A/N: Howdy All. This is a joint effort between Sara (Icarus) and Rhia (Jaded from A03).

Walk away now if you have not seen the season finale.

The timeline of this story starts in the middle of the season finale, where Red goes to shoot Kirk and Kirk is not there. You will see in the backstory, which this chapter is full of it.

The title comes from Dave Matthews Band (who we just saw the other day while I was on vacation [freeloading on one of her trips] and Sara was working. Anyways, on the car ride home, we had to listen to DMB and we have been working on this fic since the season finale. It started out as a solo project and I came in to help move it along after reading it. The point: Big Eyed Fish (the version we reference) is from the Live version of Busted Stuff. It is a great song (if you haven't listened to it Spotify it seriously). We heard the verse below and bam we had a title. Monkey=Red, tree= pre Lizzie life where we assume he took less few personal risk, run off to city=work with Lizzie.

You see this monkey sitting up in his tree
Until one day decided to climb down
And run off to the city
But look at him now tired and drunk
The monkey is living in the street
As good as dead
You see cause every monkey should know
Stay up in your fucking tree

- Verse from Big Eyed Fish by Dave Matthews Band

Chapter 1

Silence, the lack of sound, were not peaceful things anymore. Unlike most prisons he had been in, this one was silent. His hypothesis was they purposely made each of the prisoners cells soundproof. He had yet to work out a strong methodology to test his hypothesis, other than asking, which only earned him more pain. If a prisoner screams and no one hears him, is he screaming? Schrödinger's prison. His laughter at that thought echoed in his cell. He was the cat in the box. Was he alive or dead or both?

Or maybe it was like that tedious movie he had watched one night out of pure boredom. Where just a few hours on a planet were the equivalent of a year on Earth. That was life inside his cement box. Time took no meaning because he honestly could not tell you how many seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, or years he had spent inside this cement box. He had tried when he first woke inside this cement box to keep track of time. Too many bouts of forced unconsciousness and monotony left him hopeless to actually know how long he had been here. What he could count were the number of times they fed him, gave him water, allowed him to shower (either with an actual shower or a pressure hose they would spray into his cell), tortured him, gave him clean clothes, left him in darkness, left him with the bright lights shining down, or the number of times the same song played over and over when it came on.

Hi my name is, what, my name is, who, my name is, slim shady

There seemed to be no determinable pattern to their actions, or at least he could not figure out a pattern. But who knew, he lost his mind had left this place at some point. Time had no meaning in this place. All that mattered was survival and preventing further pain by making the Constant happy. The Constant was constant. While the other tortures, who never spoke, would change occasionally, the Constant remained. The Constant spoke, the Constant had to be made happy or there would be pain. Pain took on a different meaning. For some people any pain was bad, but after living in constant pain, what mattered was how painful the pain was. Good days the pain was a five, a nagging reminder of life as it was now. Life where time had no meaning, only meaning was the Constant. The bad days, when the Constant was not happy, pain was a 10, or excruciating. Those days the only thing that mattered was pain and trying to focus on what the Constant wanted and ensuring he got it.

Raymond did not like to think about the Constant. If he was not in the cement box then things were good, even on the excruciatingly painful days because all pain eventually fades to a tolerable level. Raymond had taken to shaking when he thought about the Constant appearing, and it became worse when the Constant appeared. New nervous ticks, besides the uncontrollable shaking, were formed. One was to play an imaginary piano on his leg. The music played in his mind, he held onto the song during the worse times. It was the last song he had played for his daughter while she practiced for her recital. It was a song that always brought him comfort. Even when his fingers were broken, he still somehow tapped out the notes on his leg. Now he did it without noticing.

It had been a few sessions of light than darkness and they had not appeared yet. Light was possibly the worse of the two modes, as the florescent lights were powerful and left his retinas feeling burnt. This was especially true after a long session of darkness. The Constant was coming soon, he just had that feeling. It would bring pain; he was sure of it. He had pissed the Constant off last time.

Raymond had taken to counting aloud, he originally thought it was in his head, but the man asked him what he was counting to or for. Raymond was counting to keep track of time. To have some way to know the time, at least the time since he started counting. Time seemed important to him. He would not be the dead/alive cat if he had time, or at least that was what his fragile fragmented brain told him. When Raymond refused to stop counting, at least that is how the constant saw it, pain was the Constants response.

The way Ray would tell it, if he could, was that he could not stop. He wanted to stop when the man told him to. God did he want to stop to just prevent excruciating pain, but something in him snapped and he just kept counting.

The shocks took his breath away, but he somehow kept count in his head, and when speech returned to him he started counting aloud again. That is when they secured his hands behind his back, so he would not fight back, and started beating on him. A powerful punch to his unprotected torso dropping him to the ground. But the two mutes with the Constant just pulled him back to his feet. Even as he was dangling by his arms between two men, the Constant beat on him. When he kept going, the man switched from his torso to his face. At some point he stopped counting, only because he physically could not anymore. He started choking on his own blood as it poured down his throat from what was likely a broken nose. His own blood ran down his face onto what was an orange uniform. Now it was stained red.

Shaking at the memory of the session that ended for Raymond when he finally passed out, by the persistent pain in his legs and back that did not end the session for the Constant. It had to have been at least a week ago. The blood had dried and some of the cuts on his face had started to heal by the feel of it. Red could not tell for sure because he was in what he called a dark period. No light had been on in the cell, and it was so dark he could wave his hand in front of his face and not see it.

How much water had he had since he last saw the Constant? They had been careful to ensure to give him water once in a while ever since the time he collapsed from dehydration and required IV fluids. The water always came in a bottle. He always drank it despite it sometimes having something more than water inside. Hallucinogens, laxatives, and he was confident a few insistences valium or Quaaludes were sometimes inside the water. The hallucinogens and valium/Quaaludes seem to be tasteless, but the laxative always had a chalky taste on top of the coppery taste of the water he drank. He knew when he tasted the chalk that it was not going to be a pleasant night. He once tried to refuse to drink the water. Boy had that been a mistake, the Constant came. He and his mutes held Red down, securing him in a straightjacket then pinning him to the ground. They forced him to drink multiple bottles of water before leaving him to suffer restrained the straight jacket and unable to get up due to an injury to one of his legs.

At that memory, he dragged his knees up to his chest minding his aching torso, he rested his head on his knees and gently rocked himself. Somehow this always brought comfort to him, at least as much comfort as he could get in his non-existing state. In these times he always thought of her. He had almost managed to avenge her death. He would have been successful had Kirk gotten out of that car. Donald had lowered his gun and was going to allow him to shoot the man. But Kirk had not shown, unexpectedly. It was after that Donald had arrested him, stating it was his orders. When Dembe went to stop the arrest, Red had told him to let it happen. Red had arrogantly assumed he would be taken into the task force holding cell. It was nothing, he would get out of it quickly with his deal in place and the fact he had the Cabal on his side now. That was not the case. He had gone back to the task force holding cell, but he only spent ten minutes inside. Donald and Harold both apologized but told him the orders had come down from the new director of clandestine services, as well as the Attorney General who had not outright said she was working under presidential orders. There was nothing they could do.

He should have suspected something was coming. The Cabal were not happy when he went after Scottie. He had lost sight of the bigger picture in his narrow focus to get vengeance for Lizzie's death. The big picture would have altered him to the possibility that the Cabal would not be overjoyed with his taking Kirk down. The big picture, pre-Lizzie, would never have allowed himself to become so attached to her. The big picture, stealing the oil (from someone who worked with the Cabal) then framing another Cabal associate was too much for them. Never mind he had blackmailed a presidential candidate, who was running with the blessing of the current sitting president. Once again he had pitted himself against the Cabal, and this time, he did not have the leverage he had before. This time, they could take him out, and they were, slowly. They were extracting every last bit of revenge they could and they had already gained useful information for their trouble.

The men who came to take him from the post office drugged him. He struggled the best he could, but they managed to jab him with a needle that the substance inside rendered him unconscious within minutes of it entering his bloodstream. The next time he regained consciousness, he faked sleep to try to get some awareness of his surroundings. It did not last long, they somehow knew he was awake or they just did not care and injected him again. Ultimately, all he had garnered from that experience was he was likely on a plane. When he was finally allowed to regain consciousness he was inside his cement box that had been his home ever since. He has not seen the sun since entering this room, and he doubted he would ever see the sun again. Though, on the positive, he was allowed to leave this room on a few occasions. The proper shower was at the end of the hall, and on a few occasions, he had been allowed a proper shower.

Then there were the times that he required serious medical attention. However long ago, they had beaten him to a pulp. One of the Constants punches sent bone fragments from his ribs into his lungs. Once the Constant realized what had happened, he forced Raymond to sit with his hands behind his back, making breathing even more difficult. The Constant sat across from him and watched Red struggle to breathe. Watched as he slowly started to drown in his own blood filling his lung. It was only after the world started to gray at the edges and unconsciousness was approaching quickly that the Constant had him taken to the medical room. His lung was repaired, and he was back in his cell before he even woke up from the anesthesia.

They kept him in the middle of the cell, using rings on either side to keep his arms secured so he could not harm himself. The pain was beyond excruciating at times. Normally, with the surgery he would be allowed pain killers, but not here. Here they made him suffer through it. The cold cement under him had not helped. Due to his immobility, he ended up developing pneumonia. He was sure that would kill him, but they treated it in time. Once he had recovered enough, they started to force him to walk around the cell, to get him mobile. A kind doctor lady would come visit him and work with him on breathing exercise while his lungs recovered from both the injury and pneumonia. He liked the doctor, he was not allowed to speak to her, that had been a painful lesson to learn. She had kind eyes and clearly was disturbed by the treatment. The look in her eyes when they punished him for speaking to her had been one of pure horror. It was just an electric jolt, something that was so much a part of everyday life he had come to expect it. She had been kind to him those few times she was allowed to come to his cell to provide medical care. That was a long time ago because all that was left were the scars and the memories.

The large fluorescent lights came on, ripping him from his memories. He pulled his knees closers to his chest, ignoring the pain. More pain was coming, he knew it, with the lights turning on. His eyes burned against the lights, but he could not stop himself from staring at the door. His heart raced feeling like it was going to pound right out of his chest or maybe exploded (that would be nice, he thought bitterly) as he anticipated the door opening. His eyes were watering against the pain from the light when the door finally did open. He pushed back against the wall, in the corner of his cell he was sure at least his back and sides were protected.

The Constant towered over him, appearing to be so large he took the entire doorway up, but in reality the man was not much bigger than Reddington himself. "Stand up."

Red's body was shaking, but it had gone unnoticed by Red. The constant had noticed the shaking a long time ago, it started right before he broke former FBI most wanted. They always broke eventually. Everyone did, and he was the best at breaking people. He watched in delight as the man who was clearly terrified struggled to get to his feet. He knew Red was weak from lack of food and water. They had instituted the bare minimum rations and had kept him on them for over three months now.

On one occasion, when the Constant was feeling particularly cruel, he had allowed Red a large meal made up of extremely rich foods after starving him for six days. Like most starving people, Red had consumed the entire meal quickly. That had led to an entertaining hour of watching the man violently vomit up the too rich food he had been given. They led that with a bottle of laxative water. That had backfired on them because the prisoner ended up with the start of kidney failure and cardiac arrhythmia that had to be corrected with electric shocks and a round of fluids that included potassium and electrolytes to correct the imbalance. The doctor assured the Constant that it was not the mixture of vomiting and diarrhea, but the prolonged state the prisoners body had been in the caused these "side effects" she had called them.

When Red was on his feet, he kept himself pushed back into the corner.

"Walk to the middle of the cell prisoner."

Red obeyed moving to the center of the room. The shaking he now noticed as it increased in severity. His heart was pounding so fast he could hear the blood rushing through his body. His breaths were short and sharp, bringing him closer to hyperventilation. He had hyperventilated on a few occasions, his own mind his enemy. The anxiety attacks had sent his world spending, it was how he got the nice bump on his head. The last one when he crashed to the ground, he did not stop his head from bouncing off the cement. The Constant had just watched until Red passed out, and eventually, his breathing evened out.

The Constant walked up to him, Red kept his arms at his side, and did not look at the man. Never look the man in the eyes, that lesson was one he struggled against for however long. Eventually, the Constant won the battle.

"You have a visitor." The Constant spoke his arms resting on Red's shoulders. "I thought it would be nice if you showered first since you smell so bad."

Red was still with the Constant behind him, hands on his shoulders.

"You want to look nice for your guest. Correct."

Red was not sure if he was supposed to answer, so he shook his head.

"What is that? I cannot hear your head shake."

If he had finished that sentence with boy, Red would have sworn the Constant had become his father from all those years ago.

"Yes sir." The sir had been something his father taught him and it naturally slipped out anytime the Constant reminded him of that asshole.

"So polite today. Maybe we should keep you in the dark more often." The Constant teased his hands moving from Red's shoulders to give him a little shove. "Well, we don't got all day get moving."

Red almost fell to the floor, and would have had one of the guards not grabbed him. He had been fighting off a spell of dizziness ever since he stood up. The push did not help.

"Careful there. Don't want to cause yourself too much damage before you see your guest." The Constant warned following behind Red.

Red followed the guards, keeping his head down watching his feet move one in front of the other. When they reached the shower, the guards turned it on from somewhere. They had the ability to control the temperature and often switched between freezing cold to scolding hot. A bar of soap sat in the middle of the shower. It was Irish Spring soap, always Irish Spring soap. It was as if they had inside information about how much he had hated the smell of that soap.

"Strip." The Constant ordered when Red just stood there staring down at the soap.

Red removed his clothes looking to the Constant for what to do next.

"Take them from him." The Constant told one of the guards who slipped on a pair of plastic gloves before taking the jumpsuit from Red. "We will burn it. Don't think we can salvage it from the smell."

Red turned red in shame because it was true. He smelled horrible. The cell had shifted from stifling hot to freezing cold, and back again. He would sweat and then freeze. The last "shower" he had was them spraying him with a pressure hose. That had been the last water they had allowed him too.

"Hurry up we don't got all day. Your guest is waiting."

Red quickly moved under the water bending over to grab the soap. He washed quickly enjoyed the feeling of the cold water against his skin. Of course, he would have preferred a warm shower, but any shower at this point was a good thing. He drank the water that fell into his mouth, casting a glance at the Constant to see if he would be punished. No sound came from the man who stood looking bored while Red quickly washed. The water turned off the second he finished and he was directed to sit on a bench. His hands were secured behind his back. One of the guards used an electric shaver and scissors to cut away the beard that had grown on his face, and to remove any hair on his head. When he finished Red was given the use of one hand to brush his teeth with a toothbrush and toothpaste provided to him by the Constant. A cup of water appeared and he rinsed his mouth, spitting the water back into the cup as he had learned to do before.

His hands were freed and he was given a new jumpsuit. White this time, he wondered how long it would remain white. The jumpsuit was too big on his now smaller body. He had lost weight, he noticed in the harsh light. He was as skinny as he had been when he was in the Navy, though he definitely had more muscle tone back then.

The rattling of chains drew him out of his mind. He looked up to see a guard approaching with a set of shackles. This was something new, and he looked on with curiously as they chained him. Maybe he really did have a guest. It meant they had not forgotten about him, and left him to waste away. It was not like any information he had would be helpful. He was not sure what the motive was for the tortures he had endured. That made enduring them even more difficult because there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop them. He had no control over when his pain would end. Did they want bank accounts? He'd give them to him, what he knew, and have what was left of his people (if there were any) give them the rest. Contacts? They likely knew the same people he knew. What else did he have to give them?

The guest, who could it be, he started to wonder when the guards finished chaining his arms to his waist using the chain around his waist that had cuffs attached to it to ensure he could not move his hands much. Maybe it was one of the Cabal members coming to gloat, like after he had first broken. Maybe they came to see his life ended. Maybe this would all be over soon.

The Constant's hand on his elbow alerted him he should be moving now. He walked where the Constant pushed him, his head bowed again. He was watching his feet, taking much shorter steps now that his legs were connected by a small chain. They came to a stop outside of his cell, or at least what he thought of as his cell. Maybe he did not have a visitor after all. He was led inside, where two chairs now sat. He was pushed into one, and his waist chain was attached to the back of the chair, and his feet to each of the front legs of the chair. A small chuckle came from him, he was not right in his head and had not been for awhile.

"What is so funny?" The Constant asked looking down at the bruised and broken prisoner.

"Sorry." Red said trying to control his laughing. It was a losing battle, as his eyes watered again. His head hurt from the harsh light but he still could not force himself to stop laughing.

When the Constant raised his hand Red flinched, earning a chuckle from the Constant. "Seriously what is so funny?"

"I'm sorry." Red answered between laughs.

The Constant saw he was trying to answer, so he did not backhand the prisoner. Instead, he patiently waited for the man to get control of himself. Maybe he had broken the prisoner beyond repair. This prisoner had been his longest ever. Often after he broke them they were shipped off to somewhere else, but this one remained and the orders were to continue inflicting pain.

Red finally got it out, "I'm sorry. It's" he chuckled as he thought of what he was saying, "it's just" another laugh, "you act" more laughter, "like I can" gasping for breath now as he struggles to get oxygen he deprived himself via laughing "be a danger" more gasp for oxygen now looking up at the Constant waiting for punishment and pain, "Or escape."

The Constant laughed himself looking down at the man who was clearly terrified of him. "Or just to remind you of your place." He said tapping Red's face with his hand knowing it would cause some pain from the clear healing bruises that covered his face. They were shades of green and blue, all healing from the last beating.

Red sobered up when the Constants hands touched his face. He flinched unable to stop himself from the reaction. His heart was racing again, the pain in his head intensified.

"Now be a good boy and maybe I'll let you have some food when your guest leaves."

Red was hopeful, food would be nice. His stomach had long since stopped aching from the lack of food. At first, it had been painful, and now the empty feeling seemed normal. Sometimes, he found himself sucking on the sleeve of his jumpsuit, just because he felt like sustenance.

They left him in the cell with those words and he sat looking at the door. His mind wondered as it often did when he was alone. Sometimes he played a game of anywhere but here, but more often than not his mind just shutdown. Blanked out and he was nothing. The monk he had meant during his travels had tried to teach him to reach this stage of a clear mind. It never worked, until now that was. His mind blank, but the tick in his face, or his teeth chewing the side of his cheek, or his hand that nervously twitched. All were nervous tics that happened unconsciously, the hand was one he developed while in his cell.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please let us know what you think of it, good or bad.