Title: Nowhere Else to Go
Rating: T (Chapters 1-5) M (Chapter 6)
Pairing: Elizabeth Keen/Donald Ressler
Spoilers: The Kingmaker, The Mombasa Cartel, The Scimitar, The Decembrist, Luther Braxton Conclusion, The Deer Hunter
Summary: Five times Elizabeth Keen showed up at his door (five times that Donald Ressler slept on the couch) and one time she asked him to stay with her.
1.
The first time she showed up at his door, neither one of them knew what to say. They had been working together for some time, Ressler mused as he waited for her to reveal the reason she was there (and he knew there had to be one, because though they weren't close, he knew her well enough to know she was close to tears). But though they'd literally faced death together, her showing up at his front door was not something he expected. (Though, he'd never tell her, it made his heart beat a little faster, seeing her in his doorway).
And then the dam broke.
Looking back, he would recognize this at the first moment she had really opened up to him, let him in. And in doing so, she had opened the door for so much more.
"I didn't know where else to go."
Though it seemed like hours, it was merely seconds before he was holding the door open wider, motioning for her to come in. She looked lost, unsure of where to go (or why she was even here) and what to say. Before she registered that the door had closed behind her and Ressler had disappeared from view, a cold beer was placed in her fingers and Ressler's hands (large, warm) pushed her gently in the direction of the couch.
"Talk to me, Keen. Tell me what's going on."
And so she did.
Over a total of six beers (three for her and three for him) and an impressive pile of tissues, Elizabeth Keen told Ressler everything. About Tom, about the failed adoption, about the lies, the secrets, the shame, and the anger.
"I just... damn it! I knew, I knew and I ignored it for so long." She sniffled, took another sip of her beer, and Ressler stared at her, face unreadable, as he had been doing for the past hour. He had yet to offer any words of his own, and his silence only made her talk more to fill the uncomfortable lull. "I mean, I knew for months. When I found his escape box, or whatever the hell that was, I knew what he was. But I chose to ignore it, because I thought I wanted what he was offering that badly. I wanted the family, the white picket fence, the whole nine yards, and he seemed so perfect. He convinced me, the FBI ... everyone was under his spell. But I knew, the whole time, I just ... didn't let myself realize. There was always the doubt, the lingering what if."
She fell silent for a long time, staring at the wall, purposefully avoiding Ressler's gaze. Though she felt comfortable with him, the fire in his eyes scared her (possibly because she had no idea what could have ignited such a flame inside him).
Her silence gave Ressler time to sort through his own feelings and thoughts. He had many, many feelings (almost all negative, almost all directed toward Tom Keen, the bastard) but he finally settled on one: anger.
"Bastard," he finally spit out, and Liz looked up in shock and fear - fear that his anger was directed at her. She really needn't have worried. "He's such a bastard," he groused again, and wondered idly if his vocabulary would have been more impressive were he not slightly tipsy.
"Ressler, it's OK..." Liz started, placing a hand on his arm.
He shrugged it off in a huff, standing and running a hand through his hair (not perfectly styled for the first time, Liz thought, since she'd met him). His fingers caused locks of his dirty blond hair to stick in all directions and, if the situation had been different, Liz might have thought it cute.
But the situation was what it was, and her thoughts quickly turned.
"No, it's not OK. He's a bastard, to do that to you. To anyone! I mean, God knows I didn't like you when we first met-"
Liz winced, holding tighter onto her empty bottle and trying hard to not let that comment hurt as much as it did.
"-But you know, then I got to know you. You can be annoyingly persistent, to much of a damn goody-two shoes, but only when it fits you! And you frequently freeze up when it's not advisable or ignore orders you don't quiet like, but."
He paused here, considering.
Considering his words and the impact they would have, both immediately and delayed. He finally settled on words that conveyed the message he wanted to get across, but left out the most important parts. Parts of himself he was not yet ready to share.
"But those are only parts of you, Liz. The best parts of you have little to do with our work, and more to do with your heart, and who you are as a person. And the fact that Tom-bastard" (he really needed to work on his vocabulary) "lied to you all this time to ... to gain, what, exactly? Information? About you, Reddington, the FBI?" He paused again, realizing only now that he was pacing angrily on the floor. He stopped, forcing his feet to pause in their tracks. He took a steadying breath in, ran his fingers through his hair again. "How could he do that?"
How could he hurt someone like you?
How could he look at you every day - so trusting a person - and lie to your face?
How could his first thought not be "protect, protect, protect"?
Liz shrugged, and as she sighed, she slumped further into the coach. She looked very vulnerable, and Ressler's protective instinct kicked in once more. Like it had when she had been taken by the Stewmaker, when Anslo Garrick had held a gun to her head, when she had first walked through his door tonight. He picked up a blanket off the back of the coach and wrapped it around her shoulders.
"I don't have an extra bedroom." he began, and Liz looked up in surprise. As if he would have let me go back there tonight, she mused. She knew Ressler well, and she knew that if he thought she was in any danger, he would not be letting her out of his sight or the sight of someone trustworthy. She'd been in danger many times in the past, she thought as he stared at her, waiting for some sort of response. But he had never stayed with her - or had her stay with him. But she'd always been safe, with Red or someone else from the Post Office. This was different. There was no where else for her to go. Of course she would be staying here.
"I can take the couch," he continued. "You can have my room. Then, tomorrow, you can show me your house and we can figure out what to do."
We.
She knew he didn't meant it like that. He was her partner, of course he would help her. But the fact that she didn't have to face that house, the memories, alone, was comforting.
"Ok," she said, unsure what else would be appropriate. "Um." She picked at her the fabric of her clothing, which would be entirely too uncomfortable to sleep in.
"You can borrow some sweats to sleep in," Ressler said, and he stalked off to his bedroom, not offering a word to encourage her to follow, or for her to stay there, and Liz was left unsure what to do.
In the end, she scrambled to her feet, shuffling after him as the blanket fell away from her shoulders.
"Here," he said, as he dug around in one of his drawers. He handed her a pair of grey sweatpants and a t-shirt that was sure to be far too big for her. She nodded her thanks, and he pointed her in the direction of the bathroom to change.
"Thanks," she whispered, hugging the clothing tightly to her chest. "You know. For everything."
Ressler smiled, a small, sad smile, and nodded.
"Anytime, Keen."
He walked out of the bedroom, closing the door half-way to offer her some privacy.
Liz looked around the room, observing little things that fit in very well with her profile of Ressler. The bed was neat, shoes and clothes put away cleanly in the closet and his dresser. His alarm clock was next to the bed, on a small table holding only a lamp, the clock, and small glass for water. Very neat, organized. But then she noticed a few things that she wasn't sure where to file. No pictures - of family, friends, anyone. It was more like a hotel room than the room of a man who had lived here for years. No books, decorations of any kind. Lonely, she mused, heading toward the bathroom. She opened the door and noticed the same thing inside here. Neat, organized, minimal. The only time she'd heard him mention anyone close to him was Audrey, she thought, quickly changing from her clothes (folded neatly, beside the sink for tomorrow) into the borrowed sweats. I wonder what his family is like.
"Liz?"
Liz was startled from her thoughts by the deep, masculine voice outside the bathroom door.
"Yeah?" she croaked, her voice more hoarse than she'd meant. Damn, did I really cry that much? she wondered, trying to clear her throat quietly.
"I found an extra toothbrush. And I have some towels in case you want to shower in the morning."
Liz nodded, then realized he couldn't see her. She reached out to open the door, letting him in the small room.
"Ah. Thank you. Um. Are you sure I can't take the couch?" she asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious of everything he was doing for her.
"It's fine," he insisted, handing her the towels. "Really, Keen. Sleep well tonight, and tomorrow we'll deal with whatever may come."
He smiled at her then, and she felt herself responding. He turned to leave the bathroom, but she reached out a hand to stop him, wrapping her fingers around his forearm. He met her eyes, and she suddenly felt vaguely uncomfortable as his piercing blue eyes met hers. He was scowling, his trademark facial expression, but it seemed gentler than before.
"Thank you, Ressler. Really, I mean it. I crashed your night - hell, your weekend, after everything we're going to have to do tomorrow, and-"
"Liz," he interrupted her. "Stop. Don't worry about it. I'm... I'm glad you felt you could come to me."
She nodded, smiling again, and let her fingers slip off of his wrist. He walked away (he didn't miss the warmth of her small hand, he told himself. Of course he didn't), and she sighed deeply, turned out the bathroom light, and headed into the bedroom. She pulled back the covers, sliding between the sheets and breathing in the warm, masculine scent of his bedding.
That night, she slept better than she had in weeks.
Please review!
Feedback on how I am writing the characters/events is greatly appreciate! Also, this story is complete (mostly edited, too!) and I plan on updating regularly.