Liz couldn't sleep. She was exhausted, having spent the day chasing yet any other insanely dangerous blacklister, but still, she couldn't sleep. She hadn't slept in two weeks, not since her unsuccessful sting operation that had led to Tom's escape.
He could be anywhere in the world right now, doing God knows what to God knows who. Maybe he was already on another assignment. Maybe he was murdering someone at this very moment. Maybe he was on a first date with some poor unsuspecting woman who was already falling in love with him. Maybe he was just sleeping an untroubled sleep, with thoughts of her far from his mind. If only she could be as free of him.
At work things were better, always moving, no time to dwell on what waited for her at home, or rather what no longer waited for her at home. There were exceptions, like today, when she'd caught Ressler looking at her with pity. He'd invited her out for a drink, but she'd declined. His loss was so different from hers. He couldn't possibly understand what she was going through.
She found herself wishing that Tom had died during Zamani's attack. If he had, she would have been decimated, but at least she never would have learned the truth. She hadn't just lost her husband; he had never existed in the first place. Three years of memories had become painful reminders of how foolish she'd been. The man she'd pledged her life to hadn't loved her at all.
Liz's phone buzzed on her bedside table. She picked it up, answered, "Keen" and winced as she had for the past fourteen days. She was petitioning to get her name changed back to Scott, but apparently "such things took time".
"Lizzie. I apologize for the late hour, but I need to see you. I'm texting you the address." Red hung up before Liz had a chance to respond. It must have been important. Usually Red was more polite.
In thirty minutes time Liz was dressed and standing in an abandon warehouse. It was empty save Red, Dembe, and three folding chairs.
"Lizzie. Thank you for coming. Are you armed right now?" It was a strange question for Reddington to ask, but Liz hoped if she played along she'd get some answers.
"Of course." She kept her weapon on her at all times these days. It had become abundantly clear that nowhere was truly safe.
"I'm going to ask that you surrender your gun and your phone to Dembe. We have a guest coming and he is a little jumpy about such things." A guest? Her eyes drifted to the three chairs. Red had brought her to meet an informant?
"What kind of guest?" It must have been someone unusual if they'd only meet in the middle of night. Then again when were Red's informants NOT unusual.
"The kind that will provide crucial information about your husband. If you don't feel it's worth the risk I can meet with him myself." It was a tough call. Standard procedure said that an FBI agent never relinquishes her weapon. Then again she wasn't exactly on the clock.
"Do you trust him?" There were many things she didn't know about Reddington, but one of the few that she did was that he'd never put her in a situation where he could protect her.
"If you stay I promise I won't let anything happen to you." Not a direct answer, but when the prize was information on Tom, it was worth the risk. Liz passed Dembe her cell and gun.
"Thank you Dembe. If you could go a meet our guest at the back door?" Dembe returned thirty seconds later, escorting a tall dark haired man in a hoody and jean. Liz's hands balled in to fist. Somewhere in a remote part of her mind she wondered if she was still home in bed, having a nightmare. No, pain of the fingernails digging into her palm was very real.
"Hi Lizzie." Without a word Liz launched herself out of her chair and ran straight for the man formerly known as Tom Keen.