Cht 12

Cassie wished she could clamp her hands over her ears and brush her teeth at the same time, but she suffered in silence as Liz came again. For such a huge, immaculate house, it sure had thin walls, she groaned to herself. She made quick work of the job and rushed out the bathroom door, nearly bowling over Dembe in the hall, who frantically dodged her and ducked into the sitting room. He apparently also was trying to put some space between himself and the sounds coming from down the hall.

"My god they go on long enough," Cassie muttered.

Dembe flashed his pearly whites and chuckled silently, "how about you and I start some breakfast, and you can tell me why you came back home so early last night?" he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Cassie scoffed. "Because Aram is way more of a gentleman than I am."

"That's good," Dembe said soberly, "it means he wants to romance you, and that is good. You need it."

"My idea of romance is a six pack and a guy I picked up at the bar," Cassie cracked.

Dembe stopped rummaging through baking pans and looked at her.

"Okay, not really," she rolled her eyes, "I'm just not used to that whole dance, you know?"

"Like I said," Dembe nodded, singling out the pan he wanted and placing it on the stove, "you need it. And if you are not used to it, it is high time."

"I guess so."

They made short work of an entire loaf of bread, a dozen eggs and a smidge of cream, cinnamon and a pinch of nutmeg to make a French toast casserole he swore was Reddington's favorite. Dembe said he tested it out on a hesitant Red, only to have him finish half of it on his own. By the time the two lovers made their way out of the bedchamber, Agnes was fussing for breakfast and Dembe was well into a story about Reddington's worst cooking disasters.

Reddington entered before Liz, bleary eyed but smiling. Liz came in carrying Agnes hanging over the crook of her arm like a wiggling sack of potatoes who was already sucking down a bottle. She kept Agnes in her lap and gave up feeding herself when she had to burp the baby. Reddington, saying nothing, simply scooped up a forkful of the casserole and popped it into her mouth.

"So what are we going to do with this day?" Cassie asked the room at large.

"Well," Raymond said slowly, "Lizzie and I are making a field trip with Agnes. For a few days."

"Okay…?"

"Lizzie has some leave built up right now, so we're going to drive out to one of my safehouses and let her enjoy some mother/daughter bonding."

He exchanged a knowing look with Dembe, but Cassie was confused.

"Why can't they do that here?"

Reddington's closed off expression made her wonder what he was up to, and his answer did not help, "we've been here long enough. It's time to move again."

She wanted to ask why she and Dembe weren't going to move too, but she knew she was not going to get answers. She would have to press Dembe later and see if she could wheedle anything else out of him. After breakfast, Red cleared the dishes and Cassie sat on the floor with Liz while Agnes played on her jungle gym mat, shaking a chubby fist at the hoops and squeaky toys that dangled over her.

"So, do you know where you guys are going?" Cassie queried. "Or is he snatching you off to parts unknown?"

"He's keeping pretty mum. He says there's someone Agnes and I should meet, but he won't say who or where."

"He is maddeningly taciturn, isn't he?"

"He won't change his stripes, that's for sure. Frustrating as he is, there's always a reason for everything he does."

"That's what makes it tolerable," Cassie smirked.

Liz looked out the window while the Mercedes glided through the tree lined highway, still marveling at the idea of Reddington himself driving. They had left the DC outskirts and headed west into what Liz felt was practically Appalachian wilderness. Buildings grew fewer and further between, the roads snaked, curving so sharply at times that she felt they could nearly pass themselves. Higher into the hills they moved, turning off onto a lane that was barely a road, weaving ever higher. They came at last to a house with a smoking chimney and an old Ford truck in an attached carport.

When they pulled up and Liz climbed out, the door to the home opened and a familiar face stood framed in the entrance.

"Mr Kaplan!"

"Hello dearie," the older woman said, shaking hands with Elizabeth. The younger girl was having none of it, and embraced her in a quick and feeling hug. Kaplan smiled ruefully and straightened her tweed jacket.

"What are you doing here?" asked Liz.

Kate spared a sparse raised eyebrow at Reddington, who seemed to be inspecting the trees and ignoring the conversation. "Not sure whether it's exile or retirement, but it's growing on me."

"More like redemption," piped up a grim-faced Reddington, who nodded at Kate and continued on in the house. Kaplan grabbed Agnes's diaper bag from the back seat while Liz unhooked her car seat and followed the group indoors.

She stepped in to find a grizzled gentleman seated in a recliner. He rose slowly when he saw her, his brow furrowed. Reddington and Kate both stepped aside as he moved to Liz and the baby. He looked familiar, but she couldn't place him.

"Masha?" the Russian name rolled off in a thick burr and when he got close enough his smell reached her—cherry pipe tobacco and wood smoke. Emotions roiled inside her and everything seemed to slow to a creep; it was like standing on a carousel and watching the world go by.

"дедушка!" she whispered, then grabbed onto him and held tight. She remembered. Grandpa, she had said in Russian. She remembered.

Over the next few days Liz tried to catch up on a lifetime of missed opportunities. He regaled her with tales of her own exploits of her mother. He showed her the trunk in the garage and slowly but surely some memories unfurled themselves before her like the pictures and drawings she uncovered. Liz spent her nights curled into Reddington's warmth and soothed by her grandfather's cantankerous humor during the days. He and Kate seemed to have settled into a comfortable life of gruff conversation and the sort of foxhole bonding of soldiers.

Meanwhile, back in Maryland, Cassie followed Dembe over to a nondescript apartment complex in Bethesda, wondering what she was in for this time. Dembe had described it as another safehouse, but this one was special he said. Immediately upon entering, Cassie realized why. The place was her father's personal space; it exuded his presence in every corner. She saw pictures of herself, younger, books that were her father's favorite, his cigars, his favorite Scotch, a pair of slippers next to the armchair in the corner, and… "Chester?!"

A large tabby stretched and yawned before presenting himself in front of her and weaving around her legs, tail twitching with interest.

"Raymond calls him Chester 2.0," Dembe supplied. "He said your cat followed him from your home when your mother was attacked and he refused to go back. This one though is a new one. The old one passed about ten years back. Then this one showed up a few months later like the reincarnation of that crusty cat himself, it was uncanny and I think it helped him grieve. That cat was one of the last vestiges of his old life with you."

Dembe's lilting accent and the tabby's rusty buzz saw purr made her smile at them both. "I think you make my dad happy, too. You filled the void of a child in his life. He probably would have lost his humanity if he didn't have you."

Dembe nodded solemnly. "He missed you so much. The memories were painful, but somehow comforting I think."

"I don't suppose he blew up our house…?" she cast an arch look at him, and he could not cover the flash of remorse fast enough. Cassie gave him a sardonic smile. "I figured. He has a tendency for theatrics. And yes, that right there is a hard example of how painful it must have been. Family life was tenuous at best, but that night destroyed it completely. That house was a symbol of a lot of negativity. I'm kind of glad he did it in a way. It must have been cathartic."

"It was not effective as he would have liked, I think."

Cassie shook her head. "He can't undo it, or get rid of the memories."

"He needs to make new ones to replace the old," Dembe said solemnly.

When Liz and Reddington finally showed up, Dembe and Cassie were both hunched over a chess table, engrossed enough to barely give the two a cursory grunt. Cassie finally called time for a break and went to check on her father and Liz and to stir the soup she had started on the stove. Finally, she noticed something amiss.

"Where's the baby?"

"Safe," Lizzie supplied feelingly. "She's safe."

"We've put Agnes in a secure location, but Lizzie will still be able to check in and Facebook—"

"—FaceTime—" Liz put in.

"Yes. And visit whenever she can get away," Raymond finished.

"Sooo…sort of an open adoption type thing?" Cassie questioned, not quite understanding.

"After a fashion," Liz said quietly.

"Can I ask why?" Cassie said, still struggling. "After all that work to get her—"

"It was," Liz clipped, "but it was worth it and we…" she looked at Raymond as he covered her hand with his. "…we still have work to do. This arrangement is not permanent, but it is necessary."

"Okay," she said, the light slowly dawning, "so what do we have to do to give you a life with Agnes?"

"We finish what we started," Liz stated, firmly resolved.

"Taking down the Cabal and all its subsidiaries," Cassie said, cottoning on.

"Yes," Reddington nodded with a determined smile, "we finish the blacklist."