Unbroken

"It's the children the world almost breaks who grow up to save it." –Frank Warren (as quoted by Reddington)

Staff Sergeant Cassidy Scott strode down the stark hallway, the anxiety churning in her gut solidifying into a tight knot as she went. She stopped short of the guard's desk and nodded as the pudgy specialist reached back and hit a button on the wall. With a loud beep, the iron barred door clanged open and two more soldiers marched the detainee forward between them. None other than Raymond Reddington. He stood before her, manacled, as she schooled her features to appear calm.

"Well, well," she murmured, tilting her head to the side. "The great 'Red' Reddington at last. I've been searching for you for years now."

His eyes locked onto hers, blue to blue, and creased into a hint of a smile. "Have you now?"

Cassidy didn't trust herself to say more as she nipped the inside of her lip. Her eyes narrowed a bit and ghosted over his features. "Shorter now than when you first went AWOL," she nodded at the slightly receding hairline.

With that his mouth quirked into a slight smirk and he shook his head. Reddington laughed softly. "It used to be long enough—"

"Ohhh no!" she cut in, stepping up until she was toe to toe with him. Drawing herself up to her full height, she still only came to his nose, but she was close enough in his space to command his attention and make him blink bemusedly. "Absolutely NO stories. No tangents, no glib little anecdotes. Nothing. Your reputation precedes you, sir."

She added a sarcastic nip to the rank when she addressed him, just to let him know he was back in the military he had left behind so many years ago. With courts martial, any suspect was considered innocent until proven guilty and retained his rank, but Raymond Reddington was still widely regarded throughout the branches of service as one of the worst traitors in its history. The fact that he had been Navy and she was Army caused her sneer to have just a touch more disdain.

"Captain Reddington, you have been entrusted to me as your guard until you are remanded into custody to face a military tribunal for charges that include desertion, unauthorized communication of national defense information, willful communication of classified intelligence information to unauthorized persons—charges which fall under the 1917 Espionage Act—and treason. You would do well to not cross me."

"Oh of course sergeant," he smiled winningly at her. "You are quite formidable, I must say."

Sergeant Scott said nothing in response, simply turned to the specialist again and asked him for Reddington's effects. The specialist tapped a metal lock box on the desk and Scott grabbed the key to open it and catalogue the contents, verifying that everything he was captured with was still there.

"One revolver," she said reading off the form listing all his possessions. "Colt 1911. Ammunition, 45mm, 8 count. One magazine. Holster, leather, camel colored…"

"Where's the holster?" she queried.

"Mannnn…" the specialist shook his head. "That could have been left off the 1750. For that matter, the weapon could disappear—"

"I want every item he was captured with, not only listed in the DD1750, but present in this box, specialist," she clipped tersely. "Toss it in, or you can have your own court martial date."

She watched stony faced as the specialist sighed and opened the top desk drawer, tossing a hand tooled leather gun holster into the lock box. Scott tried not to think about how much the item was worth. Instead she finished reading over the contents, slapped the lid shut and locked the box.

She gestured to the guards before turning to lead the way back down the hall. "Move him out," she said, shaking her head. She could feel the headache starting at the base of her skull and knew it would be one long ride to the Pentagon.

"Sergeant Scott," one of the guards spoke up as they loaded Reddington into the back of a Humvee, "you sure you don't want a convoy or something for him, being a HVI and all? We could at least provide a lead vehicle."

"Nope. More vehicles would draw attention than just one, that's what the higher ups decided." She didn't point out that it was she who convinced them of this, citing the number of convoys that had been attacked in the greater DC area in recent years. They still remembered the kidnapping of General Ryker's daughter all too well.

Scott snatched up her helmet out of the floorboard, strapped it on, and climbed into the driver's seat, honking twice before pulling away, effectively cutting off any more questions.

They drove in silence for a few moments; Scott had tuned the radio to a local independent station and took a deep breath to relax her jaw when she realized she was clenching it. She had a multitude of questions to ask the man just over her shoulder and pondered when and where she could pull off and finally force him to answer for himself. She had to know. For years this man, this enigma, had been an obsession for her.

At last, curiosity got the better of Reddington himself. Quiet unsettled him and the woman before him was a complete unknown. He was fascinated.

"So Sergeant Scott…or is it Staff Sergeant Scott? I confess I'm not well-versed in Army rank structure these days—"

"The rank is staff sergeant, but I am still referred to as Sergeant when addressed," she replied, jaw unconsciously clenching again.

"Ah, well regardless," he continued undeterred by her tone. "Since we'll be riding for the better part of an hour together—possibly more so if we're taking what appears to be the longest possible way off of Fort Meade—"

"We are taking the range road in order to avoid unnecessary attention," she said grating her teeth.

"Naturally," he said breezily, "but if we're to take the scenic route to my impending doom, might I have the pleasure of knowing your first name?"

She sighed. Her training went against the very notion. No detainee ever was given personal information about the guards, handlers, interrogators or anyone else they came in contact with, for safety reasons. And here, in the middle of Nowhere, Maryland was the country's most dangerous criminal asking for pertinent information from her.

"Cassidy."

Upon telling him, she heard the slow exhale from the back and steeled herself against looking at him in the rearview mirror. What is he thinking, she wondered.

"Cassidy," he breathed it almost reverently. "I had a younger sister who died as a child. Her name was Cassidy."

Scott said nothing. She chewed the inside of her cheek softly while she pondered just how to respond. They came up on a rise and the thoughts swirling in her head spun out as panic shot through her, a black SUV sat sideways just over the crest of the hill and she swerved sharply to avoid t-boning it. She started to carve a sharp U turn in the dirt road but even as she maneuvered the vehicle a second SUV pulled out of the tree line beside her, effectively hemming her in. Several people in tactical vests with what looked like service weapons stood on the opposite sides of the vehicles, shielded from her and her charge.

"Fuck!" she hissed, reaching for the M4 on the console beside her.

"I wouldn't bother," Reddington said leaning forward. "Not only are you outmanned and outgunned, but they are here on official business. I'm their asset, you see."

She could hear the smugness in his voice and fought the urge to snarl. Cassidy eased her hands into the air and clasped them over her helmet, silently fuming as the agents moved in to remove them from the Humvee.

"What agency, might I ask, negotiates with terrorists these days?" she said, promptly losing the battle against snarling. She could feel her lip curling.

Reddington laughed softly just behind her ear. It irked her severely. "Oh Cassidy darling, all of them."

*AWOL—Absent Without Leave
*HVI—High Value Individual
*M4-assault rifle, similar to an M16, but with a collapsible buttstock

A/N: I made Reddington a captain for a few reasons. Upon graduating the Academy, he would have been an O-1 (ensign) at 24 years-old. If he were truly being groomed for admiral (O-10) by the time he went off the grid, he would have had to have gone up at least 8 ranks to vice admiral (O-9), which is HIGHLY unlikely in the time frame we're given. I gave the benefit of the doubt that since he was top of his class and likely rose quickly in the ranks, he may have been captain and in the process of being groomed for rear admiral (make jokes if you got em). It's a little more believable, given the rank structure.