Disclaimer: I do not own The Blacklist or any of the characters

Authors note: Pairing will be Red/Lizzie, my first fanfic so be kind. Reviews and advice appreciated.

Shadows, that's all she could see. Endless darkness lay out before her, no sense of walls or surroundings, like a sinister abyss consuming her. She tried to call out but she couldn't breathe, she could taste the tang of cotton in her mouth, each attempt at inhaling felt like she was sucking in black fabric, a stench filled her nostrils, chemicals that stung her eyes and burned her throat as bile rose from her stomach, adding to the fiery sensation.

Her eyes snapped open as she catapulted herself forward, sitting up in bed and covering her mouth with her hand, swallowing the bile in her mouth and gasping for air. Her eyes blinked rapidly, chest heaving with each intake of air. She felt tear stains streaking her face as she pushed the covers off of her lower half and quickly but quietly made her way to the restroom.

This was the fourth time this week she had woken from a deep sleep, terrified and coated in sweat. She thanked whatever powers it may be that made Tom a deep sleeper. He would console her if she woke him up, this she knew. But he would never understand, never know what she went through in those woods, and she would never be able to tell him everything. She stood at the bathroom sink, staring at her reflection. Her hair, matted, wild, and damp, clung to her face, and her normally vivid eyes seemed dull, matching the dark circles that had started to form underneath them. She cursed and turned on the water, splashing her face with cold water to wake her up and wash away the remaining veil of the nightmare. Drying her face and hands she threw the towel at the sink and exited the bathroom. Grabbing her robe and slipping it on, she silently headed down stairs, seeing as she could never fully sleep after having a bad dream.

Making her way down the stairs and into the kitchen she flipped on a light switch and decided to make some tea to calm her nerves. She bustled around the kitchen but remaining careful to not wake up Tom, as she thought to her dreams. She knew they were from being taken and tortured by the Stew Maker, she knew it was perfectly normal for a victim to have nightmares, and she knew soon they would pass. Yet she felt so alone in this struggle, she no longer completely trusted Tom, and anyone in the FBI would be a terrible idea to talk to. She knew they were suspicious by her behavior in trying to get more clues to the box that set underneath her dining room floor. In reality the only one who could really appreciate her dilemma would be Reddington, he was there after all.

That thought made her stop midway in pouring hot water in her tea cup. Reddington. He had been there yes, but he had also killed the Stew Maker.

"How can you live with that?"
"By saving your life."

Did he really feel that way? She put the hot pot back on the stove. He told her she was special, he told her she was all he had. He killed two people already, in a way, killed them for her. He said he would do whatever it took to keep her alive. The things he said made her uncomfortable, and yet in this time of having no one by her side she could trust she slowly started to really think about the things he told her. He held secrets from her. Yes. Had he lied to her? No. Just with held information. He admitted he was a criminal, admitted he was a monster. Admitted he only did things to suit his own needs. He had hidden agendas but yet seemed to be the most honest out of the whole team tracking down the criminals on the Blacklist.

She felt conflicted as her eyes gazed to where the phone set. Would he be awake this late? She glanced at the stove clock which read that it was half past one in the morning. Would he laugh at her if she told him about the dreams? Perhaps chuckle and chide her for being as childish as he sometimes made her feel? She let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and went to the phone, picking it up and taking it into the other room, farthest away from where her voice might carry up the stairs to a sleeping and unaware Tom. She had the number memorized by now as she punched in the keys placed the phone to her ear and waited. As the phone rang she held her breath, knots forming in her stomach. Suddenly she heard the distinct click of someone picking up and a voice laden with sleep whispered in answer.

"Lizzie?"