A/N: I know it has been quite some time since I've updated, I'm very sorry for that. There was a lot of personal things going on in my life and I had to take some time away. I have returned and hopefully this very long chapter makes up for my absence :)


The Armel Château - Cerét, France - December 9th, 2000

"Do you think this is it?"

"Mon rêve, if she did not love him still, she would have kicked him out the moment he arrived with that Fed on his arm."

"Still…Your daughter did throw a vase at his head."

"Serves him right for bringing an MI6 agent into the château; what was he thinking? Besides, I always hated that vase."

Florian and Marietta were lurking outside the château's study, the former with an ear pressed to the door's seam, the latter crouched with one eye fixed to the door's keyhole.

Their discreet exit from the ballroom came after the briefest turn around the dance floor, whereupon the pair bowed to their respective partners and slipped hand-in-hand into the shadows of a nearby alcove.

They'd moved in mutual silence out to the foyer, following Horace's broad figure at a stealthy distance.

He was blessedly distracted, too much so to notice his shadows.

All three had made it halfway down the side corridor before a crashing noise echoed from the study and remnants of shattered crystal rained onto the moonlit carpets outside the door. A pair of familiar voices could be heard rowing inside.

It took less than a second for Horace to burst into the room with a roar of indignation.

Raymond and Rosalie bellowed at him in tandem, and he was unceremoniously thrown from the room seconds later. After seething on the threshold for several seconds, Horace finally stormed out of the corridor.

The Armels, who had disappeared behind one of the hall's ornate tapestries during the commotion, promptly leapt from their hiding place so they could take up the spots from which they were currently eavesdropping.

"And why is it she's always my daughter when her temper is ablaze, hmm?" Florian continued playfully, adjusting his stance so he could better see what was going on inside the study. "Shouldn't she be your daughter then?"

Marietta gave her husband's torso a stout jab with the pointed toe of her stiletto, sending him toppling onto his ass. "If I recall, she was my daughter when she manipulated Augustus Moliére into loosening the reins on his daughter. So she's your daughter now."

Her husband swore under his breath, but couldn't hold back a dry chuckle as he rose to his feet once more and gave her a reproachful pinch. "Speaking of Augustus's little hellion…Isn't that her out in the rose garden with Cedric?"

This managed to draw Marietta's attention. She left her place at the door long enough to peer through the glass arch that led to the inner courtyard. A tutt left her lips.

"Allons bon…Augustus won't like that. Wave them inside mon bonheur, they will catch hell if he comes looking."

Florian immediately swung one of the French doors wide and whistled softly out into the night.

Cedric, who had just been rounding a nearby fountain with Josephine on his arm, froze stiff as a board when he heard the sound. His head snapped in the direction of the study, recognizing Florian's broad stature even in the shadows.

A look of chagrin marred his previously buoyant features. "It seems I am being called, chérie."

Josephine frowned, following his eyes to the side of the house where Florian stood waving them inside.

"Vos deux, entrez!" He hissed, holding the glass entry wide until both parties came shuffling reluctantly into the hall.

"What are the two of you doing skulking around out here?" Asked Cedric, taking in the sight of Florian crouching at the door's keyhole once more.

Marietta arched a slender brow in Josephine's direction, then turned impassively back to Cedric. "We could ask you the very same, young man."

Cedric had the grace to look a smidgeon abashed.

Josephine, on the other hand, allowed a clever, knowing smile to curl at the corners of her lips. "My mother always told me lurking was a pervert's sport. Tell me Madam Armel, whatever are you and your dear husband doing in this secluded hallway so far from your guests?"

"It seems you've met your match, chérie." Florian purred from the keyhole, tilting his head this way and that in an attempt to catch sight of the room's occupants. "I can't see anything, I suspect they've moved to the veranda."

"Non," Marietta murmured, ear once again pressed to the door's seam and ignoring his jab. "I can still hear Raymond's voice. They're at the threshold, just behind the chaise."

Florian's head shifted just so. "Ah oui, there's a shadow moving there. Rosalie must be-"

"Wait, are they both in there?!"

Josephine rushed forward, nearly boxing Monsieur Armel out of the way in her exuberance.

"Why didn't you lead with that? I hadn't realized they'd snuck off; what are they doing in there?"

"Now who's the pervert?" Cedric chided with a smirk.

Neither Florian nor Josephine moved from their perch, though the latter reached back to flash him a choice finger.

"She threw a vase at his head." Florian informed her excitedly.

Mademoiselle Moliére seemed to approve of this. "Ah well that's understandable, he's been a prize idiot."

Without warning, a throat cleared loudly behind them.

Josephine leapt from the keyhole as though scalded.

Cedric, Florian, and Marietta could hardly be prevailed upon to move, and merely turned their blithe faces toward the source of the noise.

Ted Beaumont and Dembe Zuma were both standing in the middle of the hall, eyebrows quirked and arms crossed in obvious disapproval for the contingent of snoops they'd discovered loitering outside the study.

A pregnant pause settled between the six, interrupted only by the heavy ticks of a nearby grandfather clock and the low echo of voices issuing from the ballroom.

As the silence stretched, knowing looks passed between the three pairs.

Marietta to Dembe.

Dembe to Florian.

Florian to Ted.

Ted to Cedric.

Cedric to Josephine.

Josephine back to Dembe.

"...Did it work? Are they talking?"

It was Teddy who broke first, craning his neck to squint at the door, apparently every bit as eager as the others to know what was going on within the study.

Josephine grinned. "I knew I liked you, Teddy."

"We know nothing as of yet-" Cedric tried to remind them, recognizing more than one of their party was putting the proverbial horse before the cart.

"There were some choice words," admitted Florian.

"And a well-aimed vase," said Josephine.

Marietta shrugged. "So, we are right on schedule."

The group dissolved into a fit of stifled laughter, each doing their best to keep from being overheard.

"We ought to give them their privacy." Dembe said at last, dark eyes dancing with mirth as he gave each member of the party a measured look, then stepped aside with a sweeping gesture down the hall.

The hosts and their young counterparts still sniggered behind their hands, ever the picture of giddy teenagers caught in open wrongdoing, despite their substantial differences in age.

Faces downcast with faux-chagrin, they began to make their way back up the hall.

Marietta slipped her arm into Josephine's, gently but firmly guiding her away from Cedric's sphere.

When the younger woman turned with a pout, Marietta leaned in and whispered, "Your father would snuff out your budding interest before you could blink. Trust me, it is best he does not catch the two of you wandering the halls together. I shall be your alibi, and together we will put it into dear Augustus' head that your becoming intimately acquainted with our Cedric was his idea, and a most advantageous one at that."

A sweet, mischievous smile illuminated Josephine's features, along with a blush that cascaded from her scalp to her toes.

"Am I so very obvious, Madame Armel?"

An identical smile plucked at Marietta's lips. "You both are."

One breathless glance toward Cedric was all Josephine allowed before permitting herself to be lead away, content to submit to Marietta's scheming.

Cedric made to fall in step behind them, but Florian reached out to grab the young man's shoulder, a deep chortling laugh rippling his snowy mustache. "Patience, my boy. Let Marietta work her magic. I daresay her brand of witchcraft nearly always nets the desired results."

He tilted his head in the direction of the study, where the fruits of Marietta's latest meddling seemed to be coming at last to fruition. Her tactics spoke for themselves.

It took but a moment for Monsieur Durant to regain his composure, nodding stiffly at his superior before falling in step at his side, their trek leading them in the opposite direction of the ladies.

Dembe and Teddy were left lingering in the hallway while the others had departed.

They waited until the last person disappeared around the corner before the pair turned to one another and shared an amused grin.

"It is good to see you." Said Dembe, extending his hand.

Teddy bypassed it and threw his arms wide, drawing the other man into a rib-cracking hug. "Blimey it's good to see you too."

The two men chuckled to themselves, the sound dying when they each spared a glance for the locked study door.

Dembe heaved a heavy sigh, "Do you think this is the end of their separation?

"I don't know." Ted whispered, "Rosalie...she's not as open as she once was."

They turned and started making their way back to the ballroom.

"She has changed?"

"Not really. It's funny, I can see Rosalie clear as the sun some days, but mostly she's hidden by a cloud cover of hurt. She's too busy protecting herself from the threats rolling in from the network. Each one pulls her in on herself a little more, makes her harder to reach, but she's still there underneath it all."

"Do you think she will ever find her way out of it?" Dembe asked, his brow puckered in a deep frown.

His companion nodded, "Horace is confident it's only a matter of time. He keeps saying she'll be able to look back on the betrayals she's suffered with no small measure of grace once she makes it to the other side. I just hope finding her way back doesn't require a monumental loss...I don't know if the woman who came out on the other side would be the same woman who hired me those years ago."

Dembe's stride halted and he turned to spare another glance for the door at the far end of the hall. "I have the same fears for Raymond. He was not the same after she left."

"I know her no-contact order must have been difficult," said Ted, "I tried not to make it too hard on him, but we were really worried for her there for a while."

"We all felt the effect of her absence on his humanity." Dembe confided, "Raymond is a good man, but this life can be brutal when one has lost a guiding light. In many ways, Rosalie loved Raymond into loving himself. I do not think he liked the person he was without her. Even Kate used Rosalie's name at times to keep him from going over the brink and doing something horrible...I can only hope tonight is the beginning of the end of this period in their relationship. I fear what they each would become without the other."

Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Horace, Otto Henschke, and Achille Fabron bustling toward the mouth of the corridor in lockstep.

"What are you three doing here?" Ted questioned, surprised to see them away from the festivities.

Otto and Achille turned to give Horace an appraising look, earning an irritable huff in response.

Achille could be seen rolling his eyes, and Otto actually grinned when he turned back to Teddy and Dembe.

"Dear Horace said there was an 'altercation' going on between Rosalie and Reddington. We came to offer support should she need it, but seeing you two here…" he nodded at the pair, "I'd hazard to guess they've resolved their differences? Dembe?"

He held out his hand, and the younger man shook it with a serene smile. "Everything is fine, they are simply talking things over."

A knowing look passed over Otto's countenance. "Glad to see they're just as unruly as they always were."

A hearty snigger circled through the group at this.

"It has been some time since we've seen you;" said Dembe, "You look well."

Otto chuckled genially, the action succeeding in making him look years younger. "Ah well, retirement will do that to a man."

Teddy and Dembe straightened at this.

"Retired?" Repeated the former, his brows rocketing toward his hairline.

Achille and Horace shifted about behind Otto, as though to settle in for a lengthy story.

"Well," he began, "I retired from bodyguarding back in April, and since my debt to Florian has long since been paid, I approached him about training to fly."

"You wish to be a pilot?"

A wistful look claimed Otto's features, and Dembe thought he looked almost boyish.

"I've always been fascinated by planes. Besides, Raphaël can't lug Florian around forever; he's getting on in years, and I considered it a very agreeable suggestion. I can copilot with Raphaël and give him a respite from the longer flights, then when he retires, Florian will have a fresh pilot he knows and trusts. Likewise, when Florian retires, I'll just fly for Achille."

Achille nodded at this, at last breaking his silence with a wry smile. "I have to give it to Otto, it's been a capital idea. Florian is delighted to be keeping him within the syndicate, and Raphaël is looking forward to having a dedicated copilot. Everyone is quite pleased."

To Dembe's surprise, Teddy took a sudden step forward. "How soon will you be starting with Raphaël?"

Otto shrugged. "Likely not until the summer; you know as well as I, Florian prefers not to travel in the winter if he can avoid it."

An eager smile reached Ted's lips, "Do you think Florian can spare you until then? Rosalie is in dire need of a pilot, but finding one she can bring herself to trust has been a nightmare."

Horace interjected at this.

"She's been doing just fine with Caspian."

Teddy's focus never left Otto. "Caspian's last flight was to bring Rosalie here. Marietta can't spare him any longer. Even if Rosalie and Red bury the hatchet, she won't be able to move with him for the next four or five months; she's got a set of expansions in Asia poised to kick off after the first of the year."

"She won't have Otto, not after the whole mess in Munich-"

The pointed scowl Otto directed at Horace could have curdled milk.

"-You know, the one he went and blabbed to Florian about?"

When Otto turned back to Teddy and Dembe, a tight frown had darkened his previously buoyant features. "I cannot deny Horace has me there." He said, dismay coloring his words, "After Rosalie found out I was keeping Florian informed on her activities, I lost her trust. I doubt she would want me in a position of any proximity to her."

It was Dembe's turn to shrug. "The worst that could happen is a flat-out refusal. I'm of the opinion that if Rosalie is to be traveling extensively, the breaches that have been occurring in her own syndicate could very well make her more inclined to trust one of Florian's people rather than someone from her own circle."

Horace and Ted gave an awkward shuffle at this. Still, the latter added, "You know, that might be your selling point. She knows your loyalty rests with Florian, and you've been in Corsica since these security issues started. If the only argument she could have against you is that you would be informing for the Armels, I doubt she would turn you away. With everything going on, Rosalie's already decided to keep Florian and Marietta appraised of her every move anyway."

Otto bounced once on the balls of his feet, smiling once more. "I'll run it by Florian in the morning. If he would be agreeable to it, I'll bring the proposition to Rosalie. I can't deny it would be nice to get out of Corsica for a bit."

"On that note," said Achille, who gave a nod of deference to Dembe and Teddy, "I'm headed back to the ballroom."

They and Otto wished him well, and the formalities very nearly succeeded in making them miss the few inconspicuous steps Horace tried taking toward the end of the hall.

He didn't make it more than a foot when Otto turned to level him a look of deepest exasperation.

"Horace…c'mon." He made a shooing gesture, then tilted his head toward Achille's retreating form. "If Rosalie's intent on hearing Reddington out, she's already made up her mind to do it. Let it go, mate."

A silent battle of wills erupted between the two men, and Dembe found his eyes flitting from one to the other, halfway suspecting a fistfight to break out.

After a full thirty seconds, Horace huffed loudly, threw up his hands, and stormed out of the hall.

Otto rolled his eyes at the theatrics, turned to Teddy and Dembe, and smiled once more.

"So...still bangin' around London, are you?"


Inside the study, Raymond Reddington kept having to remind himself to breathe.

From the moment Rosalie's hand came to rest in his upturned palm, his lungs had stuttered to a halt. The roaring in his ears was soon all he could hear, the hammering of his heart, all he could feel. His pulse thrummed in the very tips of his fingers, as though every drop of blood in his body had rushed to greet her touch.

Everything felt unreal in that moment, like Red was hallucinating a wild caricature of the world he knew.

He quietly thrilled at each of Rosalie's light footfalls as they followed his own retreat.

Step by step, he led her toward the balcony, his eyes never leaving her own. Something in him warned that if he looked away now, the spell would be broken, and he would miss this chance to set things right.

"Wait."

Red paused at the threshold of the veranda, his stomach plummeting into the soles of his feet. He'd done something wrong, moved too fast. He was going to lose her all over again-

"If we're going to play pretend," Rosalie's warm voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts, "I want to meet the man I would have met had we never gone into business together."

Her opposite hand extended toward him, "Hello, my name is Rosalie Øllegaard."

Raymond was struck dumb for a full ten seconds before he realized the part he was expected to play.

Rosalie was doing her best not to let a brief flicker of amusement show, though Red noted with a surge of nostalgia that doing so had always made her look all the more mischievous.

And saints alive, did she look mischievous now…

Schooling his features, Red cleared his throat. He took her hand and inclined his head to hold her gaze as he pressed a gentle kiss to its surface.

"Miss Øllegaard, it's a pleasure. I'm Raymond Reddington."

Another smile tugged at the corners of Rosalie's lips at this very formal introduction.

For Red, the gesture managed to wipe away every shred of doubt from his mind.

The passion which had resided between them was still there; he could sense it. They just needed to coax it back out into the open.

With a steadying breath, Raymond settled into his favored pastime as though they'd never been apart. He turned her hand over in his and placed a single kiss to her palm before taking another tentative step toward the archway.

"I very much appreciate your meeting me here, away from your throng of guests." He let his voice dip to a low, intimate murmur, "I find crowded ballrooms a terrible venue for a tête-á-tête."

"A tête-á-tête, hmm?"

"What would you call a meeting such as this?" Red purred, smile deepening when he felt his heel reach the threshold at long last.

He took one step onto the stone terrace, then another.

Rosalie matched him stride for stride, allowing him to lead her out into the darkness. The last dregs of reasonable apprehension had her chewing at her bottom lip. "I don't know what to call it when a perfect stranger follows me from a ballroom and persuades me to dance with him in some dark corner."

"Nonsense my dear, there's more than enough moonlight to fully appreciate the beauty afforded me."

In the distance, the band kicked up a swinging tune.

Raymond spun Rosalie out so he could take in the view of her crimson skirt billowing in a tight spiral about her legs.

Indeed, they had reached the center of the veranda to find it thoroughly illuminated by the light of a full moon. Its beams ricocheted off of Rosalie's jewels and Red's cufflinks, making brilliant flecks of light glimmer and wink along the alcove's limestone walls with every tentative step.

Their dancing was slow at first, timid and cautious in its execution.

They were out of practice, Red told himself; they merely needed to ease their way back into that effortless sensuality which always blossomed so readily between them.

Rosalie did not respond to his pandering. It seemed she was doing everything in her power to maintain a neutral expression while his fingertips trailed down the curve of her back.

She was trying so hard, but the smooth sway of their steps and the way he looked at her were slowly chipping away at her resolve.

When he brought a finger to her chin and guided her face upward, Raymond could see it clear as day.

Though Rosalie fought to subdue it, everything in her responded to that look. He caught the shiver she gave as goosebumps raced down her spine, and the blush that quickly followed from head to toe. Giving her a reprieve, he spun her out then back into his outstretched arms, setting them swaying in time with the tune above.

The move pulled a gasp from Rosalie, and looking up to find Red's eyes still fixed on her, what dwindling sense of self-preservation she still possessed soon demanded to get the upper hand.

"So, Mr. Reddington…Tell me again what it is you do for a living?"

"Oh a little of this, a little of that..."

A slender brow arched toward Rosalie's hairline, giving him that look she always gave when she was about to call him out on his bullshit.

Red dearly wanted to laugh, but feared the sound might break the spell they were under. So instead, he settled for swaying them in a tight circle around the terrace, ensuring they were brought a hair's breadth closer with each and every step.

Thankfully, Rosalie soon saved him from having to extrapolate.

"So you're a jack of all trades, hmm?" Pointed disbelief colored her tone, "I suppose this is where you tell me you run several charities in your spare time, do some pro bono legal work, kiss babies, nurse stray kittens back to health...the sort of stuff that might even out your rough edges in my eyes, right?"

Raymond couldn't hold back a deep, throaty chuckle. "I assure you I would do no such thing. Those rough edges of which you speak are the foundation of my criminal enterprise."

"What enterprise is that?" She asked.

"Scoundrel's work, mostly; which is a shame, since my mother always warned me nobody likes a scoundrel."

He dipped his companion low, then brought them upright to spin and sway once more.

With a smooth step, Rosalie let herself be drawn a little closer, a knowing smirk aimed at her companion. "Nobody likes a scoundrel, huh? I always thought scoundrels were fun."

Red shook his head and led them into the next dance without missing a beat.

"Well…" He studiously avoided her gaze, "You do have a bit of a rebellious streak."

"Oh do I?" Said she, taking a step opposite him, "And how exactly would you know that?"

Raymond spun Rosalie back into his hold with ease, settling her back to his front and circling his arms around her middle. A white-hot thrill skirted along his nerves when she neither pulled away nor protested.

Instead, to his utter delight, she sank into his hold and turned her head. This gesture presented him with uninhibited access to the delicate line of her neck, where his lips couldn't help but trace the words, "Because you're here, with me."

The boisterous laugh which erupted from his companion at this bold statement served to prove she was not the least bit affected by his bravado.

"What?" Red chuckled, brushing the tip of his nose along her earlobe. "I think I make a fine scoundrel, don't you?"

Another tittering laugh snuck its way out of Rosalie's throat. Her hand reached up cradle his cheek, a thumb stroking along his jaw.

"I think you're a terrible old softie wrapped in a scoundrel's trappings."

A slow, playful smile curled Raymond's lips at this, and he couldn't help but bring his companion impossibly closer, tightening his hold and turning so he could whisper against the shell of her ear…

"Now who told you?"

The renewal of that tinkling laugh which he'd hoped to garner did not come, and before he made to pull away and ascertain why his quip missed its mark, he felt Rosalie melt further into his embrace.

"Oh, darling…"

The endearment made Red shiver, and he couldn't have possibly prepared for the smile in her voice when she purred:

"I'm the scoundrel your mother warned you about."

Raymond chewed the inside of his cheek, tongue prodding rough and insistent at the corner of his mouth. Never in his life had he wanted so badly to drop to his knees and beg for a woman's love.

But for her…anything for her. Anything for this, to live the rest of his days being called 'darling' and spoken to in such sweet loving whispers as to make him ache from head to toe. He would give anything, be anything for her.

Just when he thought those heavy emotions were going to drag him under, a poorly-subdued snigger reached his ears.

Spinning out of his hold only to be immediately snatched back again, Rosalie beamed up at him with a bright, mischievous smile that had Red grinning from ear to ear.

A beat of silence struck before they were laughing themselves utterly breathless.

The band had switched tunes before the two could collect themselves, and when they did, the only thing which managed to break the heavy quiet was the singer's crooning voice in the distance.

Rosalie's head came to rest on Red's shoulder, where he did not doubt she could hear the anxious pounding of his heartbeat. He held her hand tight in his, keeping it close while the other clung to the small of her back so not a breath of space existed between them.


Emma was confident she'd narrowly escaped with her life.

She'd only just been freed from Florian Armel's sudden and intense interrogation, and instinct had her throwing cautious glances over her shoulder, half expecting some guard or thug to materialize from one of the hallway's shadows and give chase.

"What, exactly, is your relationship with Raymond Reddington?"

"I...I..."

"I don't suffer fools, Agent Knightley. I suggest you find your words quickly or I will have one of my associates find them for you."

"I don't know! I don't know what he wants with me. I don't know why we're working together. I just know he showed up out of the blue five months ago and upended my entire life!"

Emma had only danced half a song with the Caïd of the Corsican mafia, all the while stammering a string of denials regarding her involvement with Reddington. Just when she'd thought Monsieur Armel was going to call her a liar and make good on his promise of having his associates force the truth from her, something across the room caught his attention. He left her on the floor of the ballroom without another word.

The briefest glance around the room had shown both Reddington and his bodyguard were nowhere to be found, as well as the fact that Emma was a sticking out like a sore thumb, still and singular as she was in the center of the bustling dance floor.

The escape had carried her to the abandoned stretch of hallway she was currently fleeing along, searching in vain for a safe place to catch her breath.

Her feet ached despite the perfectly fitted heels Genevieve had procured, and if she weren't so afraid, Emma might have thought to kick them off.

Just when she thought she might have to take one of the hall's ominous offshoots, a sliver of golden light shimmered into existence at the end of the hall.

Without a thought as to where it might lead, she followed.

The beam grew wider as Emma drew near. Relief coursed through her and quickened her pace until she hurtled through the open doorway into the brightly lit room.

The tumult of conversation that had met her upon entering the space immediately died down to a hushed murmur as a couple dozen heads turned Emma's way.

The room she'd happened upon seemed to be the ladies' lounge. A score of young women with brightly-colored gowns stood at the edges of a circular seating area, eyeing her with sharp eyes and whispering behind gloved hands bearing large gems that nearly blinded. The elder ladies banked a pair of settees at the room's center, sporting staid ballgowns and the kind of precious stones their youthful counterparts couldn't yet hope to afford.

"I know that look..."

One of the young ladies flanking the outer rim separated from the throng. She was tall and blonde, with the kind of smile that would make any fairytale villain proud. Her dress glinted with reds, greens and golds, making her look the picture of a bird of paradise.

Neatly manicured nails sharpened to a point plucked the cherry from her old-fashioned, raising the glistening red fruit to equally crimson lips while she eyed Emma with scrutiny.

"You poor dear," the woman cooed with false sympathy, "Did that scandalous Mr. Reddington jilt you in the ballroom? Or did you both sneak off so he could have his wicked way with you in some dark corridor? Don't worry, I'm sure you aren't the first, or..." She noted Emma's pale complexion, "Perhaps he was your first?"

She leaned forward until her nose was nearly touching Emma's. "...Is he as good a lay as they all say?" Her teeth closed around the cherry, plucking it sharply from its stem. "You're a bit on in years to be a blushing virgin, but even so, one could hardly complain at popping their cherry with such a fine example of the male species..."

The cherry crunched noisily beneath her molars, making Emma's lip curl in disgust. A chorus of laughter erupted from the woman's compatriots, along with a battery of equally invasive and inappropriate questions from how often did she and Red partake in exhibitionism to precisely how big it was.

"Madeline."

The deep, sonorous voice of one of the aged ladies cut through the room, silencing the foolish giggling of the younger sect as well as the scandalized whispering of their elders.

Madeline gave Emma a wink, then turned innocently to the group of women on the settees. "Yes, Beatrice?"

The woman referred to as Beatrice occupied two of the three cushions on the settee, her towering updo of black curls split by the occasional swipe of steely gray every bit as intimidating as her size. With dark eyes narrowed at Madeline, her jaw set itself in a tight line before she spoke once more.

"There's no need for you and your little band of harlots to be so crass. Why must you antagonize the poor girl when the entire château knows the young Mr. Reddington's gaze is wholly fixated on Florian's beloved Rosalie?"

"Apparently not wholly fixated." Madeline smirked and cast a sidelong glance at Emma. "If he's brought his newest trinket to the party, surely Raymond Reddington is fair play?"

A handful of the young women tittered darkly at this. The rest glanced nervously between their unspoken leader and the formidable ladies across the way.

Beatrice rose from her seat in a great bustling of skirts, flanked by two other women Emma knew to be the wives of Armel's most senior capos. Just a few short steps brought the trio within striking distance of Madeline.

For her part, Madeline only gave away the faintest twitch of trepidation which, to the untrained eye, would have been completely missed.

Emma caught it, however, and tried very hard not to smirk herself.

"The young Mademoiselle Armel has a notoriously sweet disposition," murmured one of the ladies, icily.

"But don't be fooled;" continued the other, "She has her father's temper and her mother's cunning."

Beatrice nodded her agreement. "Even without their weight, and even without giving Reddington's sincerity the benefit of every doubt, it's best not to bite the hand that hides the underground. If I were you, I wouldn't be in such a hurry to make an enemy of a player ten times your consequence by making designs on her beau."

The threat, it seemed, did not lack in merit.

The younger ladies in the room shifted about in uncomfortable silence, exchanging wary glances with their companions as though they'd just now thought to question whether they would incur the Armel daughter's wrath by so much as feigning friendliness toward a woman set on absconding with her lover.

Obviously sensing she was about to lose support, Madeline changed tact at top speed.

"Why, I wouldn't dream of making designs." She insisted in a sickly sweet voice that fooled no one.

"That's good;" said Beatrice, still not releasing Madeline from her stony gaze, "Keep in mind, you may have managed to wrangle yourself entry to tonight's event, but your standing in criminal society won't withstand the Armels' bad opinion...Even if you give a repeat performance of whatever feminine wiles possessed Marcello to extend the invitation, he won't be able to so much as greet you at the door if you go sticking your finger in the wrong pie."

Madeline huffed slowly through her nose, but said nothing.

"It's always good to learn one's place."

The comment came from the youngest of the veteran group, a svelte, chic woman with a gentle Sicilian accent. She pointedly ignored the spiteful look Madeline threw at her in favor of waving to the gaggle of ballgowns across the room.

"Out. All of you. I daresay your husbands and lovers have no doubt noticed your collective absence."

Some of the young ladies scrambled for the door, thankful for an excuse to distance themselves from the scene. Others lingered and grumbled a while before reluctantly sidling out the door.

The elder ladies waited for Madeline to exit before following suit.

Beatrice gave Emma a curt nod, then followed her compatriots out into the darkened hall.

The Sicilian woman was the only one left inside the room. "You must be exhausted," she said, gesturing toward the settee, "Please, come in and relax. Beatrice will scare away any lurkers."

"Thank you," said Emma, with feeling. She slumped into the nearest cushion and heaved a groan of relief at finally being off her feet. "Tha's so much better."

A light, tinkling laugh left the other woman, who settled herself gracefully atop the alabaster coffee table. "I remember my first time at one of these ridiculous parties. It was so overwhelming, I thought I'd burst into tears when the other ladies started bombarding me with endless questions about my new husband, each more invasive than the last."

"Right?" Emma bellowed, sitting upright once more, "I nearly died of mortification right on that lovely oriental carpet that's probably worth more than my entire flat..."

It was a rather gauche comment, but the woman laughed it off with ease. "Especially since anyone with a grain of sense knows you wouldn't know a thing about Mr. Reddington's...shall we say...prowess?"

Emma sputtered and did a double-take. "How did you know?"

The woman waved an airy hand and rolled her eyes towards the heavens. "If Reddington had fucked you, he would never have allowed you to accompany him tonight. Parading you in front of Rosalie's nose would all but guarantee both you and Red would leave Corsica in a body bag."

The brusque way in which she said the word 'fucked' made Emma's face burn white-hot.

Her embarrassment did not go unnoticed, and the woman stood to give her a reprieve.

"I'm still surprised he made you tag along." She added, digging through her clutch as she headed for the door. "As I said, I remember my first criminal soiree, and it was hell. I can't imagine how you're handling it so well, and pregnant no less. Oddio."

"Well thank you, I-"

Emma froze.

"I...What?...Pregnant?"

The woman turned, her hand busily touching up her lipstick as she grinned. "I've given Sicily three new sons; I know the early signs. Don't worry, cara, I won't tell a soul. Just enjoy that gorgeous glow for as long as you can, and if you want to avoid anyone saying it's Reddington's, I'd forgo the social calendar for the next year."

With that, she blew a kiss over her shoulder and swept out of the lounge.

Emma remained frozen on the settee, her mind fragmented and spiraling into the abyss once more.


Raymond and Rosalie simply swayed through the next couple songs, not saying a word and not pulling away even when the band across the way picked up a quicker number.

The former was once again lost in his thoughts. Luck had favored him tonight, and he knew that Rosalie's benevolence in setting aside their quarrels would soon come to a close. This set his mind abuzz with worry, trying in vain to formulate his next steps in order to keep the past from smothering any potential future. It had taken so little for him to be right back where they'd been before everything crumbled to ruin; it left him dying to know if she too felt as though she were burning.

"...Can you honestly tell me you don't feel it?"

The ache in her voice was so soft, Red nearly missed it.

He cupped her cheek and guided her face upward, seeming to pour every ounce of sincerity he possessed into his words.

"I never stopped feeling it. Not for a single second."

Their swaying dance came to an abrupt halt.

Rosalie took a step back, not trusting herself, nor especially the dizzy exhilaration which seemed to swell in the air between them at Raymond's admission.

"I have to know," she blurted, unable to stand it any longer, "I need to hear it from you. This woman, this Fed you've been running around with-"

"She's nothing, Rosalie."

Red closed the distance between them to take her chin gently in his hand and coax her into holding his gaze.

"Agent Knightley has access to information I need. She and her team are a means to an end, nothing more. There is absolutely nothing going on between us, and there never will be."

He did not look away, and the sheer conviction in this declaration served to convince Rosalie at long last that he was telling the truth.

A tumult of consequent questions formed a queue on her tongue, puckering her brow in a tight frown. "If this was true, why didn't you come talk to me? Why didn't you tell me the truth that night rather than let me stew in it for months thinking you had moved on?"

"Rosalie," Raymond's tone was placating but his soft eyes had turned hard and scrutinizing, "Would you honestly have believed me?"

Rosalie had the grace to blush. "I...I might have."

To her surprise, Red gave a harsh, barking laugh.

"I'm quite certain you wouldn't have. In fact, had I barreled my way into that elevator, demanding you hear me out, I'm confident I would never have been able to convince you of the truth."

Her frown deepened at this, "Have I truly become so unreasonable?"

His hand dropped to hers, holding it gently and tracing a thumb over its soft surface.

"You're not unreasonable, Rosalie; rather, you aren't easily fooled. These past four months have been agonizing, but I admire your brutal candor far too much to try and dismantle it for my benefit. You don't accept pretty lies just to make yourself feel better. So when it looked for all the world as though I had betrayed our attachment, you didn't endeavor to make up excuses for me or bury your head in the sand about another woman's presence in my sphere. You took the situation for face value and protected yourself accordingly. I can never fault you for that."

An even deeper scarlet singed Rosalie's cheeks, and her eyes darted away from Red's least he see the pleasure that statement gave her.

"I was wrong." She admitted when she had composed herself, "But Ray, my family, the Feds aren't going to pursue them? There's no investigation into Florian or Marietta?"

Another deep laugh knocked the tension out of the room. Red cupped her chin and brought her focus to him once more. "Rosalie, you know as well as I; the Armels are far too advanced for that. Agent Knightley could slap them in cuffs right now and nothing would ever stick."

She gave a jerky nod, then asked, "Then why are you working with the Feds? Dembe said you were after the German."

He heaved a sigh.

"I wish he hadn't told you all of that."

In the span of a breath, they were apart. Rosalie took a firm step backward, recognizing the wall between them which had dissipated upon their reunion was rapidly rebuilding itself.

She leveled Red a pointed look. "Raymond, this involves me just as much as it does you. If you're hunting the German and Basír, I deserve to know."

The words were a warning.

He was treading into dangerous territory. Raymond had told her his mindset was changed, but it would come to nothing if he could not show her. She could not let this go any farther if he continued to try and keep her in the dark.

Turning her back on him, Rosalie steeled herself for the strength she would need to walk away again, taking solace in the knowledge that it would be the very last time she would be forced to do so.

Unbeknownst to Rosalie, Marietta Armel's earlier advice chose that exact moment to echo clearly and forcefully in Raymond's mind.

'There I was, overflowing with love for my future husband, already willing to be the rock of Gibraltar to his raging sea, and the damn fool wouldn't let me do it...If you love someone, you let them in. You let them stay and be in it with you.'

"You're right." She heard him whisper, a tentative step landing back within her sphere. "I've been hunting the German and his compatriot. I wanted to keep you out of it, but only so you wouldn't become a target again."

Rosalie whipped back around. "And the Feds?"

Raymond's lips pursed into a thin line, the truth obviously costing him.

"They don't know it yet, but MI6 is helping me achieve my endgame. We've been following leads provided by the German, who actually turned out to be Basír's banker, whom my man at the Bank of England traced via the payment made to Los Reyes Sagrados for your capture. At the moment, the Feds and I are working to track down a fugitive called the Jailbreaker, with whom Basír is known to have done business as recently as July."

"The Jailbreaker?" Rosalie froze. "You mean Rodney? What could he have possibly been doing with Basír?"

The distance between them disappeared with a single step. Every muscle in Red's face had drawn taut. "You know him?"

She nodded, "He has me on retainer for clients needing short stay lodgings. He moved into my network just last month; poor fellow's been having a hell of a time with the authorities lately...I suspect your agents were the reason behind it?"

Raymond nodded as well. "That explains why he suddenly started disappearing every time we would get close..." he smiled sheepishly, "I should have guessed it was you."

Rosalie's eyes dropped to the floor once again. "Is that why you came tonight?"

"I came for you."

She looked up to find Red's face a breath from her own.

"I received an invitation telling me you would be here, and I'd better not be late." Another soft smile found his lips, "You didn't hear it from me, but I have the distinct suspicion that Madame Armel has been scheming behind your back."

Rosalie tittered at first, then her face turned suddenly serious, "If you knew you were going to see me for the first time in months, then why bring your little Fed along?"

Another laugh snuck out of her when Red's eyes rolled expressively.

"I argued endlessly against it," he insisted with a huff, "But the head of the Feds was adamant they needed an agent in on the operation. I need their continued cooperation, so I relented. Agent Knightley and I spoke with Gideon, an associate of mine from the admiral's syndicate. He had a lead on where the Jailbreaker was seen last."

He smirked when Rosalie stood at attention, her eyes expectant.

"Well, go on, what did Gideon hear through the grapevine? If he's too close to the mark I'll have to move Rodney at once."

To her surprise, Raymond didn't even bother teasing her by withholding the requested information. "Word on the underground is, he's safe house hopping around the Bay of Bengal."

She couldn't help it; the words triggered an instantaneous, delighted smile.

Red's eyes narrowed, accompanied by a tut of chagrin. "You were the one to put out that he was in Bangladesh, weren't you?"

"Yeah." Rosalie grinned, quite pleased with herself.

Another huff reached her ears, widening her smile further.

"So I can safely assume he's nowhere near eastern India?"

"Not even on the same continent."

Raymond and Rosalie stared at one another.

Within seconds, the pair burst into another raucous tumult of laughter, and with it, the last dregs of tension between them eased back into nothingness.

Once they'd collected themselves, Raymond cleared his throat and breached the topic which Rosalie had known was coming.

"I hate to even bring this up right now, but it seems you're now our only hope of getting near the Jailbreaker-"

She cut him off there, folding her arms across her chest and squaring her shoulders.

"I didn't like giving you clients when we were together, Ray. Despite our recent conversation, I'm more disinclined to hand one over now than ever."

Red reached out and took one of her wrists in hand, gently uncrossing her arms and opening her back up to him.

"I assure you," he whispered fervently, "Despite the dubiousness of my current associates, I have no interest in getting the Jailbreaker a cell of his own. I'll keep him from the Feds, Rosalie; I just need one meeting. Ten minutes, tops."

Rosalie grimaced, "No, Raymond. Rodney is a very particular client. If I lose his trust, I'm out a key player, and he could make some big waves in the underground."

"I'm not some stranger asking for cart blanche, my dear." Raymond insisted with a note of a plea, "The Jailbreaker knows me. I'm a former client."

It took a moment for Rosalie to realize her mouth was agape, and she quickly closed it with a snap.

"You? You had to be extracted from a prison? When?...Which one?" Her eyes scoured his person as if they might find some evidence of said incarceration lingering on his tux. "Was that what happened in July, when you were hurt?"

The softening in Red's features at her genuine concern did not go unnoticed.

"No," he soothed, reaching to tuck a curl behind her ear, "The Jailbreaker sprung me from Phonthong a little over a year before you and I met."

"Phonthong..." Rosalie sucked in a breath through her teeth, recalling the horror stories she had heard about the place. "How on earth did you end up in there?"

He shook his head and waved a careless hand, "It's a long story, and not terribly interesting."

A somewhat awkward silence unfurled between them, whereupon Rosalie's insides waged war at the thought of this request.

It was evident that she'd misjudged Raymond's actions, but the inherent trust she'd once held in him had been undeniably damaged.

Their working relationship was no longer simple.

In the time that the two hadn't been speaking, Rosalie felt as though they'd fallen completely out of step with each other. The woman she had been before would've given in to Raymond's request, but the woman she had become in his absence was far more pragmatic. If there was to be any assistance from her, there would need to be a foundational concession from him.

"Rosalie," Red's deep timbered voice broke through her train of thought, "You know I'm pursuing the Basír and his German compatriot, and you know I'm doing it for us. I won't lie to you, this is the only lead we have left. If you wish to be involved, I'll keep you appraised every step of the way, but-"

"No." Rosalie drew herself up to her full height, "I refuse to be back-seated any longer. If we're to do this, we'll do it my way. None of this keeping me in the dark nonsense. We hunt them together or not at all."

Her eyes were locked on Raymond, scouring him for the slightest twitch of reticence.

If he really had changed, if he was truly intent on repairing things between them, he would respect the boundary she was setting. She watched and waited, not once moving her gaze from his.

He didn't hesitate.

"Okay."

It was as though a soundproof bubble had materialized around them.

"What?"

"Okay." He nodded, "We'll do it your way. Together."

Together.

That one simple word made the world stop. There was no band, no security, no château full of people; it was just them.

Just as they had always been.

Just as he had asked.

Red's handsome face was tight with concern, unable to discern her thoughts through the sudden quiet.

A small, sad smile curled at Rosalie's lips. She wanted to soothe that worried frown in the worst way.

"Rosalie-"

She was in his arms before another word could be said, pulling him into her, cradling him in the loving hold which had ached with emptiness these past nine months.

His hands wasted no time in clinging to her the way they used to, sweeping the length of her back to pull her impossibly closer.

The bubble around them burst when a deep chuckle rose unbidden from Raymond's chest, mixing with Rosalie's soft, tinkling laugh as the music of the ballroom above drifted down to set them swaying once more.

She tilted her head to rest against his, a palpable breath of relief rushing through them both at the renewal of such intimacy.

"God, I missed you." He confessed, his voice muffled in the hollow of her neck.

Rosalie threaded her fingers through the fine hairs at his nape and held him there.

"I missed you too."


Emma slipped out of the ladies' lounge fifteen minutes later.

She was plodding stiffly back down the hall, trying desperately to get back into the undercover mindset.

In reality, Emma was confident she had never looked more like a Fed than in that exact moment. She'd only made it a few meters down the hall before she gave up the ghost on the heels she wore. Her mind was too busy with other things to even spare a moment's thought for etiquette. A few minutes of fighting with the delicate leather straps around her ankles, and she was blissfully barefoot.

Free of the confining footwear, Emma let her mind wander as aimlessly as her footsteps, all thoughts of being a known field agent in a den of criminals were shoved aside in favor of a far more pressing matter.

She couldn't possibly be pregnant.

...Right?

It was the ninth; she counted back the days, trying to remember her last cycle. Bugger, she'd always been bad at keeping track; there was no telling if she was late or not.

Emma and Colin had been rather, well, spirited in their endeavors since she had returned from New York. Though they hadn't been great about using protection, they had at least remembered to pull out most of the time.

That measly precaution suddenly seemed wholly inadequate.

They had always talked about having a family, but...was now the right time?

Emma felt a pang of guilt as she thought about the job she had worked so hard to be worthy of, and the team whose trust and good opinion she had fought tooth and nail to gain.

A child would upend all that effort. Could she even manage both? Particularly whilst working with Reddington, would there even be time for her to have a child?

A bit of movement out of the corner of her eye halted this train of thought.

The instincts Emma had been honing the past five months had her ducking into a secluded nook at the mouth of the hallway, but garden variety curiosity was what made her peek around the corner to see who was there.

A tall figure stood half-obscured by darkness, his hand cupped near a shadowed face.

"I don't know what you want us to do." The man growled lowly, turning just enough for Emma to catch the glow of the mobile phone he held in his opposite hand. The bit of plastic obscured the single sliver of his face illuminated by moonlight. "We told you there were too many eyes to make a move tonight. Between the allies they have within the château's walls and the army of Corsican capos lurking in every corner, there's no avenue for us to make a move."

An inaudible voice issued its reply from the device, and the man's exasperation at whatever was said was evident in his tone.

"We're too close, and I fear our only foothold may be compromised."

A break in the conversation allowed for the caller's response, whereupon the man explained further.

"We may need to burn our inside eyes, but we can use the discord to our advantage and place another one of our people."

The voice on the other line rose to a decibel even Emma could hear.

'After that stunt Basír pulled with the property manager in London, you wish to bring another into the mix? It's been two years since I took you on, and we are still no closer to getting that bastard out in the open!'

The low, rasping voice had an accent Emma couldn't place. She shrunk into the shadows when the man turned to look over his shoulder, showcasing a square face bisected by a neatly trimmed mustache.

"I have a plan. I'll get you the Citadel, I just need more tim-"

'Five months.' The voice interrupted, 'Not one second more. You will bring me the Citadel, or I will mount your head on the wall as a warning to your comrades. Verstehst?'

"Verstehe." The man growled under his breath, but the line had already been disconnected.

He swore under his breath, snapped the phone in half, and shoved the pieces into the pocket of his tuxedo jacket. A brief, furtive look was cast around the darkened corridor, and Emma shrunk further into the shadow of her hiding spot so as not to be seen.

Heavy footsteps echoed along the stone hall, growing softer and softer the further the mysterious individual traversed into the château.

Emma slumped with relief at once more being alone, her mind hurtling back into its downward spiral without missing a beat.

Thank the gods, in a short while she would leave this wretched place for good.

She could take a test and know for sure...until then, she could take solace in only one thing.

At least she wasn't the Citadel.


Raymond and Rosalie made their way inside, the evening chill having finally chased them from the veranda and back into the warmth of Florian's study.

They were each trying to find the words they needed, but both fell short. Someone would be along to look for them if they lingered any longer.

Arm-in-arm they exited the study, walking in tandem steps down the lengthy hallway toward the ballroom.

One could practically hear the frantic scrabbling of thoughts echoing off the stone walls, hoping to land on a topic of conversation which could extend their time together.

All too quickly, the foyer materialized before them. The low roar of a hundred or so party-goers could still be heard beyond the ballroom doors.

"I suppose I should return you to your guests," Raymond sighed at last, out of excuses to monopolize her time.

"You could-" agreed Rosalie, bringing them to a halt a good five feet from the door.

He turned to see what had caused her hesitation, only to find a pair of deep grey eyes already glinting up at him alongside a familiar, mischievous smile.

"...or?"

"or..." she pursed those lips in a thoughtful frown, sparing but one distasteful look for the crowded ballroom, "We could go stare at the frescoes instead? I recall I promised you a tour the last time we were here and failed to uphold my end of the bargain."

Raymond grinned in spite of himself, pleased to his core that she had obviously been searching for an excuse just as fervently as he had been, to have landed on one so obscure. The recollections of their first Christmas together at the château and the amorousness which had distracted them from any thought of appreciating the estate's plentiful artwork swam in his mind with such sudden and startling clarity, he completely forgot to give an answer.

Rosalie evidently took his dazed silence as assent, however, and turned them away from the mass of noisy guests without a second glance.

Halfway to their destination, another set of double doors on their right swung wide.

A veritable river of grey tuxedos poured out of the adjoining corridor, belonging to a host of servers carrying large bottles of chilled champagne in white-gloved hands. A few of them squinted at their unexpected guests, the only persons in the main hall besides the formal guard which dotted the shadows along the space's perimeter.

Regaining his poise, Red eased out of his companion's grasp just long enough to politely abscond with one of the passing green bottles.

The server in question looked thoroughly appalled, until he caught sight of Rosalie tucked unassumingly behind the thief, her cheeks a luminous pink as she smiled reassuringly at him.

"Pardonnez notre vol, monsieur. Je suppose qu'on ne pourrait pas vous déranger pour une paire de flûtes aussi?"

A gloved hand extended from the throng before she finished speaking, already laden with a tray and two crystal champagne flutes. "Por vous, Mademoiselle Armel. Shall I make your excuses to Le Madame et Le Caïd?"

The voice belonged to that of Leopold, the Armel's butler.

The short figure of a man stepped easily through the torrent of servers, who split to make room while continuing their march toward the ballroom.

Red knew from stories Rosalie had told him about her criminal upbringing that Leopold had been in the Armels' employee even longer than Cedric, and he was the only one to actively call her 'Mademoiselle Armel' out of respect for her place in the family. He was a playful, albeit nosy fellow, who often found himself in contempt of Florian's orders.

He delighted in helping Rosalie get away with things she oughtn't, and more often than not would cover for her when she was caught in open mischief.

This made Rosalie deeply fond of Leopold, and he of her.

All this being said, Red knew Leopold never made a move within the château's walls without Madame Armel's approval. It was well known that nothing occurred in any of the Armel's estates without the notice of the lady of the house, and this control was undoubtedly managed via their faithful butler.

If Raymond were a gambling man, he would have bet his bottom dollar that Leopold was operating on Marietta's orders. He'd likely been charged to either intercept himself and Rosalie in the foyer or go in search of them in one of the château's winding corridors so that he might report back to his mistress.

As suspected, a mysterious twinkle gleamed in the old man's blue-grey eyes. Another pair of champagne flutes, no doubt intended for Monsieur and Madam Armel, dangled unnoticed in his opposite hand.

Rosalie took the offered glasses with a smile.

"Merci beaucoup, Leo. Please let Maman know Raymond and I have retired for the night."

"Oui, Mademoiselle."

Thoroughly distracted by what Rosalie's response seemed to imply, Red nearly missed how Leopold seamlessly replaced the champagne flutes she'd nicked with their identical counterparts without breaking his low bow.

When the delicate glasses were stable upon the glinting silver tray, he turned on the ball of his foot and entered the ballroom through a gap in his compatriots, the last of which closed the grand doors with a muffled thump.

"C'mon," Rosalie murmured, nestling the flutes in one hand and leading him toward the first fresco at the base of the staircase. "If we start now, we can make it to the mezzanine before the guests begin to decide they've had enough revelry for one night."

The first piece was that of a beautiful maiden draped in pale silks standing in the darkness of a quiet wood, a stone pillar crowned in flame before her, and the long line of her delicate hand reaching out towards it.

"She's the only singular subject on the whole of the first floor," said Rosalie, a distinct note of fondness coloring her tone. "There's a lot of rumor about who the dark-haired maiden is meant to represent. Many believe her to be a portrait of Hestia, goddess of the hearth."

Red popped the the cork on the champagne, sending the projectile soaring across the foyer before turning and giving them each a generous pour.

The two fugitives smiled at one another, toasting their glasses with a soft 'clink' then returned their attention to the artwork.

"You said many," Raymond noted, taking a sip of the exquisite champagne and sighing his approval as the bubbles danced across his tongue. "Am I to understand you don't share that view?"

Rosalie nodded her head, taking a sip as well. "I disagree entirely; I think she's Aphrodite."

This came as a surprise to her companion, who tilted his head from side to side, trying to see the work from her perspective. After a few minutes of consternated silence, he blurted, "...How so? Aphrodite's associated with the sea, not fire, and the goddess of love would surely be showcased in a blossoming garden or dewy ocean scene would she not?"

"But she is associated with fire," she insisted, "Aphrodite was married to the god of the forge, Hephaestus."

"Hephaestus divorced his wife after he unearthed her affair with Ares, the god of war." Red recalled the scattered lessons on mythology from his youth, trying to piece together was fragments remained of the tales of the old gods.

Rosalie's finger extended to trace the frescoes edge, "I can tell you from years of studying every fresco in this château, she is the most beautiful maiden out of all of them. Also, look at the color palette; the colors are dark for a fresco, don't you think?"

Raymond looked closely at the piece once more, seeing its subject in an entirely new light.

The colors were indeed quite dark for the medium, but even more so when juxtaposed alongside the much larger fresco leading up to the first landing of the grand staircase, which showed four pale and bare-breasted maidens basking in the dewy pastels of a palatial garden in bloom.

The kind of scene where one would expect the goddess of love, she was notably absent.

"Aphrodite," murmured Rosalie, "A deity associated with all things amiable, could only be compelled by the darkened chaos of the god of war. Look, even the shadowed pillar behind her bears filigree of the plumed helmet and shield symbolizing her lover."

Red squinted at the pillar, and after a moment, was just able to make out the mossy etchings of the emblems she mentioned.

She sighed mournfully, then turned to meet his eye. "Tell me Raymond, how could she possibly be anyone else?"

This gave Red pause.

They had seen so many exhibits and galleries in their time together, that Rosalie's wealth of thoughtful observations in this regard was unsurprising to him. Yet, to hear her speak extensively and with such eloquence on a collection which she'd obviously spent a great deal of time studying was a new and enthralling experience.

Just as he had in their first meeting, Raymond found himself wanting to know more, to better understand how she saw the world and everything in it. "You feel for her." He noted, finding himself inexplicably surprised by the fact.

"I like Aphrodite because she feels real." Rosalie admitted, returning her focus to the painting. "Out of the female deities, she's the one who's willfully awful. She's openly conceited, hateful and petty...but also passionate and true to herself."

A small smile tilted her lips as she took another long sip of champagne, "Her abundance of flaws makes her interesting, and I like to think I understand her compulsion towards Ares...To have the simplicity of light, warmth and affection within her grasp, and yet knowing she could not love it. That's true self-awareness. Aphrodite knew she would never see peace and simplicity in the untamed chaos of war, yet she still chose Ares anyway. She knew who she was and who she wanted, warts and all."

Raymond felt his stomach sink with each word of this newest insight. The circumstances felt so familiar, and yet a piece of him insisted he was merely projecting.

"Aphrodite married Hephaestus because it was expected of her." She continued, "Hephaestus was the safe, responsible choice— which she ultimately regretted."

"She could've changed her mind." He felt compelled to counter, "Perhaps that's why she's reaching out to Hephaestus' image? She could be weary of the chaos, longing for the safe harbor of the god whose love she spurned with infidelity?"

Rosalie's eyes narrowed at the orange flame. "The only infidelity Aphrodite was guilty of was marrying the wrong man."

She took a step forward, tilting her head at the fresco before striking the same pose as its subject. "Look at her placement; she's set between the two, closer to one than the other. Even her hands...everyone assumes she's reaching out to the flame yet her fingertips are mid-raise. I rather think she's being Ares' shield in this instance; she's protecting him from Hephaestus' wrath."

Red found himself staring at her for a long time. Nearly a full minute passed before Rosalie turned to see what had caught his attention.

"How can you know?" He asked, leery of how confidently she stated this.

Seeing him so serious, Rosalie's gaze softened, a peculiar emotion lingering in the look she gave him.

"It was Ares she loved." She whispered at last, "In the end, it was always Ares."

Were they still talking about the painting?

Raymond couldn't be sure anymore; it all felt too familiar.

Rosalie tittered at his undoubtedly stricken expression. Handing him her champagne flute, she gathered the skirts of her gown and ascended the first flight of steps.

He followed without complaint, inwardly relieved to leave the fresco of the dark maiden behind them.

A heavy silence stretched between them as they reached the first landing and turned in tandem to look up at the quartet of pale ladies basking with colorful peplos open in a field of wild gladiolus.

"Four bare-breasted maidens in a flower bed." Red sighed when he could stand the silence no longer, "If I died and by some spectacular mistake ended up in God's territory, I have the vague suspicion it might look like this."

An indelicate snort of laughter issued from his right, and he turned to see Rosalie down half her glass of champagne with a shake of her head, doing her best to keep her eyes glued resolutely to the fresco before here.

There was no hiding it, though. Her cheeks practically glowed with warmth, and the corners of her eyes shone with mirth.

Red noticed, and with a grin, leaned to whisper in her ear: "Oh come now, I've missed teasing you so much, are you really going to deny me that laugh?"

A torrent of giggles spilled forth at this, leaving Rosalie breathless as she turned her attempt at a scolding look in Raymond's direction.

He merely flashed a devilish grin in response.

She swatted playfully at Red's arm, only to have her hand snatched mid-strike.

Strong fingers laced themselves through her delicate ones, initiating the kind of gentle intimacy one might expect from a school boy.

Rosalie beamed, her eyes dropping to the floor in spite of herself.

Raymond felt a lightening in his chest, and bent to renew those sweet nothings in her ear.

"Tell me about the frescoes, my dear. I've got all night to wander with you, and I want to hear about each and every one."


Dembe crept out of the crowded ballroom in search of Emma.

He'd lost sight of her shortly before catching the others eavesdropping on Raymond and Rosalie, and she had yet to be recovered. After several turns about the dance floor, the agent remained elusive, and he was forced to venture out into the corridors once more.

Hopefully she had not wandered far, as the Armels would undoubtedly take offense to a Fed lurking around the château. There was no telling what would happen if she ended up somewhere she ought not to be.

A quick glance around the foyer confirmed she was not in the immediate vicinity, and Dembe made for the nearest guard to enquire if they had seen a woman matching Knightley's description exit the ballroom. The man in question nodded and gestured toward the far hall leading in the opposite direction of the study, informing him that the powder rooms and the ladies' lounge were in the same direction.

This quieted Dembe's concerns a touch, and he thanked the guard politely before setting out toward said hallway.

It took a mere fifteen feet for him to encounter a familiar face.

Horace Jabare was rooted to the spot at the front of the foyer, his dark eyes fixed worriedly at a spot behind Dembe.

Dembe turned and followed his gaze, only to grin at what he had initially missed upon exiting the ballroom.

There, on the first landing of the grand staircase, Raymond and Rosalie stood hand-in-hand, beaming shyly at one another with a most familiar affection.

A profound feeling of relief washed over him at the sight; as though the world had been upside down so long he'd forgotten what it felt like to be stable, and it was only now righting itself.

The two fugitives talked animatedly for several seconds, then turned and headed up the next flight of stairs, away from prying eyes.

When Dembe turned back around, Horace was already gone.

It was no secret Rosalie's guard had never been fond of Raymond, and the mere prospect of the pair getting back together would undoubtedly generate waves of animosity.

Speaking of animosity, Dembe made a mental note to have Agent Knightley sent back on a first class flight to London the following morning.

With their reconnaissance completed, MI6 could hardly have cause to complain, and he figured it best not to have Emma and Rosalie in a confined space together just yet.

Though Dembe knew Rosalie to be a kind soul, he also understood there was a darkness to her and Raymond's relationship that ought not be tested. Though they never outwardly spoke of it, the two were more than a mite possessive of each other, only sharing in the very rare ménage-à-trois. To make matters worse, he knew their mutual criminality allowed for a wide range of morally questionable responses when either felt that their partner had been wronged.

An obvious example of this was Raymond's scorched-earth retaliation on Los Reyes Sagrados.

Being a Fed and throwing herself at Raymond was enough for Agent Knightley to garner Rosalie's intense dislike, but if the latter ever found out that MI6 were the ones responsible for his torture back in July...there'd be no telling what Rosalie's wrath might render.

No, it would be much better to keep Emma and any reminder of her compatriots sequestered for the time being.

Dembe's focus returned to finding Agent Knightley, carrying his feet along the empty foyer until he reached the mouth of the shadowed hallway opposite the study.

As he'd hoped, Emma could be seen trudging up the corridor, her heels in hand and her brow furrowed in deep thought.

She looked up upon reaching the end of the plush runner lining the stone floor. "Dembe..." she sighed, thoroughly distracted, "I don't suppose there's a late night pharmacy anywhere nearby?"

He frowned and reached out a hand to help steady her as she endeavored to return her shoes to their rightful place. "You are still unwell?"

Emma didn't respond at first, too focused on getting back in her pumps. When she was upright once more, she heaved a sigh and said, "I'll muddle through...If it's all the same to Reddington, I'd like to go back to the safe house now."

Dembe politely held out an arm for Emma to take. He didn't mention how pale she looked, nor how cold her hand was when it patted his in thanks.

"Céret is an old city; the shops have undoubtedly been closed since four. Fortunately, the purveyor of our safe house keeps her locations fully-stocked with everything one could possibly need. I will show you once we get back."

It was fortunate that she wished to return to the safe house, and Dembe found himself reasonably confident Emma would gladly take him up on an expedited flight to the UK the following morning. In truth, he was rather concerned for the agent's sudden illness, and wished that Director Bazalgette had been more reasonable about Raymond's insistence to attend the event solo.

The two rounded the bend back into the foyer before Dembe spoke again.

"We can leave at once. We need only make our farewells to Monsieur and Madam Armel first."

Knightley's footsteps came to a skittering halt as though she'd only just remembered something important.

"I can't," she wailed, gripping Dembe's arm tight as a vice, "Dembe, the Caïd, he knows who I am! When- when we were dancing, he called me by my name and demanded to know what my relationship with Reddington really was-"

"-and lucky for you, your answer wasn't anything damning."

The smooth, dangerous voice issued from behind them.

Madam Armel strode out of one of the home's hidden elevators, a half-empty glass of champagne in her jeweled hand.

The sharp amber of Marietta's eyes leveled on Emma with intense scrutiny.

The latter very nearly cowered, despite having Dembe at her side and being nearly a whole foot taller than the Armel Matriarch herself.

"Madam Armel," Dembe began, endeavoring to turn Marietta's attention on him instead, "It is late, and we have intruded on yours and your husband's hospitality long enough."

Marietta waited the space of a breath, allowing Agent Knightley to squirm like a bug under a microscope before releasing the girl from her frigid stare.

"Dembe darling, it was such a joy having you with us once again." Her tone was as warm and gracious as it ever was, "I would invite you and dear Raymond to come to the château for the holidays again this year, but my husband and I are going to be out of the country."

Dembe beamed at this. "I recall Rosalie mentioning it is your thirtieth anniversary this year. May I offer you and Monsieur Armel my sincerest congratulations."

A luminous smile met Dembe's words, and all thoughts of the renegade agent in the Armel's home were sidelined in favor of discussing the plans which would have the Armels indisposed for the next month.

"The thirtieth is the pearl anniversary," she intoned, "Florian and I will be taking our yacht on a tour from the coast of Japan through French Polynesia to enjoy some sun and sea while we hunt for Akoyas and Tahitian black pearls."

"I wish you fair weather and calm seas," said Dembe, adding, "Agent Knightley and I will be taking our leave now; thank you again for the generous invitation."

Madam Armel reached out and gathered him in a warm embrace.

"Thank you for your part in setting things right between Raymond and my daughter," she whispered low so Emma couldn't hear, "I've been informed the two of them have retired for the night, away from prying eyes."

Dembe chuckled softly to himself, "I admit I was surprised when you stopped me in the ballroom only to insist I tell Rosalie the truth at once and ask for Raymond's forgiveness later."

A titter left Marietta, her tone turning conspiring. "Ah, but it worked, did it not?"

They both laughed at this, and she added, "Should you wish to return and stay in the château tonight, we will of course have your room ready and waiting."

"I thank you, but I should keep guard at the safe house." Dembe released Marietta with a polite kiss to each of her cheeks, "I will send one of Rosalie's drivers to wait on Raymond's return so as not to disturb you."

Marietta nodded her approval and patted his cheek fondly before turning an appraising eye on Emma. "Agent Knightley, I hope you had a pleasant evening. The rules of Xenia stretch no further than the property boundary. I suggest you avoid doing anything inflammatory once outside its protection...There's not an inch of this island which would harbor you if you did, and Corsica's reach is wide."

She turned on the ball of her foot, her voluminous peacock-eye skirts swishing with each step toward the ballroom. Upon reaching the threshold of the bustling room, she stopped to call over her shoulder: "By the by...You must tell me how you get your azaleas to flourish so prettily. I can't seem to get mine to bloom half as often as they seem to do in London."

Not another word was spoken as Marietta slipped back through the gilded doors to a chorus of delighted voices.

When Dembe turned to look at Agent Knightley, it was to find her white as a sheet and mouthing wordlessly.

"Emma?"

"How do they know..." her voice dropped to a fractured whisper, "How does she know about the azaleas on my front walk?! Dembe...she knows where I live!"

Dembe couldn't help the small snigger which leapt out of him.

Agent Knightley turned to scowl at him with utmost reproach, which only made him chuckle harder. "What? What's so bloody funny?"

"Emma, it is alright." He assured, though amusement still tinted his words, "You needn't worry about the Armel family kicking down your door."

"That woman all but threatened-"

A throng of revelers chose that moment to pour out of the ballroom, the first to extend their gratitude to their hosts and call it a night.

"The Armels know everything there is to know about every person in this château," Dembe interjected, complete unfazed, "As Madame Armel said, Corsica's reach is wide. Her statement was nothing more than a polite reminder as to with whom you are dealing, and advice as to how to remain in Corsica's good graces while you are within their borders. Such a tact is commonplace in our world."

A visible shudder traversed Agent Knightley's spine, "It's absolutely horrifying is what it is. Can we please go now?"


Rosalie couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed herself like this.

Every sip of champagne and every renewal of her companion's laugh made her spirit soar in a way it hadn't in many months. Something about being with him just felt so right.

They had arrived on the mezzanine some time ago, and had made it down one corridor and halfway to the balcony overlooking the foyer before any break occurred in their conversation.

It was Raymond who had halted mid-sentence, struck dumb by the sight of a shadow moving in the distance up ahead. The perceived threat put every inch of him on point. A hand reached out to close around Rosalie's wrist, pulling her safely behind his broad frame.

A few cautious steps forward gave them a better view.

The source of the movement disappeared before it could be identified, but it had left behind a glinting silver champagne bucket laden with clear ice and an expensive vintage topped with a red bow. The treat sat unassumingly on a delicate little chinoiserie table near the grand staircase, no doubt strategically placed for them to encounter on their way up to the third floor.

"Mmhm," tutted Rosalie, dryly. She moved out of Red's shadow to peek at the bottle's label. "I think you're right...Maman is definitely pulling some strings, hoping to influence an outcome. This one's from Florian's private collection."

Raymond's deep, throaty laugh echoed through the marble atrium at the sound of Rosalie hefting the bottle aloft and gleefully popping the cork.

They laughed even harder when the projectile pinged off a nearby statue and cascaded down into the mix of party-goers below.

Still sniggering to themselves, the pair glanced over the edge of the balcony to see Dembe and Agent Knightley among a small crowd of confused guests looking every which way for the source of the cork.

The former spared a glance for the mezzanine and grinned when he saw them looking down from the balcony's edge.

A friendly nod intimated Dembe's understanding of the proceedings, and a covert hand gesture confirmed there would be a car waiting for Red outside whenever he should be inclined to leave.

Rosalie tittered at the exchange and blew a kiss at him in turn.

Dembe beamed and shook his head. A chuckle must have escaped him, as Agent Knightley chose that moment to turn and look at what had garnered a laugh from Red's normally stoic guard.

The air around them turned icy, and Emma looked hurriedly away when a pair of dark eyes landed squarely on her.

"I suppose I should let you get back to your little door-kicker," said Rosalie, in a low tone that hinted her displeasure.

A smile tugged at the corner of Red's mouth. "You know nothing happened, and yet you still dislike her?"

"She's a Fed." She insisted with a sneer of distaste, "The abhorrence would be there regardless of her accosting you; though, I cannot deny her forwardness and blatant assumption that you would gladly defile her marriage bed doesn't sit well with me either."

Raymond seemed struck dumb.

His feet remained rooted to the spot, even when Rosalie grew tired of scowling at Emma and meandered over to the next fresco.

She gave him a wide berth, seemingly waiting for him to decide whether to stay with her or leave with Emma and Dembe.

Meanwhile, Red was so adrift in his own mind, he struggled to form a singular cohesive thought.

After months spent working with MI6 agents who believed him to be the devil incarnate, experiencing Rosalie's particular brand of assuredness and good opinion was disarming.

Even after all that had transpired between them, she could still look at him and see someone worthy of her affection.

In the time since the incident with Emma in the Abbey's study, not a soul had come to Raymond and assured him that he was good, that they knew he would never have done it.

Contrary to his playboy reputation, Red actually felt a fair measure of reverence toward the institution of marriage. It was a treasure he would never have the good fortune to experience, but that did not change his respect for such commitment. He was a man to whom loyalty was the singular most important trait, after all.

To know that she still knew him with such unflinching certainty was a profound comfort that instantaneously reignited every good and loving feeling he'd ever had towards her.

Rosalie caught him staring and smiled that one gentle smile he could call his own.

Her hand reached out, threading her fingers back through his and leading him toward the next set of frescos.

Even now, without a word, she knew what he would want, how he would respond.

"Now these two..."

The sound of her voice grew distant in his ears, and though Red tried to focus on the words, he found his mind rooted to their speaker.

He wanted...

It took a long moment for his mind to settle on just what he longed for, and the answer surprised him more than anything.

He wanted to hold her.

His hands ached for it, fingers flexing involuntarily in her grasp, tendons and muscles restless with the longing to reach out and touch.

It took everything in Red's power to hold himself back while Rosalie tested the waters between them, leading him from one dark corridor to the next. A brush here, a lean there, each coy glance which set fire to the blood in his veins…The precision with which she stripped him bare was staggering.

As he stood beside her, having long since given up staring at the frescos in favor of staring at her, Raymond couldn't help but wonder:

Had he ever been his own?

...Something told him no.

A lifetime aside, there in that moment, it seemed Raymond had been waiting his entire life just to be hers.

"You've got to stop looking at me like that."

Her warm, smiling voice shook Red from his reverie. It took a few seconds before he realized they had made it to the last two frescos, conveniently outside her bedroom door.

It took another moment before he could finally manage a reply.

"Like what?"

Rosalie smirked. "Like it's costing more than your life's worth not to kiss me...I know that look on you."

Red couldn't help the low rumble of laughter which overcame him. "You do, do you?"

"Mhm."

Her fingers wriggled playfully in his grasp, sneaking out of his hold to circle about his middle and ease herself into his arms.

"The last time we kissed," she said, reaching up to loosen his bowtie, "I think about it all the time."

"...Yeah?"

The word came out slurred from distraction, and a lone brow arched in his direction.

"You stole it."

"I suppose I did steal it." He agreed, all too pleased with how her dark eyes seemed to burn. His voice had dropped so low, he wondered for a moment if she had heard his response at all.

Before he could dwell on this, her hand smoothed up his chest to cup his cheek and bring him down to her level.

Her lips met his and Raymond froze in spite of himself.

His heart thundered so loudly even the roar of the emptying ballroom below was drowned out.

A jolt of electricity combined with the swooping feeling of a freefall, and Red knew he was a goner long before his mind could reconnect itself to his body.

Rosalie lead the kiss, her lips molding so perfectly to his own he could only stand there and melt into her. It was soft and gentle, but fervid with the emotions it betrayed. She nipped at his bottom lip, just the way he liked, setting off a river of burning goosebumps down his spine.

God, had it been this perfect the last time?

Red recalled the fevered desperation of their last kiss, and felt a dull ache settle in his chest at the thought of what could have been.

All this time, and they could have been reminiscing over something far more titillating...

Finally regaining control of his limbs, he clutched at the small of her back and pulled her into him.

Emboldened by his response, Rosalie deepened the contact still, kissing him breathless before finally pulling away.

"What was that for?" He asked, face tilting in supplication when her nose brushed teasingly against his own.

"If there's going to be a last kiss, it should be one that's freely given." Said she, adding playfully, "Now you can stop lookin' at me like that."

Raymond cupped her chin, making sure Rosalie's eyes were locked with his before responding, "I'm never going to stop looking at you like that."

She smiled. "Good. Now, come along."

Taking his hand once again, Rosalie led him past the gilded doors and into the familiar space that was her bedroom.

Its pale creams and moody indigos stretched before them, just as vivid and dark as Red remembered.

Two great white dogs came bounding up to greet them, utterly beside themselves with excitement at having company.

Their owner laughed and stooped to kiss each of their snowy heads, leaving a couple red lipstick prints that amused her even further.

Pascal and Odette, far from perturbed, took turns weaving between the two humans to solicit pats and coos of affection.

"D'accord mon flâneuses, en haut avec vous." Rosalie said at last, pointing across the room.

The pair wasted no time nosing open the secret door leading up to the dome and bolting up the spiral staircase.

Alone with Rosalie once more, Red found himself at a loss for what to say or do.

It was like their early days all over again; there was no telling what the next move should be. Rosalie's thoughts and emotions, once so readily accessible to him, were tucked away and indiscernible.

She brought him here, so obviously she wanted him to stay, yet...What did she want?

Was her heart slamming inside her chest like his was right now?

Did she too feel as though she were poised on the edge of a cliff?

"Help me out of my dress, Raymond."

Red gave an audible gulp when she turned and gave him her back. He hesitated, not fully trusting himself not to press his lips to every inch of exposed skin and beg her to take him and use him as she will.

A fine sheen of goosebumps rushed the length of her spine, derailing his mind's lascivious turn. Rosalie shivered, and not from excitement.

"You've been cold all this time?" He tutted, reaching to smooth his warm hands over her bare arms. Of course she was cold. It was December and they had been wandering the cavernous stone château for hours.

He moved at once to shrug off his jacket, but Rosalie waved it away.

"I'm alright," she insisted through another shiver, then laughed, "We were walking and drinking and having such a good time, I honestly didn't even notice until now."

Raymond smiled secretively at this.

She was having a good time, then.

"We've got a couple more glasses of champagne left." Rosalie intimated, "It's just that this dress weighs a ton, and I'd like to get out of it so we can go back to enjoying ourselves for a little while longer."

Any words Red might've had got caught in his throat when she cast a fretful glance over her shoulder.

His hands quickly dropped to the base of her spine, where five golden buttons held the intricate gown in place. He unhooked each with relish, slipping the gold beads from their button loops until the small of her back was in plain view.

A shaky inhale left Rosalie when he couldn't help but trail a single digit up the curve of her spine, painfully slowly, taking his sweet time and leaving a river of gooseflesh in his wake.

At last he reached the nape of her neck, where two more gold buttons sat holding the gown up. He unclasped them with ease and watched intently as the gold slipped over her shoulders like water.

"Thank you," breathed Rosalie, her voice so quiet he could barely hear.

"Hmm..." murmured Raymond, distracted by the tiny smattering of freckles on her right shoulder.

Before he could stop to think what liberties he was taking, Red pressed his lips to the spot and left a trail of gentle kisses leading to the juncture where her neck and shoulder met. His teeth nipped the favored spot, followed quickly by a flick of his tongue to soothe the bite.

A sharp gasp issued from Rosalie, followed by a sweet, shuddering sigh.

Emboldened, Red kissed his way along the slender line of her neck until he reached the spot just below her earlobe and placed another affectionate nip there.

"S-stop..."

He froze.

Another shudder wracked Rosalie's frame and he took a hurried step back.

"I'm sorry-" he began, though truthfully unsure as to what he had done wrong.

"Don't apologize," said Rosalie, turning so she was profile, "I'm just...I'm not ready to jump into anything, and if we keep going, I'm going to want more than what I'm prepared for."

Red nodded his understanding.

Not never, just...not yet.

"I overstepped," he admitted gallantly, then added, "Would you like me to step out into the hall while you change?"

Rosalie smiled at this. "No. Everything I need is in the dressing room. Please, make yourself comfortable, I won't be a moment."

She turned then bustled into the dressing room. Something about the way her hands clutched the front of the gown to her chest made Red's throat burn as though he had been wandering a desert these past nine months without a drop of water.

When the door closed behind her, Raymond shook himself from his trance and made for the cozy sitting area beside the fireplace.

He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over one of the mahogany armchairs. Rather than sit, Red found his feet circling the suite, eyes trailing languidly over the collection familiar trinkets, textiles and furniture that adorned the space.

The crystal vases and gold jewelry boxes Marietta had used to decorate the room when the Armels first invited Rosalie to live with them.

A mantle clock Florian had gifted her on her first birthday as a member of the family.

A small pocket watch that had belonged to her maternal grandfather.

Red peeked inside one of the delicate little chinoiserie boxes on the nightstand, where he new a perfectly preserved silverston rose resided from the first bouquet he'd ever given her. The corresponding book on flowers lay open on one of the coffee table's lower shelves.

Turning toward the vanity, Raymond's perusal was brought to a standstill.

A familiar bit of fabric lay unassumingly on the velvet vanity stool: a button-down shirt with dove gray stripes.

His shirt. The one Rosalie most loved to pilfer from his suitcase and wear around the safe house.

He'd searched and searched for it after she left...He'd been so certain that it was lost, but...She'd had it this whole time.

Raymond's fingers closed around the fabric, holding it up to the light. Comfort swelled in his chest at picking up the scent of her there. Burying his nose in the neckline, the warm, sweet musk of her perfume brought back a tidal wave of pleasant memories that had him clutching the shirt in tight fists.

Knowing Rosalie had been wearing it in secret for god only knew how long...It solidified Red's conviction to make things right between them, and helped convince him her affection did indeed remain unchanged.


Madam and Monsieur Armel stood framed in the château's entry alongside Marcello as the last of the evening's guests filtered out of the doors.

They continued to beam and wish their friends a pleasant evening until security drew the doors closed with heavy clang.

The château was eerily silent for half of a second before the home's staff and remaining security seemed to erupt from the woodwork surrounding the foyer.

The Armels turned, both smiling fondly at their trusty team.

Florian kept his wife's arm linked in his as he addressed the throng.

"Bravo, bravo tout le monde. Tonight was a brilliant success, and we have you all to thank. Please lock down the château and perform the necessary sweeps. Ladies," he turned to the contingent of experienced maids who manned the home's guest rooms. "Please make your rounds with our overnight guests, but under no circumstance are you to disturb Mademoiselle Øllegaard."

Girlish giggles bubbled from a few of the lower maids in the back who undoubtedly knew, as did the rest of the house, that the young Mademoiselle had disappeared halfway through the ball with a familiar dapper fugitive on her arm.

The head housekeeper cast the young maids a stony glare, and the two fell as silent as church mice.

Just as quickly as they had materialized, the troop of staff and security scattered to their various duties.

Marcello turned, flanked as always by his entourage.

"My dear Armels," he swooned in his adopted accent, "Tonight was such fun. Such extravagance, such a testament to revelry and delight. Why, my guests were positively dazzled by the grandeur of your estate and your unrivaledhospitality."

The Armels smiled indulgently and thanked him for the honor of hosting one of his illustrious events.

Thankfully, Marcello informed them he had business to attend to back in Madrid, and thus would be leaving directly from the château.

The couple wished him well and assured they would, of course, be in attendance at his annual spring masquerade.

"I would bid adieu to darling Rosalie..." Marcello added, eyes glinting knowingly in Marietta's direction. "However, I fear she may be a bit busy at the moment."

"Rosalie informed me she was a touch under the weather and decided to retire early." Madam Armel replied, without the faintest trace of a lie.

A sly smile darkened Marcello's features.

"Yes, poor thing, she did look a little flushed. Yes, dare I say, a little red in the face." He held out his arm for Titus to support, "I'll pay my respects to my dear friend when she is feeling well again. Toodloo, Monsieur et Madam."

Poppy rushed forward to hold the door open for Marcello and Titus, giving a feeble sort of curtsy once they were through.

When the door closed once more behind them, Otto Henschke and Marietta's personal assistant, Fayette, came bustling up to the Armels.

The former inclined his head to Florian. "Caïd. If you have a moment to spare, I wish to discuss an important matter with you."

Fayette hurried to whisper something in her Mistress's ear, the news bringing a cunning smile to the woman's lips.

She turned to her husband, "I will leave you to settle things with Otto, mon cher. When you are ready to come to bed, I will have a night cap waiting for you."

Florian nodded and stooped to kiss Marietta's cheeks before turning in the direction of the study with Otto in tow.

Marietta waited until he was well out of earshot before returning her attention to Fayette. "So...they've headed for the dome?"


The car was deafeningly quiet as Dembe and Emma made their way back to the safe house.

The latter seemed deeply distracted, while the former was doing his best not to pry.

"So," Knightley sighed after some time, "Red's just staying in the château, then?"

Dembe caught the small note of petulance in her tone.

"Raymond has a private matter to discuss with the Armels' daughter, Rosalie. He will stay as long as is necessary and return once that business is finished."

"Right..." sighed Emma, more to herself than Dembe. She added, "Are you sure you shouldn't be there? Y'know, for safety? Some of the ladies at the party said she was dangerous..."

Dembe chuckled at this. He often forgot just how green and unaware the MI6 agents were.

The ladies at the party were mostly societal women, married to key players in the underground. It was a rare few who actually

"Rosalie owns the safe house we are staying in." He explained, "Her entire occupation is centered around keeping people safe, and it is a role at which she is particularly adept."

"So?"

"So," said Dembe with a laugh, "At this moment, there is no safer place on the planet than the Armel château; with her. Raymond neither needs nor desires my interference."

Emma caught the "So there is something going on between them," Emma surmised, "That's a bit..."

She hesitated, obviously second-guessing what she was about to say. In the end, she steeled her nerves and blurted:

"Well I just think that's a bit unprofessional, don't you?"

Dembe made the last turn into the Marseille compound, trying very had not to burst out laughing. Even so, when he spoke, his voice dripped with subdued amusement.

"I don't know if you've noticed, Agent Knightley...but propriety is not exactly Raymond's forte."

Emma's expectant stare dropped to her dress, her fingers instantly fidgeting with the hem while her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

He continued, "What resides between Raymond and Rosalie is no one's business but their own. You would do well to keep that in mind when you come to face her."

They pulled into the portico, and Dembe could feel Knightley's eyes boring into the side of his head as he threw the vehicle into park. When he turned, it was no surprise to him that her face was tightened in an insolent frown.

"When would I have occasion to see her again?" She asked, "It's not like she's one of Reddington's associates."

It was true, Dembe was merely speculating. Or perhaps, more accurately, wishful thinking.

Still, it didn't hurt to start getting Agent Knightley accustomed to the idea of Rosalie's lingering presence in Raymond's sphere. It was only a matter of time after all...

"Raymond and Rosalie work extensively together. She has been busy with a number of expansions to her network, and thus wasn't staying in London with us. However, now that she is less encumbered, it is highly likely we will be seeing more of her."

He turned the car off, disembarked, and moved to the passenger's side so he could open it for Emma.

His words seemed to have put any further arguments to rest, as she did not say another word until they'd entered the safe house and doffed their coats.

"The Pharma-cache is this way."

Dembe led the way down the home's cozy hallways to Emma's room, where he promptly entered the ensuite.

"I think I would remember seeing-" she'd began, but her mouth fell open when she turned the corner to see Dembe pulling back the floor-to-ceiling mirror as though it weighed nothing.

The mirror covered a walk-in supply closet bearing packed metal shelving on both sides.

Every medical requirement one could possibly have short of major surgery was contained inside.

Bins upon bins of gauze, dressings and syringes sat alongside scalpel sets and stitching tools; a portable x-ray stood beside a shelf bearing two AED's and an ultrasound. Emergency gurneys hung on the walls overtop over-the-counter necessities like bandaids, cold medicine, and pain relievers.

"Rosalie is sought after because of her attention to detail," said Dembe, "Anything you could expect from a pharmacy or an ambulance can be found in this compartment. The only thing which requires a passcode are the narcotics, which I rather doubt you will need..."

Emma padded into the meticulously organized room, wide eyes taking in the full scope of its contents.

Sensing she wished to be alone, he informed her he would take his leave to complete the necessary security sweep before turning in for the night.

A dazed nod was her only response, and Dembe was halfway down the hall before Knightley's focus landed on the neat little stack of baby pink boxes she had been looking for.


Inside the dressing room, Rosalie was trying desperately to steady herself.

"What am I doing?" She hissed, still clutching her gown to her chest as she sank onto the nearest bench.

The room was deafeningly quiet after hours of laughter and good company, but now…

Rosalie buried her face in her hands, trying to get her mind to stop its rapid spiral. Only a decade's worth of finely tuned self-preservation was keeping her from getting lost in Red all over again, and even then, she felt like she was fighting for her life out there.

A fearful corner of her roared to send him away, to protect herself as best she could by severing ties before he could do it first.

Another corner of her begged for the opposite, to fall right back into him and never leave his side again.

The war that was being waged between these two pieces made Rosalie's chest tighten painfully. Tears soon stung at her eyes, and she hurried to find a handkerchief to blot them away.

One extended silently into her field of vision, held there by a familiar, dainty hand.

Marietta Armel leaned halfway out of a hidden passage tucked behind one of the dressing room's cabinets.

"Ça va, cherie."

Rosalie gave only a feeble sniff in reply.

Marietta stepped fully out of the passage and took the seat beside her daughter, gathering her in her arms the moment she could.

"It was always going to be un temps de merde, Rosalie. Finding the way forward is no easy task after what the two of you have been through."

Rosalie hiccuped softly, a hand flying up to her mouth to keep the sound from reaching the bedroom's occupant. "What's wrong with me?" She groaned, her words muffled by her palm, "We were having such a good time, but the moment I got some space from him it feels like everything is just crashing in around me."

"I know," said Marietta, "I know the feeling; that is why I came to check on you." She dabbed the corners of Rosalie's eyes for her, ensuring her makeup wouldn't get mussed.

"Did this happen with you and Pére?" Rosalie asked, hoping for the faintest shred of hope that this rapid swing of emotions was normal and would soon pass.

"Oui, a number of times."

The older woman's voice was so reassuring at this, the younger nearly collapsed with relief.

"But you made it through, and you've been together for so long now..."

"Oui," Marietta smiled, tucking a stray curl behind Rosalie's ear. "Rest assured, it was very...How do you Americans say it?...Touch-and-go. We were hot and cold with each other for nearly a year before things settled back into place."

Rosalie considered a year of this kind of back and forth and felt her stomach dip unpleasantly. "I don't know if I can stand another year of this."

Madame Armel gave a sort of shrug, her lips pursing tight in thought until she could come up with an apt reply. "Chérie, there is really only one question to ask yourself in that regard."

"...What is it?"

A wistful look passed over Marietta's features. Her eyes grew distant for a long moment before she turned to Rosalie and beamed with the kind of happiness only a soulmate could inspire.

"Do you love him?"

Another fractured silence stretched between them at this request.

"I've spent the past nine months trying so hard to bury what I feel for Raymond," whispered Rosalie, the question causing her physical anguish. "Why would you ask me that?"

Marietta took her daughter's hand and gave it a squeeze. "In my experience, Rosalie, that is the only question that truly matters. The tumult and chaos of Florian and I finding our way back to one another was worth every agonizing step because I knew the answer to that question. Now I ask you, do you love Raymond?"

Yes.

"I-" She froze, surprised and truthfully a little disheartened at the ease with which the answer came to her. Rosalie sat with that knowledge for several long seconds. She tried to wrap her head around the fact that all her effort had been for naught. She still loved him; and, she realized at last, a part of her would always be in love with Raymond Reddington.

"I do love him Maman...but he no longer feels safe."

"Nothing in this world is safe Rosalie, least of all love."

"I want Raymond." Rosalie admitted, "I want what we had, but how can we possibly find our way back to it when I know the man he becomes when our world falls into chaos? How can I trust him again?"

Marietta dabbed at the renewing tears threatening to spill over onto Rosalie's cheeks. "Time, ma fille. It simply takes time." She added, "Following your heart now doesn't mean you are forgiving nor forgetting the transgression. You're merely allowing yourself to open the door and see what resides beyond. Do you think I just let Florian back into my good graces after he shunted me away? Non. I stayed, but I made that man fight for every day he had with me until I was every ounce as certain of his loyalty as I was of mine."

A sickly green color tinged Rosalie's cheeks. "And what if that doesn't work out? How can I go through losing him again?"

"If that should come to pass, you will be able to move on knowing you loved each other the best you possibly could."

Rosalie slumped heavily in her seat. "Maman, je t'aime, but that is not at all what I wished to hear. What do I do?"

"Moments of doubt are expected Rosalie. I would worry for the heart and soul I leant in raising you as a fugitive were you not being thoughtful and cautious. As for where Raymond is concerned, you and I have talked at length about this very subject." Marietta leaned to meet her daughter's eye, "Your duty is to no one but yourself. Your happiness, your life, they must always take precedence. You are beholden to no man until you wish to be beholden to him. You love Raymond. His life, his happiness, they matter to you. So you don't feel safe with him;" she gave another shrug, "Make him show you he is safe. You're in control, chérie. Raymond will follow your lead no matter the obstacle, just for the chance that it will all end with you together."

Rosalie huffed at this. "That's easy for you to say. You knew Florian loved you."

Marietta actually scoffed. "Oh Rosalie," her tone turned chiding, "I saw how Raymond looked at you tonight. That is not the look of a man who ever stopped loving you. That is the look of a broken soul trying like hell to do the right thing, at the cost of any semblance of happiness for you both."

Try though she did to subdue it, Rosalie felt her face burn pleasantly at confirmation that she hadn't been imagining his attachment.

"What do you expect me to do, Maman?"

"I expect you to be the Armel that you are."

Rosalie shook her head, "But I'm not an Armel, remember?"

Now was not the time to bring it up, she knew, but a sullen part of her couldn't help it.

Madam Armel swelled with righteous indignation. She rose to her feet, seeming to grow in stature with every word uttered.

"Listen to me, Fille." Two fingers cupped her chin, guiding the young woman's focus upward until she was staring directly into Marietta's sharp amber eyes.

"Florian Armel is the only son, of an only son, of an only son, and you are a shining example of this universal truth: Armel women are not born, we are made. By chance or circumstance, we earn the title. You are an Armel if I say you are; now act like one. You love this man? Fight for him. Stand down his demons if he cannot fight them himself. Don't stop fighting until he remembers precisely who you are and what you mean to him."

Something in Rosalie shifted, sliding into place with a final, soothing click.

Marietta gave a sly smile, having immediately recognized the change in her posture. "I will leave you to your companion with but one last parting of wisdom my dear..."

Rosalie met her mother's eyes, eager and willing to hear her guidance.

"There are few great romances anymore;"

Her eyes flickered meaningfully to the bedroom door, then back to Rosalie.

"Let yours be one of them."


Emma Knightley had been pacing the ensuite for an hour, her eyes fixated on the unassuming pink box sitting on the edge of the sink.

The safe house had been deathly quiet since Dembe had finished his rounds and gone to bed, and Emma rather thought she might go insane with the ticking of the wall clock as the only noise to brea the silence.

She should take it...just to be sure.

...but she couldn't be pregnant.

...well, maybe-

This is so stupid. Emma thought for the umpteenth time, her pacing veering toward the door with the intent of going to bed.

As they had approximately eighty-four times previously, her feet refused to carry her over the threshold.

I should take it...just to be sure.

A groan of dismay left Emma's throat, and her forehead thudded dejectedly against the door frame before she turned and paced toward the sink once more.

"This is so bloody stupid!"

Her fingers closed around the pink box, tearing it apart and sending the white stick within toppling into the sink.


Having succeeded in helping her daughter navigate her momentary doubts, Marietta Armel was now busily scurrying about the château's massive kitchen.

Two bottles of champagne from their private stores sat chilling in silver ice buckets, already loaded inside the open dumbwaiter. A long white serving platter waited on the kitchen island, near bursting with sugar-dusted profiteroles, shiny glacé cherries and a dozen or so colorful petit fours. A few cheeses and dried fruit had just joined the assortment when Madame Armel recalled there were a few boxes of chocolate-covered and caramelized fruits still left in the butler's pantry fridge.

Florian was busy with his capos and the château's security, doing a final sweep of the home for any lurkers, bugs, or other nefarious items left behind by their morally questionable guests.

She'd thought she had time...

Marietta soon exited the butler's pantry, hands full with a box of the assorted fruits, and quickly set about filling any empty space on the plate with her plunder.

"That's quite the ambitious night cap, mon réve."

Florian's amused voice could be heard from the kitchen door, where Marietta looked up to find him leaning against the frame.

His salt-and-pepper hair was a little tousled, his bowtie long since untied, and she briefly thought to ask how he managed to look just as devilishly handsome as the day they'd met.

Instead, Marietta gave him a sly, playful smile.

"Take it out of my allowance you grumpy old buffer."

He snorted indelicately, swaggering into the space and snaking an arm about his wife's narrow waist. When she leaned into the affection, his lips met the shell of her ear. "Allowance, hmm? Like you've ever known the meaning of the word."

An impish laugh greeted the remark, not the least bit fazed by his teasing.

"I'm merely doing my part to set things right between Raymond and Rosalie," she sighed, admitting the truth to him. "They're so miserable apart; I can't stand it."

Florian stiffened beside her, now understanding the purpose behind the massive tray of sweets. "Réve, you've done quite enough meddling for one night. Notre trésor will not appreciate the interruption."

"Don't you have some underlings to tend to?" Marietta pouted, returning to her work before adding, "Besides, even if Rosalie were to desire I should stop my meddling, my future son-in-law will be grateful for any excuse to linger."

"I sent them away." Grumbled Florian, "Chérie, I want to go to bed...get you out of this dress-"

Marietta tittered and batted his hands away when they tugged at the bow on the back of her gown.

"Son-in-law..." Florian's tired mind finally caught up with the tail-end of her sentence, his tone immediately darkening with disapproval. "Marietta...Aren't you being a bit hasty?"

"I knew you were my husband long before you did." She retorted, adjusting the last chocolate-covered strawberry with a flourish. "It's only natural that I should know before everyone else that Raymond and Rosalie are made for one another."

She hoisted the platter into the air and promptly settled it inside the dumbwaiter amongst its two bubbly companions.

Florian tutted under his breath, then halted, eyes fixed on one of the ice buckets settled inside the compartment.

"Wait a moment-"

Marietta quickly pressed the button, making the wooden door shut with a snap and the shaft clang as the dumbwaiter soared up to the dome on the château's fourth floor.

Her husband cleared his throat.

"My darling wife...did I just see two bottles of my 1841 Veuve Clicquot in there?

Madame Armel turned around at a snail's pace, keeping her eyes on the floor until her shoulders were square with Florian's. Her lashes flitted coyly up at him, meeting his shrewd stare with one of utmost innocence.

"...Perhaps."

"Perhaps?" Repeated Florian, snowy eyebrows nearing his hairline with each syllable. He leaned forward, tilting his head so his face was a mere breath away from hers. "Are you telling me that's a sixty-thousand dollar dumbwaiter you just sent to the dome?"

She looked at the closed dumbwaiter as though she were actually calculating the sum in her head, "Oui, give or take;" she added in an aside, "Those strawberries weren't cheap, mon coeur."

"Marietta."

Madame Armel ignored him completely, instead turning about to pick up the remainder of the chocolate-covered fruits, a bottle of Florian's favorite cognac, and two crystal glasses.

When she returned to the kitchen entry to find her husband still glowering at her, she batted her eyes most convincingly. "Mon Bonheur," she cooed, "It is all for the greater good, surely you must know I will make it up to you?"

Florian was not wholly unswayed by this, but still managed to grumble. "Oui? Are you possessed with the ability of time travel so you can go back to 1841 and get me more champagne?"

A soft mist started to gather in Marietta's eyes. The striking amber of her irises turned gold in the low light as she whispered, "Have pity on me, love. This may very well be the last time our daughter needs my tutelage. It's so very late already, why don't we go upstairs so you can tell me how very bad I've been?"

Unfortunately, Florian's wife pouted so prettily up at him, his disapproval couldn't help but flounder.

He heaved a weary sigh, and didn't have to look to know Marietta's mask of sadness had been replaced by a winning smile.

"Oui, oui, very well then. Upstairs with you before your meddling costs me another hundred grand..."

Marietta kissed her husband's cheek with a laugh, then grabbed his hand and lead him up the few flights of stairs to their bedroom with their own delicacies in tow.


The last fresco overlooked the two fugitives laying in a heap of cushions, pillows, and two fluffy white dogs.

It was so cozy inside the dome room, neither Raymond nor Rosalie felt the least bit inclined to suggest they leave, even as the late night hours carried on toward dawn.

Rosalie had finally gathered herself upon Marietta's departure, changing into a soft cashmere dress and touching up her hair and makeup before slipping out into the bedroom.

She'd found Red standing beside her vanity, his old shirt in hand and a soft, knowing smile at his lips.

"I...shouldn't have kept it." She'd said, twisting a lock of hair around her fingers.

Raymond had whipped around as though caught in open wrongdoing.

It'd made Rosalie laugh.

"You can have it back-"

"I like knowing you've had it."

He'd blurted the statement so loudly, he'd felt compelled clear his throat and apologize. "I...What I mean to say is, you seem to like it. I'd be happy for you to keep it."

Rosalie had shook her head, leaving Red momentarily crestfallen.

"It doesn't smell like you anymore." She'd clarified, soothing his disappointment at once. "It's comfortable to wear, but a lot less fun when I'm not stealing it from your suitcase."

That had made him smile that same wide, boyish grin Rosalie had come to adore so ardently when they were together.

"C'mon," she'd said, holding out her hand for him to take. "I feel like a nightcap in the dome."

Raymond had followed her without hesitation, allowing her to lead him up the spiral staircase with but one thought for the fact that she could lead him anywhere right now and he'd be happy to go.

They'd immediately shoved aside the coffee table and the two chaises, utilizing the space their absence created as a makeshift dance floor.

While Rosalie had topped off their champagne, Raymond had queued up a stack of records on the antique stereo that would last them at least another hour.

They'd swayed and talked through the first rendition of his selected playlist when the dumbwaiter arrived unexpectedly and bursting at the seams with delicacies from the ballroom's Viennese table.

The two had looked at each other for a brief moment before bursting into another tumult of laughter.

"Oh, Maman..." Rosalie had tutted, though she'd taken the tray of sweets without hesitation, "If Florian finds out she nicked these from the cold cellar, he will be positively livid."

Red had fished the two ice buckets out of the container and settled them on the coffee table beside the tray of sweets before adding, "At thirty grand a bottle, we shan't be telling him."

The hours had passed since then in endless conversation, drinking, and snacking.

They'd long since ran out of the easy things to talk about: where they'd been, what they'd been doing, what things had changed. Conversation had eventually turned to the Abbey when Rosalie asked her companion how he liked the master bedroom, and an amusing argument broke out over its conflicting location.

"No way."

"Stop laughing."

"There's no possible way you've been sleeping in Dembe's room this whole time."

"He's been in the other bedroom, the one in the opposite choir loft!"

"The north transept? The one with the stained glass forest?"

"Yes?"

"That's Kate's room!"

"Well how in the name of Sam Hill are we supposed to know that?"

"You're telling me I've been having my people stock and clean the master suite, and you haven't even been using it?"

"Where is the damn thing?"

"It's the entire bell tower, Ray."

"I think you're trying to pull a fast one on me. There's no way into the bell tower."

"There is! It's in that pillar, the far one."

"Yeah yeah. There's what, six pillars just in the foyer of the Abbey? Another twelve beyond that? I'm sure you'd like to sell me an elevator pass to the hot tub you put on the roof while you're at it, wouldn't you ya little swindler?"

They'd dissolved into peels of laughter at this, the sound muted by mouthfuls of their chosen desserts and champagne.

"I do like how you split the spaces up using stolen artwork." Raymond added, once they'd composed themselves.

Rosalie had turned and wiggled her eyebrows at him. "You like my nudes, huh?"

He'd grinned, "I want to hear how you got hold of them…"

It had taken the whole lengthy story plus a few others, as well as them landing on the weather in their respective locales for each to steel up their resolve and talk about the difficult things.

They were eventually seated back-to-back on the floor; it was easier to be brutally honest when not faced with the ache portrayed in the other's countenance.

Still, the warmth of Rosalie's back pressed to Red's made the man aware of every breath she took, each soft gasp at his words, every shudder of subdued emotion that traveled her spine.

He couldn't see her ache, but he could damn well feel it.

"Why did you ask Florian to take the network?" Raymond had finally worked up the courage to ask after they'd made it halfway through their third bottle of champagne, "You love your work. You've built something so magnificent; why would you ever do that?"

"I could hear you," Rosalie confided after a lengthy silence, "When I didn't know what to do, when I was vetting new clients or building out the network...every time I faced a modicum of uncertainty it was your voice I heard guiding me." She'd tutted to herself, "It was the cruelest reminder that you'd become my closest and most trusted confidant. Even separated, I knew I could trust your judgement."

Red had felt his stomach swoop when Rosalie's head listed onto his shoulder, a dejected sigh making her back rise and fall against his own.

"I can't tell you how that knowledge screwed with my mind." She'd continued, "When I saw you with that woman in New York, something in me just...snapped. There I was, convinced everything I'd thought about you was wrong, staring down the barrel of my life's work, knowing it would forever be tainted by my memories of us; by my love for you. I couldn't stand the thought, so I went to Florian and offered him my network in exchange for taking the Corsicans from him."

She'd reached for the champagne then, refusing to bother with the crystal flute and instead brought the bottle directly to her lips. "At the time, it seemed like the only way to escape the wretched way I felt about us. I was wrong."

"I'm sorry." He murmured, "I never meant for you to feel that way, for it to come to that."

Silence stretched between them for several seconds, punctuated only by the sloshing sound of the champagne bottle being tilted towards Rosalie's lips.

"When I went no-contact, I half expected you to leave my network." She said at last, "Why did you stay?"

"I sought remnants of you in every room." Red admitted, easing the bottle from her fingertips and taking a sip himself. "Every time I felt my humanity slipping, I clung to those pieces of you. Even separated, I knew I could trust you to keep me whole."

A shaky breath filled Rosalie's lungs. Her head didn't move from his shoulder, though he felt it tilt in his direction.

"I thought you didn't want me." She confessed in an agonized whisper, "I thought everything I'd felt with you, every memory of us had been a lie. Like I'd been duped to believe you loved me when you never did."

Raymond shifted his shoulder back and swung his arm around so they were hip-to-hip.

He could at last see her face, and found those slate eyes swimming in a sea of misery, staring blankly up at him as though he were a perfect stranger.

"I did, Rosalie. You must know that."

"Did, hmm?"

He couldn't help a small smile at the sullen disappointment in those words.

"You deserve to believe it when you hear it; but rest assured, that sentiment is still very much in the present tense, Ms. Øllegaard."

He caught the luminous blush which flooded the apple of her cheek just as she moved to turn away. His hand reached out to cup her cheek.

"Nothing has changed in the way I feel about you, Rosalie. Nothing. Come back to London with me. I won't let anyone hurt you again."

Rosalie bulled back at this, once more staring at Red as though he were a stranger. "No."

Raymond didn't have a moment to be taken aback by her outright refusal before she was laying her grievances at his feet.

"Raymond, I took you at your word when you told me we would build our life together as we saw fit. Yet when the time came, you pushed me away. That changes things. No amount of playing pretend will change the fact that I no longer trust you to be fully in this with me. You broke that trust, and it's going to take a lot of time and consistency to repair." She drew her knees to her chest and rested her cheek atop them. "Right now, I can't trust you."

It looked for all the world as though that sentence hurt her every bit as much as it gutted him.

"I can't look at you and not wonder what will take you from me next," continued Rosalie, "Or how long I would have just to be with you before things fell apart again...Raymond, I believe you when you say you want to try again, but I desperately need you to understand that it's going to take a lot for me to believe that you aren't going to run out on me at the first sign of trouble."

These hard truths hit Red like a freight train, but he understood her perspective at the very least.

He liked to think he'd grown a scant more humble in her absence. A part of him recognized he couldn't expect to save her from every little thing, and trying to do so would only drive a wedge between them. The only way he could prove his love now was to be the pillar she needed; the same unflinching presence she'd occupied in his life.

"I understand," Red said with a nod, unable to stop himself from chewing on the inside of his cheek. "It's just…I've missed you. I don't want to lose any more time together; and I don't know how we go about trying again when we're traveling separately."

"I know the feeling, I do," said Rosalie, "But it's gonna take time, Ray."

He wanted to argue, and his companion looked like she half expected him to, but in the end he simply took a deep breath and said, "Okay."

"Okay?" Rosalie was obviously surprised at his sudden agreement.

"Okay." Red repeated, "We'll make it work. I'll make it work; even if it means we meet in the middle or I fly to Seoul or Taipei or whatever corner of the world you're developing next."

A ghost of a grin flitted across his features.

"We can go back to dating on the sly..."

"We're not dating." Rosalie insisted with the most half-hearted frown he'd ever seen.

He chuckled and settled back among the cushions, nabbing a chocolate-covered strawberry on his way down and biting into it. "You must know I want you to be happy with or without me." He said after a lengthy silence, as though that might somehow assuage her discomfort.

Rosalie smiled. "The feeling is mutual, darling."

"That being said..." he hazarded a little latitude, "I know a piece of me will wither away when you decide to move on."

"You must know that I tried," she noted, hinting at her time with Hayashida.

"I remember him, the architect." Raymond took the confession in stride, endeavoring for a drop of civility by adding, "He seems like a good man."

"He is," Rosalie agreed, "He's a kind, gentle sort of person."

Red hated himself for the pang of jealousy he felt twisting at his insides. "Is it wrong for me to hope there's a but ?"

"Whether it's wrong or right, there is. Hayashida seems perfect in many ways, but...he's my Hephaestus. He's kind, successful, and we have no shortage of common interests. His separation from the underground could have given us a relatively normal life, and I have no doubt that he would have spent his every waking moment trying to make me happy, but...No matter how much time I give it, I simply don't feel anything for Hayashida."

"Are you still seeing him?"

A knowing look was the only answer at first. Then, Rosalie lifted the champagne bottle to her lips and begrudgingly murmured, "We agreed to return to a strictly professional relationship after the third date."

The silence that met this was deafening.

The last swallow of champagne passed Rosalie's lips, and the cushions beside Raymond looked so inviting, she twisted around and flopped down next to him.

"Stop grinning." She companion grumbled after several long seconds, not having to look at Red to know that he was wholeheartedly delighted to hear Hayashida had fallen short.

He tried valiantly to deny it, but all that came out was an indelicate snort of laughter. "Sorry."

"No you're not," she corrected, "You're positively tickled pink about it."

Their laughter echoed in the dome, bouncing gaily off the glass ceiling as though carried there by the champagne bubbles still dancing on their tongues.

The sound of their amusement soon died away in a haunting echo, bringing each back to earth with a resounding crash.

"I always hold out hope that it'll be you and I in the end." Raymond whispered in her ear, close enough to rest his head against hers.

Rosalie turned to look him in the eye, and he was startled by the longing he found residing there.

A soft, warm hand slipped into his own, its slender fingers threading through his.

"Me too."


The white marble of the first floor master suite was littered with the remnants of a half-dozen pink boxes.

Five white sticks rested on the bathroom sink in neat rows, their faces all bearing the same number of lines.

The sixth was clutched in Emma Knightley's hands.

She was curled up on the bath rug where she'd spent the majority of the past three hours staring blankly at the last in a series of pregnancy tests that all confirmed the unfathomable truth...

Pregnant.

She was pregnant.

Her eyes itched with tiredness, but she couldn't manage to close them and sleep.

So this was why she'd felt so wretched on the plan ride that morning...

Christ, what would Colin say?

Would he be happy?

They'd always said they wanted children, but now that it was confirmed she was pregnant...Emma couldn't help but second-guess herself.

What if she was a terrible mother?

What did one even do with a baby? They're so fragile...

Emma's thoughts spiraled into all the parts of the flat that needed to be baby-proofed. Immediately.

Oh buggering hell...they were going to need a bigger flat.

There was a whole entire human growing inside her at that very moment, and it needed so many things.

It needed a crib and a car seat. Onesies and jumpers and bottles and dummies. It needed a nursery and a rocking chair and nappies.

And...

And...

Emma sprung to her feet for the first time in hours, making both her knees pop and swearing under her breath when she found her whole left side to be asleep.

A few uncoordinated steps later and she was in the bedroom, throwing random articles of clothing into her suitcase as fast as she could.

She needed to be on the first flight out. Bugger Reddington, he could bloody well stay here with his little girlfriend.

Emma had to go home. She had to speak to Colin...


Sleet had begun to pelt the glass above their heads. The pattering sound combined with the low crackling of the fireplace and the soft breaths of the two fugitives curled up beside its warmth.

The champagne had run out, but Rosalie kept a well-stocked bar cart in the dome that kept them pleasantly drunk the whole night through.

The first fledgling shocks of daylight were fighting to break over the horizon's edge, smothered almost instantly by heavy indigo clouds.

Raymond and Rosalie were side-by-side in the pile of cushions and blankets, having long since run out of things to talk about.

The latter looked to be fighting a losing battle with sleep.

"I should go," Red admitted ruefully, smiling at her as his thumb grazed the apple of her cheek. "Let you get some sleep-"

"No."

Rosalie's heavy lids cracked open with monumental effort. Her hand snatched his own and pulled it to her chest, tucking his large fist under her little chin in a way that melted the formidable man beside her. "Not yet. Don't go yet."

"You've been up since the crack of dawn yesterday-"

"No, tell me more," she interrupted, either sleep or alcohol slurring her words, "That book you were reading before everything happened, the one with the red cover, did you ever finish it?"

It took Red a moment to string together what she said, and even then, the sentence didn't ring any bells. "What?" He chuckled.

"The red book, the one you bought for the flight to Colombia...Did you finish it?"

Finally realizing the book she was referring to, he frowned. "No. I think I left it in the Colombia safe house...How on earth did that come to mind?"

Rosalie's lips curled into a small, sleepy smile.

"You were smiling when you told me to get some sleep. It reminded me of the day you found that book."

"Boston." Said Red, recalling that day with amusement.

"That tiny little book store." Said Rosalie with a grin.

"God, we couldn't even turn around in there without knocking into one another..." Raymond let out a barking laugh, "Oh my god, that woman-"

"Ugh, that crotchety old bat with the rat terrier!" Rosalie cackled, now thoroughly awake. She sat up on her elbow and beamed at him. "She was so determined to hate everything and everyone, you couldn't resist ruffling her feathers, could you?"

A hand came up to finger one of her curls, a sly smile lightening the man's features all the more.

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you mean," he said, voice dripping with mock innocence. "I thought the Kama Sutra was a perfectly lovely recommendation, seeing as she was probably walking this earth when it was first published."

The two snorted at this, the fond memory wrapping warmly around them both.

"Her loss," tittered Rosalie, "We managed to separate the back cover from the main on that particular volume, and I know for a fact I've found a page or two littering my suitcase since then..."

"Perhaps if the old broad had put it to good use, she wouldn't be in such a wretched mood all the time."

They laughed and laughed until they were breathless and spent.

Rosalie turned to find Red staring at her, and the proximity between them made her long for something more.

She desperately needed a distraction.

"One more dance, for old times' sake?"

He nodded dazidly, taking a slow, steady breath before forcing himself to stand.

While he wandered over to the stereo and picked out just the right single to cap off their night, Rosalie couldn't help but feel his loss already.

The space beside her felt cold and empty, and the feeling was somehow eeking into her as well. She suddenly felt hollow and airy, as though nothing was holding her feet to the ground.

She had missed that about Raymond; the comforting weight of him.

The way his heavy torso settled beside her, on top of her, infusing her with his warmth.

The heavy weight of his arm when it curled about the small of her back.

Heavy hands caressing her...heavy lips...

Everything about him was heavy. Comforting. Solid. Even now, as her heart continually second-guessed whether to let him back in, Rosalie knew his arms were the safest place she'd ever been.

She smiled secretively.

Tonight had brought those old thoughts back to her mind with profound clarity.

He was wonderfully heavy, yes, and yet...somehow light.

Raymond was playful and utterly boyish when given the space to be himself.

Rosalie suddenly realized, nobody in her sphere was half as fun as he was.

Just as quickly as her thoughts had landed on his boyish charm, Red turned to catch her watching him.

His voice caught gruffly in his throat. "Where'd you go just now?" He asked, obviously having caught something of her thoughts in her expression.

"Right here." She said with a timid smile, "I just realized I've really missed the way you occupy a room."

There it was.

That boyish side of him peeked from behind the mask of the criminal, looking at her with eyes so soft and vulnerable all Rosalie wanted to do was keep him safe from the world.

Christ, she was done for already, wasn't she?

The record crackled into life, kicking off an old crooner's tune that rang out into the night with a smooth, slow rhythm.

Raymond reached out for her, arms circling the narrow dip of her waist to ease her into his hold.

Her hand slid comfortably into his own, the other smoothing up his chest to cup his cheek and draw little circles with her thumb.

Resting her forehead against his, Rosalie smiled when the tip of her nose brushed his with every other step.

If this was the hot-and-cold Marietta had been talking about...she found a year didn't seem very long at all.

Indeed, if she could dance with him in some quiet alcove whenever her heart felt heavy, she would be head over heels again long before she knew what to do about it.


When the song ended, Raymond and Rosalie forced themselves to leave the dome at last.

The dismal weather had kept the sun from shining through any portion of the château's windows or glass ceilings. The only sign that they were creeping up on morning was the occasional member of the château's staff scurrying about their chores.

The personnel all studiously avoided their gaze and gave the pair a wide berth. Though Rosalie did note a few of the younger maids peering curiously from behind corners.

They reached the foyer far sooner than she would have liked. To add to her chagrin, Dembe had sent the safe house's driver, Gabin, to await Raymond's departure.

Gabin nodded to Rosalie, then stepped outside to start the car.

With the last seconds of their time together rapidly dwindling, Rosalie leaned to kiss Red's cheek and slip a small card into his jacket pocket. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"

Red fished the card out with a flourish, seeing the number of her burner written neatly on its face. "I'm allowed to call you directly now, am I?"

"Yeah," she smiled, "Don't you dare let Horace find out, either. I'll get an earful about how you're some no-good cad I shouldn't give the time of day to."

He tucked the card into his pants pocket, "Well he's right about that, though I cannot deny I'm delighted at the prospect of returning to our time-honored tradition of sneaking around behind your security's back."

The two sniggered at this, a wealth of pleasant memories resurrecting between them.

"You should come to London!" Red whispered, taking her hand, "It's…" he hesitated, "Well, it's abysmal, really. The weather's dreary, and the food's precisely awful, but the tea is fantastic and I know you like the rain anyway, not to mention that burlesque bar you like so much has a new act arriving after the first of the year-"

"I'm not ready." She reminded with a pointed look. "I told you, I'm not ready to jump into anything with us. Even if I wanted to, I've got a new expansion kicking off in East Asia that's going to need my full attention. I simply can't run my empire from Britain right now."

The firm refusal halted any further argument.

Rosalie felt a pang of regret when Raymond's mouth closed with a snap.

She could tell how hard he was trying, how he was damn near biting his tongue through not to push for her return.

When Gabin came back through the door and announced they were ready to depart, Raymond stole one last kiss to Rosalie's cheek before murmuring, "I guess...I'll call you?"

She nodded, and he stepped out into the sleeting rain alongside Gabin.

Rosalie watched his retreating form with no small amount of trepidation.

Was she really going to just let him go?

What if tonight ultimately amounted to nothing?

After all, he was right, how could they possibly start again like this?

The downward spiral of these thoughts was interrupted when an idea came to Rosalie.

A wonderful, funny, perfect idea.

"Wait!"

She rushed out of the front doors, bare feet skidding on the wet limestone and sending her careening into Red's outstretched arms.

He instantly whipped off his tuxedo jacket and draped it around her shoulders. "It's freezing," the man chided, You'll catch your death out here without your shoes or even acoat…"

"I'll make you a wager." Said Rosalie, face alight with excitement and not the least bit bothered by the frigid wind and sleet blowing around her. "Let's start over precisely how we began."

"What do you mean, Rosalie?"

"Chase me."

Raymond's brow puckered into a confused frown. "You...want to be chased?"

Rosalie nodded excitedly. "I've implemented a number of new safety measures within my network. What better way to test them than by putting you on my trail?"

"And you want me to try and break them...by chasing you?" He repeated, slowly, as though the string of words were completely foreign to him.

"Yeah."

Finally coming to terms with what she was asking, Raymond's expression turned suddenly shrewd. "What do I get when I catch you, my dear?"

"If you catch me-" she corrected with a smirk, "-and once my current expansion is finished, I'll move with you again."

"...Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Red froze, his eyes narrowing further. "You said you needed time."

"I do, and I'm confident I'll have ample of it while you try and pin me down."

"Try?" He chortled, starting to find the humor in the request. "If you recall, Miss Øllegaard, I thoroughly succeeded on that matter the first time around."

"You did," she conceded, still not backing down. "However, that time I was stubborn and mad silly mistakes. That won't be the case this time around."

"You're unnervingly chipper about this..."

A beguiling smile tilted Rosalie's lips. "Our first game of cat and mouse was tantamount to you fishing in a barrel. Now, I've got the whole of the deep blue sea to hide inside. I'm confident you'll find me significantly more elusive in round two."

Her brazen confidence seemed to thrill Red all the more.

"Alright...Bet." He said with a smirk, "I've one condition, however."

"What's that?"

"I'm allowed to forward certain correspondence through your people." Said Red, "Untraced, mind, but I want to be able to send you things."

"Like...what?"

He chuckled at her rather obvious curiosity, "We're starting at the beginning Rosalie, and I won't be barred from courting you as I did before."

"Courting?" Rosalie sniggered, thinking the word ludicrous. "Have we time traveled back to the early 1900's? Besides, we're not dating. I'm not ready-"

"Yet."

"Yet." She agreed absentmindedly, balking when she realized what came out of her mouth.

Red started to laugh.

Rosalie scowled, "We're NOT dating."

"Oh little dove," he purred, cupping her cheek and bringing her lips within millimeters of his own, "What is dating if not a chase?"

A familiar warmth spread through Rosalie's every nerve ending at this

"I've missed hearing you call me that."

"You're mine. My little dove." Red smirked when she only blinked dazedly up at him. "Can I think of you as mine?"

"That depends…" she countered, fighting to regain her footing, "Are you still mine?"

Raymond flashed a devilish grin and leaned in, capturing her lips with his own.

It was so much better than she remembered.

The way his hands clung to her, bringing her tight against his warm, broad frame.

His tongue swiped at the seam of her lips, pleading for entrance she gave without a second thought.

The kiss deepened by the second, setting the air between them on fire until one couldn't think of anything but the other.

All too soon, they were forced to break for air.

"What was that for?" Rosalie asked, dizzy and swaying on the spot.

"We're starting over." Red reminded through a drowsy smile. "Our last kiss certainly can't be our first. A first kiss should sweep you off your feet."

Without another word, he let her go, slipped into the car, and waved for the driver to make for the safe house.

His eyes remained locked on Rosalie, drinking in the coy smile which overtook her for a brief moment before she disappeared behind the chateau's doors, still wrapped in his tuxedo jacket.

Gabin's ears were a bright pink, but if he'd caught any of the exchange between Raymond and Rosalie, he knew well enough not to say a word.

Once they'd passed through the property gates, Red leaned forward in his seat.

"I don't suppose there' a book store open at this hour, is there?"

Gabin looked into the rear view mirror and shook his head. Not for a couple hours, I'm afraid." He added, "If you'd like to wait, the bakery across the street opened an hour ago and the pastries should just now be coming out of the oven. You could grab a bite and wait for the merchant there."

Red considered his suggestion for a moment.

He was wide awake...why not?

"Lead the way, Gabin." He sighed his contentment, relaxing into the back seat while the car sped along the secluded highway. "I think we'll make a stop at the florists while we're at it..."


It was early afternoon when Marietta made her way up to Rosalie's room with a bakery box and a pair of bloody marys.

Leopold followed closely at his mistress' heels, hands clasped around a massive vase bursting with flowers.

Madame Armel rapped on the door once before seeing herself in.

Rosalie's bedroom was dark as night thanks to the dismal weather and the black-out curtains that were drawn to cover every window. Thankfully, the fireplace was lit, casting a soft glow by which the two interlopers could navigate.

The flowers were set on the vanity with care, then Leopold quickly saw himself out.

Marietta set down her parcels, then threw open each of the curtains in turn. "Se réveiller, ma fille. It is time for a little hair of the dog."

A groan issued from within the mass of blankets on the bed, and Marietta tutted to herself.

"Up you get," she said, bringing the delicacies she'd brought with her and setting them on the nightstand.

Without waiting for an invitation, she wriggled her way into the bed alongside Rosalie, who couldn't help but laugh.

"Ugh Maman, I'm hungover." She complained, flopping her head into Marietta's lap.

"I should hope so." Said Marietta, taking a swig of her Bloody Mary and carding loving fingertips through her daughter's curls. "That champagne cost more than most houses."

Rosalie slowly brought herself upright, grumbling at the abundance of light in the room and the fact that she hadn't eaten anything but sweets and booze in the past sixteen hours.

Madame Armel wordlessly passed her a drink and a savory roll from the local bakery.

She took them gratefully, and proceeded to munch on the roll with relish.

"Who are the flowers from?" Rosalie asked once she'd put down half of the baked good.

"Raymond sent a care package." Marietta intoned with another long sip of her drink.

The former froze. "Why didn't you say so?'

She scrambled out of bed, a hand flying up to her pounding head as she scuttled across the room.

The arrangement was tall and made up solely of black-eyed anemones, green bells of Ireland, and spindly cherry blossom twigs.

"Is he..." Rosalie traced a fingertip over one of the curved green flowers, "Is he telling me good luck?"

"Not to brag," said Marietta with an impish note, "but my arrangement of sweet peas, blue hydrangea, and willow branches is nearly twice the size."

"Probably as a thank you for all your meddling." Quipped Rosalie, turning to bestow and equally impish smile on her mother.

The women laughed at this, their amusement only coming to a halt when a familiar voice issued from the doorway.

"Those are nice. I suppose Reddington sent them?"

Rosalie managed to subdue the bright smile attempting to claim her lips before turning to meet Horace's eye.

The man was stood in the center of the doorframe, looking at the arrangement with polite disinterest.

"No, no," Marietta lied with ease, "Just a little thank you from Marcello for helping host last night's soiree."

"Ah, well, that was nice of him..."

Neither woman gave further reply, and they both waited until Horace left for one of the guest rooms before relaxing again.

"There's a book there as well, chérie."

The small leather bound tome rested against the back of the vase, its crimson cover glinting in the low light.

"Is this-?" She lifted it, the title's gold embossing catching the light just right. "It is..."

'The Age of Innocence' by Edit Wharton, the very same book they'd been talking about...how did he manage to find it?

Rosalie opened the front cover to see a scrawling red 'R' along with a note in Red's familiar sharp, slanted writing. To her surprise, she found an answer to the other question she had posed that morning.

I am yours as the summer air at evening is

Possessed by the scent of Linden blossoms,

As the snowcap gleams with light

Lent it by the brimming moon.

Without you I am an unleafed tree,

Blasted in a bleakness with no Spring.

Your love is the weather of my being,

For what is an island without a sea?

Her heart slammed inside her chest when she turned the sifted through the book to find nearly every single page had been notated in the margins, by Raymond's hand, no less.

He'd underlined passages he'd known she'd like, circled quotes which reminded him of their travels together; his every thought was outlined for her to peruse.

It was the stealthiest, most intimate gesture Rosalie had ever received.

Marietta's shadow could be seen reading over Rosalie's shoulder. The woman sniggered to herself upon reaching the last line of the Daniel Hoffman poem on the inside cover.

"Oh Maman, but you knew Florian loved you!" She mimicked in a slightly high-pitched voice, adding, "Oui ma rose sauvage, Raymond definitely does not love you. That's why the poor boy is prostrating at your feet like Lord Byron himself."

Rosalie frowned at her mother, who could only titter merrily as she made for the door.

"I will see you for luncheon in a bit," she called over her shoulder, adding, "Pére would like to see you once you've dressed. Something about having found you a pilot..."

"Wait, Maman."

Madame Armel stopped at the threshold and positively beamed at the incandescent smile lighting her daughter's features.

"Thank you, for everything." She whispered earnestly, then added, "Will you send Leopold my way? I've got a spot of mischief I could use a hand with."


It was early evening at the safe house before Red finally started to feel alive once more.

Agent Knightley had been sent home on a first class ticket that morning, saving him from the interrogation that would undoubtedly ensue at his long absence.

Dembe had seemed concerned for Knightley's health, but Raymond was confident it was nothing a little rest and quiet couldn't fix. He chose not to ruminate on it.

Rather, he was content to enjoy the peaceful sanctuary of the safe house without the presence of a Fed.

"Rosalie had a package sent for you." Dembe announced once his employer had descended from the master suite.

A smattering of white boxes lined the countertop, filled with a lovely selection of gourmet foods prepared by the Armels' personal chef. The sight delighted Red until his eyes landed on a rather gaudy-looking Scooby-Doo metal lunch box.

Dembe too had been eyeing the item, and turned to Raymond with a quizzical brow. "What did the two of you do last night?"

"We just talked?" Said Red defensively, "I have no idea what this is..."

He flipped the latch on the lunch tin, and he and Dembe both flinched backward as though a bomb might go off.

Nothing happened, however, so Red extended his index finger to twitch open the lid.

What lay inside set off a chain reaction.

Raymond cocked his head, his entire face puckering in a baffled sort of grimace.

Dembe, on the other hand, was wiping at the corners of his eyes and positively roaring with laughter.

"Is she..." Raymond reached into the tin and pulled out an apple, a baggy of baby carrots, and a ham sandwich. "Is she telling me to pack my lunch?"

A square of white card stock fell from the contents of his hand, landing face up on the kitchen counter.

Both he and Dembe leaned over to see what the scrawling green letters read.

There was no addressee, nor signature, just five words written neatly in the margin...

Catch me if you can.