A/N Liz and Red and have a difficult reunion, and Liz makes a discovery that fills her with guilt. Angsty, with a side of ill/nasty Red. Thoroughly disclaimed. I eat reviews for breakfast, they keep me going :-)

Previously: "Not really the best time for me, sweetheart."

Liz's face hardened. Whatever she had expected, it wasn't this.

"I don't give a rat's ass. I've come a long way."

He nodded and took another sip of his drink. "Yes. All the way from Virginia." His voice was even deeper than she remembered, and now underscored by a low rasp.

"So you do know where I live." She was ashamed to admit she was glad that he had kept tabs on her. Their last meeting seemed so final and he hadn't contacted her since, so she assumed that he had moved on. It was easier that way. Now she wondered how much he knew about her life, her teaching, whether he knew about the dates she'd been on, or worse, the man she had brushed off after a miserable one night stand.

He wiped his hand over his eyes, his brow creased and weary. "I do. And I suggest you return there. You shouldn't be here, Elizabeth."

It stung, badly, and try as she might she couldn't stop tears welling up. She bit her lip to staunch the sob building painfully in her throat and walked hesitantly towards him. He had barely looked at her; she needed him to do that, to acknowledge her properly, even if it was to confirm that he didn't want to see her. That coming here was a mistake. That he no longer cared. As she stepped towards the chair in which he sat she was illuminated by the soft light of the reading lamp that cast a warm glow around him. He frowned as he observed her face, showing some semblance of feeling for the first time.

"Your cheek…" he murmured, and she suddenly remembered the blow to her face delivered by her asshole date that evening. It felt like days ago already, but there was no doubt that an impressive bruise was forming there.

She raised her hand to her face, self-consciously. "A bad date. Dembe was kind enough to help me out of a tough spot."

She saw his eye twitch fractionally, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the arm of the chair, but then he looked away from her again. "Dembe. I should have known he was involved in bringing you here."

She wanted to scream, the pain of this appalling reunion swirling like poison in her gut. "I came here by myself" she snapped. "It was my decision and frankly I'm regretting it."

She watched as his lip curled cruelly. He began to respond but was taken with a rumbling coughing fit. She moved quickly to his side and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Are you ok? What can I do?"

"It's nothing. Leave me!"

"Red-" she began, but didn't finish because he had delivered a stinging slap to her arm. Gasping, she withdrew her hand from his shoulder sharply. He had hurt her before – worse than this - but as long as she had known him his actions had been calm, calculated and done – to his mind – with the intention of protecting her. The one time they weren't, he had been asleep in the grips of a powerful nightmare, and the events of that night had affected him deeply. He had never once lashed out in anger or frustration, even under the most trying circumstances.

She stepped back, her hands shaking. "I'll get you some water."

"That won't be necessary-" she heard him say gruffly, but she was already leaving the room. She needed a moment away from him. She needed answers.

She found Mr Kaplan in the kitchen. The woman watched her expectantly as she took a glass from the sideboard and poured the water.

Liz paused for a moment. "That cough – he says it's nothing, but it sounds bad to me."

Mr Kaplan nodded briskly. "He's a proud man, Elizabeth."

She felt a chill go through her. "He looks terrible. What's wrong with him?"

"His lungs are in a bad way. He didn't tell me the details, but as I understand it when you two were in Canada he ended up with a lung full of freezing lake water – that's bad news when you're recovering from a gunshot wound to the chest. I don't suppose you can shed any light on what happened?"

Liz's face was ashen. That terrible day in the lake. He'd saved her. It had never occurred to her the risk he had taken because of her. Her insides seized with guilt, and she suddenly felt childish, as if she had never properly understood what he had done for her and what she meant to him. In her grief, it had been beyond her. She shook her head numbly, too ashamed to tell the stern older woman the truth. She tried to keep the horror out of her voice when she responded. "Will he get better? Is there anything that can be done?"

"He'll never be quite as he was but he could certainly improve. There are steroids that would be an enormous benefit, combined with breathing exercises… Those damn cigars don't help. I have a doctor who I'm sure could do a lot for him. But Raymond is as stubborn as an ox. And, I'm afraid to say, very unhappy." She paused and fixed Liz with beady stare. "I don't mean to be blunt dearie, but are you staying?"

Liz regarded her for a moment. "I don't know" she answered honestly. "I'd like to stay tonight if that's ok. The drive was longer than I thought it would be. And… I haven't really been able to talk to him yet."

Mr Kaplan nodded briskly. "You'll have better luck with him in the morning. I've put your bag in your room – second on the left."

Liz felt an aching tiredness creep into her. She held up the water, her voice shaking slightly. "I should take this to him first."

"No, let me. I think it's safer for you to leave him be for tonight." Mr Kaplan's tone was matter-of-fact, but Liz felt a chill of fear spark inside her nonetheless. What did she mean? That she thought he would hurt her? Had she heard him slap her hand away? The fear inside her grew, this time not fear for herself, but fear that the man he was – that stoical, protective, measured and above all loving man – might be gone.

She nodded numbly and handed Mr Kaplan the water glass.

"Go upstairs now dearie. I'll get him to bed. Tomorrow's a new day" she added, and Liz thought she heard a hint of a sigh in the woman's usually brisk tone.

Liz flopped on the bed and closed her eyes, expecting sleep to claim her in seconds. Yet much as her body ached with exhaustion, her mind swirled and pricked at her relentlessly. After a while she crept into the corridor, following the sounds of harsh breathing. She pushed open his door and saw him asleep on the bed, still dressed apart from his shoes, and curled up almost like a little boy. Trembling, she took a blanket from the bottom of the bed and pulled it gently over him. After that she settled in a chair in the corner of his room and finally allowed sleep to come.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

When she woke she was curled in the chair, her limbs stiff and painful. She was warm though, and as the fog of sleep dissipated she realised that she had been covered – someone had placed a blanket over her in the night. She looked up and started slightly when she met his gaze. He was sitting up in bed, his eyes fixed on her, wide and green and intense as ever. How long had he been watching her sleep?

"Hey" she said, her voice groggy.

He worked his jaw for a moment and then shook his head, as though disappointed. "You shouldn't be here Lizzie."

"You tried that yesterday. It's gonna take more than that to get rid of me" she said, trying for a light-hearted tone.

He grimaced at her words, his teeth bearing down on the inside of his cheek. "In that case, perhaps you will allow me the courtesy of some privacy to wash up and dress."

His tone was icy, but Liz had steeled herself after their horrid exchange the night before. She wasn't going to let him push her away that easily. He had to give her a chance to make things right. "Sure – I'll make us some breakfast. See you in the kitchen." She heard him begin to protest but ignored him and left the room.

It was an hour before he emerged and the bacon she had prepared was rubbery and cold. The coffee was still good though. She sat numbly in the kitchen with her hands around the mug. Mr Kaplan was nowhere to be seen, and Liz wondered if she was staying with him at the moment or whether she was just visiting. Exactly how sick was he? She ran an appraising eye over him as he entered the kitchen. He had clearly made some effort; he had shaved and showered, washing away the acrid smell of booze, smoke and sweat, and he had donned one of his customary three-pieces. She noted, though, that the suit was a little ill-fitting, hanging from his now smaller frame. It frightened her almost as much as his appearance last night. Raymond Reddington's suits had never been anything other than tailored to perfection.

"Breakfast is cold, but the coffee's ok." She poured him a cup which he accepted wordlessly, his eyes still fixed on her reprovingly.

When he eventually spoke he sounded tired and resigned. "Why are you here, Lizzie?"

It was a good question, but one to which she didn't have an answer. She hadn't planned this. She had packed a bag and leapt into her car without a second thought, running on instinct and a deep pull inside her that, once supressed, had now raged to the surface. She looked up at him, her gaze open and clear. "Do you really want me to go?"

"As I recall I've never had much success in my attempts to instruct you" he said carefully.

Liz smiled at that. He hadn't thrown her out, after all. He hadn't smiled back either though. "Sit with me?" she asked, trying to maintain an air of calmness she didn't feel.

He shifted his weight in a manner that was almost nervous before closing a large hand around a chair and taking a seat at the table. Despite his apparent discomfort, Liz felt suddenly intimidated, as though she was sitting across from her school principal. She was invading his life – his privacy – without invitation. Worse, she was the cause of his illness. She wondered painfully if he blamed her for it, if that was why his behaviour towards her was so cold. He seemed to detect a crack in her confident façade and exploited it quietly but determinedly as only he could, drawing himself up imposingly and clasping his hands in front of him on the table.

"So Lizzie, tell me, what you have done with your freedom? Are you a famous criminalist? A therapist to the rich and powerful? Do you have a strapping young husband devoted to fulfilling your every whim?"

Although his tone was jovial, Liz knew that his words were intended to sting and she looked down, hurt and shame bleeding color into her cheeks. "You know that none of those things are true" she responded after a moment. "There's no need to be cruel."

He feigned surprise. "I merely asked what your life has become – is that cruel?"

"It is when you already know the answer. I teach psychology at a small liberal arts college and I enjoy it. I'm not married." She lifted her hand to her cheek and winced as her fingers pressed into the bruised flesh. "I was seeing someone but it ended rather abruptly when he couldn't take no for an answer and Dembe held a gun to his head."

"Did he pull the trigger?"

"No!" Liz looked shocked, Red's nonchalant tone giving away nothing of whether he was serious, or whether he even cared that she had been hurt.

"Pity" he shrugged.

She shook her head in exasperation, drawing her arms around herself defensively. "Anyway, that's my life. I'm sure you're perfectly aware of all that, so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't taunt me."

His expression softened a little. "I confess I gathered from our conversation last night that there was no devoted husband. But as for the rest, apart from the fact that you landed in Virginia, I am genuinely in the dark Lizzie. Watching you now would be…" he paused and she cut in bitterly.

"It would be a waste of your time and resources I guess, now the cabal has gone."

He frowned, chewing the inside of his cheek. "I was going to say it would be too painful" he conceded. "And you deserve space to carve out your own life."

"Oh." She shifted in her seat. The silence was unbearable – she couldn't ask any of the questions that gnawed at her about whether he blamed her, or whether he still cared for her. Too afraid of the answers, she squirmed miserably and changed the subject. "It sounds like you've been doing some amazing things. Dembe told me about the charities you work with. About what he's been doing in Sierra Leone. I'm glad he's happy."

Her enquiry was a little stunted and lacklustre but for the first time since she arrived, Red smiled in genuine pleasure. "Ahhhh, he's been magnificent Lizzie. Changed so many lives for the better. Did he tell you that in the past year alone his organisation has rescued over two hundred trafficked girls and boys along the West African coast? Children who were living in horrifying conditions, bought and sold like cattle to be used for sex and slave labor." Red shook his head. "Those children now have loving homes. They're receiving a decent education. They have a future. Dembe has worked tirelessly to make that happen. I'm proud of him" he said, his eyes shining a little.

Liz raised her eyebrows. "You talk as if you had nothing to do with this. As I understand it you've spent the last two years rebuilding these organisations from the ground up and engineering their operations – you must have saved hundreds of lives. I'm proud of you" she said, smiling softly.

She was disappointed to see his previously animated face stiffen again. He looked away from her when he spoke, his voice dismissive. "I'm a wealthy man, Lizzie – bankrolling a few charitable endeavours is hardly worthy of your admiration." His voice caught in his throat as he spoke, eliciting another deep cough.

She opened her mouth to protest at how far he had downplayed his role, but he cut her off by rising abruptly from the table. "You'll have to excuse me my dear, I need to rest. I tire rather easily these days."

She bit her lip and nodded, still unable to conceive of a Raymond Reddington who was not strong and powerful. Even when he had been shot and she'd been terrified of how vulnerable he looked covered in blood, he had recovered remarkably quickly, exuding confidence and power every step of the way. Now he looked smaller and somehow defeated, his confident and jovial manner replaced with a brooding affect and a terseness she had seldom heard from him in the past. She wondered numbly if that was it, if he expected her to leave now, but as he made his way from the kitchen he turned back to her.

"I can arrange for anything you require to be delivered, or if you prefer I can send someone to your house to pick up some things for you. I suggest you sleep in your room tonight – I can't imagine my chair was particularly comfortable."

He left the room before she had a chance to respond, but it was enough. Her lips curved into a small smile - he wanted her to stay.

TBC