.

The truck doors closed with a mighty clang.

Doorley looked at the coat, then at Red. He took the heavy wool and wrapped it around himself with the kind of cautiousness one would use in donning a grenade vest.

Raymond smiled encouragingly, then took the seat opposite him.

"Mr. Doorley, I'm Raymond Reddington."

Doorley's eyes widened.

"I'm here on behalf of your employer."

The man paled further.

"You're going to be fine, Ciaran. Mademoiselle Øllegaard hired my men and I to pull you from MI6 custody."

The burner in Red's pocket buzzed angrily. He pulled it out, took one look at the number, and let out a dry chuckle. "Speak of the devil. They must've noticed your absence."

"I'm afraid I don't know an Øllegaard." said Doorley, watching him pocket the now-silent device.

Red smirked. "There's no need to keep up the charade. The mademoiselle has eyes and ears inside MI6; she knows you didn't break rank. That's why I'm here, to reward your loyalty."

Doorley glanced furtively at the guarded door, then back at Red. "She heard?"

"There's still a place for you in the syndicate, should you wish it."

"Really?"

"Something administrative," said Red, "From the outside it will seem like a very pedestrian real-estate position. No run-ins with the law...benefits, retirement. Simplicity, for Amelie and the kids."

He let the option sit for a moment, eyes locked on Doorley's puckered countenance.

"What would I need to do?" He asked, at last.

"Just sit back and relax."

Raymond knocked twice on the truck's back wall, and the engine turned over once more.

Baz pulled the truck around, and they were soon back on the motorway.

The silence in the cabin stretched for several minutes. The two men hardly blinked during their transit.

As the vehicle pulled off the freeway and began to slow, Doorley started to sweat again.

"What do you get out of this?"

The question was directed at Red, whose unyielding star still hadn't moved. A victorious smile plucked at his lips.

"The men MI6 brought up in their interrogation, I'm looking for them as well. I want to know what you didn't tell them about Basír and the German."

Doorley shifted in his seat, eyes darting from Red to the door once more. He leaned forward and said in a whisper, "I don't know how they even knew about Basír."

Raymond' stomach did a backflip.

"And the German?"

"I don't know nothing about no German bloke. Basír always came alone."

"How did you know him?"

"Bleeding blackmailed me, didn't he?" Doorley growled, "I went for a meeting with the London property manager, Norrick, about...about-"

He trailed off, face white as a sheet once more.

Raymond rolled his eyes. "I already know about the clientele you've been slipping in on the sly, Ciaran. As does your employer."

"What?"

"It's fortunate for you that the mademoiselle has an inside man at MI6, and that he was feeling benevolent. You were going to be left to rot for your little side business, until Øllegaard heard you'd started showing her the loyalty she deserved. Keeping your mouth shut saved your life."

A stubby-fingered hand ran through Ciaran's receding hairline, ruffling what little hair was left. "I shouldn't have- I know that, but the money was too good, and Øllegaard would never take lesser clients even though she could charge them significantly more for risk-"

"Because she has the health of the whole network in mind, not just her pocketbook. That's why she's the one running the operation, and you're not."

The subtle rejoinder made Doorley shrink in his seat. "Right..." he said, a bit grudgingly. "Well, as I was saying, I popped over to Norrick's flat to talk business, but Basír was already there. It seemed like they'd been arguing, but they got all hush-hush the moment I arrived. Basír left moments later, but showed up at my front door that very same night. I don't know how, but he seemed to know an awful lot about the Mademoiselle's syndicate, and he knew every little thing I'd been doing on the sly."

"Did Norrick sell you out?" Red asked.

"Might've." said Doorley with a shrug, "Never got the chance to ask. Norrick's apartment burned down that night with him in it."

Raymond considered him for a moment. "You don't find that an odd coincidence?"

A single brow arched back at him. "If you mean do I think that Basír fellow had a hand in it? Of course I do. Can't think of anyone else who could've been compelled to take him out. If it weren't Basír, it were someone in his acquaintance."

Doorley was smarter than he looked. They had known it was Basír since the night of the fire in Blackfen, but now they knew Ciaran was the man Basír turned to as a replacement for Norrick after Horace uncovered their involvement.

"What did Basír want you to do for him?"

"Hide someone. A man. I only saw him the once. Dark hair, shortly clipped mustache, funny accent."

Red frowned, recognizing the description at once. "The accent had to have been Germanic."

"'Tweren't." insisted Doorley, "Sounded like he was from further East, maybe Belarus. He was older than Basír by a fair bit. Older than you I dare say, give or take a few years. Didn't talk much."

"How long did this man stay in the network? Which safe house was he in?"

"He's been drifting through all of the British and Irish safe houses, save for one of a new one in London which always seem to be occupied. Basír orchestrated his movements. I told him what sites were open and he advised the other fella."

"Wait..." Red shifted forward in his seat, "You're telling me he's still in the network?"

"I believe he's still somewhere therein, yes. Though, I can't be absolutely sure-"

Raymond reached up to bang on the back of the truck's cab, making it slow instantly. "Which safe houses are open?"

Doorley flinched. "The- the Isle of Man property is open, as well as four or five Welsh properties. Another three should be open in and around Dublin-"

The rear of the truck swung open; Kate and Dembe stood waiting expectantly for Red's orders.

"Take Ciaran to the handoff." Red barked, not waiting for an answer.

Dembe fell in step beside him when he hopped down from the cab. "What did you find out?"

"We need to get Rosalie on the line immediately. There seems to be another associate, and he's in her network as we speak. Her people will be able to move faster than we can, and the less outside interference, the higher the likelihood some of her U.K. sites will survive the purge."

Red halted, turned on his heel, and jogged back to the truck. "Doorley!"

Ciaran looked up with eyes wide once more.

"How do you get into contact with Basír?"

Phnom Penh Safe House - Phnom Penh, Vietnam - February 13th, 2001

The burner on Rosalie's nightstand rattled incessantly, its little jingle infiltrating the rather enjoyable dream she'd been having about Raymond and herself in Bora Bora.

She buried her head in the pillows, but the noise continued, making her swear irritably.

"Shut up you hellish bit of plastic. Shut. Up!"

Her hand slapped around blindly on the tabletop until she felt something vibrate against her fingertips. Bringing it to her ear, she immediately flipped it open and grumbled.

"I hope you know I was just dreaming of us on a white sandy beach in French Polynesia, and you've very rudely interrupted just as it was getting g-"

"Rosalie."

It was Dembe's voice that greeted her.

Rosalie shot up at once. "What happened" she asked, rushing out of bed and throwing on a robe. "Is he alright? Are you alright?"

"We're fine." he assured, "There's been a development with the German and Basír. It cannot wait. Are you alone?"

She glanced around her empty bedroom. "Well, yeah, but I don't see why that should mat-?"

"Rosalie."

It was Raymond.

"Ray...what's going on?"

"We have a current contact for Basír, and there may be a third associate. We need to act quickly, and your people are best positioned to do so."

A weight landed heavily in Rosalie's stomach. "My people?"

"Someone's infiltrated the network, Rosalie. Doorley was being blackmailed by Basír to hide a man inside your network. To Doorley's knowledge, the man is still moving through the unoccupied properties in Ireland and Wales. We might be able to salvage some of the locations if my people aren't involved." He hesitated, "That being said, if you can part with any of the properties, my men are at your disposal."

"I don't have the bandwidth to rebuild my UK operations," she admitted, "Unfortunately, I don't have any other options; I don't have enough men in the area to cover such a sweep. What cities could your teams take?"

"I have twelve six-man teams available, one poised in every major city from Cardiff to Belfast."

Rosalie opened the large mirror at the back of the master closet to reveal a contraband cache. A quick trip to the rear of the compartment netted her folio of properties from a separate safe, where she began reading the coordinates of the open properties aloud.

Red repeated each to Dembe. Once the list was finished, the latter enlisted Toddrick and Wallace to help him relay the details to their teams on the ground.

"My people will breach in twenty minutes." Raymond informed her, "Do you want us to reach out to any of your associates in the area?"

"No," said Rosalie, "I have to assume all of my property managers and maintenance personnel are compromised for now. I'll go through the ranks and weed out the truth later. My available security will have to sweep the more remote sites."

She set the burner with Red aside and picked up a special satellite phone from inside the safe, dialing its only contact. The phone rang thrice, then a deep, graveled voice issued calmly from the speaker.

"Hemingway Aviary, how can we direct your call?"

"Nightingale."

There was a brief pause, whereupon the man's

"Good evening, mademoiselle. How can I be of service to you?"

"There's a cowbird in the nest. I need security sweeps on all remote black sites in both Ireland and Wales."

"Mademoiselle, the standard sites are the most exposed they should be searched first."

"I've borrowed outside teams to sweep them. I want these done in tandem so there's nowhere for the infiltrator to run."

"But Mademoiselle, outside interference will irreparably compromise-"

"I'm well aware of what it's going to take to replace them, Gideon. I have no other option. A breach like this is going to be hard enough to keep quiet without fretting over the cost."

"Oui, Madame."

A series of rapid-fire keyboard clacks could be heard from Gideon's end.

"We have choppers taking off in fifteen, dropping four-man teams on black sites #26, #27, #28, #33, and #61. Code names: Brogue, Emerald, Rowan, Lough, and Banshee. Initiating Cowbird Protocol, please confirm."

"Confirmed." said Rosalie, "Initiate protocol."

The crackle of a radio humming to life reached their ears.

"Protocol initiated."

The call silenced with a click, and they both let out a long, slow exhale.

"I'm sorry Rosalie."

Raymond's voice called to her from the other burner, softly commiserating with her over the massive hit her network was about to take.

"It's not your fault." she sighed, bringing the phone back to her ear. "If you hadn't been digging, I wouldn't have even known he was in there. You may not have caught me, but you unearthed a massive shortcoming in my operation. I owe you one."

"Still," said Red, "This is a heavy loss, I hate being the one bringing it to your door."

"I'll forgive you for it." Rosalie teased, doing her best to keep the conversation light. "So Basír, we have his contact?"

"Yes. We're back at the Abbey already; Dembe's been running a trace on the number this whole time, but the results have been questionable."

"What do you mean?"

"The phone pings from random points all over the globe. We can't get a single triangulation without calling it and subsequently giving away our position."

"Call it." said Rosalie, "The teams should be breaching the sites any second now. If we've managed to catch him by surprise, they're already too close for him to bolt. If we can pinpoint his burner before he knows it's compromised, we can at least know where he's been moving."

She heard Raymond call for Dembe, and the subsequent beeping and clanking of tracing equipment. After several long seconds, the latter responded.

"We're ready."

"Okay," said Red, "Calling him now."

He dialed, then placed the phone on speaker.

Three rings echoed over the line before something happened that made Rosalie's heart skip several beats.

A cacophony of jangling issued from the master closet.

Raymond caught the echo at once. "What's that godawful sound?"

Rosalie slipped from the bed and pulled the handgun from her nightstand. The noise continued as she crossed the room, increasing in volume as she neared the cache.

"I didn't think to check-"

She threw the door to the contraband closet open, sweeping from one corner to the other. There was no one there.

The jangling had increased to an unholy decibel, drowning out every other sound in the house.

Three burners lay scattered on the ground, one missing a battery while two more with cracked front screens vibrated in circles on the stone floor. Another six were still on their shelf, blue screens lit with the number for Red's burner, jostled out of their previously tidy stack as they buzzed and jingled.

"They're ringing." she whispered, horrorstruck. "They're all ringing."

The noise stopped.

An icy chill followed the ensuing silence, punctuated by the arrival of a low, amused voice.

"Clever little dove. You almost caught me."

The man had answered their call.

Rosalie glanced nervously around the room's shadowed edges despite knowing the voice had come from the burner. Something about the way he spoke made her skin crawl.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"I am retribution." he proclaimed, "And I want to send you back to Reddington in lovely little pieces."

"You'll never lay a hand on her." vowed Red in a bottomless growl, "You'll be the one in pieces, if you so much as blink in her direction."

The man laughed, a cold, cracked sound.

"I did it once." said he, "I'll do it again. Isn't that what you were told?...or have you both forgotten Colombia already?"

Raymond and Rosalie bristled.

The line disconnected without another word, leaving the pair in an angry, horrified silence.

"How?" said Rosalie, sliding to the floor of the cache, too stunned to form a coherent sentence.

Footsteps rushed outside the room. She scrambled back when Ted's mousy brown head peeked around the doorframe.

"What in the world is going on in here? Did you hear that noise?...Wait, why are you on the ground? What are those burner-?"

"Out!"

Teddy glanced behind him, as though there must be someone else that Rosalie was snapping at in such a way, rather than himself.

"What-?"

"What are you doing up?" she barked, "Go to bed!"

"I...Okay?" Ted eyed her warily. "Are you sure everything's alright-?"

"Teddy. Leave."

He held up his hands in surrender and backed out of the room.

Rosalie waited until his footsteps had disappeared to the other side of the house before speaking again.

'What the hell is going on? How did they- How is this even possible?"

"It's going to be okay," Raymond assured. "We're close. It's going to be okay."

"He said we got close. He's going to be more cautions than ever-"

"He's on the run."

"He'll still be harder to catch-"

"He has no plan, Rosalie; we're forcing him to improvise. We'll catch him."

A restless quiet fell between them, and neither spoke for several long minutes.

"We need to circle the wagons and figure out where to go from here." Red said at last, "Can you meet tomorrow?"

Rosalie pulled herself from the floor, pulling the battery out of every burner within reach and snapping the shell in half for good measure. "I've got a meeting with Earl about a Big Bear property tomorrow afternoon. Can you meet me in California?"

"Send Dembe the coordinates, we'll be there."

Closing the door to the cache, Rosalie wrapped her arms tightly around her middle.

It felt as though she'd been exposed. As though the mysterious man were somehow still in the room, lurking. Watching. Waiting.

If he managed to replace every burner in this safe house with one of his own, what else had he managed? Faced with the sheer magnitude of how much needed to be done to batten the hatches of her network, Rosalie felt physically ill.

"...Raymond?"

"Yeah?"

She worked hard to keep the tremor in her voice at bay. "Tell me it's going to be okay."

"It's all going to be okay, little dove." His gruff temper melted away to a gentle reassurance that made tears prickle at the corners of Rosalie's eyes. "You're going to be okay, and we're going to be okay, and this will all be over soon. I promise."

To be continued...

---

Preview: The Jailbreaker, Pt 2.

Raymond was deposited on his knees before them, hands still cuffed behind his back, forcing him to kneel helplessly exposed before his captor.

A barely-contained smile plucked at Rosalie's features, amusement and hunger shining brightly in those dark eyes. She reached out a lone finger to trace his stubbled jaw, just grazing his earlobe in the process. When she reached the point of his chin, she cupped it and drew her thumb across his bottom lip, setting his insides burning all over again.

A plaintive groan swelled in his chest. He narrowly managed to subdue the undignified noise before it could leave his throat.

Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?