Hung Up

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. I love them, but they aren't mine. Making no money from this.

Author's note: It's going to get spicier, but I needed to get through some background and set the stage a bit—this has spoilers for 2x18, and picks up immediately afterward. Based on the spoiler pics for 2x19, this is already a departure from where the show goes next, but I got this idea in my head and it wouldn't leave…so here it is. Also? Still weaving in some (not all) of the Lizzington FB Group One-Sentence Stories we're still writing based on daily prompts. Just in case any of you fellow members think something sounds familiar. :)

Chapter 1

…:::…

Liz hadn't known what she expected when Dembe brought the Mercedes to a screeching halt in the alley in front of the waiting ambulance and jumped from the car. He had yanked the back door open as a man and a woman ran forward with a gurney, and Red's body was hauled away from her grasp. She had said nothing, and Dembe had only barely paused to toss the car keys onto the blood-soaked back seat to land by her thigh, grab the case containing the Fulcrum, and sprint after Red, climbing into the back of the ambulance before it sped away.

Should she have tried to go with them in the ambulance?

Was she supposed to have followed in the Mercedes?

She had numbly driven herself home, carefully removed her bloody clothes and piled them in the corner of the tiled motel bathroom, and climbed into the shower to scrub at the dried blood on her hands. When she was done, she caught sight of herself in the foggy bathroom mirror and saw the swath of red she'd missed on her neck and cheek. She pivoted and turned the shower back on.

…:::…

Her phone rang seven hours later.

"He's out of surgery. He's not awake yet, but I thought you should know." Dembe's voice was quiet, and kind.

"Thank you for calling, Dembe," Liz said, the tightness in her chest easing a little. "Is… is there anything that I can… that you….?"

"No. We don't need anything right now."

"Okay." Liz didn't know whether to offer her help if anything was needed, and by the time she'd almost made up her mind, the call had ended.

…:::…

Liz went through multiple debriefings over the next few days, and even a polygraph, proving that she did not know what happened to Raymond Reddington after he was gunned down in the street. She was not asked about the Fulcrum, and she volunteered no information about it. A new case was given to the team from an inter-agency source, and Liz tried to concentrate on their target.

Five days after the shooting, her phone rang while she was brushing her teeth, the number blocked. She hesitated a moment before spitting in the sink and taking the call.

"Hello?"

"Lizzie."

Liz pursed her lips. She looked up at herself in the mirror, and considered what to say. "Is there something you need?"

"Are you asking because you want to be helpful, or because you want to ensure that I understand you won't consider this a personal call?" His voice was steady, but quiet.

"You sound like you're recovering."

"I am."

"…is there something you need, Red?" Liz dropped her gaze, unable to stare back at her own reflection any longer.

"I would appreciate the chance to explain myself. Before, we were… interrupted. I'd like to tell you—"

"No, Red," she interrupted firmly. "I'm glad you're okay. I don't want you dead, but I also don't know how to keep you in my life and retain any semblance of sanity. I don't say this to be cruel, but…" Liz chose her words carefully, and tried to keep her tone neutral. "…we are done. I meant what I said when I gave you the Fulcrum. You have what you want. You don't need me anymore. You don't need to explain anything. We're done."

Liz hit the 'end' button and set the phone down on the sink.

…:::…

She was picking up her Chinese take-out three days later when her phone vibrated, and she juggled the plastic bag, her credit card, and the receipt in order to take the call.

"This better not be another attempt to try to explain why you kept hiring Tom a secret for two years."

"Lizzie, when I hired—"

Liz hung up the phone and jammed it into her pocket, shoving through the door of the small restaurant with more force than was necessary.

…:::…

Two nights later, she was awoken just after two in the morning by the jarring sound of her phone vibrating incessantly on the bedside table. She fumbled for it, refusing to turn a light on. She recognized the number, and the first thought through her sleep-addled mind was that a call at this hour meant bad news. "Is there something wrong?" she asked instead of a more traditional greeting once she managed to get the phone to her ear.

"No, I…" Liz was relieved to hear Reddington's deep voice for a half-second before she progressed straight to annoyance at the time of night he chose to call. There was a long pause before he continued, "I've never been good at getting a full eight hours of sleep, but I'm finding it nearly impossible this week."

"You're bored." Her intonation made what could have been a question into an understood statement of fact.

"You could call it that."

"It's two in the morning."

"Yes."

Liz hung up and tossed her phone back onto the night stand, rolling over to go back to sleep.

…:::…

The next evening as Liz was trying in vain to find something on television to distract herself, the phone on the bed next to her began to vibrate. She snatched it up, punching the 'mute' button on the TV remote.

"I apologize for waking you up last night."

"Not accepted. You're not the only one who has trouble sleeping. It took me ages to get back to it." Liz scrolled past infomercials and talk shows, her thumb continuing to change the channel with a steady rhythm, her eyes pointed at the television screen without really seeing it.

"I'm sure the thin walls and terrible mattress in that hotel don't do you any favors as far as a good night's sleep goes," Reddington theorized.

Liz began talking in a rush before she'd even realized the subject matter she'd chosen. "I know you couldn't have been working with Berlin, and Tom sure as hell wasn't working for you by the time you turned yourself into the FBI. How did someone you hired to enter my life go so far rogue?" Liz hated that she needed to know these answers so badly. She wished she didn't care.

There was what Liz assumed was an off-balanced silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Reddington replied, "Lizzie, you are a constant source of confusion for me, and while I usually enjoy nothing more than the challenge of a mysterious and beautiful woman, if you don't develop some consistency soon about what information you do or do not want me to provide you with, you're going to drive me crazier than my Uncle Harry, and that man thought artichokes, seagulls, and mail carriers were all agents of Satan."

"Is that supposed to be funny? Is that little anecdote supposed to be charming?" Liz asked rudely, still flipping through the channels without paying attention to anything she was seeing.

Liz heard Reddington sigh. "Regardless of my intent, your tone indicates that you didn't appreciate it. Shall I apologize for that, too?"

"Goodnight, Reddington," Liz said, and hung up.

…:::…

The following night, just after eleven, her phone rang. She picked it up without hesitating, immediately irritated by the expected call.

"It's awfully late, Reddington, I'm trying to sleep."

"I want to talk to you about Tom."

"You want to talk about Tom?" she said, allowing her anger to color her voice. "Okay. Tom was a fake; someone who was hired to infiltrate my life and manipulate me in some of the cruelest ways possible. And yet he not only came back to confess to murder in order to prevent me from going to jail—risking jail time himself—but he helped me when I needed it, and told me the truth when I asked him for it. He's protected me more in the last month than you have. He's lied to me less in the last month than you have. I'm starting to think—"

Reddington's voice interrupted her. "Didn't anyone ever teach you it's rude to talk with your mouth full of lies? It's difficult to understand what you're actually saying. I'd prefer it if you swallowed first. Then maybe you can try again," Red said harshly before the line went dead.

Liz stared in disbelief at her phone. After being the one to hang up abruptly to end the last four phone calls, her cheeks burned at the admonishment, and indignation rolled in her chest. She set her phone down and glared at it. After a moment, she shoved off the bed and began digging through the small dresser looking for something to go running in. Screw the time.

…:::…

When her phone buzzed in her back pocket the next day as she walked to her car after work, she stared at the screen for so long she almost missed the call. "Hello?"

"I've called so you can apologize—"

Liz hung up and switched her phone into her left hand so she could fish her keys out of her bag with her right. By the time she had her car unlocked, her phone screen had lit up again with a new call, again an unknown number. She accepted the call and held the phone to her ear without verbal acknowledgement.

"Why don't I go first?" Reddington's voice was calm and even. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner about my involvement with Tom. I had grand plans to do just that… many times… but I worried that you would never be able to forgive me, regardless of any explanation on my part, so I stayed silent. I did it to preserve our working relationship, but I understand that keeping it from you was somewhat of a violation of trust."

Liz sat quietly in the front seat of her car, her keys gripped in her hand. She stared out the front windshield at the cement garage wall in front of her. "Is there an explanation?" she asked finally, her voice unemotional.

"Yes."

"I'm all ears," she replied.

There was a long pause before Reddington began, "I hired Tom through an intermediary, for surveillance purposes only. I didn't know who he was; information was passed to me securely and relatively anonymously, just as I requested. From what I've gathered, sometime around five years ago, Berlin found the link from me to you, and when he realized a malleable operative was already in place, he probably paid a hefty sum to swing Tom into his employ instead of mine."

"Explain the passports," Liz demanded stoically. "Tom says you gave them to him."

"I attempted to pay him to leave; gave him a clean weapon, several passports, and a large sum of money he could use to leave the country and disappear from your life entirely. Grey met him in Boston under the guise of an interview for the exchange. Tom took what I offered, but didn't keep his end of the deal. He stayed put."

"Why didn't you have him killed?"

"I hired Zamani."

Liz exhaled harshly. "Boy, you were just hiring people to enter my life right and left there for awhile, weren't you?" she said, irritated, pressing her thumb into the steering wheel at 2 o'clock as if she were squishing an insect. She wanted to fidget, but felt constrained by the car.

"Your turn."

"Excuse me?"

"I apologized. Now it's your turn."

"I didn't hire a psychopath that ended up destroying your trust in the human race," Liz said. "What am I apologizing for?"

"If you died tonight, are you telling me you would regret nothing concerning you and me over the last six months? Any of your actions?"

"If I di—is that a threat?" she asked, recognizing her deflection with a grimace. There was only silence on the other end of the line, and she squeezed her eyes shut, leaning her head back against the seat. After a long pause, she asked quietly, "How're you feeling?"

"I was shot in the chest by a sniper. It's not something most people enjoy."

"Is Dembe still with you?"

"Most of the time."

Liz opened her eyes and sighed, leaning forward to place the keys into the ignition, but didn't start the car. "Are you somewhere safe?"

"Yes."

"Good," Liz replied, not sure what else to say.

"Apology accepted."

"I didn't say I was sorry," Liz was quick to point out.

"No, but I'll take what I can get. If I call you tomorrow, will you pick up?"

Liz considered her options for a moment. "You can try. I might be busy with a case. We'll see." She waited a beat before hitting the red 'end' button, realizing she hoped he noted the difference.

…:::…

To Be Continued.

...:::...

Yes, Lizzington, it'll just take a minute longer. I'm playing with writing a story that includes no described actions from Red, just his voice through the phone. Also, I felt the need to practice Liz, since I think she's harder to write. :/ With this first chapter, I tried to find a good spot for Liz in that grey area, post-break-up, when something bad happens. Like you dump a guy, and then the next day his grandmother dies. You want to stick to your guns and not go back to him, but at the same time, you don't want to be cruel, because you know he's hurting.

Reviews! Please! I'm not above begging.

Please.

*drops to her knees*

Please. ;)