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Red studied his tea as he swirled it gently around his cup. The window of his sitting room was cracked open and through it came the gentle chirps of the bird’s dawn chorus. He was waiting on a friend. An old friend. A friend he’d thought he’d lost several years ago. It had been just last week that Red had learned his friend still lived by way of a coded letter slipped amongst his mail.
He heard the front door open downstairs and he closed his eyes, wondering if the man he’d known would still be the same. Probably not. Dermot Favret had been a remarkably up-beat, pleasant man. A rarity to find someone who wasn’t dead serious in his line of work. It was only a matter of time before that veneer of chipperness was worn off.
His worries vanished as a smiling, dark-haired man came practically bounding into the room.
“Red! How have you been, you old bastard?” His accent was a unique mix of French and Irish and Red was thrilled to hear it again.
“Favret! It’s good to see you again!” Red extended his hand and Favret snorted, batting it away and sweeping him up into a tight hug instead.
“You’ve gotten older, my friend. Don’t remember you having been quite so bald the last time I’d seen you.” Favret teased.
“Well, memories can deceive us. For instance I remember you being taller.” Red was short himself but Favret was easily half a head shorter.
“Ah, you haven’t changed a bit have you?”
“Neither have you. But, please, sit.” Red gestured to the armchairs, a rare smile on his face.
Favret immediately set to making himself at home, nestling himself into the cushion. He was sprawled, his hands relaxed on the armrests, the very picture of relaxation. Minus his eyes darting to and fro about the room in a paranoid fashion. Red didn’t think much of it. Paranoia was simply a side effect of their mutual career choice.
“So Red, what’s this I hear about you handing yourself over to the FBI? What’s that all about? Sick of living?”
“Perhaps.” Red replied. “It is such a boring life nowadays. All of the great authors and poets from our time are gone, leaving only imitators. I haven’t seen a good book written in the last twenty years.”
It wasn’t a question he was willing to answer, not yet anyway, not until he was certain he could trust Favret again, so he carefully lured him off the topic with a bait he was sure he couldn't resist. Favret had had such a loathing contempt for modern authors when Red had known him.
“True enough.” Favret grumbled. “Nothing but bleeding idiots writing these days. Not a one of ‘em can establish a damn mood. Just straight onto the action, all of them.
“Oh, I whole-heartedly agree.” Red didn’t. Not really. Among his favorite writers numbered Poe and Proust but he was reluctant to admit that there weren’t some more modern authors that were sharing the list with them.
Favret waved his hand as if to shoo the topic away. “Ah, but anyways I didn’t come here to talk about books. I came here to catch up with my oldest friend. Suppose you’re wondering where I’ve been all these years, haven’t you?”
“I have.” Red admitted. “I thought they’d finally gotten you in Paris.”
Favret laughed. “Oh that’s a fun story. Wait until you hear how I got out of that one, Red!”
His old friend began to recount the tale of how he’d slipped out from under the noses of the French intelligence agency by climbing out of a hotel window just in time to escape the ensuing explosion.
“The explosion was really just a stroke of luck. I still haven’t the faintest clue how it happened but there I was…”
Favret continued the story with him deciding to take advantage of his supposed death and lie low for a bit. He narrated the antics of his journey out of the country with his usual animated vigor and ran about the room enacting the more action-y parts of his escape. The humor he slid neatly into the story made Red laugh and by the end of it both of them were red-cheeked and out of breath.
“That is quite a story.” Red chuckled.
“You don’t believe me do you? Always the doubter, Red, that’s what I like about you. Anyways, that whole experience had me just about fed up with this kind of business for a bit and it took quite a long time for that itch to come back.”
Red didn’t believe that story either. Favret was an adrenaline-junkie, flying high off the thrills he got from evading the law. It wasn’t likely he’d ever get sick of those highs.
But he didn’t hold the lie against him. After all, Red hadn’t exactly told him the whole truth either.
“It’s a pleasure to have you back.”
“Of course it is! Oh, but it’s your turn now! Tell me all about what the great Raymond Reddington has been up to.”
Red told him. Parts of it. He pruned the stories a bit, keeping certain details hidden and omitting some tales entirely.
“Do you realize, Red, we’ve been talking all this time and you have not offered me a drink?” Favret said.
Red laughed. “Well, let it never be said that I am not a good host.”
He got up to fetch the bottle and, in doing so, turned his back on Favret. He was perhaps more at ease than he ought to have been, lulled into security by his old friend’s gentle teasing and easy humor. He knew it had been a mistake as soon as his head hit the edge of the wine cabinet.
-
Red woke up with ringing in his ears and a splitting headache. Where was he? What happened? His head- he felt dizzy. He moved to rub his aching brow and discovered his hands had been tightly bound. He blinked at the cuffs, confused. It took him a concerning amount of time to piece together what had happened. It then took him a further concerning amount of time for it to occur to him that he had a concussion. The ringing in his ears, the dizziness, and his sluggish thoughts were pretty much confirming it. Lovely.
A short chain snaked from between the cuffs on his wrists and connected him to the wall. Not that he would’ve been able to get very far anyways; his ankles were restrained as well. The chain was affixed firmly to the wall with a silver bolt. He noted that the bolt was shiny and then struggled to figure out why he’d found that important. He knew it ought to mean something to him but he couldn’t quite figure it out and that was definitely not a good sign- New. It meant the bolt was new and he had no chance of being able to exploit any weakness in it.
Having been blocked on that particular route, he turned his attention to the cuffs themselves. Simple. Leather. A buckle not a lock. The short bar between them prevented him from reaching and undoing the cuff with his opposite hand. Something he couldn’t get free of without considerable effort. Clever. Favret was far smarter than most people gave him credit for. A mistake not often repeated.
The cuffs on his ankles weren’t the same. These ones did have a lock. Presumably because he could’ve simply reached down and undone the buckle. Well, that was irritating. He wasn’t going anywhere until he got a chance to swipe a lockpick. Even more irritating was the fact that every time he turned his head his stomach churned and threatened to spill its contents all over the floor.
The room he was being held in was windowless. A single door was the only escape route.
More than an hour passed before Favret decided to show himself.
“Must say, Favret, not the reunion I expected.”
“Ah, sorry about this Red, but you know how it goes. Friends today, enemies tomorrow. You’ve said that yourself.” Favret had brought a folding chair with him and he placed it on the floor, pointedly out of Red’s reach. “I’d loosen those cuffs for you, but I’m afraid you’d strangle me with them.”
“What’s this about? You vanish for five years only to resurface and come after me?”
“Red, you’re my dearest friend, which is the only reason I’m offering you an explanation before shipping you off to the highest bidder. There’s a price on your head.” Favret whistled through his teeth. “Quite a price indeed. Seems you’ve pissed off a lot of people in my absence.”
“Is that what this is about? Money?”
“Oh, no no no. Well, a little. It's mostly about getting some of my prevalence back. See, the world’s moved on without me. Not many people remember my name. But to catch and deliver Raymond Reddington? Now that would get me some of my leverage back. Besides,” Favret moved off the chair and crouched down to Red’s eye level. “You look cute with that indignant expression on your face.”
“Far be it from me to deny you that amusement.” Red replied dryly.
“I knew you’d understand.” Favret grinned. “Hope you escape from whoever I sell you to. It’d be a shame if you died after we were so recently reunited.”
Favret left Red alone again, leaving the latter working his jaw in annoyance. He couldn’t believe he’d done this to himself. He’d been stupid and young and naive when he’d first met Favret and that stupid, young naivety had apparently carried over into their current relationship. Favret had played him, lured him into a false sense of security with their long friendship, and Red had simply let it happen.
Idiot.
-
Favret had found a buyer remarkably quickly. Red supposed he ought to be flattered.
“Alright, Red be a pal and open up. Certain people get sick of your smart comments real quick.”
Red wasn’t pleased but he obligingly opened his mouth. Favret was going to gag him one way or another and he’d rather it not be by way of making him scream. The gag pulled the corners of his mouth back, quickly making his cheeks hurt, and the texture of the cloth was unpleasant on his tongue.
Favret removed the cuffs on his ankles and unclipped the chain connecting him to the wall, but left the bar between his wrists.
“Alright come on, up you get.” Favret grasped him firmly under the armpit and hauled him to his feet.
He pushed Red out of his cell and led him down a series of hallways. They looked to be in the basement of some sort of industrial building, although of which kind he couldn’t say. Probably a sublevel floor as there were no windows.
This was likely his best chance of escape. There was nobody else accompanying them, no guards to keep him in line if he tried something. He was as unrestrained as he was likely ever going to get. Unfortunately his head still spun and he was having trouble keeping his balance. Still, it was better than trotting meekly to his death.
Red didn’t feign a stumble; Favret would see right through that. Instead he burst into action, driving his shoulder into Favret’s ribs. The shorter man stumbled away, temporarily stunned. Red reached his arms forward, intent on slipping his hands around Favret’s neck and strangling him with the cuffs. Favret ducked away from the attack and responded by throwing a punch at Red’s stomach. He wasn’t quick enough to jerk away from the hit and he gasped, the wind knocked out of him. Favret swept his legs out from under him and Red hit the floor with a loud thump.
Goddamn concussion. His reaction time was shot and it hadn’t taken much to knock him down.
It wasn’t all bad though. He hadn’t managed to get away, but he had managed to swipe a pen from Favret’s pocket. It might not work to get his hands free but in a pinch a pen made a decent stabbing tool.
“Figured you’d try something like that.” Favret shook his head, visibly disappointed. “And give it back, Red.”
Red narrowed his eyes, feigning confusion.
“You’re a goddamn rascal, my friend. I know you took something from me. But what did you- ah, here it is.” Favret had crouched to pat down Red’s sleeves, searching for the pen he’d ferreted up them. He withdrew the offending object with an affectionate grin and tossed it over Red’s shoulder down the hall. “Bastard.”
If Favret hadn’t been about to sell him to the highest bidder Red might’ve found how well Favret knew him to be quite touching.
“I’ve got nothing else for you to swipe from me so don’t bother trying that again.”
Trying that again anytime soon was not on Red’s list of plans. His head spun worse than ever and he felt even queasier than he had before. He was sincerely trying not to throw up as if he did it was quite likely he’d choke on it and that was very much not how he wanted to die.
Favret brought him down into an underground parking area, where he was led to a rough semicircle of neutral colored vehicles and shoved to his knees on the tarmac. And- oh no. That wasn’t good. Not that there was anyone he’d put on the list that was particularly good, but that woman was high up among the worst people he could be a captive of.
Red tensed as she strolled up to him, certain she was going to greet him with a kick to the face. Instead she crouched down to dislodge the gag from his mouth and let it settle around his neck.
“Hi, Red.”
“Linda! What a pleasure to- mmff!”
She’d shoved the gag unceremoniously back into his mouth.
“And that’s enough bullshit from you.” She stood up. “My dear Dermot, however can I thank you for delivering me this traitorous jackass?”
“Cash’d be a start.”
She waved her hand. “Alright, pay the man and get Red in the car. Don’t feel like you have to be gentle with him either. He’s quite a bit sturdier than he looks.”
They were not gentle with him. They hauled him aggressively into the back of a van and less injected more stabbed him with a needle. The world swam, spun, and slipped away from him.
-
He was really getting sick of waking up this way. Hands still cuffed? Yep. Ankles bound again? Of course. That goddamn gag still wedged in his mouth? Obviously.
Red really wished they’d take it out. Even if it was probably doing him more favors than he’d like to admit. It was certainly stopping him from making any smart comments. Still, his mouth was dry as chalk and he was drooling on himself.
They’d strung him up from the ceiling and his shoulders were beginning to ache from the position. The chain was just low enough to allow him to stand with his toes on the ground yet high enough that if he dared to relax all of his weight would be on his arms.
“Are you comfortable, Red? Enjoying your stay?”
Red managed to quell his jump into a twitch. He had not known she’d been standing directly behind him.
Linda Wickens circled around to stand in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest. “It’s about time we have a little chat, hmm?”
Red was reasonably certain this little chat was going to end with his blood on the floor.
The reason the lovely Ms. Wickens was quite thoroughly pissed with him was simple. He’d betrayed her and left her to die. He’d already partnered with her several times when she had discovered something about him that he’d really rather she not know. In fact, it was a piece of information that he preferred nobody knew. Dembe knew it, of course, but that was all alive who did. Red, not wanting the secret to get out, had played her right into the hands of a gang he’d had dealings with in the past. A few well placed words and bullets were flying every which way and Red was slipping out the back door.
“You played me for a fool, Red. You humiliated me.” She grabbed him by the jaw, ensuring he was looking at her. “And now it's your turn. Although, I suppose you’ve already been made to look the fool by Dermot. Honestly, Red, I thought you were smarter than that.”
Wickens trailed her fingers down his chest and began to unbutton his vest. Red tensed as she finally opened it and started on the shirt beneath.
“Are you getting nervous? Are you wondering how I’m going to exact my revenge? Hmm… if you ask nicely I’ll tell you.” She worked the gag out of his mouth and again let it drop around his neck. The sensation of the saliva soaked cloth against his throat was not all that enjoyable.
“I hope you’re aware that as soon as I’m free of this I will be hunting you down.” His voice was hoarse and dry.
“Of course I’m aware of that, Red. I’m not a moron. However, before we start I do have one question. Why?”
“Because the sky is blue.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I’m not a help desk.”
She frowned at him and moved closer, opening his shirt to reveal his scarred chest and abdomen. Wickens ran her hands up his sides, ghosting over his ribs, before firmly seizing one of his nipples between her sharp fingernails and squeezing it so hard that tears sprang to his eyes.
“I’m honestly not sure why I expected an answer.” She eased off and gently stroked her fingers down his chest, pausing as she got to the long faded scars under his pectorals. Something seemed to occur to her. “Wait a moment. Is this why? Because I found out about this?”
“Do you really think I’d be so petty as to care what you think about that?”
“No. You don’t care what I think, you care what I know. And I might tell people about what I know.”
Red worked his jaw. “Who knows?”
“Honestly, Red, you think I’d tell people that? No, that’s low even for me. It’s nobody's business what you have in your pants. Besides, if I really need you destroyed I have other things to dangle over your head. That darling FBI agent for instance. Oh, stop glaring. I haven’t hurt her. Yet. Now. Where were we? Ah yes, my plans to beat you within an inch of your life.”
-
She hadn’t lied. She did beat him within an inch of his life. Fortunately she was kind enough to dump his battered, broken body on his front doorstep when she was done. Limping and trembling, he hauled himself inside, nursing still-oozing lash wounds, purple-red bruises, and more broken ribs than he wanted to count. Dembe found him on the couch, drowning his pain in vodka. He went and got the first aid kit. He knew very well that instead of tending to his wounds Red was going to sit there and drink until he passed out.
“Where have you been?” Dembe asked, threading the needle to sew up his friend’s back.
Red smiled. “Oh, just reconnecting with some old friends.”