A/N: This story is not influenced by S02xE09/E10. If you haven't watched Season 2 at all you might be warned about spoilers though. Enjoy reading!

For the duration of 80 days Liz simply did nothing at all. She was so tired. And alone. Aram called from time to time. He told her about what was going on at the post office and how they were back to doing their "usually" counter terrorism work.
He never mentioned the blacklist or Red or anything that related to both.
Ressler was less sensitive about the topic. He´d call too. Mainly as a friend it seemed but at some point he would eventually ask if Dembe had called – if she had any name.
He was as frustrated as Liz thought Cooper was who hadn't called her once. So he send Ress ahead and made him ask all the questions Liz had no interest in answering. Because she didn't have any. And to be all honest she tried to avoid being involved as much as she could for the time being. As long as Dembe didn't call her she wouldn't think about it. Period.
Aram as well as Ressler had asked her if she wanted to go out for drinks repeatedly until they stopped asking because she would always refuse. In the end Liz thought it was only pity that made them ask. She knew that from Quantico. People she worked with never wanted to go out with her.
Except for Raymond Reddington.
He'd probably been the only person to not look at her with suspicion and wariness in his eyes but trust and warmth. The only one she thought of as an ally, maybe even friend, a man who was a wanted criminal and she used to call a monster.
It was such a mess. Her life.
Her miserable frame of mind even affected Hudson. They walked only as far as it took them to reach the next light post. He wasn't picky anymore where to do his business.
Grocery shopping became a pain in the ass. While she tried to ignore all the happy people around her, she found some strange satisfaction in those who seemed as lost as she felt.
But when the sun touched her face on the 90th day Liz woke with such a new strength that she wanted to rip something apart.
And she did.
There was no use to wallow in self-pity, to wait for her phone to ring and to sulk over Raymond Reddington.
He´d messed up her life enough as it is. He´d revealed the truth about her husband, the one man she had so sincerely felt love for and in all her anger Liz thought she´d rather live a lie and die by the outcome than to feel like a betrayed and played whiny woman.
Raymond Reddington had killed her father. He'd took him from her before she´d the chance to even say goodbye. How much she ached to tell him had how much she loved him and how thankful she was for all the things he had done so naturally for her.
Raymond Reddington had never told her the whole story. Only pieces of answer to questions she didn't know she needed to ask. He´d made her feel so angry and hateful and sorry.
All the thoughts running through her head while she ripped off the pictures, articles and notes on the ceiling above her bed.
Afterwards she´d called it her ten minute Red rage.
Tears running down her cheeks Liz fell on to the bed and rephrased all the facts in her head.
She couldn't feel hate for him. There was anger and some silly need to see him and feel him alive. Hear one of his stupid fish stories or just hear him ramble about anything.
She thought back to Cooper's question of her feelings for Red. And still she knew she didn't exactly loved him. She felt attracted to him in that somehow strange way and maybe she could have fallen for him. But she most likely wouldn't see him again ever so that ship had sailed either way.
She missed him, simple as it was. But Liz wouldn't let Raymond Reddington take what was left of her life. She didn't owe him that much.
And that was when her phone rang.
She jumped from the bed, heard the phone ringing somewhere between the sheets. She rummaged through them hastily and a frustrated cry sounded from her lips. Finally, finally she heard the soft bump of the phone fallen from the sheets to the ground. Desperate to take the call – it stopped ringing.
And the number had been private so she couldn't call back. Liz sat back down on the crumpled bed sheets. The number was private.
He was calling her? He was calling her!
But she didn't pick up and -
Her phone came alive again, a private number and with a shaky breath and hand she picked up. And said nothing.
"Agent Keen?"
She wanted to scream at him how dare he waited so long to call. But all that left her mouth was a breath she didn't realize she had been holding.
"Will you say something?"
He sounded strange, so far away somehow. Her heart sunk because deep down she´d hoped for him to call her.
"Dembe" she looked around the scattered room. She needed something to grasp on. Or maybe something she could hit herself with just to make sure it was really happening. "I am not an agent anymore." There was a long pause and Liz strained her ears for any sound.
"I am sorry to hear that" he finally replied and Liz heartbeat increased. He didn't know?
"I am an informant now, since you told them you would only speak with me" Liz explained and a small smile crept over her face. "You saved me my payment, so to say."
A small laugh was all she heard before silence once again came over them. She couldn't help but think that her sound echoed somewhat and for a moment she thought that maybe she was on speaker and maybe Red was listening too. She couldn't know.
"Dembe" she started again, deliberately louder to see if her suspicion was right. "Why are you calling?"
He coughed slightly and there was rustling noise.
"I have a name and I'd like to meet with you." He was so formal and so…uptight somehow. "Tomorrow."
She nodded when she remembered he couldn't see her.
"Sure, you tell me where and when and I´ll be there" Liz agreed and stood again. He told her the address and time and was about to bid his goodbye when Liz halted him.
"Dembe -"
She stopped unsure of what to say. Something inside her was aching to ask for Red. How was he doing? Was he okay and already in rehab? What was happening with him now? But she didn't dare to voice his name.
"Are we going to be alone?"
Red's name was thick in the air. She wondered if Red would say anything at all if he was listening too. But her hope died.
"Yes, it will only be us" he stated dry. "From now on."
Liz said her goodbye then without further ado and hung up on him. Or them. Or whoever.
She was back to being angry and hurt and tears.

It was strange to do business with Dembe. He was edgy and he was very forthright. No stories about past encounters with the blacklister – no chatter. He wasn't cheery and smiley, he was all serious.
They were sitting in the darkest corner of a small café and it just felt awkward because Dembe definitely didn't fit into the ambience.
"Raymond said that we could rely on this man." He showed her some pictures. "He can give us some locations."
It was the first time that Dembe acknowledge Red's involvement at all. And she ignored it.
"I`ll call Ressler and give him the update, we´ll probably need to check into the post office." Liz explained and pulled out her phone. "If he is still in D.C. we should jump at the chance and not waste any time."
She was about to pick out Ressler's number when Dembe put his hand on hers, that was holding the phone. He slightly shook his head.
"He needs you." Dembe looked at her earnestly. His hand was so warm.
"Did he ask for me?"
He shook his head no.
"Then I don't see any reason why he would need me." Liz tried to free her hand but Dembe was stronger and she felt his hand grip hers tighter.
"He won't survive this and I can't let him choke on this. He won't let me help him."
"I read his file and he is likely to recover fully" she countered stubborn.
"A week ago his doctor told me that if he doesn't start his rehabilitation soon he won't be walking anytime soon." Dembe's eyes were redder than before. "He is disgusted by the wheelchair, he won't use it and his body becomes weaker every day. He will die that way sooner or later."
Liz heart clenched at the reality that he was literally throwing in her face. It hurt her to hear Red being that miserable. She could understand, but she didn't see his point. As if she could change anything about it at all.
"You do not realize what power you have over him" Dembe went on as if he had read her thoughts. "You have always been the key and you will be. He thinks you don't care and that puts him in a bad place."
She wanted to argue back how dare he blamed her for Red's misery. But she paused with her open mouth ready to form the words she would most likely regret later. Dembe looked so distressed and in pain.
"Do you still care about him?"
It caught her off-guard. The question so taunting and raw, but honest and caring. She admired how much he cared for the other man.
"I…I do care" she admitted sadly. "I don't think he does after all."
Dembe averted his eyes.
"He does. But he is too ashamed to reach out to you."
It sounded strange to her to hear Red being called ashamed. But Dembe knew him better than anyone else in this world. And it meant a lot to her that he would tell her and ask for her help. But he wasn't the one who needed it and as long as Red didn't ask her directly for her assistance or help or whatever word suited him she wouldn't give him just that.
But then again he´d been there for her, unasked but welcomed, so many times before that she at least owed him the chance to ask her.
"I will see him tonight" she finally concluded. "But we need to talk to the FBI first and make a plan how to get this blacklister. That is our main priority right now."
Dembe smiled such a fulsome smile that that alone was worth making the compromise.
She just hoped she wouldn't regret it.

She knocked at the door and waited.
It had taken them some time to come up with a plan but with the help of Dembe, who was a better strategist than talker and the information Red had given them they had a solid way of getting the blacklister. They wanted to catch him this evening, so she agreed on meeting Dembe at the safe house he and Red were currently staying. It was the Hempstead house.
She knocked again and her palm felt sweaty. Her heart beating at such a fast pace.
Finally Dembe opened the door. He only nodded and he seemed distressed.
"Everything alright?"
He shook his head no but invited her in nevertheless.
Liz followed him the short distance to the living-room where she had once sat with Red, realizing that he´d been right about her husband, the liar. Double agent. Whatever he had been in the end.
And there he was.
He was sitting in a wheelchair behind the couch starring at the fireplace. His hair was longer than she had ever seen it. Not as long as it had been on the pictures she had once seen, but not his usual style. In the dim light she thought she saw a growing beard and what made her gulp was how slumped he sat there. He was wearing grey sweatpants and a white shirt. It looked so unfitting and unusual.
She moved closer to him while Dembe retreated from them. Red was holding a tumbler of scotch and when she looked around him she saw some bottles of alcohol scattered around the place. There were a cushion and blanket on the couch, where he obviously slept.
She moved closer. Stood right in front of him and he stunk.
He looked so miserable.
It felt like Raymond Reddington indeed had died.
"Go."
His voice was raspy by lack of use and when he turned to look at her, really look at her she saw his bloodshot, dark eyes and it hurt her more than anything else.
"Red-"
"I don't want you here so please go away."
She faltered. He didn't even blink and his rejection felt so strong and hateful.
"It's not always about what we want and not want, Red."
The nerve under his eye twitched, and again and he visibly clenched his teeth, hard.
"Go."
He put his hands on the wheels but he didn't move, instead his eyes stared down on his legs. She remembered Dembe's words. Red had no intention of using the wheelchair. And even if, he looked so thin and weak now he probably couldn't move it anyway.
She leaned down a little and put her hand on one of his – he pulled his hand away as if he´d been burned.
She felt burned.
Liz stepped away and shook her head, forcing the tears away.
"If you want to die, please, but do not ever blame me, Reddington. I won't blame myself for sure."
She turned around without waiting for any word from him and went to the door where Dembe was waiting. A tear rolled down her cheek.
"I am sorry" Dembe offered.
"You are not to blame, Dembe."
They left.

He panicked, he knew all the signs.
Five hours and Dembe hadn't even called. He always called. Told him when he was back. He was back before Red felt too tired to move at all. Not today.
He was drowsy from the alcohol and the lack of food. Dembe had been right, he would regret not eating anything.
And then Liz had been there and it had shaken him so terribly. He'd never wanted her to see him like this.
Red reached for the phone on the couch. It took all the strength he had left and he was panting when he could finally grab it.
He needed to call Dembe. His brain was so clouded now and his fingers hardly moved the way he wanted them too.
He called Dembe twice and then a third time and accidentally a fourth. But no answer and the panic raised. Red wasn't used to be panicked. He didn't know that feeling anymore, but he didn't know himself neither.
He called Liz then, because he remembered Dembe telling him about their plan to catch the blacklister.
But she wasn't likely to answer his calls. Not after he´d kicked her out. He called her again and then Dembe and then he throw the phone against the next wall.
He put his hands around one leg and heaved it down from the footrest of the wheelchair and then the other too.
They´d told him he could walk. So he would.
He fell forward, down on his face and probably broke his nose again.
They'd told him he could walk after month of rehab.
He needed to hear her again, to see that she was okay. He should have never told her to go away, because he needed her so much.
His head hurt and his mind was all messed up.
In the end he would die with Liz in his thoughts.