Four months later...
Grand Ballroom - The Armel Château - Cerét, France - December 9th, 2000
Marietta Armel swept into the bustling ballroom with a contingent of frenzied event planners still nipping at her heels.
Their endless menial questions swarmed like a cloud of buzzing bees, following her from one end of the property to another for the past week. Though, in all, she couldn't complain too much.
The vast majority of the upcoming night's festivities had been coordinated by the combined efforts of her daughter and the eccentric young fugitive who had coaxed them all into hosting his annual masquerade ball at the Armel château.
Marcello Černobog, a tall beanpole of a man known for keeping all kinds of unsavory bedfellows, stood in the midst of another throng of harried staff, fielding questions and opinions with careless ease.
The heads of the dozen or so waiters and waitresses circling him shifted this way and that, swaying like ocean waves clamoring to reach the shore.
Marcello stood a head taller than the lot, his keen silver eyes glinting this way and that; as always giving Marietta the impression of a rather flamboyant orchid mantis holding court amongst a bunch of unsuspecting moths he was about to devour.
Her scrutinizing was interrupted by another pair of heels clicking on the polished marble floors.
Rosalie had entered with a small contingent of her own associates, all of whom seemed to have their orders in place as they scrambled to opposite corners of the ballroom with all manner of supplies and decorations in hand.
The only remaining person at Rosalie's side once the others scattered was a beautiful young woman with eyes like dark chocolate and a thousand-watt smile.
Josephine Moliére, her arm linked comfortably with Rosalie's, looked for all the world like she was having the time of her life.
The youngest Miss Moliére had been staying with the Armel's daughter for the past month and a half in a stunning safe house on Kauai, enjoying the first taste of freedom she'd been allowed in her young life.
How Rosalie managed to sweet-talk Augustus Moliére into allowing his pride and joy to accompany her for six weeks with only her bodyguard in tow had been the talk of the compound ever since their departure.
Marietta beamed at both women, delighted to know her years of dutifully instructing Rosalie on the art of feminine criminality hadn't gone to waste. The knowledge that her daughter had been able to talk a formidable patriarch into giving his daughter a long-overdue stretch of autonomy, all the while making him believe it was his idea, was everything she had hoped for Rosalie and more.
The pair had returned from Kauai the week before, sun-kissed from head to toe and positively thick as thieves.
A good friend was such a rarity in their world. Marietta could barely contain her delight at welcoming Josephine into their unconventional family unit.
Cedric entered the ballroom from a side door, looking a smidgeon sunburnt as well, but quite well-rested.
Unbeknownst to the Augustus Moliére, Rosalie had suggested Cedric join them for a brief respite four weeks into their stint on Kauai. It took remarkably little meddling on the Armels' part to convince Cedric to go, and it seemed the time away had done wonders for him.
His normally dour features were lighter than Marietta had ever seen them, his gait and posture easily more relaxed, and his pale green eyes were keen as they fell on Josephine, whose cheeks bloomed a striking pink at finding herself caught in his gaze.
Rosalie noticed as well, smirking to herself and sparing the briefest glance for the distracted pair before slipping her arm from Josephine's and turning to the swarm of planners around Marietta.
"Viens ici s'il te plait," she waved at the group, "My mother has better things to be getting on with."
The dozen or so attendants quickly scrambled away from Marietta, turning their buzzing noise on Rosalie instead, who waved another patient hand, assuring she would get to them in good time.
Rosalie tucked Marietta's hand in the crook of her arm so they could take a turn about the room and give Cedric and Josephine their privacy.
"Désolé, Maman," Rosalie began after a moment of blessed quiet, "I told the planners not to bother you with questions, but it seems that request was duly ignored."
Marietta waved the apology aside, resting a warm hand on top of Rosalie's and patting her fondly. "Ce n'est rien, ma rose sauvage. How are the final preparations going?"
Rosalie hummed to herself, eyes drifting critically from banister to banister where magnificent garland heavy with evergreen boughs and blooming silverston roses were being draped and pinned with utmost care by her team of florists.
Marietta's gaze followed that of her daughter, taking in the lovely arrays with pride. "Such a unique hue of rose, my dear. If I recall correctly, you started growing them not long after Raymond's visit to the château..."
A tight-lipped frown darkened Rosalie's features. "Raymond gave me a bouquet with silverstons before our first date; I was terribly fond of them for a time. I'm glad they could be put to use."
"Would you like to tell me why you paired your beautiful roses alongside mistletoe and thistle?" Marietta's knowing tone made Rosalie's lips purse impossibly tighter.
"Mistletoe is festive, Maman. Surely, I have no idea what you mean."
"Mhm." Said Marietta, "Rosalie, you know very well mistletoe is poisonous and thistle has long been associated with pain, protection, and pride."
The two women shared a stout look, neither willing to bend to the other.
Their standoff was thankfully interrupted by Marcello.
"Dahling." He crooned in that ridiculous transatlantic accent he'd adopted after inheriting his family's fortune. His arms flung wide to part the staff around him like Moses parting the Red Sea.
Rosalie and Marietta shared another look, this one of amused exasperation.
Marcello was...eccentric. To say the least.
Nobody could deny that his parties were always the highlight of the underground's social calendar, having risen to a Met Gala-like status over the years. However, there was an air about him that was equal parts thrilling and unsettling, like the climb before the drop on a rollercoaster.
His aura was not aided by the sheer number of assistants the criminal elite knew he went through in a given year. The current pair, Poppy and Titus, were the same cut as the last twelve; Ivy League educated, chic, and impossibly skittish in equal measure.
Marietta couldn't help but wonder if they already knew what had befallen their predecessors...
It took Marcello's unnaturally long legs a step and a half to close the distance between himself and the Armel women. "Rosalie, it took you and dearest Josephine so long to wake, I was afraid we were going to have to send forth a search party."
Josephine seemed to appear out of thin air at Rosalie's elbow. "Now Marcello, you know very well we were ambushed by several members of your little posse the moment we walked out of our rooms." Her brows quirked mischievously, "The way they carry on, it took us well over an hour to make it down the staircase."
A sly, Cheshire-cat grin curled at Marcello's lips. His voice turned sickly sweet, "Feisty kitty-cat. You must come to my garden party this spring. You'd look so fetching frolicking amongst the Holland tulips...Really, I must insist."
A sweet, demure smile was Josephine's only response.
Marietta heard Rosalie titter to herself, obviously pleased by this subtle display of Josie's cunning. Her friend had undoubtedly picked up a few tricks during their time together in Kauai. The thought couldn't make Marietta more proud.
Completely unbeknownst to Marcello, Josephine had just managed to secure her debut into criminal society. Even her overbearing patriarch wouldn't be able to deny her standing invite to Marcello's soirees in the future; not without intense scrutiny. In turn, Miss Moliére's attendance at Marcello's events and her close proximity to Rosalie and the Armels all but guaranteed she would be included in a vast array of social events which could keep her busy until her dying breath, if she so wished.
Josephine flashed Rosalie a wink, and gave but one gleeful bounce of her toes. Rosalie met her amusement with a luminous smile of her own.
As they began to discuss the few remaining details which would need to be handled before guests began arriving that evening, Marietta took a moment to truly look at her daughter.
Rosalie had changed over the past few months. Her happiness had returned, albeit slowly. There was a determined strength to her features now which hadn't been there before; the last dregs of her criminal youth having been smoothed away, buffed to a formidable polish that seeped into her demeanor like the darkest of dyes.
Marietta found herself a bit conflicted at the sight. Though a part of her would always be nostalgic for the turbulent young woman Rosalie had been when she'd first come to live with them, she also felt a profound feeling of pride that her adopted daughter had found her footing in solitude.
She could breathe a sigh of relief in knowing that Rosalie could weather any storm, even if she must weather it alone.
It had been impossible to imagine her happy and settled when she'd arrived at Corsica back in August, hot on the heels of what she believed was Raymond's most recent betrayal.
Marietta felt a sharp lance to her heart as she thought back to that day; when Rosalie had finally found her breaking point.
-Flashback-
The Armel Compound - Porto Vecchio, Corsica - August 3rd, 2000
When Rosalie finally finished retelling all that had happened in the past six months, Florian looked as though he were in physical anguish.
The truth of what had happened in Colombia had drained most of the color from his face. When Rosalie explained the dissolution of her and Raymond's relationship and the ensuing months after their separation, however, even Marietta felt her stomach dip unpleasantly.
Rosalie was still knelt at his feet, hands folded neatly in her lap, her blonde head bowed with grief and her eyes firmly fixed on the floor.
The silence in the room was deafening, interrupted only by the occasional sniff from Rosalie.
"Why did you not tell me?" Florian whispered at last, a few angry tears falling from his eyes to land in his salt and pepper whiskers.
He reached out to tenderly cup his daughter's face, calloused thumbs brushing away the torrent of tears now carving burning paths along her cheeks. "I could have helped, mon trésor. I could have done something. Anything."
It took several seconds for Rosalie to meet his gaze. When she did, her voice was thick with grief.
"What could you have possibly changed, Florian? Once you laid waste to everything and everyone involved I would still be left as this...this shell."
Florian's frown deepened, "So instead you forced yourself to face this alone? How is that possibly better than confiding in your Pére?"
Marietta felt her throat cinch tight as though she had swallowed a hot coal. She'd known Rosalie's silent suffering would tear a cavernous hole in her husband's heart, and she did not relish in having facilitated it by keeping the truth from him.
As though he could hear her thoughts, Florian's sharp blue eyes shot to Marietta's, silently assuring her that they would be discussing in great detail her impromptu stay in Paris all those months before. He had been suspicious at the time, but now he looked absolutely certain of her involvement.
She lifted her chin defiantly, and after a brief standoff, his focus dropped to Rosalie once more. He would come to understand those secrets had not been hers to tell. He would forgive her; and Marietta was confident their daughter's honesty would stitch together the wound to Florian's just as quickly as she'd made it.
"Pére, if I didn't have to confess what happened...I could continue pretending that it didn't happen." Rosalie's lips trembled around the words, stuttered by a sharp hiccup. " I just really wanted to pretend this whole thing never happened, and telling you makes it real."
As Marietta had expected, the last dregs of Florian's anger slipped away like a wisp of smoke. He shifted forward in his seat, still cradling Rosalie's face in his hand.
"What can I do, mon trésor? I would give anything, do anything to make this right."
This seamed to be what Rosalie had been waiting for. Her hands reached up to grasp his own.
"Take it."
"...What?"
"My network," she whispered, "Take it."
Florian froze at this.
Marietta's attention shot to Cedric, who was already frowning back at her with a look that told her he hadn't been expecting this either.
"Why would you ask this of me?" Questioned Florian. He squinted into Rosalie's eyes as though an explanation were tattooed on the deepest parts of her.
Tears still fell in hot lines down her cheeks, now beginning to trace a winding path over Florian's knuckles. "I'm being hunted, Pére. I don't know who I can trust, and I've lost the man I was building a life with to someone else. I'm weary..." she sighed, "And I'm alone in this. I don't want to do it anymore. You've been all but begging me to take the Corsicans. Well, now you have me. I'll do it, if you take this from me."
Understanding unfurled between Cedric and Marietta as the pair stared at each other for several long seconds, wondering what had changed in the brief time between Cedric's departure and Rosalie's return.
Turning back to Florian, Marietta saw him stand with the deepest frown she'd ever seen paring but one glance for Cedric who wordlessly fell into step behind him, closely followed by Achille.
Marietta remained in her seat for a moment, listening intently to the whispers which kicked up before they opened the door.
"You knew what happened to her."
Florian's accusation lacked its usual sting. There was only a small beat of tense silence before she heard Cedric's fist close around the door's iron handle.
"I did."
Marietta turned in time to see her husband place his hand on the younger man's shoulder and give it a firm squeeze.
"At every turn you've remained our greatest confidant and friend. You've kept her safe. You've kept her secrecy. I fear paying our debt to you will require more than I will ever own."
A watery smile pulled at Marietta's lips when Cedric's shoulders instantly slumped with relief.
"All I'll ever ask in return is to remain at your family's side." He insisted, then turned the knob and held the door for Florian to pass through.
Achille shifted uncomfortably behind them, seemingly at a loss for what he should be doing.
Marietta's gaze lingered sympathetically on him a fraction longer than was strictly necessary.
Rosalie's offer to take up the Corsicans in exchange for the dissolution of her network had undoubtedly rattled Achille Fabron to his core. Though he was the one slated to be the next Caïd of the Corsicans, Achille knew full well he could never stand against the Armels' golden child; nor could he dissuade the backing of Cedric Durant, which would undoubtedly transfer to Rosalie should she choose to take up the mantle.
As consigliere and caïd, Cedric and Rosalie would be a formidable pair. Beloved by the Corsicans and recognized as Florian's kin by all within their circle, their claim to the throne of the Corsican mafia would always outstrip Achille's, and there was no doubt he now knew it.
That being said, Marietta was not convinced this was what Rosalie truly desired. Florian's pointed silence on the matter seemed to suggest he suspected the same.
"You two." She heard Florian bark at a pair of low hissing voices that sounded distinctly like Horace and Ted, "You will stay at the compound until you can agree on who is Rosalie's right hand. She doesn't need to listen to you arguing morning, noon and night."
Another bought of arguing ensued at this, interrupted periodically by Florian's low snarl.
While the men bickered, Marietta stood from her seat and circled the room's massive iron coffee table to where her daughter knelt with her eyes still rooted to the floor.
"Come Fille, the floor is no place for you." She reached out with gentle hands to ease Rosalie from her place on the rug and guide her into Florian's chair.
Fayette, Marietta's personal assistant, bustled past the crowd at the door in that moment, bearing a heavy-laden tea tray in her arms.
"Mesdames," she nodded, setting the tray on the coffee table before bustling back out the door.
Marietta fixed them each a cup of tea, passing the first to Rosalie, who took it with a quiet murmur of thanks.
The first sip had her eyes drooping. Finally relieved of all the secrets she had held these past four months, her body released all of the tension it had been holding onto, leaving her boneless and tired.
There were many questions Marietta wanted to ask her daughter, but now was not the time. Rosalie was utterly spent, and if she managed to make it another hour before becoming dead to the world, Marietta would be surprised.
Cedric's voice could be heard then, near the door's threshold.
"What do you need me to do?"
The entry was thrown into shadow by Florian's tall frame.
"Rouse Caspian and have the helicopter brought back. Round up Pascall and Odette as well; I'm taking her to Bedrock."
Marietta looked up in time to see her husband enter the room, his eyes zeroing in on Rosalie seated in his place, a look of covetous approval darkening his features.
He stood in that manner for several seconds before shaking his head abruptly then moving further into the room.
It was decades' worth of experience which allowed Marietta to understand that minute gesture as a physical manifestation of the war going on inside Florian in that moment.
Though it was no secret the man's deepest longing for his legacy was for Rosalie to take up the Armel name and succeed him as leader of the Corsicans, the role he had taken in the girl's life was that of a father.
The thought brought a smile to Marietta's lips.
Beyond herself, there truly wasn't a single soul walking this earth whom Florian loved and cherished more than Rosalie. He wanted her to rule the Corsicans, yes, but above all else, he sought her happiness.
The father and the Caïd, usually so in sync with one another, were now at each other's throats. Seeing Rosalie perched in his seat like an heir apparent seemed to be too much for the Caïd in Florian to take.
Teddy's voice broke the quiet from the still-open door, a question on his lips.
"What's Bedrock?"
"Bedrock was the first black site in Rosalie's network," murmured Cedric, reaching a hand inside to pull the door closed, "Florian gave it to her after she landed her first client...It's a safety net for the day she would need to step away from her empire."
-Present-
Grand Ballroom - The Armel Château - Cerét, France - December 9th, 2000
Marietta was forced back to the present at the echo of a booming voice announcing its arrival to the ballroom.
"Josephine!"
Augustus Moliére, dark haired, olive skinned, and positively rotund, came lumbering into the room with Florian at his elbow. His round face was alight with pleasure at seeing his daughter nestled protectively between the Armel women.
"Papá!" Josephine beamed and rushed forward to hug her father, nearly knocking him over in her exuberance.
Rosalie and Marietta shared a soft smile before turning their attention back to Marcello.
"Are we all set for tonight, then?" Rosalie continued, "I think that concluded everything but the guest list, which I still haven't had a chance to review..."
"Oh it's all the same old faces," Marietta chimed in quickly, "Why don't you go save your father from Augustus and thank the man for allowing you to abscond with his daughter while I review the last-minute changes to the list with Marcello."
Marcello smiled slowly back at her, black eyes glinting in an unnerving way. "Yes, mother dearest and I can handle the guest list. Run along, poppet."
An almost imperceptible scowl cracked Rosalie's facade, showcasing her displeasure at the demeaning pet name for the briefest of seconds before smoothing once over to a shield of impenetrable politeness.
"Certainly."
She turned on her heel and hitched a charming smile on her face as she made her way toward Augustus with arms open wide.
"Now, dearest Maman," Marcello's silky tone drew Marietta's attention once more, "With which of the eligible bachelors on tonight's menu are you planning to blindside your daughter?"
Marietta snatched the list from Titus's fidgety hands, turning pages carelessly and keeping her eyes peeled for the name she was looking for. "One would think by now someone of your position would know how to keep his nose out of things which don't concern him."
Marcello's face sallowed slightly, his mouth pursed in quiet discontent.
"There's a good boy." She replied, still not looking up, her sickly-sweet voice just as condescending as when he had called Rosalie 'Poppet'.
The man huffed and turned around to start ordering people about, completely missing the small, sly smile which tugged at Marietta's lips as she found the name she was looking for.
Raymond Reddington, +1
Reddington's Jet - France Airspace - December 9th, 2000
"You're using her."
"I know."
Raymond Reddington was seated in the shadows of the jet's secluded office, looking supremely unconcerned as he nursed a cup of lemon darjeeling and was serenaded by the dulcet tones of Dr. Tiller chiding him for the umpteenth time.
Since the day the invitation had arrived, Red had been putting off any discussion regarding the night's upcoming festivities. His out-of-sight, out-of-mind mentality had worked thus far, allowing him focus on his work with MI6 without disruption as the days flew by.
The team had made several arrests in their pursuit; from forgers and brokers, to proxies and the occasional innkeeper, they had made great strides in hunting down the criminal known as the Jailbreaker. Their combined patience was about to pay off in the form of his next client, a wealthy freelancer who was currently being detained in the Cromwell's holding cells on treason chargers.
With his trap for the Jailbreaker set, Raymond had felt prepared when accepting the invite to one of Marcello's fabled ballroom extravaganzas. This one had been billed as 'The Birds & The Bees'-A night of most decadent revelry graciously hosted in the Armel family château in Ceret.
The locale had been enough to convince him there was more to the invitation than met the eye.
Sure enough, when he had held the card up to the light, he made out the etchings of a note in the bottom corner. The neat penmanship therein certainly wasn't that of Marcello, but Red couldn't be sure he had seen it before. It swooped and swirled into a few simple words that had made his stomach lurch.
'She'll be here. Don't be late.'
There was only one person the note could have been referring to, and that was Rosalie.
Fueled by the foreboding knowledge that the two of them hadn't spoken in four months and all that time Rosalie had continued to be under the impression he had replaced her with another, Raymond had finally caved and confided his concerns to his therapist. He'd done so with the assumption that the man could help him sort through his nerves and come up with a concrete way to approach the woman he had so foolishly pushed away.
This assumption, he quickly realized, had been a mistake.
Opening up their discussion to what happened in New York inevitably brought them around to what happened after New York, and perhaps the most volatile piece of the puzzle...
Emma.
It didn't take Tiller long to put together the gist of what Raymond was doing in London and why. The knowledge that he'd willingly put a whole team of MI6 agents in jeopardy for the sake of hunting down the German had been a point of contention for the past two weeks.
Emma, being the centerpiece to Red's plan, had immediately become Dr. Tiller's focal point.
"Agent Knightley doesn't even know she's a pawn in your games," he reminded for what felt like the hundredth time, "You do realize how damaging her role in this could be for her and her family?"
Red sighed, "I'm doing everything in my power to keep her safe and happy. I springboarded her into the job she's always dreamed of. I extorted the British prime minister into putting the MI6 task force on the official docket to appease her toe rag of a husband. I even helped save their marriage by sending the two of them on an all-expenses-paid holiday at my bungalow in the Maldives. What more could you possibly want from me?"
Tiller leveled him a bland look. "You could start by being honest with her. She's caught up in the middle of all of this without a clue as to why. Emma deserves the benefit of the truth and the opportunity to decide whether she wants to be a part of your plan."
This brought a twitch to Raymond's eye; the only tell he gave of his annoyance.
"I make it a point not to overshare."
"Perhaps that is something we can work on in our sessions together." Tiller suggested evenly, "I imagine it would be a relief not to hold so many secrets."
"Quite the contrary;" Raymond countered, taking a long sip of his tea, "In my profession, showing one's hand can be a death sentence."
Dr. Tiller set his notebook aside once more and leaned forward, "Raymond. Emma is a human being, not a business deal. Being honest with her about your intentions with MI6 will not adversely affect you in any way."
Red gave a dry, reedy laugh. "You're woefully wrong, Cuthbert. Let me give you a lesson in criminal psychology. If I told any one of those agents what is actually bringing me to their doorstep, I would lose the high ground over them. They help me because they think I'm the one with the power, the "in" that gets them access to the kinds of criminals their government desperately wants. In return, they believe I get snippets of necessary intel to bolster my criminal enterprise. The moment any of them become aware that it is actually I who needs them, I lose my high ground, and that is a loss of control I cannot allow. I refuse to have any measure of my world dictated by a passel of glorified desk clerks."
"There it is again," Tiller intoned, his brow lifting notably.
"What?" Said Red.
"Your need for control, Raymond. You're so focused on keeping that strangle hold you have on your world, you still can't fathom the idea that opening up to someone could be the simplest solution." Tiller heaved a sigh when Red made a scoffing noise. He shook his head and lifted his notepad back to his knee, "Even now, rather than looking inward and seeing if your mindset has changed in regards to yours and Rosalie's relationship, you just prod me for the best way to get back in her good graces. I'm telling you, if you approach her now, like this, you'll lose her indefinitely."
Red set his teacup on its saucer with a sharp 'clink'. His eyes swiveled, settling darkly on Dr. Tiller. "My mindset has changed, entirely. I know it was wrong of me to push her away. I was afraid of losing her and I made the wrong decision. I plan to tell her as much. I didn't bring any of this up for you to judge my worthiness. I've made my choices, and I'm the one who has to live with them, not you."
This brought the discussion to a screeching halt.
Tiller sat up straighter in his chair, his interest sufficiently piqued."Then why bring it up at all, Raymond?"
"Because I don't know what to say to Rosalie about Emma. I've given her space these past four months all the while she's been convinced I simply moved on to the first young thing I saw. How do I show her what she witnessed was not a betrayal?"
"You could start by telling her the truth." Tiller repeated, enunciating the last two words with conviction. He made a few sharp swipes on his notepad.
"Don't you think I tried that when it happened?" Raymond growled, "After New York, I called her non-stop for a week before every person in our circle- including you, mind- told me to take a step back and stop trying to explain myself. Everyone said the truth will out, but I'm seeing her in less than ten hours and she still thinks I'm gallivanting the globe with a newer model. Tonight will be my only chance to set things right between us and I won't even be able to approach her with a clear conscience!"
The scratching of Dr. Tiller's pen ceased abruptly. He looked up from the page, his brow puckered with concern.
"And what happened with Emma that weighs so heavily on your conscience, Raymond?"
Red fell back into his chair, unaware that he had been standing during his tirade. The silence stretched for minutes as a war raged within himself.
His self-preservation demanded he never tell a soul. Yet another, much smaller part of him, screamed for deliverance. It was the part of him that knew he could not approach Rosalie with a lie. He needed to be completely honest if he wanted a chance at a life with her.
Showing his cards was not in Raymond's repertoire, but he had to try.
Why not start with Dr. Tiller?
-Flashback-
Kore - London, United Kingdom - August 3rd, 2000
The Brothers Sionnach proved easier to manipulate than Red had initially thought.
Eager for a clean target that would make a big splash, it took little to no persuading to get them on board with bombing the SIS building.
His only condition had been they do it at a time where nobody was in the building, so as not to draw too much attention too soon in their crusade. The brothers would get their notoriety while Raymond got to keep innocents from getting caught in the crossfire.
If they were suspicious about what Red wanted from the deal, they didn't show it. No doubt, they assumed the worst of him like everyone else.
To be fair, their assessment wouldn't be far off; the bombing was pure selfishness on his part.
Red was confident Agent Knightley would not sacrifice her marriage to continue working with the MI6 task force and, most unfortunately, he needed her. They were back at square one with the Jailbreaker, and Emma wasn't indebted enough for him to have any kind of leverage to get access to the MI6 immigrant database. As such, complying with her husband's demand that their operation be sanctioned by the British government now became a necessity.
One more high-profile explosion would be all it'd take to secure the prime minister's backing. However unwilling he may be, he couldn't allow another terrorist attack to occur without showing the public he was making strides to find the culprits. The Cromwell's team would be the ideal show ponies to appease the frightened masses.
Albert would suspect Red's involvement, but there would be no way for him to prove it without jeopardizing his team.
These thoughts were interrupted by the soft chime announcing the arrival of the establishment's glass elevator. Raymond stepped inside, feeling a pair of twin breezes brush past on either side.
When he turned, it was to see Kate and Dembe already inside, the former pressing the button for the lobby with a swift jab.
Dembe turned. "Agent Knightley called. She wishes to meet you at the Abbey. She would not say as to why. I have already sent Charles with one of the spare town cars."
"Very well," said Red. "We'll see what she wants, then I have a few tasks for the two of you."
"I take it they involve your impromptu meeting with the very brothers you're supposed to be helping the feds hunt?" Kate groused, the first to step out of the elevator upon reaching the entry level.
Raymond pursued her through the lobby, tipping his hat to Kore's proprietor on his way out before responding.
"Albert and his little band of ruffians will get their due. Unfortunately an unforeseen obstacle in the form of Knightley's husband has thrown a wrench into things."
"He is threatening to talk?" Asked Dembe, sliding into the driver's seat.
"No, he gave Emma an ultimatum. Either our little venture goes on the books with MI6 or she quits the task force."
"She doesn't have that kind of influence." Insisted Kate, immediately seeing the flaw in Colin's logic.
"We need her." Dembe reminded, "We can't get access to the immigration files without her assistance."
"That's where the brothers come in." Raymond lifted the burner from his jacket and dialed Teddy's burner once more, huffing when he again received a disconnected tone. "They'll cause an almighty racket that will force the prime minister's cooperation. The team will get on the books, I'll get my immunity agreement, and we can continue building toward the access we need."
They reached the Abbey a short twenty minutes later.
Charles and Emma were already waiting for them as Red, Kate, and Dembe poured out of one of the home's elevators.
Charles took his leave, as did Kate and Dembe, leaving Raymond and Emma stood somewhat awkwardly in the central living area.
Red noted the overnight bag tucked unassumingly at her feet, but decided not to mention it.
"I fear I owe you an apology." He murmured ruefully instead, placing a hand to the small of Emma's back and guiding her through to the alcove office sequestered between a couple of large bookcases and Goya's Nude Maja. "I was less than polite in New York. I'm afraid you got caught up in a disagreement that had little to do with you in the end."
Emma's cheeks flushed a dull pink, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I'm sorry I pressed the matter. Were you and your er...friend able to reconcile?"
Raymond didn't notice the brief, furtive look she cast his way, nor the timid smile that came after his next statement.
"No, I'm afraid an understanding remains elusive. Perhaps another day."
"Shame..." she whispered.
"Hmm." Said Red.
He was momentarily distracted by the overnight bag, an alarm suddenly going off in his head. "What happened that you needed to come to the Abbey at one in the morning?"
A dark flush stained Emma's cheeks, and she shifted from one foot to the other, not meeting his gaze.
"Ah, well, about that..."
Raymond lifted the bag which now rested on her shoulder and set it gently on the desk's gleaming face. "I take it any reconciliation with your husband has remained elusive as well?"
"Yeah..." she breathed, her voice shaking slightly.
Red thought she must be terribly upset.
"He's not home. He took our dog and went to stay at his mother's for a bit. Left a note saying he needed time to think."
Emma seemed to be leaning into him, probably seeking comfort.
Mentally slapping himself for being so oblivious, Raymond reached out and pulled Emma into a bracing hug.
"He'll come back," he assured, easing her head to rest on his shoulder. "Don't worry. And when he does, you can tell Colin the plan for getting us on the books is already underway."
She pulled back a touch, looking gobsmacked. "When-? What-? How did you manage that?"
Red shrugged, "As I told you before, there are ways for someone like me to force a prime minister's hand."
"Yeah but..." Emma's eyes softened considerably, "You would do that? For me?"
Red's brow furrowed at this. Hadn't they talked about this on the flight? Hadn't he promised her he would find a way for her to have her cake and eat it too?
"I'm a man of my word." He reminded, smirking when she still looked up at him like a deer caught in the headlights.
"But why?" She whispered, hand moving to rest on his sternum, "Why would you do that for me?"
Raymond pursed his lips as his tongue circled the inside of his cheek. He needed to smother her curiosity before she started looking too closely at his motives.
When he spoke, his tone was smooth and charming, perfectly evasive.
"Why not?"
His frown deepened when Emma merely stared at him, her lips parted in a soft 'o' and her cerulean eyes glassy and unfocused.
Did she have an inkling as to what he was really after?
Did she actually know more than she let on?
The endless questions Red was sent spiraling into were cut off abruptly when, out of the blue, Emma grasped the back of his neck and brought her lips crashing into his.
-Present-
Reddington's Jet - France Airspace - December 9th, 2000
Emma Knightley's face was scrunched up with every little jostle the plane gave, her mind focused on keeping herself from vomiting.
It was not a particularly bumpy flight, but ever since they'd left London that morning, Emma had felt her stomach turn at increasing intervals.
Albert Bazalgette's voice could be heard droning on and on from the conference call they'd begun moments ago with the rest of the team back at the Cromwell. The sound was soon interrupted by other members of the team periodically adding in their two-pence on the undercover operation she and Reddington were walking into.
Honestly, Emma barely registered a word of it.
A glass half-filled with a ginger ale was placed gently on the table in front of her.
Emma looked up in time to catch Dembe's commiserating look.
"It has been some time since you've flown, hasn't it?" He asked, putting the call on mute while the others continued to bicker.
"Yeah," she nodded, taking a few cautious sips of the fizzy drink and sighing her relief when it soothed her stomach in small measures. "Not since Colin and I returned from our vacation back in October."
One of Dembe's brows quirked with interest, "I never asked how the two of you found your stay at Raymond's island?"
A soft humm left Emma's lips, which turned upward in a bright smile. "Oh it was glorious. Three weeks of uninterrupted quiet, a secluded beach, and a private chef; what's not to love?"
"I'm glad," he sounded genuine, "I know Raymond was eager for you and Colin to feel some semblance of normalcy."
A small frisson of shame shot through Emma at his words.
He took the call back off of mute, seeming not to notice her uncharacteristic silence. "Director Bazalgette, Raymond is currently in conference with an associate. He will be able to join the call in ten minutes."
"Right," agreed Bazalgette, "Very well then. Let's go through who you'll be meeting at this event, Agent Knightley-"
Emma's attention drifted off once more. In truth, she had no idea who she would be meeting that evening.
Red had assured the team repeatedly that this mission was purely for reconnaissance. A friend of a friend had a potential lead on the Jailbreaker's whereabouts, nothing more. Emma swore it sounded as though he didn't want her to go.
Could she really blame him, though?
Despite the fact that she hadn't gone undercover in months, Emma quietly wished she could duck out of it as well.
She hadn't been alone with Reddington since that night after the debacle in New York...
-Flashback-
Black Site #88 - "The Abbey" - Undisclosed Location - London, United Kingdom - August 3rd, 2000
Emma barely had a moment to register the way Reddington's lips felt before they were gone.
His hands were at her shoulders, pressing her back toward the desk with a look of shock on his face that made Emma feel rather proud.
She had done that. Little Emma Knightley, the inexperienced agent, the one everybody underestimated, made the Concierge of Crime look like his control had just been thoroughly shattered.
Emma realized, with a dark thrill of excitement, she wanted to do it again.
"That can never happen again."
As though she'd spoken the thought aloud, Reddington's voice broke through the fog of desire with a resounding crash.
"W-What?" The ebullient bubble which had encased Emma burst most unceremoniously, leaving her feeling as though she had leapt from the top of a building with an anvil in hand rather than a parachute. "What do you mean?"
"You're married," Red reminded, "And I'm-" he hesitated, mouth moving noiselessly, trying to find the words. "I'm-"
Emma didn't want to think about Colin now. She couldn't.
"What do you mean that can never happen again? You've literally been hitting on me all this time-"
"I wasn't."
Red's voice had changed to something soft and cautious. "I apologize if I gave you the wrong impression. That was not my intention."
A scorching blush swept outward from Emma's cheeks and she could feel it pulse as the blood coursed to carry the flush from her head to her toes. Conceit and embarrassment were playing tug-of-war with her insides while her mind wrestled with the idea that she had completely misread the situation.
No. She couldn't possibly...
"How do you explain your behavior toward me, then? You must admit your words and actions were at least borderline, I didn't make this up in my head-"
"I have treated you the same way I would treat any woman in my sphere," Reddington replied with a shake of his head, "I've been polite always, charming when it's suited me, but not once have I ever set out to defile your marriage, Agent Knightley."
If Emma didn't know better, she would have swore she heard a note of derision in his tone.
Had she offended him with such a suggestion?
No. She knew what she saw and what she had felt. He was in the wrong here. He'd been the one flirting with her.
Emma latched onto the only ground she could manage, "You admit it then, that you were purposefully being charming? How far is that from flirtation, really?"
Reddington shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yes. I see your point, but this can be said of my interactions with anyone, Emma. Take a look at the conversations I've had with Sika and Albert. There's a reason the old adage 'one catches more flies with honey than vinegar' is so popular. I'm polite because I'm a gentleman. I'm charming because it makes things more enjoyable for me, and blur the line of flirtatiousness because it often better nets the results I'm looking for."
Emma felt herself deflating rapidly. The shame had won out, and she felt the unpleasant emotion settle over her like something cold and slimy. He wasn't interested in her, he was using whatever tactics he believed would get him what he wanted.
What was worse, Emma had completely fallen for it. She just threw herself at a perfect stranger under the belief that he felt something other than polite indifference toward her.
Buggering hell, she just wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and perish from the embarrassment.
"I'm deeply sorry if my approach led you to misinterpret my actions." Red reached up to scratch the back of his head, "I'll do my best to make my intent more clear going forward."
Emma couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, even when he tilted his head to try and meet hers.
Another sigh broke the silence, then he muttered, "If you wish to stay in the Abbey tonight, the first floor guest room is ready for you. If not, Charles will take you wherever you want to go. Whatever your decision, tomorrow, you should reach out to Colin and let him know our arrangement should be strictly on-the-books in six weeks."
This made Emma's head snap up so quickly there was an audible 'crick'.
Red's sharp green eyes were still boring into her. This time, she couldn't look away.
"Go back to your husband, Emma. He need never know what happened here."
Emma went home.
By the time Charles had dropped her at their flat, she'd had enough time to stew herself into a fit of righteous indignation.
She burst through the entry without a goodbye, slammed the door shut and made for the writer's desk at the bottom of the stairs. Emma wrenched open one of the small center drawers and rifled through its contents until she pulled out the thumb drive Sika had given her all those weeks ago.
'Scrubbed audio, give to Reddington.'
The note from Sika was still pinned to it.
Emma tore it off and tossed it angrily in the bin
Without a thought for the ethicality of what she was about to do, Emma stormed into the kitchen, quickly pulled out her laptop, and jammed the drive inside.
It took a moment for the system to boot, but when it did, the audio player appeared, the file within poised and waiting.
There was only a split-second's hesitation before she turned up the volume and jammed the play button.
'Hey...I don't know where you've run off to, or what mischief you've landed yourself in but...I miss you.'
It took Emma the first two minutes to recognize the voice on the recording as the woman from New York. It took another two for her to realize there was a great deal more to her than Reddington was letting on. She listened to the woman's story, the little endearments she called Red, the soft way in which she spoke to him. Emma slouched further and further in her seat with each word, the truth crashing in around her like an avalanche.
'I told you the night they took me; don't be a noble sod. I don't want you to fight this alone. If you're worrying for my safety, please don't. As long as I can see you next to me, I'll be okay Raymond, I promise. Just come home, love.'
Emma slumped over, pinching the bridge of her nose as a fresh wave of embarrassment cascaded over her.
It made sense now, why Red went chasing after that woman in New York. It was the same reason he wanted this recording back.
This woman had obviously loved him, and something had gone wrong.
Of course Reddington wasn't the least bit interested in a young, obviously naïve MI6 agent like her...
Because it was obvious he loved this woman too.
He wasn't working with MI6 for Emma. He never had been.
He was here for her.
-Present
Reddington's Jet - France Airspace - December 9th, 2000
"You stopped?"
Tiller had finally ceased making scribbles on his notepad and was instead focused intently on Raymond.
"I could hear Rosalie's voice in my head, what she said that night in New York."
'I don't have to believe a damn thing, Raymond Reddington. I don't think I'll ever believe you again.'
"I never would have stopped before." He confided, not particularly proud of that knowledge.
"Before what, Raymond?"
A curl of steam arced and twirled from the teacup Red had in front of him. He watched its progress avidly until the tendril dissipated into nothingness. "Before her."
"Before Rosalie?"
"Yes," he said, still staunchly eyeing his cup, "Before her I would have sought solace in the first intriguing person who came across my path; that's what I did after Josephine."
Tiller scratched his beard absentmindedly. "But your time with Josephine and your time with Rosalie was very different, wasn't it?"
Red finally lifted his head from his chosen source of distraction to level the man a suspicious look. "What do you mean?"
"With Josephine, you always knew the relationship was doomed." Tiller reasoned, steepling his fingers in his lap, "I recall you mentioning that when you first started seeing Miss Moliére. You mentioned several times that you weren't interested in becoming attached; because ultimately she would never belong in your world."
Raymond nodded, not liking where this was going. His fingertips started to drum heavily on the desk.
"Yes, I remember."
Dr. Tiller had the grace to stop and take a sip of his own tea before shattering Red's perspective. "You never felt that same doomed feeling with Rosalie, did you? That's why your decision to end the relationship and her decision to leave came as such shocking blows to you both."
The tapping rhythm ceased immediately.
"I should have…" admitted Raymond, "I should have known we were doomed from the start...I missed it this time around."
An actual smile appeared on Tiller's face.
"Missed it? I don't think so. I don't think it was ever there to see."
Red's face drooped into another consternated frown. "Current circumstances would indicate otherwise."
Tiller chuckled.
"Raymond you forget I spend even more time in Rosalie's syndicate than I do your own…Unlike Josephine Moliére, Rosalie Øllegaard is perfectly suited to your world."
"I don't want to have this argument again-"
"We won't," the man assured, "You asked me to help you understand Rosalie's side of things and find a way to move forward with honesty; I am trying to do so in time for your meeting tonight."
Red settled back into his seat, still holding the doctor with a contemptuous but blatantly eager glare.
"You weren't doomed, Raymond." This time Tiller's voice dipped to a low, soothing timbre, "If there's anyone who can contend with your world, it's Rosalie. She might be putting up a very convincing front, but she misses the life the two of you built together. Your honesty delivered at the right time will bring that out in spades."
Any semblance of pride was set aside in that moment, where Red suddenly sat stripped bare of his facade before his therapist. He turned to the other man with earnest eyes and voiced his deepest fear.
"This is my only chance to mend things. I know her, Cuthbert. I've got one chance to get this right. If I don't get tonight right, I'll have lost her completely."
Raymond's mind unhelpfully supplied its worst fantasy of what life would look like without even the hope of finding his way back to Rosalie. It was dark and cold. There was an ache that flared in his chest in that moment. Its touch was threatening, holding the promise of endless agony should he make the wrong step.
"What would you say to her, if she were here now, ready to hear you out?"
It took a firm nudge to the shoulder before Red snapped out of his reverie, and Tiller was forced to repeat the question twice before the man could come up with a breviloquent answer.
"Rosalie was the journey's end I hadn't known I wanted. Now, that ending is all I can think about." Raymond scrubbed his face with his palm, "I was willing to spend years apart if it meant I could still have her at the end of it all. I was foolish. I willingly gave up the life I already had with her for some fictional future neither of us could possibly predict. She was right, I didn't choose her in that moment, but if she can find it in her to give me a second chance, I will choose her each and every time."
Emma lifted her head as Reddington and his associate exited the office a few minutes later, neither looking too worse for wear.
They took their seats as the jet was making its final descent into Ceret, France, where they would be staying for the night.
"Do you need a ride to the château, or is she providing one for you?" Red asked, crossing one leg over the other.
"I believe that guard of hers is coming to retrieve me." Said the man, "What's his name? The Mediterranean fellow..."
"Horace," Dembe supplied, looking up from his book, "He's Egyptian, actually."
The thump and screech of tires signaled their arrival, whereupon the jet taxied into the shelter of a private hangar so its occupants could disembark in relative privacy.
An olive-skinned man at least two meters tall and bearing a thunderous scowl stood waiting at the edge of the hangar, next to a jet black Rolls-Royce. His dark clothes were an odd mix of luxurious and functionally badass that made Emma think of a proper James Bond film. The heavy leather jacket he wore did little to cover the large pistols dangling at his sides, nor the large knife strapped to the expensive leather belt holding up his bespoke wool slacks.
What really made her steps stutter was the furious look that darkened the man's face more than anything. If looks could kill, Emma was confident Raymond Reddington would be little more than bones after being caught in the man's stare.
Unfortunately for the scowling man, Red just smiled blithely back at him and boarded the opposite vehicle. Dembe too offered little more than a polite nod before lowering himself into the driver's seat.
Emma frowned as she slid into the passenger's side, realizing the man Reddington met with had already boarded the angry fellow's car and they were now pulling out of the hangar at speed.
The burner's jarring ring jostled the car's interior, and Dembe passed the device back to Red without looking.
Reddington flipped it open and pressed the speaker button.
"Albert. I was wondering when we'd hear your dulcet tones again."
"You missed the call with the team." Bazalgette groused, "We were supposed to go over the plan for tonight."
"Something came up," said Red, carelessly. "Honestly, I still don't know why any of you felt the need to get involved, I'm merely here for reconnaissance. I've been doing this for a decade Albert, I certainly don't need a babysitter now."
Emma felt her stomach dip unpleasantly, recognizing that she was the babysitter he didn't want around. Her mind chose that moment to replay the memory of her kissing Red to add to her misery, making her cringe.
She reached for the car's vents to angle the cool air onto her burning cheeks as another unpleasant wave of embarrassment consumed her.
Reddington turned to look at her, his eyes concerned and questioning.
Emma continued to stare pointedly at the vent.
"We are a sanctioned operation now," Albert reminded, his tone rife with derision, "Thanks to your little trick with the prime minister, we all have to do everything by the book. Agent Knightley will accompany you, at the very least to ensure we don't have another SIS incident on our hands."
A stoney silence engulfed the car; though Emma swore she could see Reddington's mouth twitch with amusement in her peripheral vision.
-Flashback-
Knightley Flat - September 20, 2000
A piercing alarm rang out in the dark of the Knightleys' bedroom.
"What in the bleeding hell-"
Colin Knightley reached across his giggling wife and snagged her work phone from the nightstand, flipping it open with a glower.
"Babe...babe..."
Her slender hand shot out of the blankets, closing around the device and bringing it to her ear while still keeping him trapped in the cradle of her thighs.
"It's not a good time right now." She said around a grin, trailing a finger down her husband's naked torso, "Can I ring you later?"
"Turn on your television, right now."
It was Sika, and she was in no mood for arguing.
Emma scoffed, but Colin merely chuckled and flopped over, netting them the remote and switching on the telly with a few clicks.
Bedlam filled the screen the moment the station loaded.
'We are here at the feet of the Vauxhall Bridge on the banks of the Thames where an explosion has just rocked the SIS Building. Authorities received a call at 21:45 about a large bang and corresponding plume of smoke issuing from the seat of Britain's Secret Intelligence Service and MI6. Police and bomb squad agents are still scrambling to unearth who and what was the cause behind the attack. For now, we know that no agents, security, or staff were harmed in the blast.'
"Oh...bollocks!"
Emma swore profusely and leapt out of bed, hurrying to the closet and pulling out the first pair of pants she could find.
'-damage seems to be merely superficial. Police have sealed off major portion of the are surrounding Vauxhall bridge pending a formal investigation. Commuters in and around the area should expect major delays for the next fortnight as security is tightened from motorways to public transit-'
"I'll be at the Cromwell as soon as I can!" She shouted from the inside of the shirt she was trying to put on backwards.
"Albert and I are already en route," said Sika, "He seems to think Reddington had something to do with it."
Finally managing to shove her head through the shirt's neck hole rather than the arm, Emma bellowed, "Reddington? What on earth would he have to do with this? Terrorist attacks hold little interest for him."
"The prime minister has demanded to meet with our team at the Cromwell; he wants us to reach out to Reddington and see if he is still willing to make the deal."
It was Director Bazalgette's voice which echoed over the line.
Emma turned to look at Colin, who had a similar gobsmacked look on his face. "You don't honestly think Red would risk civilian lives in order to force the PM's hand, do you?"
"I'd like to think he wouldn't," Bazalgette admitted, "But it seems heavily suspect for the PM to suddenly change his mind alongside this recent attack. I can't get ahold of Reddington, see if you can reach out and make contact. We expect to see you at the Cromwell within the hour."
The call ended with a click, and Emma went about rooting the closet for socks.
"Is this it?" Colin questioned, having donned a pair of boxers and taken up residence next to the closet's open door.
Emma's head poked out, "I...It's been six weeks, and the prime minister wants to see the task force. I think this was what Reddington was talking about."
He peered back at her, "Are you going to tell the others?"
"Tell them what, that I'm pretty sure Raymond Reddington blew up a building so I could have my dream job and keep my husband?"
Colin frowned at this, his arms crossing defensively.
"Don't give me that look," Emma sighed, stepping out of the closet fully dressed. She wrapped her arms around her husband and kissed him soundly on the lips, a teasing smile tugging at her own. "I would have picked you, you know?"
-Present-
Rosalie's Room - The Armel Château - Cerét, France - December 9th, 2000
"Dr. Tiller is waiting for you in Marietta's office."
It was early afternoon, and Ted Beaumont stood at the threshold of Rosalie's room with Horace lurking irritably behind him.
The latter notably did not make a sound.
Horace was toeing the line they'd set months prior, keeping himself perfectly in check despite the unbridled discontent Teddy felt rolling off of him in waves.
Rosalie appeared from the dressing room, where her preferred seamstress had been checking the final alterations to her gown for that night.
"Thank you Teddy," she sighed disconsolately, "I trust Josephine and her father are settled in the guest wing?"
"Too right, boss."
Rosalie smiled at this, patting Ted's cheek fondly before turning to Horace. "Oh dear, what's got you in a bunch now?"
For once, Horace's tone was gentle. "I think you should know, Reddington was the one to bring Tiller. He left his jet in a private hanger at Le Bourget a half-hour ago."
This news didn't seem to affect Rosalie in the slightest.
"Maman checked the guest list with Marcello this morning; I'm confident she would have told me if Raymond was on it. It's more likely he dropped Tiller off and stayed because Edward needed a rest before continuing onto their next leg."
She frowned at Ted, "He's supposed to be at the Mauritius safe house tonight, is he not?"
Ted nodded, and Rosalie turned back to Horace. "See? Everything's going to be fine, Horace. Just a normal party filled with normal criminals."
Horace's shoulders relaxed minutely when she slipped her arm into the crook of his own. "Walk with me to the study, will you? I'd like your opinion on my next move with Baldur Magnusson since the two of you seem to have a good rapport."
Teddy watched as the pair made their way along the second floor corridor and exhaled a sigh of relief.
It was good to see Rosalie putting trust in her guard again, even if Ted was now the one to break it.
Though he loathed to go against Rosalie's wishes, Marietta's demands had been absolute.
Reddington would be there in a few short hours, and they all had their roles to play.
-Flashback-
Black Site #1: a.k.a "Bedrock - Undisclosed Location - Europe - September 20th, 2000
The hood that had been placed over Ted, Horace, and Achille's heads when they left the Corsican compound were unceremoniously ripped off, sending all three men to shield their eyes as light flared into them for the first time in hours.
Teddy blinked repeatedly to adjust, his mouth dropping open with each inch of space that came into focus.
"Oh...my...lord."
Ted's words were drowned out by the deafening roar of a massive waterfall, which completely covered the entrance to the cavern to which they'd been taken.
The space was carved mostly from dark granite, and looked to be at least fifty meters tall. The lack of light illuminating the stone walls made it difficult to see the cave's full dimensions.
A sprawling three-story double a-frame home had been built into the far right corner of the cave, its modern metal and glass design jutting from the granite like a giant crystal exposed over time.
Looking closely, Ted could see raw amethyst built into the exterior design, crawling up the exposed side of the home like it was ivy. It made the plain, black-shingled side glow with every sliver of refracted light that came in from behind the waterfall.
Cedric cleared his throat, ceasing their gawking. "You are not to speak of this place to anyone, understood? Now, follow me."
The three men nodded, stood, and followed Cedric along the moss-boarded stone path leading up to the house.
Through the glass front doors, they could see the interior space was made of soft creams and warm taupes intersected by the occasional emerald or lilac accent.
The first floor was a massive open floor plan, allowing them to see all the way to the back of the house. Where Rosalie and a man Horace and Teddy knew to be Dr. Cuthbert Tiller stood in the home's kitchen nursing cups of tea.
"What's he doing here?" Horace questioned, immediately concerned.
"Rosalie has been healing," Cedric intoned, grasping the polished handles and swinging the doors wide to allow them in. "They have finished this week's sessions, and he has agreed now is the appropriate time for her to start bringing you back into her confidence."
"Why am I here?" Achille hissed, looking around the home as if something might bite him.
Cedric turned enough so they could see one side of his face. "She wanted to speak with you, about the succession."
Ted could hear Achille gulp nervously.
The weeks they'd been forced to stay at the Corsican compound had been rough to say the least. Achille's entire future seemed up in the air, which made him irritable and argumentative. He and Horace had gotten into a few splendid rows seemingly over nothing at all. Teddy had even encountered Otto stepping into the fray as well, no doubt trying to keep heads level while tempers ran high.
Unlike the others, Ted kept his head down and waited. He'd spoken to his sister more, kept up his workouts, got a bit more sleep, and helped around the compound where he was needed until Cedric had finally come to fetch them.
As they approached where Rosalie stood, Teddy found himself peeking around Cedric's shoulder, trying to get a good look at his employer.
She looked strong. Her back was no longer bowed with grief or stress. When she turned to smile at them, Ted was awestruck to find the dark circles beneath her eyes too had disappeared.
"You're here!" Rosalie beamed, rushing forward to hug Teddy and Horace.
Her attention turned to Achille, somewhat awkwardly holding out her hand for him to shake. He did so, mechanically, and with much suspicion.
"I owe you an apology, Achille."
This surprised them all. All except Dr. Tiller, who merely stood beside the kitchen counter with a serene smile on his face.
"Wait, why?" Achille still held her hand in a firm grip, his look a scrutinizing one.
"Please, sit." She gestured to the open seating area overlooking the home's massive wall of windows, where a full tea cart was waiting for them.
The guards and Achille fixed their cups, took their seats, and waited patiently for Rosalie to start.
When she did so, she looked directly at Achille and blessedly put him out of his misery.
"Achille dear, I'm not taking the succession from you. I'm sorry if my words back in August were unsettling."
Achille deflated before their eyes, a sharp inhale the only other sign he gave of the immense relief they all knew he must feel. "You're...not?"
"No," she stated clearly. "I was deeply upset at the time, and I unfortunately said some things I didn't mean. Florian understood and suspected as much; that's why he brought me here. I apologize that your feelings on the matter were caught in the crossfire and left to fester."
"So...I'm still the next Caïd?" He clarified, sounding for all the world as though he didn't dare believe her.
Rosalie tittered softly to herself, "Yes Achille, the seat is still yours. I assure you I would never actually rob you of it."
"Why?"
Achille couldn't seem to help himself. He couldn't fathom why anyone wouldn't do everything in their power to become the next leader of the Corsican mafia.
"I have my own world," said Rosalie, "One I have given everything to bring into being. As deeply as you want to lead the Corsicans? That's how deeply I want to rule my network, recent misgivings not withstanding."
After several long seconds, Achille replied, "You realize I can't stop you even if I wanted to? How am I supposed to move forward knowing the next time you get a hair across yourself and decide you'd rather toss your network and take the Corsicans, there would be nothing I could do?"
Rosalie set her teacup aside and leveled Achille a pointed look.
"It's very simple," she said, "There won't be a next time."
That evening, Achille was sent back to the compound to handle matters in Florian's stead.
Rosalie admitted she couldn't be sure of the man's location, but her gut told her Florian left for London with the intention of meeting with Raymond.
Teddy's stomach swooped at this.
Though Rosalie was confident Florian merely wanted to confirm what intel Red had gathered about the German, Ted and Horace knew better. The two had shared a brief furtive glance before looking hurriedly away.
Florian was a reasonable man, but he became distinctly unreasonable when it came to his family.
Ted recalled with sickening clarity an incident that occurred shortly after he joined the Corsicans.
A young fugitive had tried to attack Marietta whilst doing business in Nice. After chasing her the length of a city block, Marietta had been forced to take out the brass knuckles she carried in her purse and beat the man to the ground.
He had taken off when Marietta's security rounded the corner, and only the Corsicans knew it had been Florian who eventually caught up with him.
The thug's body was found days later, dangling by the ankle from a palm tree, certain parts of his anatomy having been brutally removed.
No, Rosalie may have been convinced Red and her father were just 'talking', but Teddy and Horace knew better.
Florian was off putting the fear of god into Raymond Reddington.
Horace had gone to bed a half-hour ago, but Teddy found himself wandering Bedrock's quiet halls completely incapable of sleep.
His meandering led him to a set of mahogany double doors which marked the entry to the home's second a-frame spire. They were flung wide, and the roar of the waterfall outside could be heard more clearly within.
Teddy stepped over the threshold, his curiosity carrying him toward the cozy sitting area in the center of the room. The leather furniture was barely warn in, with a bevy of soft cashmere throws littering here and there. One wall was a floor-to-ceiling bookcase with corresponding ladder on wheels, the other was pushed back to allow for a small bar and kitchenette with open glass shelves laden with with sparkling crystal drinkware.
"Ah, mon flâneuses, ce n'est pas pour toi," he heard a soft, familiar voice coo from behind the bar.
Rosalie popped a second later, shaking her curls from her face and holding a square bit of tinfoil over her head.
The clattering of nails against hardwood could be heard near her feet as a pair of large white dogs scrambled to and fro, still keeping their eyes on whatever she held in her hand.
Oblivious to Teddy's presence, Rosalie opened the square of tin foil to reveal what looked like a slip of card stock. Her fingers closed around a piece, tore it from the rest, and set the small rectangle on her tongue.
"Is that LSD?!" He blurted, wincing when Rosalie started with a yelp.
Pascal and Odette came barreling around the bar, ready to lay into whichever attacker had set foot in their territory. They skidded to a halt when they saw and smelled Teddy.
"Christ Ted, you scared me!" Rosalie hissed, setting the foil package back in its airtight container and dropping it into the freezer. Odette had returned to her side, whimpering softly until she received a reassuring pat on the head.
Pascal had situated himself at Teddy's feet, waiting expectantly for his attention.
"You always told me one should never do LSD in a bad mood…" Teddy reminded with a frown, noting the tabs were still situated on Rosalie's tongue.
She didn't answer, instead reaching into the refrigerator and procuring a bottle of beer. She cracked its top, circled the bar, and held the cold beverage out to him.
He took it with a nod of thanks, still thoroughly confused.
"I'm not in a bad mood," Rosalie assured, "I'm comfortably indifferent, which I've told you before is a good place to be if you're going to trip."
Ted looked up to find her gaze resting gently on him. For a moment he simply stared, awestruck at seeing Rosalie's dark eyes soft rather than sharp and glinting as they'd been the past several months.
"That wasn't a full tab sheet." He noted with another frown, "Have you been tripping the whole time you were here?"
Rosalie tittered to herself and swallowed, the small colorful tabs disappearing from her tongue within seconds. She chased them with a sip of what looked like pomegranate juice.
"I micro-dosed for the first couple weeks, nothing more. Consider it a supplement to my work with Dr. Tiller."
She turned, waving for Teddy to follow her out onto home's private deck.
Boxwood hedges illuminated with bistro lights blocked them from view while still giving them a front row seat to the magnificent sight of silver moonlight pouring in from behind the cavern's waterfall.
"Where are we?" Ted wondered aloud.
He joined Rosalie on the cushy lounge bed that took up half the deck. Pascal and Odette soon followed, curling up around their mistress, who was laying flat on her back and staring up at the cave's glittering stalactites.
"Even I don't know where we are," Rosalie confided, "There's an underground communications matrix which sets up transport to and from this location. None of the parts are connected, and nobody knows the location but Florian...It's the most secure corner of my network."
They sat in silence for a several minutes, admiring the cave's natural wonders while Teddy nursed his beer.
"Will you tell me why you took it?" He asked after nearly a half-hour of silence, unable to let the matter go. "Cedric said you were healing."
Rosalie's eyes didn't move from the ceiling. "I am healed, mostly. I've come to terms with what happened, I don't blame anyone, I understand that life is full of disappointments and how we respond to them will inevitably dictate our inner peace-"
"...but?" Teddy supplied, knowing that tone very well.
"But I'm weary, Teddy." Her fingertips started to card habitually through Odette's soft fur, "I'm so tired of being so angry...It's sickening, what I feel inside. I don't want it to harden me; I don't want losing him to twist me into something I don't recognize."
Teddy set his bottle aside, instead choosing to twiddle his thumbs in his lap and stare fixedly at the ceiling as well. It only took a couple seconds for him to grow distracted and turn back to Rosalie.
"Ecstasy might have been a better choice. What if it's a bad trip?"
Rosalie tittered to herself. "No, ecstasy would fail to remind me of the insignificance of mortal existence."
Ted was struck dumb when she finally turned to look at him.
Rosalie's eyes were all pupil now, the stark black eating away the galaxy of gray. Her countenance was neither sad nor angry, and when she spoke, it was with the tender voice she reserved for those she loved most.
"Teddy, Raymond is and has always been a titan in my eyes." Rosalie turned so she was laying on her side, fixing Ted with an unblinking stare. " I can't have him be that for me anymore. I can't have him be my beacon on a hill. I took the tabs because this last part, the letting go...I can't manage it alone. I need to remember that Raymond Reddington is a mere man, small and insignificant as the rest of us; and even if my love for him never truly goes away. He is but a fractured second in the brief blip that is my life."
Tears fell softly from her eyes then, carving in glistening lines along her cheeks and nose. Still, her expression was calm and serene.
"That being said," Rosalie murmured, reaching out to thread her fingers with Ted's, "I still want to remember the best of him...The best of us. LSD is the only way I know of for me to accomplish both."
Teddy squeezed her fingers in response, his chest tightening with empathy at just how hard this had all been on her.
"Alright then," he said, working to keep his voice even, "If it's all the same to you, I'd quite like to stay."
Rosalie squeezed his fingers in return.
"I'd like that."
-Present-
Marietta's Study - Cerét, France
Rosalie was regretting scheduling her weekly therapy session on the same day as the party. It was turning out to be a real mood killer.
Somehow, their discussion had circled around to Raymond Reddington and all that had happened between him and Rosalie between February and now.
She'd just said she didn't understand him, how he saw the world, what made him change so abruptly to the point that they fell apart, when Tiller blatantly called her out on her bullshit.
"But you do understand, Rosalie." He tossed his notepad onto the coffee table and fixed her with an unflinching stare. "Even if you don't know the whole of his story, you've said so yourself that it is self-evident Raymond has known very little in the realm of happiness and stability in his life. You've seen that he cannot trust it when things are going well. Subconsciously, you know there will always be a part of him waiting for the fallout. I can tell you that your assumptions are completely spot-on. Despite your time together, solitude and loneliness are far more familiar to Raymond, far more comfortable than the vulnerability and precariousness which comes with keeping a romantic partner; particularly when he is as devoted to that partner as he has been to you."
"Devoted, really?" Rosalie snapped finally, "That's the word you're going for here? He ended our relationship because our life became complicated, pushed me away because of some incessant need to be the martyr, and then took up with another woman half his age."
Tiller's tight-lipped frown did nothing to dissuade her. She continued, "When I needed him, he acted like I was a stranger. When I asked for space, he wouldn't leave me alone. When I caught him trying to patch things up with me and keep his little tart on the side? I got radio silence for four months. Respectfully Dr. Tiller, where in the hell is the devotion you speak of? Because I'm not seeing it."
Rosalie was seething now, her cheeks burning hot and a lead weight sitting unpleasantly in her gut. She wished she hadn't even brought him up in the first place.
"Is it possible you aren't seeing the whole picture?" He reasoned, "Distance removes a great deal of one's perspective on an issue. Is it even remotely possible that Raymond's recent actions were from a place of honoring your wishes while still working toward that future the two of you talked about?"
"He doesn't want that future anymore." Said Rosalie, though the moment the words left her mouth, she realized how foolish they sounded.
There was no way for her to know what Raymond was thinking, what he wanted.
Tiller pointed this out as well.
"You can't know that without talking to him. So let's pose a hypothetical; if he came to you now, love for you still intact, that future together his only motive, what would you do?"
"He wouldn't."
"But what if he did?"
"He won't." Insisted Rosalie, "I'm not doing it Cuthbert, I'm not getting my hopes up again. It's over, he's moved on, I have to as well."
"Rosalie, you aren't moving on because you haven't reconciled with how you feel about what happened. You've intellectualized it. You've analyzed it till we were both blue in the face...but you haven't felt it. You're still running."
It was really annoying the ease with which he stripped Rosalie of every coping mechanism she had. The thought brought another scowl to her features.
"I don't know how to feel any of it because I don't know how to reconcile with the choice he made." She said at last.
Tiller nodded. "His choice bothers you deeply, doesn't it? I'd like you to tell me your understanding of Raymond's choice to end your relationship.
Rosalie lifted her head, jaw clenched defiantly. "I chose us. He didn't. I think it's pretty self-explanatory."
Cuthbert didn't seem convinced. "Not necessarily. From Raymond's perspective, he could be with you and love you, and build a life with you, with the knowledge that one day he would likely lose you in a horrible way. Or, he could let you go and love you from afar, knowing you were safe. That's not much of a choice is it?"
"There's always a choice." Hissed Rosalie, "Violence, volatility and uncertainty, that is the foundational triad of criminal life, Dr. Tiller. Those truths are built into us like they're hardcoded into our DNA, yet we build our lives in spite of them. It's the choice every criminal makes."
She gestured at the door, "It's the choice my parents make. They choose each other each and every time the wolves arrive outside their door; because nothing this world could conjure could be worse than losing each other. Is it so wrong of me to want a partner who will stay at my side, especially when everything seems to be caving in on itself?"
Dr. Tiller shook his head, "There's nothing wrong with that, Rosalie. However, I would like to counter your argument...What if I told you there was room for both? What if I told you that you can still disagree with his choices when, from Raymond's perspective, he did choose you?"
Rosalie frowned at the floor, considering the matter.
"How?"
"Recall what Raymond told you the night he ended the relationship; what did he say he wanted for your life?" Tiller stilled, his fingertips steepled in front of his salt and pepper whiskers, waiting for her to remember.
A familiar warmth bloomed in Rosalie's chest, unbidden.
"He wanted our life together to be measured in decades...not days." She whispered, recalling that night with a poignant ache she didn't want to feel.
"Do you have any reason to believe he wasn't being honest with you?"
"No."
Tiller waited until Rosalie glanced furtively up at him before speaking again. "Decades...not days. That's a pretty big commitment for a criminal who's had to learn to enjoy every good thing while it lasts. To step back, to keep you safe, for the mere possibility of having decades to live at your side...I would call that devotion, wouldn't you?"
-Present-
Rosalie's Ceret Safe House - Ceret, France - December 9th, 2000
"Earl, I'm working on it as we speak-"
A stiff knock sounded from Reddington's bedroom door.
"Come in." He called, setting aside his freshly polished shoes and stepping into the bath to wash his hands.
"I assure you, I've got my in and will set a meeting between the two of you by the first of the year."
When he hung up the burner and stepped out once more, it was to find Dembe standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in his signature all-black tux. As Red drew nearer, he noticed the man's bowtie was a deep crimson, as were his cufflinks and studs, which spindle out into a shape that took red a moment to recognize.
"You're a black widow spider!" He realized with a grin, appreciating the subtle adherence to the party's theme. "I should have thought of that."
Dembe smiled, reached into his suit pocket, and held out two small packages tied together with an emerald ribbon. "Lucky for you, I thought ahead for us both."
Raymond took the gift with a delighted chuckle and made quick work of removing the bow.
Cracking open the first lid, he saw a set traditional bowtie laying flat on a bed of crushed velvet. It was black, but gave a most peculiar blue-green sheen when the light struck it.
"How curious..." he murmured, lifting the lid of the second box to find a set of matching studs and cufflinks. It took a moment for him to recognize the shapes.
"Scarab beetles," said Dembe, taking a seat at the foot of the bed and threading his fingers together. "Scarabs were highly revered in ancient Egypt. They are widely considered a symbol of rebirth and renewal."
The metal beetles were cold and smooth to the touch. Red lifted the first stud from the bunch and proceeded to thread it through the holes of his shirt. "And here I was, convinced I'd be the one partygoer who wasn't on theme...Thank you, my friend."
He looked up into the mirror as he threaded the last stud, just long enough to catch Dembe's amused smile.
The cufflinks were next, followed lastly by the bowtie, which set off the ensemble spectacularly.
Once he'd donned his jacket, Raymond turned about looking for Dembe's seal of approval.
The younger man chuckled throatily, "It is a good look. Rosalie will be impressed."
The mention of Red's former lover seemed to suck all the air out of the room.
The man's face grew suddenly serious. His hands habitually smoothed over imaginary wrinkles in his suit.
Dembe noticed at once.
"It will be fine, Raymond."
"Will it?" Red couldn't help but ask, "I've been so confident this will be my only chance to mend things between us, now I'm wondering what will become of me if I fail."
The bed creaked softly when Dembe stood. "Be honest with her Raymond," he said, "Be honest with her, and you can do no wrong."
Raymond was about to respond when a soft voice cleared its throat from the doorway.
Agent Knightley stood in a pale organza dress in a soft taupe, its layered edges dissipating into a deep blue.
Raymond and Dembe stood staring for a second, both disoriented by the sudden change of topic.
"What?" She asked fretfully, looking down at herself. "Is it the dress? Genevieve assured me I wouldn't stand out-"
"You're a hummingbird." Dembe noted thoughtfully, a small smile gracing his features. "That was a good choice."
Emma relaxed visibly, glad she had put at least one insecurity to bed.
"I have something for you," she said at last, pulling out a thumb drive with a note attached. "Sika wanted me to give this back to you. She mentioned something about a scrubbed audio from the burner MI6 confiscated the day you turned yourself in?"
Red's stomach took a nose dive before coming back to roost in his torso.
He hadn't heard that message in so long...he'd nearly given up on ever getting it back.
"Would you...?" He turned to Dembe, only to find the man nod and exit the room.
Raymond looked up from the drive to find Emma staring intently at him.
"Was there anything else you wished to discuss?"
This seemed to pull her from her stupor, after which she held up the mission folio Ezra had given her on the expected attendees for the night's soiree. "Er, yes...is this who I think it is?"
She flipped the folio open and lifted the photograph for him to see.
Florian Armel, in all of his formidable grandeur, stood dead-center in a black and white photograph taken on the streets of Corsica. His snowy mane was windswept and a haze of smoke shielded parts of him, courtesy of the cigar he clutched between two ringed fingers. The sight made Red chuckle.
Emma must have taken the noise as confirmation.
"You're telling me we're going to be in the same room as one of the most dangerous men in all of Europe, and you didn't think to tell me?"
"Worse than that," Raymond admitted, lips pursed tightly together.
Dembe appeared back in the room with a laptop in hand, noting the picture with a small smile. "We're going to be in his house."
"We're...What?"
Agent Knightley was starting to hiss like an angry tea kettle. "How could you-? Does Bazalgette even know-? I've never in my life-"
Red leveled her a look which made any argument die in her throat.
"Emma, this is precisely why I didn't want the team involved. I'm here because I was personally invited by the Armel family. That's not an invitation one can just ignore."
"Invited?" Emma scoffed, "What, a mafia boss just showed up at your safe house with stationary in hand and asked you to attend a party?"
Dembe snorted behind Red. The sound brought a small twitch of annoyance to the man's lips.
"Not exactly."
-Flashback-
Black Site #88 "The Abbey - London, United Kingdom - September 20, 2000
Raymond was rudely awoken by a bucket of cold water being thrown on him.
A memory from his time at Sheep's Rock unfurled around him, and for a harrowing second, he wondered if he had never been rescued.
This train of thought was silenced, however, by a pair of hands grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him out of bed.
Red made to stand and take a swing, but something hard collided with the back of his head, dropping him to the ground and sending the world into darkness once more.
When he awoke for the second time, it was strapped to a wooden chair beside the deep end of the Abbey's underground pool.
His head ached. His eyes struggled to adjust to the bright lights shining overhead and bouncing off the gold and royal blue tiles...
Had the German finally caught up to him?
Raymond took a brief, searching look around when he could finally see.
None of the faces around him looked familiar...
Could it finally be him? Would he finally know who this faceless assailant was?
His questions were answered by movement in the shadows leading from the underground garage.
A familiar head of white hair emerged first, the soft curls shielding a face Red didn't need to see to recognize. He would know this man by stature alone.
Broad shoulders followed next, clad in a crisp white button-down whose sleeves were rolled up to the elbows.
Florian Armel looked every bit the preeminent mob boss as he fully stepped into the light of the room. When he lifted his head, his expression was dark indeed, icy eyes boring into Red with no hint of misunderstanding.
"I take it you spoke to Rosalie-" Raymond began, but was interrupted by the snap of Florian's fingers.
A pair of sizable splashes could be heard directly behind Red. It took only a second for some invisible force to yank him and the chair backward.
He braced for impact, taking a deep breath in preparation for being dragged to the bottom of the pool and held there.
The impact didn't come, though Raymond could feel the armchair balanced precariously on its two back legs.
Opening his eyes, he saw Florian's foot resting carelessly on the edge of the seat between Red's legs, just barely keeping the weight from taking him over the edge.
"Leave, all of you."
Florian's men filed obediently out of the room. All except Cedric, who was resting against the opposite wall with none other than Dembe at his side.
This boded well. If Dembe was calmly waiting with Cedric, it was unlikely Red was about to be killed.
Unlikely, but not impossible.
Raymond's gaze flicked back to Florian, who had yet to look away.
"Explain." He said, "I've heard her side, now I expect to hear yours."
"Perhaps we could adjourn to somewhere more comfortable-"
Florian let the chair slip another inch, cutting off his words with a jarring lurch. "My daughter came to me heartbroken and mangled from carrying her burdens alone. You will tell me every step that led you to this point and why, when she needed you most, you failed her."
Red felt a sickening pang of regret settle in his stomach.
Realizing he wasn't going anywhere until he gave the man what he wanted, Raymond settled in. With a deep breath, he began the story from the beginning, that night in Palmira.
Florian's face was an unreadable mask as Red explained it all, the cartel, Rosalie's extraction teams, all that happened afterward.
It wasn't until the fate of the cartel came about that Florian gave any sort of reply. "The jackals who took her. They must be dealt with-"
Raymond raised his head at this, looking the other man dead in the eye. "There are hectares of Colombian countryside charred to its roots and littered with their bones. I may have made my mistakes, but I would never allow an attack like that to go unanswered."
A dark look of approval snuck into Florian's features. "That inferno in March...That was you."
"Yes," said Red, "With a little help from Rosalie's comrades."
It was this which made Florian lean forward, pulling a long knife from his ankle and severing the ropes which held Raymond strapped to the heavy weights.
The pulling sensation stopped, and the chair slammed forward, safely on four legs once more.
"Continue," Florian said, waving for Cedric to bring him another chair.
Raymond continued with his rendition of events, from the night in Paris to the night in New York, where his frustration reached its peak and his eyes dropped to the floor.
Florian waved a hand, "I know what happened there. What she saw."
"She saw me with an associate and assumed I'd replaced her."
"Have you?" Florian asked, unmoving.
Raymond looked up with a snarl. "I won't deign that with a response."
"The retort of a coward."
Red moved to leap out of his seat, only to remember he was still strapped to it. His anger settled on Florian Armel like a white-hot poker.
"I will tell you precisely what I told your daughter when I pushed her away. I want a life with her. A lifetime, not a fleeting moment. I decided if I must step away and ensure her safety in order to preserve that life, that was precisely what I would do."
This, surprisingly, brought a look of understanding to Florian's features.
He stared at Raymond for a long time, seeming to look into the man's very soul.
"You're going to lose her." He warned at last, "As a man who's been in your shoes, who has made that very same choice, I can tell you that no one can draw you out of it but you. It's a futile gesture that only hurts her in the end. Even know, I feel that warmth within her receding. The woman I brought into this world seems to be ebbing into the ether. Don't wait until it's too late, my boy."
"I understand-" began Red, but a venomous glare from Florian silenced him immediately.
"No, you don't. You don't understand. You made her love you, and then you allowed fear to take you from her. You haven't seen what it's done to her; how that straight set of her shoulders has become a permanent fixture. You don't see every day how hard it is for her to put the mask down. You don't hear her screams during the night because when your world hit the fan, you made sure she knew she was alone in it. For Christ's sake Raymond, two weeks ago she begged me to take the network from her."
Raymond felt all the blood drain from his face. "What?"
In all of his worst imaginings, Rosalie abandoning her network was not anything Red had ever considered.
Florian huffed, catching his breath. "She came to me after that night in New York and begged me to take her network. In exchange, she would take my place as the leader of the Corsicans, the way I've always wanted."
"Why would she want to do that?"
"She didn't," said Florian, "I knew that, so I took her somewhere safe so she could focus on herself. Teddy and Horace both offered to take up the network in her stead, but with the breach in her associates, none of them can be trusted."
Red remained silent for several long seconds before asking, "Why would believing she saw me with someone else make her want to leave her network though?"
"You have been a very large part of that network Raymond."
Florian's shoulders drooped a touch. "The way Rosalie explained it, she sees you in every home. In every deal she makes, in every corner of her world, she sees the traces of what you've left behind. She didn't want to walk away because she was weary, or because she'd grown bored of the work. Rosalie wished to leave because she loves you, and it pains her to see remnants of you day in and day out."
She loved him. Raymond found himself unable to process anything else.
She loved him, still. After everything.
"I've known her from her very beginnings," continued Florian, "Since she was as green as grass...I know her, and she won't be that way for long, Raymond. The time is fast approaching where she won't be able to let you in again if she tried. If you truly love my daughter, and wish to be with her. You will need to find a way past this."
Red's brows knit tightly together. "What did you mean, when you said you've made the same choice? You and Marietta had a similar incident?"
"Somewhat," Florian admitted, "I had a challenger to my seat with the Corsicans, not long after my ascension. He was a man without a code; the kind of person that would gladly use another's family to ensure he got what he wanted."
A shudder skirted visibly along the man's shoulders. "In all of my life, it has been no secret I have loved Marietta more. More than luxury, more the power, more than notoriety; none of it ever compared to her. This man knew there was nothing that could make me fold to his will, nothing except her. We were not married yet, and I thought if I made it look as though I had turned indifferent toward her, Marietta would be safe."
Raymond found himself leaning forward as much as the ropes would allow. "You must have succeeded...She's alive, you're together?"
Florian shook his head. "I failed spectacularly." His nostrils flared at the memory of what had happened, "Marietta was living with her uncle at the time...My enemy swarmed their estate in search of her. He massacred all that was left of her family. She managed to escape the wreckage of the house with only a broken wrist, but she had nowhere to go..."
A beat of silence fell between the two men.
"What happened then?" Red couldn't help but ask, hoping for a drop of hope from Florian's experience.
It wasn't to be found, unfortunately. "One of my underbosses came to me, saying the home had been destroyed and the family brutally murdered...they couldn't tell me what happened to Marietta."
Florian's face took on a hollow gauntness that Raymond oddly felt he understood.
"Ten days I waged war on my enemy, thinking he had robbed me of her. There are corners of Corsica which will never recover from the results of my wrath."
Raymond's head tilted curiously, "Marietta was alright, though."
"Yes," Florian agreed, "As much as one could be after such an ordeal. She had taken refuge in a nearby village loyal to me, then appeared again on the eleventh day, at the scene of one of my worst crimes to date."
He heaved a weary sigh.
"My enemy and his entire family lay in pieces at my feet, their entire compound burning to ashes around me, when I heard her ask me what I was doing...I thought I had died and found her in the afterlife, but she was right there, beside me as always. I looked at the carnage I'd left in my wake and felt to my knees at her feet. I couldn't fathom how someone like her could love someone like me."
"What did she say?" Asked Red, thoroughly entranced by the story.
"She said, 'Mon cher, we are one and the same. You took your revenge, and I burned the evidence.'" Florian smiled darkly, "It wasn't until that moment that I recalled I had never set fire to the compound. That was all her. That ordeal made me realize not only the futility of trying to keep my wife cosseted away, but the dangers of it as well. She's safer in my sphere, and I am safer in hers."
"There are far worse people after me than a competitor without morals," Raymond reminded with a note of chagrin. "Can you honestly say you are content with Rosalie being in my sphere when I can't promise she's safe?"
Florian's lips pursed tightly together. "Raymond, we can't promise she's safe in anyone's sphere. At least with you, she has someone willing to fight for her...I liked your style, with Los Reyes Sagrados, by the way. It should make the rest of the underground think twice before working with the German."
"What do I do now?" Red asked a moment later, surprisingly bolstered by that small bit of praise. "Rosalie isn't taking my calls, nor is Teddy. I doubt she'll believe me even if I got through to her. How can I go about mending things?"
"Walk away for a while." Florian advised after some thought. "She needs time to shore herself up again. Don't call. Don't try and explain yourself. The truth will out in its own time. We will reach out with an invitation when the time is right for the two of you to be reintroduced. You will only have one chance."
He stood from his seat, and Cedric was at his side in seconds, Dembe following close beside him. The latter cut Red free from his seat.
"There's something you must know, about the people hunting us-" He began, but Florian waved the comment aside.
"I know all about Basír, the German, and the suspicion falling on Rosalie's associates. Cedric and Marietta told me all of it after she returned. Keep Cedric in the loop as you have been doing, and we will start investigating Rosalie and I's syndicates for leaks."
Without another word, Florian exited the pool and boarded his car.
Cedric stopped to shake Raymond's hand. "Je suis desole, I was explicitly ordered not to warn you he was coming."
Red merely nodded, then watched as the man turned to follow his employer out of the safe house.
"Are you alright?" Asked Dembe, once the armored car had disappeared into the garage's underground tunnel.
"Yes." Raymond murmured at last, "There's a lot of work to be done, but I believe I've been given a way forward."
-Present-
The Armel Château - Ceret, France - Early Evening - December 9th, 2000
Florian ascended the château's staircase to the delightful tune of feminine laughter.
A knowing smile found lips, making his mustache twitch with amusement. Each step closer to the master suite's arched doorway mad that smile widen.
He lifted his hand and rapped his knuckles smartly on the door's face, waiting for an 'Entrez!' among the chorus of renewed giggles inside before stepping over the threshold. Turning on the ball of his foot, Florian followed the sounds in the direction of the master dressing room.
Marietta, Rosalie, and the youngest Miss Moliére were all seated on velvet poofs, decked in fur-lined silk robes, their makeup freshly done and their varying shades of locks tucked up in neat little rollers as they chatted amicably.
Three champagne flutes were being topped off from a large bottle wielded by Josephine, who was seated closely at Rosalie's side.
Florian's wife was in the midst of a rip-roaring tale about one of her earliest escapades, the very incident which first introduced her to Florian's mentor, Marcel Francisci.
"I was supposed to be in bed, and there I was eavesdropping in the alcove outside my uncle's study while he talked with the man everyone knew at the time was running the Corsican mafia..."
Rosalie looked up from Marietta and flashed Florian a bright smile, knowing how the story ended.
Josephine was still goading his wife along, however. "What did you hear? Where you caught?"
Marietta laughed throatily, "Marcel took one look at the crack in the door, caught sight of me and crooned, 'Ah now, who is this little nightingale in our midst?"
A howl of laughter resonated from the group of women. Rosalie rose from her poof without a word, making her way to Florian as Marietta went on.
"What could I do? I walked into the study like I owned the place and introduced myself to Marcel."
"What did your uncle do?" Asked Josephine, "Was he so angry?"
Rosalie took the cufflinks Florian had in hand and proceeded to help thread them through his cuffs.
Another laugh poured from Marietta, "Oh he was livid, but Marcel took such a shine to me, my uncle couldn't say boo to me without incurring the Caïd's displeasure. Two weeks later, Marcel decided to introduce me to Florian, his erstwhile successor."
HIs wife turned and beamed up at him, her devilish smile eliciting a grin of his own.
"I loved you then and there." He confided, murmuring his thanks when Rosalie finished with his cufflinks.
"I have a way with scoundrels." Marietta retorted, amber eyes still dancing with amusement.
Rosalie's laughter joined the others' as she lifted Florian's boutonniere from its container and proceeded to pin it to his lapel.
The white rose was one of her own nurturing, from the best of château's greenhouses and cradled in the beautiful green, blue, and gold of a peacock's eye feather.
"I will leave the bowtie for Maman," she tittered once more, her voice dipping so as not to be heard interrupting the rest of Marietta's story.
Florian looked down to see Rosalie's nose crinkled with amusement. "Aren't we in an impish mood today?"
Rosalie cast a brief glance over her shoulder. "It's hard to be a sourpuss when nearly all the people I love most are under the same roof and having such a damnable good time."
She turned back to Florian and gave him a quick, playful appraisal.
"You look good, old man."
Florian gave a bark of a laugh which brought the rest of the room's occupants back to reality.
"Ah you mademoiselles," Marietta sighed happily, "You certainly keep me young, but I think it is time we all got dressed."
"That's our cue to get out," Josephine surmised leaping from her velvet pouf and hugging Marietta tightly. "We will see you all downstairs, shall we?"
Florian and Rosalie watched the exchange with unguarded affection, the latter turning to place a kiss to her father's cheek.
"Je t'aime, Ours."
Florian's smile deepened impossibly further.
"Et toi, mon trésor."
He cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead once, then allowed her to be led away by an excitable Josephine Moliére, who was already speculating on what jewelry she should put with her gown.
A tightness settled in Florian's chest as the pair disappeared behind the suite's door and their jovial voices began to carry down the corridor.
-Flashback-
Black Site #1 a.k.a "Bedrock" - Undisclosed Location - August 17, 2000
Florian had been in Bedrock for nearly two weeks, leaving most of the upkeep of his syndicate with his underbosses while he & Marietta took time away to shore up their daughter.
It had been a rough start, with Rosalie acting uncharacteristically reserved and not talking for days at a time.
This had lasted, however, had lasted all of four days before her grief soured into seething anger.
Thankfully, Marietta was exceptional at channeling her daughter's wrath into something more productive. Rosalie's pique made her bullish, so Madame Armel planted the idea of weeding out competitors in her head early on in the week.
The next several days were spent outpacing and outmaneuvering other contenders in Rosalie's industry and staking her claim on certain locales within the underground. She then negotiated the takeover of a handful of smaller innkeepers who had gotten in over their heads. She'd even managed to turn her cunning on Augustus Moliére after terrorizing her peers had lost its luster.
Marietta had watches cross-legged on the chaise, quietly cackling her delight as Rosalie cooed, 'Monsieur Moliére, I'm just so fond of your dear Josephine...I'm planning to take a little hiatus from my work and thought a girls trip would be such a treat...No, merde, no men, no business, just a quiet getaway with a dear friend...Well, naturally I wouldn't dream of asking Josephine without seeking your approval first-'
Floriain had snorted indelicately when he happened upon them, listening to Rosalie continue to lay it on thick, twisting Augustus to her whim without him being any the wiser.
Pride had practically seeped from Marietta's pores when he finally agreed, Rosalie wasting no time in calling Miss Moliére and giving her the good news, all the while conspiratorially insisting her friend needed to act surprised when her father brought it up.
That'd been days ago, and though the prospect of whisking her friend off to a remote island to do exactly what she' promised the girls father she wouldn't had buoyed her for a spell, the darker emotions she'd been subduing had closed in on her once more.
Florian rounded the corner into the side hall to find Marietta seated on a bench, holding a pair of steaming tea cups, her beautiful face puckered in a worried frown,
He was about to ask her what was wrong when Rosalie's voice resonated from behind one of the hallway's closed doors, shouting at the top of her lungs.
"You're angry-" they could hear a man's voice start, but he was cut off once more.
"Yes," snapped Rosalie, "You know what? I am. I am angry; because he lied to me! I thought we were reconciling, and I turn around to find him shooing away his new little side piece!"
She was in the middle of a session with Dr. Tiller, her therapist.
Florian recalled the gnawing feeling in his stomach when the man made his first appearance, as though he were the physical embodiment of Florian's failure to protect his daughter. He tried to remind himself Tiller was here for her wellbeing, that he was the reason Rosalie hadn't quite been shouldering all of her burdens alone. He tried to be grateful for that, at the very least.
"We should wait for Rosalie elsewhere," said Florian, turning to his wife, "It is not right for us to overhear..."
Marietta's eyes never left the door. "I had just planned to stop by and bring them both a cup of tea. I didn't know they'd already started-"
Rosalie's voice broke through their whispers once more.
"I just...I wish I didn't care anymore. About him, about any of it. But every day I wake up and that longing for him is still there and I HATE it."
Her voice broke.
"I don't want to want him anymore. I don't want to think about him. I don't want to worry whether he's alright. Because the sobering truth is he doesn't give a damn about me. Raymond's been fine all along, getting up to who knows what, making deals and carrying on with our life as though it's perfectly fine that I'm no longer in it. And now, now there's this girl and I.. I didn't know I was so utterly replaceable."
A beat of silence swallowed the hallway, making the air feel suddenly heavy.
"He was so important to me." Rosalie whispered at last, "I'm just staggering from the realization that, despite what his actions said, I was not important to him."
Marietta gave a small sniff and stood, not wanting to hear another word.
"I like Raymond," she admitted softly, "But hearing her ache for him brings me pain."
-Present-
The Armel Château - Ceret, France - December 9th, 2000
Marietta sauntered up to her husband and wrapped her fingers around the ends of his bowtie.
Florian started, snapping out of his memories to focus intently on his wife.
"She will be fine, mon cher," she said with a smile, "Now come, help me with my dress."
A coy smile and a gentle tug on the man's bowtie had Florian following her without complaint. He grinned when her eyes darkened, luring him into one of the dressing room's darker corners.
Josephine tiptoed through the château's halls, trying not to let her heels make a sound as she snuck past the guest room where her father was finishing getting ready.
Once safely past his door, her feet carried her quickly toward the grand staircase.
Unsurprisingly, she was intercepted before she could take the first step.
A calloused hand emerged from the shadows and closed gently around her own.
A muffled squeak was all the noise Josephine made before being tugged into one of the château's secret rooms.
Unlike the dome above Rosalie's room, this looked to be a small, ornate study.
Where the arching windows did not touch, there were tall bookcases filled with heavy tomes and various decor. A large pair of headphones rested on the windowsill beside a worn out chess set. The place smelled of books, cologne, and a faint trace of cigar smoke.
Something about it was so comforting, Josephine wanted to stay in there forever.
She turned to see who had nabbed her and beamed when her eyes rested on the imposing figure of Cedric Durant.
Normally she would despise being dragged anywhere, but he was always so damn polite, Josephine found it difficult to be cross with him about anything.
"I have something for you," he blurted as an apology, fidgeting from side to side. "I figured it was best not to let your father see..."
Josephine tittered, "Oui, that would really put a damper on the evening if he found out...What is it?"
Cedric reached into his pocket and pulled out a jewelry box a bit smaller than his palm. "I was going to wait, but I overheard Rosalie mentioning you couldn't find any jewelry you liked to go with your dress..." He lifted the box's lid, and held it out for her approval.
On a bed of blue velvet lay a glimmering gold necklace, its chain dainty and fine, with a stunning black pearl in its center.
A gasp left Josephine's lips when she recognized it, her fingertips reaching out to trace the diamond-crusted bail that held the pearl in place. "You remembered."
"Our walk on the beach?" Cedric chuckled, "How could I possibly forget? Do...do you like it?"
"It is beautiful," beamed Josephine, "It is too much-" She insisted, at the same time turning around so he could put it on her.
He was laughing softly again, the deep sound fondly familiar to her at this point.
A warm fingertip ghosted along the back of her neck, brushing her waves to one side and leaving a river of goosebumps in its wake.
If Cedric noticed, he was gentleman enough not to mention it.
Josephine watched the glinting trinket descend into her field of vision and come to rest just above her bosom.
Cedric hooked the clasp so she could shake her hair back into place and turn around.
"How do I look?" She asked, now inexplicably timid.
A wide, genuine smile illuminated Cedric's features, making him look years younger. "Enchanting, as usual."
A hot blush rushed to Josephine's cheeks, making her reach up to pat at them in an attempt to make it go away.
Eventually giving it up for a lost cause, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Cedric's cheek.
She found herself lingering longer than was strictly necessary before pulling back. "Thank you," she whispered earnestly, "This is my most favorite present I think I've ever received."
"I'm honored," breathed Cedric, green eyes fixed warmly on her own. "Shall I escort you down to the festivities?"
Josephine's nose crinkled and a mischievous grin took over her features. "Why Cedric, how scandalous."
To her further amusement, Cedric's face dropped comically fast. "I'm sorry, was that too forward? I only meant-"
She ceased his babbling with a slender finger to his lips. "I would like that very much. I also expect to be the first and last woman on your dance card."
Cedric's smile returned behind her fingertip, and Josephine couldn't help but beam back as she took his arm and allowed herself to be led out onto the grand staircase.
Guests had already begun filtering into the home some time before, greeted by Marcello and a host of Florian's stoic underbosses. They littered the main hall, laughing and visiting while they waited for the cocktail lounge to open its doors.
As if waiting for them, the gold and green doors swung wide to admit its visitors entry.
The bevy of fugitives began to file in with their dates, a cacophony of colors and textures playing on Marcello's 'Birds & Bees' theme.
The man could be easily seen amongst the throng, standing out in an egg yolk yellow tuxedo with twin tails and a cacophony of intricate embroidery making him the perfect picture of a flower mantis.
"Ostentatious, is he not?" Cedric murmured in her ear, having obviously caught her staring.
Josephine felt her hand give his arm an involuntary squeeze. "I can't explain why, but I don't think I would be surprised if a rumor started circulating that he cannibalizes his assistants. If I look at him too long, I get an intense creepy-crawly feeling in my stomach."
Another deep chuckle soothed her nerves.
"Rest assured, he gives everyone that feeling, chérie."
Another smile pulled at Josephine's lips, but it was snuffed out by a familiar head looking up at her from the crowd.
Raymond Reddington, followed closely by Dembe Zuma, could be seen entering the lounge with a young blonde woman on his arm.
That must be her.
Josephine felt her face twisting into a thunderous scowl and didn't bother trying to subdue it.
"I cannot believe he brought that woman!" She seethed under her breath, "What is he thinking bringing her here?"
As though he heard her outrage, Reddington looked up from the throng of people and gave Cedric and Josephine an acknowledging nod.
Cedric snorted when Josephine covertly gave him the middle finger.
-Flashback-
Black Site #? - Kauai, Hawaii - October 9th, 2000
"So we're on for Friday night?"
"Most certainly. May I ask what changed your mind?"
"Time. I just needed some time to work through some things."
"Well, I cannot deny I am pleased to hear it. I am very much looking forward to our date."
The deep, smooth voice issued from somewhere in the safe house's sunken living room.
Josephine stood on the other side of the arched entry, blatantly eavesdropping on Rosalie's meeting.
"And what are you up to, Miss Moliére?"
An equally deep voice issued inches from Josephine's ear, sending her leaping into the air and muffling a squeal with her hand.
Cedric Durant grinned mischievously down at her, quite pleased with himself for catching her in the act.
"Shhhhush!" Josephine whispered when he started chuckling softly to himself.
Her hand closed around his and dragged them both back toward the doorframe.
"She's meeting with that same guy." She hissed, stealing a peek around the corner, "That associate of hers...Why is he here all the time?"
"Hayashida is an important part of Rosalie's network." Said Cedric, absentmindedly, "He's her preferred architect. It would only make sense for him to be the one she commissioned to design the new safe house."
Josephine's eyes narrowed in the direction of the sunken living room "I don't like him."
Cedric sniggered again. "You don't even know him, chérie."
"I don't have to know him to know I don't like him hitting on my friend." Retorted Josephine, turning on her heel and storming through the house. She scurried around several corners in search of Haskell, Cedric leisurely following at her heels.
It took a handful of rooms before she found her target lounging with a worn old paperback on the deck of the lanai.
"Oi, stop reading your dirty romance novels. I'm in need of the international burner."
"I didn't hear the magic word," Haskell countered, thumbing his tongue with his index finger and promptly turning to the next page. "I'm very busy and important. You can come back later.
Cedric snorted indelicately when, not to be outdone, Josephine snatched a nearby ice bucket and proceeded to cascade its contents over the man's exposed back.
After a indecorous yelp and a string of profanities, Haskell fished the burner from his clothes and lobbed it at his employer.
Josephine snatched it out of the air with a charming smile, thanked him, and sauntered back into the home's cool interior.
Cedric was still following her, apparently intrigued by her vindictive streak.
"I'm not normally like this, you know." She lied, opening the burner and punching in her desired number.
"Oh I'm confident that's a lie," said Cedric, a smile in his voice, "That's alright though, I'm finding this all quite entertaining."
A smirk tugged at Josephine's lips, tried though she did to subdue it. She settled for rolling her eyes.
The call connected a second later, a low, familiar voice echoing over the line.
"Hello?"
"Dembe!" She breathed a sigh of relief, "Put him on the phone. Now, please."
Thankfully, the young man did not argue, and instead passed the device directly to Raymond.
"Josephine, what a surpri-"
"You big dumb idiot!"
Red's greeting was cut short by Josephine's less than cordial one.
"Not the worst hello I've received by any stretch of the imagination," he replied, his tone curt, "but that certainly wasn't the best, either."
"Do you know where I am?" She snapped, casting a look at the windows of the living room where Rosalie was alone with Hayashida. "I'm in Kauai, with Rosalie. Do you know what she's doing?"
"...No." Raymond bit back, rather put out by that knowledge.
"She's planning a date with some stupid hunky architect!" Josephine all but bellowed, turning to smack Haskell when he started laughing. Cedric at least seemed to understand her concerns, judging by the tight-lipped frown marring his features.
"What are you doing?" She whispered at last, "You're just letting her go, just like that? What do you expect me to do now, she's seeing someone else and I know you still love her."
"I know you do," said Red, "and I will only ever expect you to be her friend, Josephine."
Josephine's scowl deepened at this. "What are you saying? Que diable...What the hell do you think I'm doing right now?"
"I'm saying I want her to be happy." Raymond murmured, "I'm working through my mistakes, but if he makes her genuinely happy, help her to give him a chance."
The defeat in Red's voice made Josephine's stomach plummet. Her eyes had turned watery, and she found herself looking to Cedric for understanding.
He met her gaze and did not look away. "Tell him he's a fool."
-Present-
The Emerald Lounge - The Armel's Chateau - Ceret, France - December 9th, 2000
Josephine was in flowing organza bearing a cacophony of colors. Turquoise, tangerine, and powder blue made up a bodice and skirt dotted with canary yellow and split by jet black mixed with indigo. When she turned, he caught sight of two wisps of material sweeping from her shoulders to her wrists where they were secured with glittering gold bracelets, giving the look of delicate wings every time she raised a hand to tuck a curl behind her ear or shield her lips when she laughed.
Raymond was reminded of a magnificent papilio butterfly he'd once spotted while smuggling a shipment of explosives across New Guinea back in the nineties. after his transport had left him and his team stranded on the island.
It looked for all the world as though Cedric was Josephine's date. His bowtie, a similar shade of aqua outlined with tangerine, gave him the appearance of a turquoise shield bug. The pair's convivial demeanor was interrupted, however, when Josephine's eyes found Red.
Their standoff lasted little more than a minute before Raymond was forced to look away from Josephine's murderous complexion by the mass of people moving deeper into the lounge and out of sight.
He supposed, given the events of their last phone call, that she must still be angry with him.
The memory made the contents of his stomach churn unpleasantly, even as a refreshing cocktail was eased into his waiting hand. He downed it in one go, set the glass aside and picked up another.
Were Rosalie and Hayashida still seeing one another?
Would he be here, as her date?
How far had their tryst gone?
The swarm of questions sprouting up in Red's head made his careful planning quickly dissolve into nothingness. His mind blanked on what he'd planned to say, how he'd planned to get Rosalie alone. All of it.
He knew no amount of thinking would bring that plan back to him. He was purely reactionary at this point and he hadn't even seen her yet.
They should leave, now, before it ended terribly.
He had turned to whisper to Dembe, but unfortunately it was already too late.
Raymond's attention shifted when a hush fell over the room, signaling the Armels' entrance.
Florian and Marietta were the first to appear, beaming at their guests and looking spectacular as always. They each wore the customary Corsican blue, Marietta's tapering into a long train of gold, green, and turquoise peacock eyes while Florian's tux was complimented by a black and blue striped tie and vest that gave him the look of a cuckoo wasp.
A chorus of whispers broke out before another pair followed behind, silencing the room immediately once more.
Marcello, the instigator of this particular shindig, came striding in behind the Armels with their daughter on his arm.
Red couldn't have looked away if he wanted to as Rosalie Øllegaard entered the room to a reverent hush as deep as that which had greeted her parents.
Where Josephine's gown had been pale and delicate, Rosalie's was dark and fearsome, drawing every eye in the room without a drop of effort as the doors to the grand ballroom swung wide.
One could only think of a phoenix as she was turned about the dance floor, the bodice of her dress glinting beneath the glow of the ballroom's massive chandeliers.
The corset looked like armor; a pair of gilded wings which spread from the center of Rosalie's back to wrap around her slender form, cradling her waist and sternum in golden plumes. The ends of the feathers didn't quite meet, which left a long thin sweep of ivory skin visible from her navel to her clavicle, where the wings' tips circled delicately about her throat. Raymond tried not to notice the ample peak of thigh he caught with each step, courtesy of the bustled silk skirt she wore. It was a far cry from her usual style, rippling with every movement in a variety of reds from bright crimson to burgundy, sewn with gold thread in the same feathered shape to leave a small feathery train trailing behind her.
Guests oohed and aahed, following their hosts into the magnificently decorated space.
Raymond lost sight of Rosalie for a brief moment before the attendees parted once more.
When they did, he found a pair of fathomless gray eyes staring back at him.
Rosalie felt as though she'd just been dropped out of an airplane.
The part of her that still ached at seeing him warred with the parts that had healed. Surprisingly enough, she found herself cautiously indifferent. There was no sense in ruining her evening over his presence.
Now, what was more concerning was his attendance meant, at the very least, Marietta was up to some meddling. It was highly likely either Teddy or Marcello were involved as well...perhaps both. It was months' worth of therapy which allowed her to recognize at least Maman and Ted wouldn't have done it vindictively.
Marcello...well, she wouldn't put anything past Marcello.
Rosalie pointedly ignored the woman on Red's arm and focused intently on Dembe. A bright smile commandeered her features upon seeing him, dapper as always in his black tux and crimson accents.
That smile widened when Dembe caught her staring, eliciting a grin of his own and a subtle wave.
She hoped she would get the chance to dance with him tonight. It had been so long since they'd been able to talk...
Gods, but she was a rare beauty.
Raymond found himself staring at Rosalie from opposite corners of the room for the first hour and a half of the soiree.
He and Emma had made the obligatory rounds, greeting Marcello, making niceties with a handful of other fugitives, even engaging in a somewhat stilted conversation with Josephine and her father, Augustus Moliére.
Rosalie had worked the room with Marietta for a while, visiting with old friends for a spell before Madame Armel was needed at Florian's side, leaving her daughter alone in a sea of other criminals.
Naturally, greed exploits a vacuum. A contingent of criminal bachelors found their way to Rosalie's side in a matter of seconds, talking and bantering as though they knew her intimately.
Red had known Rosalie long enough, had been intimate with her long enough, to know her tells. She was smiling but it didn't once reach her eyes.
The men were allowed closer proximity to her, but her body language denoted a distinct wariness.
Rosalie was usually so busy with her own matters, she seldom noticed the attention she commanded when she walked in a room. She certainly noticed now.
In Raymond's mind, it shouldn't have been a surprise. Rosalie was wealthy, successful, and vivacious. She had the look of a key player, with a notable syndicate of her own and old money connections like the Armels, which only served to heighten her appeal.
Unfortunately for the men around her, Rosalie wasn't about to be fooled by their attentions.
They weren't actually interested in her. Sure, a number of them probably would like to bed her for fun, but not one of them was approaching her with genuine interest.
She knew this, and so she kept them at an emotional distance. Polite. Cordial. Nothing more.
One of the louder men suffered a surge of bravery and reached out to tuck a curl behind her ear. Rosalie's hand had quickly sprung up, tucking the stray lock herself while she flashed the man a look that promised he'd be pulling back a bloody stump if he tried touching her again.
Red looked around the room, searching expectantly for her guard.
Ted and Horace were giving her a wide berth, and the latter could be seen from the sidelines encouraging her to blow off a little steam.
Thankfully, Teddy made sure to stay firmly within Rosalie's line of sight, a reassuring pillar of support in the overly crowded room.
As the night went on, Cedric took turns plucking her from the horde to spin her around the dance floor, making polite conversation that was quite different to his and Rosalie's usual sibling-like antics. The others wouldn't dare cut in on someone of Cedric's high rank, and the never-ending rumours that there was romantic involvement between him and his kid sister allowed a small respite from their unwanted attentions.
Now, however the man was thoroughly occupied, gracefully crossing the dance floor with none other than Josephine Moliére.
Raymond turned to eye Teddy, silently willing him to step in and pull Rosalie from the throng of unwanted suitors, when Emma cleared her throat and asked some insipid question about the contact they'd spoken to.
The necessary intel regarding the Jailbreaker's newest client had been netted a mere twenty minutes into the party, once the band had struck up the first dance of the night, and Raymond had spent the past hour or so alternating between staring at Rosalie and trying to think of ways to politely suggest Agent Knightley turn in for the night.
Emma and Dembe weren't being of any help, either.
The latter was regularly distracted by the sheer number of persons in the room, taking his role of watching Raymond's back a bit too seriously for this kind of venue.
The former seemed sewn to his hip, never parting more than an inch or two from his side. Whether this was out of fear or out of a desire to play her part as his +1, Red wasn't sure.
He was about to drop all pretense and ask Dembe to give Emma a ride back to the safe house when Madame and Monsieur Armel came swooping in on them from out of nowhere.
"Raymond my boy, I'm glad you could join us." Florian boomed, flickering his covert glance at Red's date, a lone brow arching in question.
Raymond gave a minute shake of his head, then replied. "Florian, my dear Madame Armel," he inclined his head toward Marietta, who looked for all the world like she was thoroughly enjoying watching Emma squirm, "May I introduce my associate, Jacqueline Butler. She was nice enough to join me tonight for a bit of business with one of your multitude of guests."
With a sudden burst of ingenuity, Red turned to Dembe, "Unfortunately, Miss Butler has been feeling a bit under the weather today. Dembe, perhaps it would be best for you to escort her back to the safe house so she can rest-"
Dembe looked confused.
Emma looked relieved.
"Nonsense!" Chimed Marietta with glee, "It would be terribly rude for you to leave without a customary dance with the hosts."
Emma took one look at Florian and paled as though she might pass out.
Marietta, ever the mischievous hostess, nudged Emma toward her own husband, who scooped up her hand politely led them into a slow and steady waltz.
Accepting he had been outmaneuvered, Raymond placed his hand gently to the small of Marietta's back and spared one last glance for Rosalie.
Her head was swiveling back and forth now, obviously in search of her guard. The men were still blathering away, but a few of them had gotten impossibly closer.
"Go save her from the wolves, will you?" He added in an aside to Dembe, thinking the young bodyguard much less likely to rip the other men to shreds. The majority of the room knew Dembe was part of Raymond's syndicate and would likely keep as far from him as possible.
The man in question gave him a disapproving look, but set his drink down and crossed the dance floor without a word.
Rosalie was ten seconds away from making a scene.
The passel of infantile fugitives around her was growing more grating by the moment, and all of her exit strategies were currently occupied.
Why did they have to be so close? Did they have no sense of personal space?
She was rapidly getting backed into the nearest table, and so help her, if she felt the edge hit her legs she was going to start swinging.
As though the fates had noticed her predicament, Dembe Zuma came wading through the dance floor and made directly for her.
'Save me.' She mouthed behind her hand, bringing a knowing smile to her friend's lips.
Capitalizing on a shift in the bodies around her, Dembe snuck forward and extended his hand through the throng.
"Care to dance, Mademoiselle Øllegaard?"
Rosalie beamed and gladly placed her hand in his, allowing herself to be pulled through the disgruntled group and out onto the dance floor.
"Ugh, thank you Dembe" she said earnestly, her frame relaxing by leaps and bounds as he led them into a smooth waltz. "I was beginning to think I was going to have to slug someone to get an inch of space."
Dembe chuckled, the sound as low and comforting as Rosalie remembered.
"How've you been?" She asked, beaming up at him. "How's Kate and the others? I've missed you."
"We have missed you as well," said Dembe, turning them about toward the opposite end of the dance floor. "We have been alright, though I wish we could have spoken after New York-"
Rosalie sighed heavily, "Really Dembe, I don't want to talk about that. I don't blame you for any of it, but the thought of Raymond with her still makes me want to set things on fire. Can we talk about anything else?"
"Please," he said, moving them seamlessly into the next dance. "It is most important. You need to know that Raymond is not involved with Emma. She is not, nor has she ever been a romantic interest." An actual chuckle bubbled from Dembe's chest, "Rosalie, there has been no other woman since the day the two of you met. Even in your departure, there were no dates, no flings for sexual gratification, nothing."
"How could I possibly believe that?" Rosalie hissed, "What I saw that night implies otherwise."
"My friend, do you honestly think I would lie to you?"
The question had a note of accusation that made a drop of shame settle into Rosalie's stomach like a lead weight. "No Dembe, of course you wouldn't lie to me. I know that..."
Emma was beating back her fight-or-flight response with every step to this dance that never seemed to end.
Florian Armel was making polite conversation, despite Emma's clipped answers. She could only hoped he didn't find her brevity offensive.
"So mademoiselle, what is it you do for Mr. Reddington?"
His tone was polite and casual, but the question made Emma's stomach plummet. They'd never discussed her fictional role in his organization.
"I...I act as a broker." She lied, keeping her eyes on Reddington's back and avoiding Armel's piercing gaze. "I assist Mr. Reddington with particularly difficult clients."
"Fascinating," he said, "You must have assisted on his new venture with Baldur Magnusson?"
Emma didn't know who Baldur Magnusson was, but she could only guess he was another well-known fugitive. "Y-Yes."
Monsieur Armel spun them in a circle so Emma could no longer keep her focus on Red. "You're sure about that, Agent Knightley?"
The use of her real name made Emma's steps falter. Her eyes widened when she was forced to look into Florian Armel's clever face.
"I don't know who that-"
"Spare me the repartee, Mrs. Knightley." Florian advised, "You are a guest in my home, and I believe in the rules of Xenia. You are safe, for now, but that is contingent upon you answering my next question truthfully."
He waited for Emma to give a singular, terrified nod.
"What, exactly, is your relationship with Raymond Reddington?"
"You're really telling me nothing's happened between them?" Rosalie couldn't help but question, despite her assurance
"She kissed him once in the alcove office, but Raymond did not allow it to go beyond that."
"There's no way for you to know that-" she began, but Dembe shook his head.
"I am absolutely certain of it; I was there that night. Of all the places to try and get laid but not get caught, the Abbey is not the place to do it. It is a one-of-a-kind safe house Rosalie, but there isn't a drop of privacy to be found within its walls."
Rosalie's cheeks turned pink at this, her mind now reminding her of the completely open-air layout of the entire first floor. Raymond couldn't have engaged in any kind of illicit acts even if he'd wanted to. The whole house would have heard them. "So...if they're not romantically involved, then who the hell is she?"
As they turned, Rosalie's eyes fell on this Emma person, whom Florian had apparently shared a dance with before bowing and taking his leave.
"You will not like the truth much better," Dembe admitted ruefully.
Rosalie's attention turned back to her companion, "That isn't an answer to my question Dembe. Who is she, and why is she with Raymond?"
Dembe took a deep breath, then blurted: "Emma is an agent of MI6."
A titter of laughter snuck out of Rosalie's throat. "Yeah, right. Really Dembe, who is she?"
The laughter died in her throat when Dembe's expression remained unmoving.
"Rosalie, after you left, Raymond secretly turned himself in to MI6 under the conditions of an immunity agreement."
"He. What?" Rosalie snarled, feeling her blood begin to boil beneath her skin.
A handful of couples nearest them glanced curiously their way before turning back to their dance partners.
Dembe waited until the last one looked away before continuing. "Raymond is working to access the MI6 immigration databases to hunt for the German and his associate. That is why Emma is with him. He's building a rapport, because she is the one whose access we need."
Rosalie was barely shuffling back and forth in time with the music, her own hammering heartbeat had eaten away any other sound in the room. "Why? Why would he do that?"
"Don't you see what he's doing, Rosalie? He is clearing the board. If he can get to Basír and the German, the greatest threat to your life dies with them. When they are gone, I only know his plan is to return to you."
"That's not..." Rosalie steadied herself by gripping his arms tighter, "That' not true."
"We've already established I do not lie to you, Rosalie." He reminded, his voice gentle.
Rosalie recalled Dr. Tiller's words from earlier that day, her eyes widening with each word.
'To step back, to keep you safe, all for the mere possibility of having decades to live at your side...'
Tiller had known, this whole time. He knew Raymond was going to be there tonight and chose to open her mind to the possibility of this very outcome...because he already knew it was the truth.
"I- I need some air." Rosalie took a step back from Dembe, her eyes starting to burn with tears.
"Rosalie-"
"Just..." She squeezed his hand, "I need a moment. Promise you won't go without saying goodbye, okay?"
"But-"
"Promise me, Dembe."
Marietta watched Raymond intently, the way he stared at her daughter. Rosalie was doing everything in her power not to meet his gaze, but there was no doubt she could feel his tumultuous green eyes scorching her skin.
The young fugitive looked pained, as though it were taking every ounce of self control he possessed not to go to her.
"What are you doing, Raymond?" She asked, admiring that he still managed a perfect waltz despite his mind being in a tumult.
It took him a moment to answer her.
"She's not safe with me, Marietta."
Marietta tittered to herself, "She's not safe with anyone, mon coeur. You love my daughter, and she wants no one but you. Why should something as trivial as safety keep you apart?"
"I could lose her," Raymond reminded, "Someone could try and hurt her to get to me."
"You don't think my husband and I worried about the very same when we were just beginning? That we don't still worry about it now? The fear never leaves, Raymond. All you can do is manage how you react to it."
"Florian told me the story, about him pushing you away to keep you safe.
"I hated him for that," Marietta admitted in a whisper, "It took me quite some time to truly get over the choice he made."
Raymond found himself curious, "Can you tell me what it was like for you, being on the other end of that decision?"
Marietta looked up at him, her sharp whiskey eyes glinting at the memory. "It was agony," she said, not bothering to spare Red's feelings on the matter. "There I was, overflowing with love for my future husband and already willing to be the rock of Gibraltar to his raging sea, and the damn fool wouldn't let me do it."
They both chuckled at this, the sound a bittersweet duet.
She sighed and continued, "My husband learned that a partnership is sharing each other's burdens, even when you are afraid your burdens are too much, or too 'dangerous'. If you love them, you let them in. You let them stay and be in it with you."
"I'm afraid that's a lesson I'm still learning, Marietta." Raymond confided with a frown.
This brought another laugh to the woman's lips. "I suspect you're closer than you realize, my boy."
Dembe appeared at Marietta's shoulder. "I would like to cut in." He said politely, not waiting for Raymond to concede before spinning Marietta out of the man's hold and into his own.
She gave a delighted laugh and started swaying in time once more.
Red gave a quick scan of the ballroom, unable to see Rosalie anywhere. He turned to Dembe, "Where did she go?"
Dembe pointedly looked at anywhere but Raymond. "She said she needed to get some air..."
Marietta spun them again and called over her shoulder, "I'm sure she's in the study. Last door at the end of the first hall, Raymond dear."
Rosalie was indeed hidden in the quiet solitude of the study, contemplating just how wrongly she had assessed the situation with Raymond.
She'd been wrong. Categorically and for a fact, completely wrong.
Did that mean she agreed with his decision to end their relationship? Certainly not. However, it did change her perspective on the choices he'd made since.
He'd been working to make his world safe for them. He hadn't abandoned her, not truly.
But he'd still brought a Fed into the château...
Rosalie wasn't sure how she should go about reconciling with that.
In the decades that Florian had been Caïd, Rosalie could not recall a single story of a Fed making it into a le milieu home.
"You brought an agent-!" she flung a heavy crystal vase toward the door, just barely missing his head.
"Shh!" he hissed, holding up a hand until he closed the door with a snap. "What the hell, Rosalie?"
"You brought an MI-6 agent into this house, and you have the audacity to ask me what the hell? The Armels are here, Cedric is here. I am here, and you brought a Fed as your date!"
He reached for her, but she twisted her wrists out of his grasp, her hands poking at his chest to maintain the boundary of distance.
Horace burst into the room at that unfortunate moment, "Hey!" He bellowed, thinking they were in the midst of an altercation.
"Get out!" Raymond and Rosalie snarled at the same time, each gesturing at the door with obstinate fingers.
"I-" he began,
"I said out!" Rosalie reiterated, jabbing her finger at the door.
"I'll leave the door open-"
"You'll do no such thing and you will leave the corridor immediately!"
Horace turned on his heel and stormed out, albeit begrudgingly.
Rosalie waited until she was relatively confident he was no longer within earshot before turning back to Raymond.
"Dembe doesn't lie." She stated with conviction, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "He told me that woman with you is an MI6 agent, that you turned yourself in so you could hunt Basír and the German. He said you did it for me. Dembe does not lie."
Raymond felt a hot flush creep up his neck. "He shouldn't have told you all of that."
"You're right," said Rosalie, "You should have told me. Better yet, we should have been facing this together."
"I know," said Red.
"That was our agreement." Rosalie reminded him, not looking away when his eyes bore into hers. "You said we'd build our world as we see fit."
Raymond nodded. "Instead, I took the decision away from you and pushed you out of the fray so that I could calm the waters around us."
This gave Rosalie pause. "You admit it...?"
"I was wrong." He replied, sincerity thick in his voice. "I was so, so wrong Rosalie. Given the choice of a few frantic years with you or a lifetime I thought I chose the lifetime. But all I really did was make you feel like I didn't want you at my side."
Rosalie took a step back. This hadn't been what she expected from him, not at all.
"Rosalie, I have wanted us, longed for us, these months in a way I've never experienced. I've never...craved to be near someone the way I crave to be near you."
Raymond smiled when she could only blink back at him, dumbstruck at the confession she thought she'd never hear.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice softer and gentler than she even remembered, "I'm sorry I didn't choose us. If I could change it, if I could do it again and get those months together back, I would do it in a heartbeat."
Rosalie struggled to keep her composure. It seemed like all the emotional work she'd done these past few months was now unravelling at the seams.
She'd been over him. She'd been ready to move on. But...
Nothing could've prepared Rosalie for Raymond Reddington baring his soul to her. No amount of shoring up or self work could change the fact that deep down, that love for Raymond abided. It had gone dormant from distance and solitude, but it was still there, clear as day.
She loved this man, even after everything that'd happened.
She loved him.
"I don't know what to say now." Rosalie admitted, eyes starting to sting all over again. "I don't know where we go from here."
Raymond thought for a moment, then looked up with a grin. "Then why don't we start again; like it's the very beginning?"
"What? We can't just call a mulligan Raymond, that's not how any of this works-"
"Why not?"
His voice actually shook.
"My god Rosalie, didn't you ever play make-believe when you were a girl? I can't imagine someone like you not having a youth filled with imaginary worlds, each more shining and exciting than the last."
Rosalie found herself drawn into what he was saying, no small part of her longing to set aside the complications that had wedged themselves between them and just give in to that magnetic pull that had been drawing her toward him all night.
"I can't just forget," she admitted with a frown, "I can't just brush everything that happened under the rug."
"I'm not asking you to." Raymond assured, "I'm asking you to pretend, my dear. Just for tonight. Pretend that we aren't who we are."
He smiled softly, the way he used to smile when he looked at her.
"I'm not asking you to act as though no one robbed you of your safety, or to forget it was my fear that ripped us apart. I'm just asking you to close your eyes and pretend for one night that we are exactly as we were...blind with love and right on the cusp of falling all over again."
His hand extended into her sphere, holding out a warm, calloused palm for her to take.
"Tonight, I'm just a man, asking a beautiful woman for a dance."
Rosalie stared at his fingertips for the space of a heartbeat, her body and mind warring with the racing rhythm of her pulse which simply ached to place her hand in his.
It would be such a relief, to fall back into him after all this time.
Acting on instinct alone, her hand raised only to rest her fingertips in the warmth of his upturned palm.
She felt his sigh of relief before she heard it, and found her lungs mirroring the sensation before sucking in a sharp gasp as he, like it was a pastime he knew by heart, cradled her in his arms and made their first steps out into the cool night.
