Location: Library of the Townhouse, West Village Year: 2011
POV: Third Person
The night lay silent and heavy over the townhouse. The house, normally a sanctuary of peace, felt weighted with the burden of Ren's newly unearthed past. Blair had finally gotten him into bed, not for lovemaking or sleep, but for watching over him. She had brewed him a chamomile tea he hadn't touched and sat by his side in the darkness, listening to the ragged sound of his breathing until emotional exhaustion finally dragged him into a fitful sleep.
But for Blair, sleep was a luxury she couldn't afford. Her mind, her most formidable asset, was in full churn. The pain she had seen in Ren's eyes, that existential devastation of a man whose entire life had been a lie, had become her own wound. Her promise to help him was no empty phrase; it was a mission. And Blair Waldorf, when she had a mission, was an unstoppable force.
She left Ren sleeping, his face tormented even in slumber, and crept barefoot down to the library. The room, once a symbol of their shared power, now felt like a command center for her most personal and critical operation. Ren's mother's letter and the black-and-white photograph still lay on the coffee table, relics of a life of deceit.
Blair picked up the photo. She studied the face of the man who was both a stranger and Ren's mirror image. She saw the same strength in the jawline, the same intelligence in the eyes, but there was a lightness to him, an easy smile Ren rarely, if ever, displayed. It was the smile of a man who had not yet been betrayed by love or fate. Where was this man now? Was he still like this? Or had the weight of the years and the loss of his son rendered him a phantom, like Ren?
Waiting was not an option. Asking Ren to initiate the search in his current state would be cruel. He was lost in a sea of pain and confusion. He needed someone else to take the helm. Someone with the resources, the reach, and the discretion to find a ghost.
And there was only one name in her mind.
She sat down at Ren's mahogany desk, the throne from which he commanded his empire. She opened his laptop. She knew attempting to find Raymond Reddington's number in a phone book was futile. But Ren, in his moments of quiet collaboration, had shown her the fundamentals of his encrypted communication system. It was a labyrinth of firewalls and proxy servers, but she was a fast and desperately motivated learner.
It took her nearly an hour, but finally, navigating through layers of security that would make the NSA weep, she found what she was looking for. It wasn't a number. It was a protocol. A secure, one-time-use communication channel, labeled simply "Concierge." With a pounding heart, she initiated the call.
It didn't ring. There was a moment of static silence, and then a voice, silken smooth and dangerously rustling, filled the quiet library.
"It's quite late for civilians to be playing with such expensive toys. Whoever you are, you have my attention. I suggest you use it wisely."
Blair took a deep breath. "Mr. Reddington," she said, her voice a firm whisper. "It's me. Blair Waldorf."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. It wasn't a pause of confusion, but of assessment. When Red spoke again, the hint of threat was gone, replaced by intrigued curiosity.
"Ah. Ren's Queen of Property. I wondered when I'd have the pleasure. I assume you're not calling to discuss the latest fall fashion trends. Is our boy alright?"
"No," Blair replied, and the single word cost her more than she expected. "No, he's not. That's why I'm calling. I need your help."
"My help is a very expensive commodity, my dear. But for friends of Ren, I sometimes offer discounts. What do you need?"
Blair looked down at the photograph in her hand. How do you describe a ghost?
"I'm looking for a man," she began, choosing her words carefully. "I don't have a recent name. I don't have a location. I only have an old photo and a description. He'd be in his early sixties now. Tall, dark-haired, or at least he was. There's an... uncanny resemblance to Ren. The same bone structure, the same eyes. The photo was taken on a sailboat. He looks... at ease in power, but in a more relaxed way than Ren. Less guarded."
She described the man in the photo as best she could. As she spoke, the silence on the other end of the line was absolute. When she finished, she waited for Red's response. She expected questions, skepticism, a demand for more data.
Instead, what she got was a sigh. A long, heavy sigh, full of a sadness and understanding that chilled her to the bone.
"You're looking for Ren's father," Red said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
Blair went completely still. The air hissed out of her lungs silently. "How... how did you know?"
Red chuckled, but it was a humorless sound, laden with old, weary sorrow. "Oh, my dear girl. There are very few things in this world that can break Renard Ishikawa. And most of them have to do with the wounds we carry from those who are supposed to love us most. I know the story. Or at least, I knew the story he believed to be the truth. The abandonment. The monstrous father. I always suspected there was more to that tale. Ren's rage was too pure, too... manufactured. Hatred is a dirty fuel. It burns fast, but leaves too much smoke."
Silence fell again. Blair could hear the faint crackle of a fire in the background on Red's end, picturing him in some opulent lair in a forgotten corner of the world, a glass of wine in hand, contemplating the sins of fathers.
"Why do you care so much, Red?" Blair asked, the question genuine.
Red's voice, when he spoke again, had lost all trace of irony. It was raw. It was personal.
"Because, Blair, I too spent a great deal of time searching for a lost child. My daughter. For years, she was a phantom to me, an unanswered question that gnawed at my soul. And when I finally found a lead, one that was almost impossible to follow, I didn't have the resources to do it discreetly. I was on the wrong side of too many borders."
He paused, and Blair held her breath. "It was Ren who did it for me. He was young then, barely beginning to build Aegis. He used every ounce of his burgeoning genius, every contact he had cultivated, and went into the dark for me. He risked his life, asking for nothing in return, to find my daughter. And he did. He brought her back to me."
The confession was a gift, a glimpse into the secret history that bound these two formidable men. It wasn't just friendship. It was a blood debt. A soul debt.
"This favor..." Red said, his voice a low rumble, "...I owe him. It's a tab I've been waiting a long time to settle."
Blair closed her eyes, a wave of gratitude so intense it almost brought tears to her eyes. She had called the right person. The only person.
"Send me the photo," Red said, his tone now back to that of the efficient Concierge of Crime. "And anything else you have from the letter. Don't ask questions about how. The system you're contacting me through has a secure transfer protocol. Just drag and drop the files. I'll take care of the rest."
"You'll find him?" Blair whispered.
"Blair," Red said, and the use of her first name was both intimate and reassuring. "I have men on every continent. I have access to databases that officially don't exist. I can track a terrorist by the brand of cigarette he smokes. I will find a retired businessman who looks like my best friend. You can be sure of that."
The relief was so overwhelming that Blair felt her shoulders, which she hadn't realized were tense, finally relax.
"Thank you, Raymond," she said, using his first name for the first time.
"You're welcome," he replied. There was a pause, as if he would hang up. But then, he spoke again, his voice softer, almost paternal. "Blair..."
"Yes?"
"You're a good woman. The way you've handled him, the way you're fighting for him right now... it's admirable. Take good care of that boy. For all his strength, he's more fragile than he lets on. He needs you."
And with that, the line went dead.
Blair sat in the silence of the library for a long time, Red's words echoing within her. You're a good woman. No one had ever called her that. Cunning, yes. Ruthless, often. Brilliant, of course. But good... it was a strange concept. And coming from a man like Raymond Reddington, it meant more than any compliment she had ever received.
With steady hands, she scanned the letter and the photograph, and transferred them through the secure channel. She felt a satisfying click as the transfer completed. The machinery had been set in motion. The most resourceful man in the world was now looking for the father of the man she loved.
She shut the laptop and ascended the stairs in the dark. She slipped back into their suite, their sanctuary. Ren was still sleeping, but his slumber seemed less tormented. She slid into bed beside him, careful not to wake him.
She watched him in the moonlight, her broken king. The night before, she had promised to build a future with him. Tonight, she had begun to unearth his past. She realized they were two sides of the same coin. To build their dynasty, she first had to heal his.
She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, a silent vow in the dark. I'm here, she told him without words. And I'm fighting for you.
And as she curled beside him, feeling the warmth of his body, Blair Waldorf knew she had found her true calling. It wasn't to be a society queen, or a business magnate. It was to be the guardian of this man's heart. And it was a kingdom she would fight for with every fiber of her being.