3 months later - November 1998 - The Canal Safehouse - Amsterdam, Netherlands

It was a cool and rainy November night in Amsterdam as a man and woman quietly trudged the cobbled streets along the Amstel River. They had just visited a 24-hour bakery to satisfy a midnight craving and considering the weather, had decided to enjoy their prize back at their residence.

Reaching the area where the river curved, the pair admired their canal house. It stood in a long line of tall, slender homes, each just slightly different from the last. There were varying shades of yellows, reds, and greys, accentuated with stark pops of white trimming and details. The couple's house was a classic brick façade with large arched windows on its face. The deep green shutters were closed on all but the fifth floor, where the soft glimmer of a fire could be seen casting shadows.

It was three a.m. and the woman giggled as she shivered on the doorstep. The man with her chuckled, teasing her under his breath as he pushed the key into the door's lock. Their after-hours excursion hadn't been approved by the rest of the house's occupants, so their merriment quickly turned to shushing as they stepped over the threshold. The pair quickly and silently deposited their coats, hats, and shoes in the hall closet before sneaking through the house with their contraband.

"I'll get some glasses; you take those to the den." the man's voice rumbled in the dark.

A whisper of a giggle reached his ears, "Aye, aye, Admiral" the woman tittered, carefully tiptoeing up the stairs. Reaching the fifth floor, she slowly turned the knob on the library's door and stepped inside, trying not to make a sound. The fire was still alive in the marble hearth, bathing the room in a warm, amber glow.

An enormous fluffy sheepskin covered the flooring in front of the fire, inviting the occupants to curl up on its soft, warm surface. Taking a tray from one of the side tables, the woman placed it and the bakery box on the plush rug. She stood up to admire the effect when she felt a shift in the air, like there was someone else in the room.

A large hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream. An enormous arm wrapped around her elbows and torso like a vice. The person holding the woman stood up, lifting her high off the ground. She thrashed against the steel band of the attacker's arms, but to no avail.

A familiar voice hissed in her ear, "It's me you little hornet. Stop struggling!"

The woman's body stopped its movement entirely, tensing in the man's arms. She and her partner in crime had been caught.

She could hear the man's footsteps coming up the stairs and tried to warn him, but all that came out was a muffled "Hmm-Hmm!"

Raymond Reddington stepped into the semi-dark room, brows furrowed in concern.

The woman took the opportunity to nip the hand that covered her mouth.

"Yuck, what the-" her captor began to complain, but was cut off by Rosalie's amused cry.

"Run for your life!"

Though Rosalie was positively cackling with mirth, Red's face turned dark and formidable as he glowered at the man holding the young innkeeper.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing with her?" he asked Otto, Rosalie's secondary guard.

The office door closed as Dembe stepped out from behind it and turned on the lights. "We've been expecting you two. Please, take a seat." The young bodyguard nodded to the two chairs seated across from the desk.

Reddington looked incredulously between the guard and the chair, a small smile playing at his lips.

"...Okay?"

He strode over to the chair, casually setting the snifters he had walked in with on the gleaming desk.

Otto deposited Rosalie unceremoniously into the chair next to Raymond, the woman muttering a number of oaths at the guard's retreating form.

Their security detail went to stand behind the desk, arms crossed and features set in a stern manner.

"You cannot keep doing this." Dembe stated plainly, hoping to get the issue resolved quickly so he could go back to bed.

"Doing what?" Red and Rosalie questioned at the same time, sporting identical looks of utmost innocence.

Otto was not fooled, "You know damn well what. This is the third time this week you two have snuck out in the dead of night to go cavorting around."

"Cavorting?" Red asked, intrigued, "How did you know we were cavorting?"

"I wasn't cavorting." Rosalie insisted, "I was gallivanting."

"Oh I do love a good gallivant." Reddington nodded his agreement, crossing one leg over the other, his expression deadpan.

"I also like a nice romp."

"Not a frolic?" the young woman asked, enjoying the repartee.

"God no, I haven't frolicked in years." Reddington stated emphatically, "I like to dilly-dally when frolicking, and I just haven't had the time."

"Well, one wouldn't want to lollygag in this weather anyway-" began Rosalie, but her bodyguard had finally had it.

"Enough!"

"It is three o'clock in the morning," Dembe tried to reason, "You have been gone for almost an hour without security."

Otto continued, "Do you have any idea how worried we were? You didn't leave a note or anything to tell us where you went."

The perpetrators turned slightly sheepish at these remarks.

Sneaking off for a nightcap had become a bit of a habit for Raymond and Rosalie over the past few months. A client would inevitably call in the early hours of the morning needing documents or some other nonsense from Raymond, who would then have to wake Rosalie, because the client would then need some type of safehouse nonsense from her. It was impossible for either of them to simply fall back asleep after such an interruption.

Things started out innocently enough; the two would simply make a drink, chat quietly for a half-hour, then head back to a restless night's sleep. Once they realized that was useless, the two expanded to taking a quick stroll around the property. This inevitably and rapidly escalated into the pair sneaking off for hours at a time ordering nightcaps to wind down.

"You could have been injured. You could have been taken. We would have had no idea." Dembe pressed on, "If this happens again we are hiring a night guard to stand by the door."

The gentle threat was laced with a certain truth. If they were caught out again, Dembe would certainly contact Kate Kaplan to hire a night guard. This would, in turn, incur Kate's ire, something neither Red nor Rosalie wanted to contend with.

The pair sat like two properly-chastised teenagers as their security detail stared them down. Rosalie broke first.

"We're terribly sorry, boys. You work very hard to keep us safe and here we are being reckless for frivolous reasons." Her face fell to a gentle half-smile, "You won't catch us in any more post-curfew excursions."

"You will cease and desist your post-curfew excursions." clarified Otto, knowing the woman was being vague on purpose.

Raymond, it seemed, wasn't going down without a fight.

"No, we won't." he stated flatly, turning to his counterpart then back to their security detail. "We enjoy our little witching hour shenanigans and I, for one, won't be stopping anytime soon. We'll hire a night guard."

Rosalie beamed at him, both surprised and immensely pleased.

The statement seemed to shock their guards as well.

After a lengthy silence, Dembe turned to Otto and sighed, "That's as good as we are going to get, I think."

The young man knew Raymond well enough to know this topic was a lost cause. The older man didn't deny himself what he enjoyed in this life, and it seemed sneaking off at all hours with a certain innkeeper had become a fast favourite. Up until the two had been caught, Dembe had heard Raymond and Rosalie laughing, whispering, and merrily sneaking around the house. He couldn't begrudge the man an activity that he took such pleasure in.

As long as they were safe, the bodyguard was content for them to do as they pleased.

Otto sighed in exasperation before nodding and heading back to his room.

Dembe stopped in the doorway, turning an amused glance back at Raymond and Rosalie, the latter having just bumped her shoulder against her companion's in glee, the former looking determinedly at the wall, trying not to laugh.

"You two are still grounded for the night." Dembe chided, pointing between the two. "I'll have my eyes peeled."

"You're going to be snoring in a matter of seconds and we all know it." Rosalie teased, waving him out of the room.

The door closed on Dembe's deep chuckle, leaving Raymond and Rosalie in silence. Red turned to the little woman, a conspiring smirk on his face.

"Well, all of that chastising has made me ravenous."

The woman beamed at him, "You pour. I'll stoke the fire and get the lights."


A few minutes passed and the pair were happily settled on the enormous sheepskin with their snifters of brandy. The bakery box sat open on the tray behind them, a half dozen kwarkbollen shimmering with vanilla sugar nestled in its confines. The room had returned to its soft orange glow and its occupants basked in the warmth of the slowly crackling fire.

Red leaned back on his elbows, enjoying the quiet. His signature jacket and tie were missing. His shirt had the first few buttons popped, and his waistcoat hung open at his sides, giving him a pleasantly disheveled look.

Rosalie watched the man as he gazed pensively into the flames, the fire lighting up his features. She was glad he wanted to continue their little excursions, she would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy them immensely.

A rumbling laugh escaped from Raymond as he turned to find her watching him. "I can't believe you caved so quickly." he teased, his eyes dancing with mirth.

Rosalie looked perfectly scandalized, "Well… I… What was I supposed to do?" Truth told, she was a bit irked herself for her lack of finesse in the situation.

Raymond lifted an incredulous eyebrow, "Tell them to bugger off. Otto is your guard, he's under your employ. If you want to go exploring in the dead of night with one of the FBI's most wanted, you're perfectly within your right to do so."

Rosalie giggled at his choice of words, he seemed rather proud of his most-wanted status.

"Didn't you get caught doing things you shouldn't have when you were young?" he asked, "I know you got up to all kinds of skulduggery when you lived under Florian's roof. Horace told me all about it."

The woman's indignant pout was oddly endearing. "Is that what you two hens do while I'm cooking? Gossip about my escapades?"

"Yes." Red stated pointedly, his eyes closed, "It's quite titillating, the sordid tales of youth. I was particularly enthralled by your ingenuity where your skirts were concerned."

He was referring to her early criminal days, when she had taken up sewing. There was little point wearing a skirt if you couldn't hide a high-calibre weapon inside it, so the woman had gotten a little creative with her attire.

"You should see what I can do with a trouser belt." she muttered under her breath. Red popped one eye open to find her grinning slyly at the ceiling. The expression making him chuckle all over again.

There was a beat of silence before Rosalie spoke, "'...Sordid tales of youth?' What a lark. You're what, ten years older than me?"

"Yes." Reddington admitted testily.

Rosalie saw his jaw twitch slightly, changing her tack at top speed.

"My God that's old" she heaved a great sigh, only to have a pillow land with a smack on her torso.

She heard Red laughing as he chastised her, "What a cheeky little thing you are. May I remind you, you're nine years older than Dembe."

"Yes, but that's not ten Raymond." she teased, earning her another smack with the fluffy object.

Dancing grey eyes peeked out from behind the massive pillow. "Speaking of that sweet young man, whatever is he doing in your company? I think I should bribe him out from under you with lemon kolaches."

Reddington was grinning in spite of himself. "You leave Dembe alone, I won't have you corrupting him. And stop avoiding the question. You got into a wealth of trouble and I want to hear about it."

"I'm sorry to burst your bubble," Rosalie sighed shifting to lay beside Raymond, propping her head on her hand and smirking at him. "But I never got caught in any skulduggery before I met the likes of you."

Red's resonant laughter filled the room. "Oh, I see, that's why you sat there like a deer in the headlights. You've been up to no good, you've just never been held accountable for your lawless ways."

He was thoroughly enjoying their discussion, all thoughts of winding down for the night were put aside as he contemplated the chortling woman laying across from him. A river of fire traced the edges of her silhouette as she lay on her side. The long sleeved cashmere dress was draped comfortably over her form, her bare legs shining with the light from the flames. She certainly looked like a criminal in her black attire, her face split in a wicked grin.

She finally confessed, "I have a penchant for sneaking out. Even when I was a teenager. I was gifted at getting in and out of the house unnoticed."

"And where, pray tell, did you sneak off to?"

"I wouldn't want to offend your delicate sensibilities…" her voice held an innocence her face could never match.

"Come now, I'm sure you couldn't shock me. What was it, vandalizing? Underage drinking? I'm sure you had an old beau throwing pebbles at your windows at least."

"Oh I did those things too," Rosalie tittered, "My favourite was escaping to go stargazing with Billy Wilkes. He picked me up down the street from my house, an air mattress perfectly nestled in the bed of his dad's old pickup truck."

He shook his head at the boy's brazen attempt, "How romantic. Where did he take you for this stargazing?"

Rosalie rolled to her back, the memory making her laugh and cringe at the same time. "Out to the sticks. One of the horse paddocks on his old man's farm. There are no lights out in the countryside, we were kissing in the dark under a natural planetarium."

"I'm sure that's all you were doing, being the impressionable youth you were."

"Oh that's definitely all we did. You see, poor Billy didn't realize air mattresses tend to go flying when you're tearing down a dirt road."

Reddington let out a barking laugh which echoed in the quiet room. "He didn't."

"Oh but he did, the mattress made its way across two farms before getting popped by the electrical wire running the stud's fence at the McCalister's farm." Rosalie's eyes were watering with glee now, "His mother was terribly confused, his dad…not so much."

The pair couldn't contain their merriment any longer, the room filling with laughter at the hilarity of adolescence.

Slowly, the sounds of their amusement died away and the only noise left was the crackling of the fire. Raymond turned his head to see Rosalie's eyes getting heavy. "Time for bed, you little deviant."

Sleepy grey eyes looked up at him, "Nope. I shared a tale from my criminal origins, now it's your turn."

"I stole a strawberry bismark from Trudy Svoboda when I was 11," he offered, "It was the beginning of a long and lustrous career."

The woman giggled softly, "That's not a very good story…" she mumbled, her lips curled into a soft smile as sleep continued to pull her under.

Raymond watched Rosalie relax further into the fluffy sheepskin, her breath evening out to soft puffs. He considered scooping up her little frame and taking her down to her room, but Red worried she might not appreciate him infringing upon her personal space. It was warm in the room, and the large pillows were extremely comfortable. They could stay here for the remainder of the night.

The man stood slowly, padding across the floor to a stack of merino blankets. Pulling two from the top, he dropped one on his large pillow and unfurled the other. He moved the throw back and forth in front of the fire, taking the chill out of it before carefully draping it over Rosalie.

The young woman let out a little mew of contentment, cuddling the blanket to her. A tender smile crossed Raymond's lips at the action. He curled up in his spot across from the little innkeeper, his eyes suddenly very heavy.


Rosalie woke later that morning to the dying embers of the fire and a roaring storm outside. Opening her eyes, she saw Raymond dozing across from her. She smiled in pleasant surprise, for she had never seen the man asleep before. It was odd, seeing him so relaxed.

Opting not to wake him, the woman carefully draped her blanket over his exposed legs and tiptoed out of the room. She wanted to shower and get ready for the day before getting breakfast going.

Raymond woke some time later in a delightfully warm tangle of blankets.

Rosalie had obviously headed down to get ready for the day. The rumble of thunder outside reminded him that they were leaving Amsterdam today. It was a pity, Red found he quite liked the canal house. However, business was taking him to London, and if they were planning to leave later that morning, he needed to get a move on.

The man stretched languidly before getting up and making his way toward the master suite. He would need to shower and pack before breakfast with Rosalie and their guards. Stepping into the steaming shower, Red's thoughts turned to the young woman in the suite across the hall.

In the three months that had passed since beginning their arrangement, Red had learned a lot about the young innkeeper.

Rosalie had spectacular bed head in the mornings. She was not to be teased about said bed head until she had her first sip of coffee.

The kitchen was entirely her domain, and rightly so, the woman was an exceptional cook.

She had an army of maids spanning multiple continents solely for the fact that she despised cleaning and was admittedly terrible at ironing.

Peaches were a horrendously vile creation in her regard, the disgusted glares she shot the fruit were enough to level a small city.

Rosalie was a quiet observer, with a knack for picking up on Raymond and Dembe's every desire. She knew to make Dembe's omelette first, no pork, extra veggies. She knew Red preferred his with toast, white, not wheat, jam, not jelly.

The pair shared a fondness for blackberries, but the woman only liked them cold.

On the mornings where a blackberry would mistakenly make it into her piping hot oatmeal, Red would gallantly pluck the offending item from the bowl and pop it into his mouth.

He had a sneaking suspicion she purposely dropped them in on days when Raymond's appetite was poor.

The man was surprised to find, though her criminal persona was a fiery little hell-cat, Rosalie's true nature was warm and affectionate. Inside the sanctuary of her network, she allowed this gentle, caring side of her to come to the fore. It made each home positively radiate comfort.

A few weeks into their arrangement, Rosalie became more comfortable showing affection for Red and Dembe. Her delicate form would come treading barefoot into the kitchen most mornings, reaching to pat Horace's back, squeeze Dembe's shoulder, and skirt her fingertips gently over Red's neck as she passed each of them. Horace mentioned it was a long-standing habit of hers. Raymond found himself leaning into that touch each morning, expecting it, wanting it.

Today was no different as Rosalie tiptoed into the kitchen, pausing to ruffle Horace's hair and pinch Dembe's ribs playfully. Her long hair cascaded down her shoulders in a riot of curls, still slightly damp from her shower.

Red, having just finished getting ready for the day, sat at the kitchen table with a copy of the local newspaper. Soft feminine fingers carded through Red's hair, making the man lean into the touch, humming appreciatively. All too soon, the little hand left its pastime in search of the coffee maker.

The kitchen was soon filled with the scent of fluffy omelettes, toast, and fresh fruit as Rosalie readied breakfast for the troops. The woman beamed at Dembe, holding out his usual plate filled to the brim.

"I think she's determined to feed you till you pop, Dembe." Red commented, garnering a grin from the young man and a glare from the little woman.

"You just bite your tongue, he's a growing boy, and I'll have yours ready in a moment." Her tone brooked no argument as she passed a plate to Horace. Otto had already left for Germany to attend a family function.

True to her word, Rosalie handed Raymond a plate moments later. Her knowledge of his every whim was on full display. White, not wheat, jam, not jelly. The woman had intuitively made his omelette half its usual size, knowing he would not be very hungry after the 3 AM brandy and baked goods. The man's appreciation was evident on his face as he gave her a passing wink.

Once the four were seated, talk quickly turned to their plans for the day. The trip to London was the first in a long line of European locations which would carry them into spring. The beginning of April would bring business in Havana for Raymond and Dembe, while Rosalie and Horace needed to be in D.C.

This would be the first time their little group was split up since they began their arrangement.


As they all loaded into the car later that morning, Rosalie went over a few safety precautions with Raymond.

"All of the safehouses have hidden exits, should you need them. The one in Havana is behind a bookcase in the lounge. Should you ever need a blacksite, you will need to call me. There should be a phrase, something you don't usually say, that will alert me to your situation."

"How about 'Rosie-dear'?" he supplied, "I never call you that."

Rosalie's head tilted to the side. It was true, though other people called her 'Rosie' quite regularly, Reddington never did. "Why is that?" she asked curiously.

"Some names lend themselves well to diminutives, ours do not. I prefer to call you Rosalie just as I prefer to be called Raymond." he stated simply, "Now, what if I'm in a pickle in which I can't talk freely?"

Rosalie smiled, tapping her pen against her lips. "I'll ask you a yes or no question. Yes means you can talk freely, no means you can't."

Reddington nodded, pleased with their plan. He didn't much like the idea of leaving Rosalie and Horace in Washington, but he did not fully trust the people he was working with on the deal in Havana. Red would rather not have the young woman in harm's way if everything went to pot.

The flight to London was uneventful, and while the plane taxied, Raymond and Rosalie readied themselves for work.

Reddington was looking sharp in his usual suit, this time in a midnight blue. He donned a dark grey trench over the ensemble, making a mental note to have their winter coats unpacked and loaded on the jet.

He reached back into the closet and nabbed a pale taupe trench for Rosalie, who smiled her thanks and shrugged into the garment. It was quite chilly today, and she was glad of the warm cashmere sweater she had chosen to pair with her pencil skirt.

Raymond admired the softness of the cream-colored garment when his fingers brushed it. "I want one of these sweaters." He commented, cocking his head to the side as Rosalie turned, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.

"I think it might be a tad short for you, dear." she teased, "Besides, the suit is much more manly."

"I would like a men's version of this sweater, for relaxing around the safehouse." He clarified, shaking his head.

"Who is this relaxed Reddington you speak of?" she asked, eyebrows raised impishly, "I haven't met him."

Red chuckled at her cheek, shooing the woman off his plane.

The pair parted with a wave, their security details in tow. Raymond had meetings with several bankers over the course of the day to finalize a few larger acquisitions for his shipping routes while Rosalie was checking the safehouse before meeting with a couple clients and touring a potential property in South London.

They agreed to meet up for dinner later that night, once everything had settled.


Later that evening, Dembe and Red piled back into the town car, pleased to be finished for the day.

"What time is it?" the older man asked, tossing his fedora onto the seat next to him.

"Seven. We should be heading for the safehouse; you don't want to keep Rosalie waiting." Dembe smiled knowingly.

Raymond laughed, "I certainly wouldn't. Knowing that little chit, she would go without me."

Raymond and Rosalie's dinner 'meetings' had become a regular occurrence since that first night in New York. Every couple of days they would venture off to enjoy the local cuisine and nightlife. Reddington looked forward to these little rendezvous, the young innkeeper had turned out to be an excellent dinner companion.

Rosalie felt likewise, thoroughly enjoying the secluded hours in each other's company. Raymond had an absolute treasure trove of stories and opinions that never failed to intrigue and amuse her.

On these nights, they discussed work only so far as their next location, any mutual clients, and what their immediate plans were, which took all of one cocktail to brush past.

After that, their discussions fell to books, travel, music, philosophy, and the taboo. The pair never ran out of things to talk about, but even the silences between them were comfortable. They would occasionally run into acquaintances or old friends who would join them for a meal or a drink, but mostly, the two kept to themselves.

Most notably, the pair had gotten into an unspoken competition of who could locate the most unique and unexpected establishment for their rendezvous. Rosalie found an off-the-rails Mediterranean restaurant for dinner in Sydney, but Red had one-upped her with a nightcap in an abandoned observatory called 'The Skylight'. The week prior, Red had found an actual underground bunker bar, but Rosalie had awed with a private gastronomy experience in a restaurant called 'Ultraviolet'. They took their wins and losses with no small amount of gloating, thoroughly enjoying the challenge.


That night, Rosalie was practically bouncing with repressed excitement at their post-dinner plans. Following a magnificent beef wellington in a gorgeous restaurant along the Thames, she led Red down a cobbled street, Horace and Dembe following at a short distance.

Honing in on her intended location, Rosalie turned beaming towards Reddington, "You aren't claustrophobic, are you?"

His eyebrows shot to his hairline at the question, "Should I be concerned for my health and well-being, Rosalie?" he quipped, "You can't be that hard-up to win our little game."

A shiver of excitement ran down the young woman's spine. "Not at all, I plan to win purely on merit. I just wanted to be sure you wouldn't be opposed to a tight squeeze."

Her bright eyes gave off that sparkle of mischief Red was becoming terribly fond of. He grinned, reveling in the little ingénue's choice of words.

Rosalie guided them toward a classic big red telephone box. The thing was perched like a sentinel in the mouth of an alleyway beside an ancient church. Turning to face Raymond, the woman reached a hand back to open the door. Not taking her eyes off the man in front of her, Rosalie cautiously brought a hand up to his tie, pulling him into the space with her.

Red closed the door behind him, an instantaneous desire not to be interrupted enveloping him.

They hadn't been in such intimate proximity since that day in São Paulo when they first met.

Reddington wasn't as large as Horace and Dembe, but he was still broad, tall and incredibly masculine. All traits of which Rosalie was suddenly and acutely aware. The scent of his aftershave lingered in the air around them deliciously as the woman tried to gather her wits about her.

Raymond's eyes grew impossibly dark in the tiny space. He had been amused at first, a small smile playing at his lips. However, when Rosalie had gently and hesitantly pulled him by his tie into the booth, the atmosphere completely changed. Something about that gesture, coquettish and hesitant, yet brimming with desire. It had made the man weak at the knees.

Red was not the only one, however. The little woman was practically trembling in front of him, the electricity in the air sparking at her nerves.

Reddington wrapped his arm around her little waist, his large hand splayed possessively over the small of her back.

Rosalie's other hand came up to rest naturally on Red's chest, completely caught up in his proximity. His tie was still firmly clutched in her left hand.

The man leaned forward, pulling her feminine figure tight to him, eliciting the sweetest gasp from his counterpart. A creature which had been lying dormant in Red's chest for some time had lifted its head, purring its approval at the sight of her.

The woman's grey orbs were molten, nearly black in the unlit booth, and they were flickering between Red's eyes and lips as she quivered in his arms.

As Raymond leaned in closer, his nose brushed teasingly against hers.

Then, Rosalie heard the 'click' of the phone's receiver being picked up.

"Who are we calling?" Red asked, his face the very definition of innocence while his voice was a husky rumble that bordered on indecent.

Rosalie blinked rapidly, her mind trying desperately to crawl back to their purpose for being in the booth. "42873" she whispered, her voice tremulously belying her state.

Reddington gave a throaty chuckle, enjoying the effect he had obviously had over the woman. He prodded the requisite numbers, his other hand still holding her tight to him. He held the receiver to her cheek, fingers brushing the soft skin as a disembodied voice echoed from the other line.

"Password?"

"Gooseberry Lay" murmured Rosalie, her entire being focused on the fingers caressing her cheek.

Red liked the way her lips formed the words.

"Very well." The voice responded, before the telephone box descended slowly into the ground.

It took every ounce of self-control Raymond possessed not to pin the Rosalie to the wall of the booth and devour that pretty little mouth as they descended into darkness. The inability to see made him exponentially more aware of the feel of her pressed against him and the palpable tension in the small space.

The air around them practically crackled, making Rosalie shiver in Raymond's grasp. The darkness made her brave, and the young woman found herself leaning into his form. Her nose brushed his again when the lift came to a shuddering halt.

A rumble of discontent escaped them both as the door swung open, bathing them in a golden light.

A roaring burlesque club exploded around them as they stepped into the cavernous space. The telephone box headed back above ground to Dembe and Horace while Raymond and Rosalie got their bearings.

Outside of the stifling booth, it was easier for them to shake off the feelings of heady arousal. The pair laughed sheepishly at each other, chalking it up to too much excitement in a small space.

Everything went back to normal as their bodyguards arrived in the lift. Their charges were positively howling with laughter at seeing the two large men jammed in like sardines. Their laughter only increased when they started trying to wriggle out of the box.

"Why didn't you take separate trips?" Rosalie wheezed, clutching her sides.

Both men straightened their jackets stoically, neither willing to admit they hadn't thought of it.

Thankfully, a hostess arrived to take Raymond and Rosalie to their seats, saving the men from having to explain themselves.


"Gooseberry Lay?" Red asked as they were lead to a curved booth upholstered in peacock blue velvet.

Rosalie tittered jovially, "It's 1920's slang for stealing someone's garments off the clothes line. I thought it was a terribly clever password for a burlesque bar…"

A stage was perched in the center of the room where the arches met, amber lights swirling back and forth over its gleaming surface. Several little bistro tables lined the space in front of it, while the plush booths were nestled in secluded alcoves around the perimeter.

Peering around the edge of the booth, Rosalie could see Horace and Dembe taking their usual posts at the bar. The latter smiled softly at her and gave a little wave. Horace, on the other hand, pulled a face at her. The woman narrowed her eyes at the guard. Not one to tolerate such cheek, she flagged down a nearby bus boy to coax him into bringing Dembe a tall glass of his favorite beer, while also bringing an obnoxious cocktail with a flamboyant umbrella to Horace.

The boy was amused yet slightly terrified as he walked up to the two huge men. Dembe raised his glass in thanks, making Rosalie beam. Horace gave the boy a look that could curdle milk, making his young charge burst into peals of laughter.

Raymond peered around the booth with her, watching the exchange with unguarded amusement. It warmed him immensely to see Dembe becoming friendly with Rosalie. The pair beamed conspiratorially at each other from across the room like two siblings plotting a magnificent prank.

Looking around at the arches and old stone walls, Red suddenly realized the space they were in was an ancient, unused catacomb. It was likely attached to the decrepit church next door. The space and concept were, truthfully, breathtaking.

When a waitress arrived with their drinks in naught but pasties, a feathered headdress and a matching crimson G-string, Red turned his gaze to his business partner.

Rosalie was utterly beside herself. The minx knew she had won their little game, and was grinning at him like the cat who caught the canary.

Raymond held out his hand, which the young woman took, claiming her victory.

The show was a decadent affair. The acts were wild, funny, and held an undertone of sensuality that both Raymond and Rosalie thoroughly enjoyed.


Halfway through the second act, Rosalie had been forced on stage, as Horace had convinced one of the waitresses it was her birthday. The audience sang to her and a scantily clad performer taught her a dance with a pair of voluminous ostrich feather fans.

Dembe and Horace could be heard wolf-whistling from the bar, making the woman's face flush a luminous pink.

Rosalie finished the dance in good humor and to a roaring round of applause. As she sauntered back to their table, she shot daggers at Horace, who waved merrily back. Raymond couldn't withhold a grin as she slid into the safety of the booth amid wolf whistles from all three of her cohorts.

"My god, I need a drink after that." she sighed, taking a long sip from her cocktail, her cheeks still ablaze.

"I had no idea you had such a talent with fans." Reddington chuckled, shaking his head.

"Horace will pay dearly for that. Though truth told, I would have really enjoyed it if there weren't so many people around" The young woman smiled at the troop of bejeweled and feathered performers, "I think I would thoroughly adore being a burlesque dancer."

Raymond's mind suddenly held a vivid image of Rosalie's shapely form nude on an amber-lit stage, her more delectable bits covered by two vibrant blue ostrich feather fans. Something of his thought process must have shown in his face, however, as the woman quirked an amused eyebrow in his direction.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she purred.

Red merely winked in reply, finishing his scotch. He was pleased to note the gesture had brought another flush to the woman's already radiant skin.


The Mayfair Flat – London, UK

The group made their way back to the safehouse in the wee hours of the morning, the November chill chasing them quickly inside.

The house's occupants happily readied for bed, it had been a long and eventful day.

As Reddington set about changing out of his suit, his thoughts turned to the array of stunning homes they had stayed in for the past three months. His partnership with Rosalie was turning out even better than the he had expected. Business was booming for both, and they had hit a stride in their dealings that felt effortless.

Raymond's day-to-day dealings aside, the man found he was happier with this new setup.

He hadn't anticipated becoming such good friends with the little innkeeper; however, their common interests and general personalities made the friendship almost inevitable.

Rosalie understood the complexity of running a criminal empire, and he found her celebrating his successes and commiserating his losses along with him. Likewise, Red understood the precariousness of a newly-minted criminal empire, and found himself going out of his way to try and guide her towards the most profitable options.

What was more surprising was Rosalie's receptiveness to Raymond's assistance. She listened to his every word, thinking extensively before making any moves. Horace often teased her that the sound of her brain whirring to life overpowered the sound of the plane's jets.

Raymond found it endearing.

The woman had even started seeking him out for opinions on locations and potential clients.

Rosalie was in the favorable situation of not having to seek out new clientele; they were coming to her in droves on recommendations from current partners. This was good for business, but the woman knew she needed assistance in choosing whom would be allowed access to her network. And so, she had sought out Red.

It had made the man feel incredibly good, to be able to help her. Being the Concierge of Crime, Red seemed to know everyone in the criminal underworld plus their barbers, their lovers, and their first-cousins twice removed. They would often sit in the lounge, Rosalie perched on the arm of his chair, to look over her potential clients. Reddington gave her useful information on the good ones and steered her away from the nastier characters, knowing they would be bad for business and potentially dangerous to her.

Rosalie took his recommendations without question, thanking him sincerely for his assistance.

A smile flitted across Red's face as he continued to think about the excellent balance he and Rosalie had struck.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock, Dembe hesitantly entered the room with a burner phone in hand.

"Raymond, we have a problem."