First, I own nothing to do with the Blacklist.

Thank you all so much, I hope you enjoy this one. Liz finds out something else this time about what happened, another piece of evidence. I'm sorry if it seems to be dragging along. Things will happen in next chapter. As usual, your thoughts are very welcome and appreciated. :D

Chapter Eight

Liz sat at home in a chair on the dining room table, hands pursed around a freshly brewed mug of coffee, exhaustion permeating her body after a very tiring day of capturing Number 69 on Reddington's Blacklist. They had successfully brought the man in, thanks to Roger Altman breaking down and confessing his current residential address. She didn't know how long she had sat there, at the table, staring at the untouched liquid in her coffee, in some sort of confused and frustrated daze.

She was only thirty-one years old and already, she felt so exhausted and physically drained.

She wouldn't have minded running a hot bath for herself. She wouldn't have minded listening to some music. Something, anything, to take away all this stress for a couple of minutes.

She was so tired, tired of wondering constantly what had happened between her and Reddington last night in his hotel room. Part of her maliciously believed this was what he wanted for her all along, that this was why he was doing it. He was purposefully keeping what happened from her so that she'd suffer, so that she'd squirm. She wanted to know what had happened last night so badly, something he obviously wasn't going to help her out with.

She lifted the rim of her cup up to her lips, then decided she didn't want to drink it anymore, and placed it back down on the table. Sighing heavily, she brought a hand up to her forehead, rubbing around her temples and massaging her eyes. She felt as if she was going crazy. She felt as if she was at a point, a dangerous point of breaking. She was hanging on a thin thread, a thread that was so close to snapping and breaking off. And once it officially did fray and break, who knew what she would be capable of?

Manslaughter, possibly.

The truth was she had learned something today that frightened her. The idea of her and Reddington doing such an intimate thing together in his hotel room bed... It didn't disgust her, or repulse her in any way. If it did happen, she only would have liked to have remembered it; every detail, every touch and every kiss.

Perhaps it showed she was a terrible person, but the idea of possibly cheating on Tom didn't seem to faze her much either. Tom was lying to her, that she had come to accept and realize now. He wasn't who he initially said he was, or who he had made himself out to be for her. She rationalized that cheating on her husband wasn't such a bad thing, since he had been figuratively cheating on her since the very beginning and start of their relationship.

Tom.

She heard the front door open, Tom calling out to her, and it wasn't like how it was before; She felt no excitement, or happiness at his arrival home. She felt tense and ready to step on eggshells around him, keep up this little game of pretense around him. There was no love there anymore, but this dark cloud of suspicion that constantly wafted over her. Her heart felt heavy and her pulse began to race as she heard him move about, taking off his jacket and removing his shoes. She felt this terrible sense of dread, an inner groan of disappointment, that he had come home and that now she was going to have to deal with him. Put on some fake smile, pretend everything was all right between them. Pretend as if she didn't know he was a lying asshole, that he wasn't even truly a teacher and that she knew he was something else.

Clutching her mug tightly in her hands, as if it would give her courage, she put a tight-lipped smile on her face with some effort and looked at him as Tom entered into the kitchen, carrying his bag with him.

"Oh, hey babe," she said weakly. "You're home pretty early."

"Yeah, I got off pretty early tonight. How are you?"

"Yeah, I'm... good." I got to dislocate someone's shoulder today. How about we try that on you tonight? "How was your day?"

"Good." Tom smiled. "Well, better than good. The cutest thing happened today. You remember that kid I was telling you about, don't you? The one with the speech impediment?"

Liz couldn't exactly remember, but she nodded and went along with it. Like she always did. "Yeah, I think so. What about him?"

"Oh, god, wait until you see it." Tom dumped his bag on the table and Liz tried to appear interested as he opened it up and pulled out a piece of paper. "He drew me this today. Isn't it cute?"

He showed her a picture drawn with colorful crayons. Liz couldn't work out what the picture was of exactly, but she tried to appear impressed nonetheless.

"Wow," she sighed, maybe a bit too exaggerated and over enthusiastically. "That is really adorable."

"I know, right? He even said I was his favorite teacher, too. Well, he kind of stuttered while saying it, but that's sweet, right?"

He must really be going out of his way to keep up with the act then, Liz thought grudgingly.

"Oh, babe. That's super sweet."

Tom nodded, smiling as he folded the drawing back up and slid it inside his bag. "Anyway, I'm just going to go take a shower," he said, leaning down to kiss her on her cheek swiftly. "You better still be here when I get back. Finally I'm going to have you all to myself tonight."

Liz forced herself to laugh. "Where else am I gonna go, babe?"

When he headed upstairs to the bathroom, she listened carefully until she heard the water running in the shower. His bag was still on the table, within arms reach. Her fingers twitched to open it up, to see what else he had inside. Unable to fight off the temptation, Liz reached over and shoved her hand inside his bag, looking around. What she found inside made her feel physically ill.

Crayons. A new box of crayons, recently opened.

Like the ones the "little boy with the speech impediment" used to draw Tom the picture.

She heard the shower go off a second later and quickly, she shoved the crayons back inside his bag and sat back down in the chair, trying to calm her breathing down. Her fingers found the scar on the inner skin of her wrist, and she traced it absently, feeling the blood thrumming in her ears. This was getting ridiculous, she decided. Tom, his lies and the great lengths he took to make her believe, everything. It was just too much, and that thread she was hanging off frayed a little more and got a bit thinner. She was being driven mad. No, she was probably already past the defining point of insanity.

The night got even worse; Engaging in trivial conversations with her husband while they made dinner together, a stir fry that tasted bland with broccoli. She absolutely hated broccoli, yet Tom constantly assumed she loved it, so she was forced yet again to lie in order to keep the peace. Tom constantly going on about how they were "newlyweds", and that he felt so happy, the happiest he has ever felt in a while. The worst part of it, for her, came when they were getting ready to go to bed. She had pulled down the covers on their bed, intent on sleeping hopefully a safe distance away from him on the mattress. But her plans for a quiet and intimacy-free night were thoroughly destroyed and ruined when he suggested they should "do the newlywed thing", meaning sex.

She knew she couldn't get out of it without Tom noticing something was wrong with her, so she was forced to go along with it.

It was clear to her what Tom wanted when he took his shirt off, and as they kissed and he touched her, it felt wrong. Wrong on all levels, and her mind couldn't help straying. She didn't know this man, he was not her husband, not the man she married.

Lies. It was all a bunch of lies.

Manipulation. He manipulated her into falling in love with him, this idea of him that never truly existed in the first place.

She couldn't get in the mood, something Tom evidently had no trouble in doing. How could he possibly live with himself for doing this to her?

She forced herself to continue along anyway in responding to his kisses, but she wasn't truly there, with him, in the moment. She couldn't take anymore of it when he was on top of her, peering down into her eyes. She felt used. A plaything. A puppet. There was not anything remotely arousing about feeling that way with him. Her mind drifted way off when Tom reached over and pulled open the drawer near their bed, looking for a condom. She thought maybe if she closed her eyes, it would have helped and made her feel better about having sex with him. She was wrong. Instead, Red's face flashed in her mind, and along with it, she heard Red's voice inside her head, his words like a taunt...

"The answers are there, you just need to be willing to dig hard enough to delve them out."

"So to answer your question, no, we definitely didn't have sex last night. Making love, however, well...that's another story..."

"The reason I haven't given you any answers, Lizzie, is because you are asking all the wrong questions... "

She couldn't do this. She just couldn't.

When the springs on the mattress gave out a squeak and she felt Tom lean over her, she made an involuntary noise. When she reopened her eyes and looked up at Tom's face, she could tell he was bewildered and confused. She hadn't turned down sex with him before, so she supposed he could notice the dramatic change in her. "I... I think I'm getting a headache or something," she lied feebly, the first excuse that came to her head. "Maybe we shouldn't do this tonight, babe? I'm so sorry."

She could tell Tom was disappointed, but he played the role of supportive and forgiving husband well, telling her that's fine and that she should have just told him she was not feeling well in the first place. After that, fortunately for her, everything stopped and Tom fell asleep soon after, half his body resting against her and an arm slung around her as he snored. If only sleeping were that easy for her to do... She felt exhausted and wanted sleep so badly, yet her mind wouldn't switch off. It refused to.

How had her life gotten this way?

She went back to blaming Reddington, because he was so easy to blame. And yes, that was partially true. If it hadn't been for him surrendering to the FBI, making her life change and cause her to question everything in regards to Tom and the type of man she had married, everything would have been perfectly fine. She would have been happy, if ignorant. Her and Tom could have carried on the way they always had been; Living this comfortable and almost-dream life. They would have adopted a child together, been happy doting parents, and life would have been wonderful.

This was Red's fault, the way she was being right now.

Then again, she would have liked to know. Ignorance and denial isn't always the best approach.

Blaming him and resenting him for screwing up her happy home life was a little selfish. Ungrateful. If it weren't for him, she wouldn't have known anything. It was better to know the truth about just who was sleeping next to her in bed, than not knowing at all. Red had certainly made her advance in her career and presented her an amazing opportunity to show people how much she was worth. No one dared to call her 'Sir' or a hard-nosed bitch anymore, and her colleagues had started to take her seriously as a FBI Agent.

She was certain her adoptive father Sam would have been proud of her.

She had been nothing but mean to Red from the very beginning, and she realized that then, as she lay with the side of her cheek against her spongy pillow and Tom's arm around her, his bare chest against her back, huddled close in the bed sheets. She had taken Reddington and his help for granted, with no expression of deep gratitude in return. Red never exactly made it clear on her that he expected anything from her in return. Pushing him away was easier than having to acknowledge that he was on her side and that he cared about her, in some unknown and mysterious way she wasn't completely sure the depths of.

Annoying as he was, she did appreciate everything he had done, both for her and the Bureau. He was an asset, a valuable one.

Her mind went back to their conversation earlier in the day in the elevator, before they had parted ways. She definitely hadn't exactly shown him any kindness then. He had asked her out to dinner and, thinking back to it, she had acted childish and incredibly rude towards him. In her defense, it was hard not to show any hostility when she was angry the way she was, over the cannabis brownies and Red's deliberate evasiveness over what else had happened between them the previous night before.

Sighing heavily through her nostrils, she rolled carefully on her back, effectively moving Tom's arm off her. She held herself still, going so far as to even hold her breath in, when Tom stirred and moved the other way, facing the other direction. When the sounds of his snores began again, she released the breath she was holding in. Surely this wasn't healthy for a marriage, to be feeling this way about your significant other. It couldn't be healthy to feel like reaching behind you, grabbing the pillow you were laying on in your hands, and snuffing out your husband until he was dead, either. It terrified her, how quickly she had become this person; One that had sudden brutal urges to do terrible things. But that was how she was now. Again, she gave Red credit for that.

She stared up at the ceiling in the dark room, catching herself wondering what Reddington was up to at that very moment in time. Was he awake like her or was he, too, dead to the world and fast asleep, like her deceitful husband was next to her? She turned her head and peered over at the illuminated red numbers on the alarm clock near her side of the bed.

It was already one in the morning. Sleep didn't seem as if it was going to come to her tonight, not with her head racing the way it was.

Deciding she couldn't take sitting around any longer, she sat up and carefully extricated herself out of the sheets. She grabbed her flannel, blue-and-green nightgown from where it was hanging on the rack behind the closed-door in their bedroom, and slipped it on, covering herself up modestly. Tom was still dead to the world and making little grunting noises in his sleep when she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, and she snuck downstairs, turning the kitchen light on as she went.

Hudson, alerted to her presence, stood from his doggy bed and scampered over to her, his tail wagging in excitement. She knelt against the linoleum in the kitchen and scratched him behind his ears with her fingernails fondly, realizing she loved Hudson more than she loved Tom. She prefered Hudson over Tom's company right now. What kind of wife did that make her?

She wouldn't have minded calling Red and speaking to him. For some reason, hearing his voice in the late hours of the night was extremely appealing on her. She stood and grabbed her phone, flipping it open and going through her contacts. Should she call him, right now, in the middle of the night? Or maybe that wouldn't have been the best idea.

Instead, she went through the images on her phone, the ones she had taken with her camera, dating probably two years back; Pictures of her and Tom in happier times when she was utterly clueless, hugging and smiling for the camera, one big happy lie. She kept scrolling through the images, feeling nothing but emptiness. And then she saw the most recent ones that had been taken. A picture of Hudson while he was sleeping on the sofa. A picture of Tom washing him in the bathtub. A picture of Liz herself clad only in her matching black lingerie, posing somewhat seductively at the camera with Reddington's fedora on her head.

Wait. What?

Front teeth clamping down on her bottom lip, she studied the shot more carefully, her eyes bugging out in shock.

The date said the picture had only just been taken last night. Her head swarmed with even more questions. Who had taken it, though? Whose hand was the one holding her phone? Dembe or... Red? Was this before or after their game of strip poker? What on earth had she been thinking? Bunching her left hand into a fist, she pressed her knuckles against her lips as she swiped her thumb over the screen to go to the next image. There was another shot of her, but wearing Red's glasses as well this time.

When was this nightmare and all the surprises that came along with it going to end? Seriously!

The images of herself set her off in a completely different way. She got to her feet, tightened her nightgown more securely over her body, and stepped over Hudson towards the front door. She had her mind made up. Screw giving him a phone call, she thought, slipping her boots on. She was going to go straight to his hotel room, and she was going to confront him, right this instance. It didn't matter that she was only dressed in her nightgown and just her underwear and bra underneath it, or that Red might have even considered it rude, her showing up at one in the morning unannounced. She was beyond caring about how she would look, showing up on his hotel room doorstep. He had seen her in her bra and panties already anyway- obviously.

All she cared about was getting her answers. And get them, she will, goddamn it all, whether she had to be physically rough with Red or not.

I was very anxious about this one. I do hope it isn't a disappointment.

I do also hope grammar is okay, I hope it isn't a complete mess of words! Sorry, to the guest writer that said about it being endless and redundant. I know I am not very good at this, it's a challenge getting it right, especially phrases with English not being my first language. I'm very sorry, thank you for letting me know to be aware though!

My biggest thank you to you all for being so kind with the alerts and comments made to this! It means the world!