Blood Crimes

A/N: So I know there are stories I need to finish, but this "inspiration" came to me couple of months ago, and you know…when it comes, I need to get it out of my system. Some drama and action, Ressler-centric, but Keenler all the way. I mean, this is fanfiction, right? What is the point if without the fluffy romance? haha!

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Chapter 1

"What the hell is he doing here so early?"

Ressler shot a quick glance at the wall clock, which read barely past eight, as he himself had just walked into the post office from a busy commute. He was taking off his dark overcoat when at the sound of the elevator, his eyes were reflexively diverted to the attention of Raymond Reddington walking in with his usual languid strides. Ressler turned to his partner, Elizabeth Keen, who was standing by her desk and also entranced at the unfolding scene with her own searing curiosities. He remembered the last time Reddington had marched into the post office unannounced; Keen was immediately called into privacy and presumably chided by the older gentleman.

"You knew about this?" Ressler mumbled toward his partner, attempting to read her expression to ascertain what had yet to be spoken of. His eyes lingered over her face for a moment longer, feeling alerted and alarmed, with all of his senses affirming that something was wrong.

"No, I didn't…"

"You in trouble again?"

"No." By the flat tone of her voice, as well as its curt and dismissive resonance, it was apparent that she didn't care for such inquiry…most certainly not in that particular regard.

"Well, one of you are always in the doghouse." Ressler tried his hand at mild jest, but after receiving only a stern disapproval, he turned his focus back onto Reddington, "Maybe he's here with a lead…wonder what nefarious criminal is on the list this time."

They watched him from the view of their small office, and Ressler was certain Keen had expected Reddington to seek her attention, as she stood by the doorway in anticipation of his inevitable presence. But much to their startling bewilderment, the man in focus took a sharp turn to the left on the site floor, proceeding to climb up the metal staircase with rigid determination and stamina.

"What the hell…"

"He's going to Cooper's office." Keen muttered softly, perhaps more to herself, as her eyes traced the flighty steps of the wily criminal. And she was right; it appeared that Reddington had indeed barged into Cooper's office, presumably unannounced and unconcerned.

"You gonna go in there?" Ressler inquired once more, knowing she had certain liberties to enter their company, more so than he did.

"No…not unless they call for me."

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sure we'll hear about it."

"I don't know…" She turned to him with lines on her face etched in dread and apprehension, "Something doesn't…something's not right."

Ressler was apt to agree with her, wholeheartedly with all of his alerted nerves, but he kept his lips tightly shut for he cautioned not to inflict more heat to her already restless resolve. Instead, he rebounded to mild jest again, "When had anything been right since Reddington crashed into our lives?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." And with that, Keen turned from the doorway and strutted to her desk, pulling out her chair with an agitated flair, "Sometimes it's easier to not give a damn."

Ressler didn't say a word as he eyed his partner grab a handful of files and rummage through them with willful focus, as if one of the files contained the mysteries of life. He knew she was trying to distract herself, trying to get her mind off of Reddington's business and just what the hell he wanted from Cooper. Ressler was no fool; he was mindful of the often tumultuous relationship between the criminal and his partner, and beyond his understanding and explanation, he felt a distant sharp pang in his heart, of all places. It may be that he felt absolutely useless in trying to help her…that this was one situation in which it was beyond his control to ease the pain of one he…cared about.

If Keen had given him a job to do, he'd be more than willing and she'd never have to ask twice. He was ready to fix things, set things in proper order, right the wrong, and…beat the crap out of Reddington, if that was required. But she had never sought his help regarding the old man, and he wasn't about to barge into her life demanding to take over the intricacies, regardless of how much he desperately wanted to. No, it wasn't his place, and he winced at the knowledge that every silence he received from her was a rejection…of his trust, of his loyalty, and of his hand. And even as she had not intended, Ressler received it as harsh resistance, and in that wounded disappointment he assigned himself to wait in silence, until she came to him.

But now was not the time to dwell on those aching sentiments, and Ressler cleared his throat and replicated his partner, himself relegating to the files stacked on his own desk. He was certain that whatever the reason Reddington was there that morning had very little to do with him, and unlike his partner who was clearly agitated, he was willing to go about his business until he was called upon.

Ressler had lost track of time while reading a forensic report, with the view of the office door in the peripheral, when he sensed a presence emerging from the hallway. Keen was first to look up, and Ressler followed suit instantly. It was Assistant Director Cooper, standing with a cane in one hand, and a dour countenance to match his dark shadow casted upon the doorway.

"Agent Ressler, I need you in my office, now."

"Yes, sir." He stood up immediately and straightened his grey suit jacket, and Keen got up as well, expecting to join the company without the formal request. She stood at his side, waiting to walk along with him when Cooper turned to her with a firm voice.

"Agent Keen, your presence is not requested."

"Sir…" She protested with an unmasked tinge of alarm, and she threw a quick side glance at Ressler, who met her eyes with his own weary skepticism. She held her gaze a bit longer, and with a slight shake of her head, it was as if she was telling him to not go.

But Cooper didn't want to hear another word, and he had already turned toward the hallway and started his weighty strides, "Agent Ressler, now."

Ressler had no choice but to follow along, and he gave Keen a quick nod in an attempt to reassure her. She kept her eyes upon him as he walked out of the office, and he himself felt the oppressive burden of anxiety as he realized this would be the first time they would be separated in the unnerving realm of Raymond Reddington.

When he entered Cooper's office, he immediately spotted the attending criminal standing by the small window on the left wall, with the usual tilting of his head in a posture of anticipation.

"Hello, Donald."

"Red…" Ressler found Reddington's focus upon him disquieting, and he turned his eyes upon Cooper instead, who was sitting behind the desk with a solemn silence. Cooper's lips remained tightly shut, and his eyes were startlingly rigid and sharp. If Ressler had sought for even a sliver of solace or ease, Cooper didn't give him any. Something was wrong…dreadfully wrong.

It was Reddington who spoke abruptly, whose gravelly voice demanded Ressler's attention, "Donald, do you want the good news or the bad news?"

"What is this about?"

"Answer the question, Donald."

"Sir…" Ressler turned to Cooper once again, but he was only met with stern silence and gravity.

"Donald, the answer." Reddington persisted and commanded Ressler's attention again, but this time with a hint of testy impatience.

"Fine…the bad news."

"Earlier this morning, my associates intercepted a cattle call…a bulletin of crime, if you will…going out to all underground syndicates of every criminal organizations."

"A what?"

"This particular one was brought to my attention because of its high price tag, but more importantly because of the name associated with it." Reddington paused a slight, perhaps to assuage the already tense reception, "Donald, don't be alarmed…but there was a hit placed on your head as of six A.M. this morning…"

"The hell…"

"The good news is that they want you alive. But that doesn't mean you won't get a bullet into one of your limbs..."

"Red..." Cooper warned him with a steely objection, but the criminal hardly flinched in his acerbic jest.

"And it certainly doesn't mean you'll still be alive once you're handed over to whoever wants you."

"Wait…wait a minute." Ressler was certain he heard the words, but it must've been the erratic thumping of his heartbeat that made it maddeningly impossible to comprehend any of it. It may have been easier if he had just treated it as a mere dream…a terrible, terrible nightmare of a dream. "Let me…let me get this straight…"

Just as Ressler's voice wavered haphazardly and incoherently, Cooper cut in with a sharp tone, "Reddington, you trust this information?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"And it's conclusive?"

"I had it confirmed myself."

"And do you have the source of the hit?"

"My men are working on it, but as of now, nothing. It's a diverted connection, possibly circuiting several times around the entire planet. It's a highly sophisticated method and the operation is nearly untraceable…but not impossible. I just need time."

"Maybe it's…one of the criminals I put away…their families, associates…" With the haze of his eyes slightly clearing, Ressler was able to produce a thought that he stuttered softly. But he was still not quite there, and his head felt helplessly detached from every faculty of his mind, grappling to accept all the devilish words thrown at him. He had stood in the line of blazing fires, yes. But this price on his head…that was something else. The menace and the sheer terror of it gripped his throat and it felt as though his heart was being bled dry, with the tightening squeeze for every drop in the hands of the most unimaginable torment.

"Agent Ressler, I'm going to need names of every criminal or events…anything…that you recall to be of particular…"

But Reddington didn't allow Cooper to finish that sentence, as he sufficiently cut in with an undeniable restlessness, "Harold, time is not on our side. What we need to do is place Donald in protective custody, now."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here, and figure this out. I'm gonna go through every damn criminal, every damn file…" Ressler protested with a sharp scowl, but once again, Reddington cut him off.

"Donald, for once put away your bullish machismo, and think about the implication of the bullet that's directed at you from every hit man of every criminal organization. These guys are sharp and ruthless and methodical…and they will do anything to get the job done. If they want to find you, they will find you, and don't you dare dismiss that for one second. And you know what that means, don't you?"

Reddington inhaled a fitful of air as Ressler waited without a word, "That means every minute you are at the black site, you're jeopardizing the entire operation and endangering everyone in it. We have to protect you, so we can protect everyone else."

"Agent Ressler…" Cooper spoke quickly and succinctly, "I'm going to arrange a transport, and you will be escorted to an undisclosed location for protective surveillance."

"Sir…"

"If you haven't already assumed, there is no way we can guarantee how long it'd be, but rest assured that here at the home front, I'll have every agent working on figuring out just who is behind this damn thing."

"Sir, if I may…"

"This discussion is over, and you are leaving as soon as I make the arrangements." Cooper picked up the phone, and proceeded to make a call. Ressler watched him in unbelief, his head swirling at the speed of events unfolding and decisions being made…everything was happening fast. Too fast.

"Donald, I can only advice you to wait this out." Reddington's voice was suddenly hushed, which was markedly in contrast to the heat of the room, "I can't speak for the abilities of the FBI, but I have my men working on it."

"You mean criminals…" Ressler snorted in bitter jest, finding piquant humor in the irony of it all.

"More or less. But if it's any comfort, they're top notch criminals."

"You're pulling out all the stops for me, Red. I'm touched."

"Remain focused...it'll be over sooner than you think."

"Watch it, Red…" Ressler eyed the older man with a doleful grin, "You sound like you actually care about me."

"Now there's a gross presumption."

"Yup…a wallop of presumptions, layered on thick."

Ressler had hardly a moment to return the bemused grin from Reddington when Cooper slammed down the phone receiver and cut through their diverting exchange. "Agent Ressler, your escorts will be here in two minutes. You will be transported immediately."

"Do I have time to…"

"No, that is not recommended." It was as if Cooper read his mind, "You will be provided supplies by your escorting agent."

"Yes, sir."

"And if you would hand me your phone…" Ressler unclipped his cellphone from his belt and placed it on the desk, just as Cooper produced a small black phone from his desk drawer, "This is an unmarked and untraceable phone. This will be the only mode of communication between you and me. Needless to say, you are not to communicate with anyone else during the entire protective surveillance."

"Understood, sir."

"I will be in contact with you on weekly basis, or as necessary if need arises."

Ressler took the phone from Cooper's hand, and clipped it into his belt…the very device that will be his only lifeline to the civilization for the next unforeseeable days, weeks…and god forbid, months. He couldn't help the grim countenance, and it didn't go unnoticed by Cooper, "Agent Ressler…I can't presume to understand how difficult this is for you. But you're in good hands. We will get to the bottom of this, even if we have to work around the clock, and we will get through it. You have my word."

"Yes…thank you, sir."

Ressler was able to muster a small smile, just as Cooper checked his watch and stood up from his chair. He turned to Ressler with a solemn tone, "Shall we?"

The three men walked out of the office and like a band of surly soldiers, they marched down the staircase in a single file line. Ressler was kept in the middle, and he was aware that his head hung low with woeful misery, but he didn't have the will or the stamina to pretend otherwise. He spotted two dark suited agents by the elevator, and assumed that they were the men assigned to escort him to god-forsaken barren hole of protective imprisonment. Ressler wasn't a fool; he knew he was heading to some dingy motel, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to do but to stare at the wall…waiting…all day.

At the bottom of the staircase, Ressler couldn't help but to look left toward his office, and through the window his eyes locked with those of his partner. Keen walked out of the office immediately, presumably headed toward him, but it was Reddington who swiftly intercepted her.

Ressler wished he was afforded a chance to talk to her himself, but Cooper walked on without missing a beat, and he felt compelled to follow and oblige the urgency. He turned back one more time before getting into the elevator, and the last image of the black site was that of Keen looking absolutely horrid and ashen, just as Reddington was talking to her at her side. She kept her fiery gaze locked with Ressler, and all he could produce was a nod before the elevator doors slid closed in a clunky conclusion.

. . . . . . .

"Sir, there will be an attending agent in the next room at all times."

"Alright."

"Tap on the wall twice if you need assistance."

"Got it."

"Here are your supplies." The dark-haired agent handed Ressler a medium sized luggage bag, "In it, you'll find basic items for lodging. If you need anything else, please let me know."

"Thank you."

"Meals will be delivered to your room three times a day…"

"That's fine." Ressler was starting to feel agitated with all the ramblings of inconsequential bureau ditties, "I know the drill. You don't have to waste your time."

The attending agent merely nodded his head and handed Ressler a key, "Sir, I do need to remind you that you cannot leave your room under any circumstances."

"Duly noted. Thank you."

Ressler didn't give the agent another look before turning the key to his motel room. He had been right all along; they've driven for four hours, into the utmost forsaken path of the shrouded mountains, and here they were…at a dingy motel in the middle of nowhere. He looked around his room, of its one lonely bed by the window, a small TV perched upon a rickety wooden table, and a sufficiently raggedy armchair by the bed. He spotted a small fridge by the bathroom, and he lunged at it in the hopes of finding some kind of alcoholic treasure, but all he found was a carton of milk, severely past its life at that. He sighed, regretting how he had given into that small hope, when at this point, he should just give up on all life's pleasures and indulgence.

He threw the luggage onto the floor, not bothering to open its contents. He took off his dark overcoat and threw that on the floor as well. And right about then, he felt like hurling something against the wall, preferably something that will shatter in millions of jagged pieces. He was angry…and agitated…and furious…and bitter. Everything about this room, and this entire situation felt absolutely suffocating, with the walls closing in on him with cruel menace and its dark claws choking him, stripping him of every harsh breath. This was not happening to him. This can't possibly be real…and for how long…

With a deep exhale and in hopeless slump, Ressler sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out his damn tie. He won't be needing that any time soon. He looked at the small clock on the wall, and just like everything about this hell hole, it was hung with crooked nonchalance, fully accepting the pathetic condition of this pathetic place. The time read just half past two, and this damn day was far from being over.

Losing all strength, Ressler fell into the bed and stared blankly at the beige ceiling, in all of its cobwebbed and dusty glory. This tiny room…this enclosing box…will be his life for god knows how long. And there were people out there, looking for him…wanting to kill him. Hell had to be better than this…it just gotta be.

. . . . . . . .

It's been two weeks since taking that ominous step into the motel, and Ressler had now settled into some semblance of routine. He woke up just when the knock on the door signified delivery of breakfast, and his only reading was the news paper accompanying his black coffee. He was never much of a TV guy, but found himself turning it on for the sake of having voices and sounds in the otherwise eery silent room. The attending agent greeted him during each meal deliveries, but it was understood that they were not to speak to each other for any extraneous reasons.

For the most part, it was the waiting. He tried his damn best to avoid feeling sorry for himself, but every once in a while, that grim face of fear reared itself and he would be gripped in the mire of hopelessness. He was waiting…all day…and all night. His life seemed to stand still, suspended in the actions of others, and there was nothing he could do to help himself. There was nothing he controlled, and that made him feel weak…and useless….and hapless to be killed at any moment.

Cooper had called him twice, only to report that they were working around the clock to find the culprit behind the hit. The agents were checking through all of the criminals he's put away, as well as the families and associates involved in each case. Cooper had reassured him that there would be no pages left unturned, and that this ordeal would come to its end very soon.

To be truthful, Ressler wasn't comforted by Cooper's perfunctory words, nor convinced that this damn thing will blow over very soon. He knew this was more intricate and complex than that, but he kept the upbeat, ensuring the boss that he was doing alright…when in fact, it was everything but. Ressler couldn't bring himself to admit that each day brought another layer of darkness, another layer of disheartenment that made him doubt whether he'd ever be able go back to the life he had.

And much of his days were spent thinking about his life back in DC…about his home, his job…and his partner, Keen. He couldn't help but to regret not speaking to her before he left; it could've been just one word…one word. And now everything was maddening…and confusing. He missed her…damn, he missed her. He missed her so much that sometimes, he felt like he was seeing her face in his own reflection upon the bathroom mirror. How he wanted to hear her voice…and no doubt, she'd try to comfort him…and he may open his heart, just a little, to let her give him hope…and he may dare to feel something other than anguish and misery, and actually believe in it.

It was late one night when the black phone went off on his bedside table. It's been only three days since Cooper's last report, and feeling alarmed at its unanticipated call, Ressler picked up the phone with haste.

"Hello?"

"Ressler…"

He breathed in ragged fits, shocked to the core at the voice that greeted him from the other end. It felt like an eternity ago since he'd heard that voice…but at the same time, it was the voice that he heard every day, in his thoughts and in his dreams. It was Keen…that voice belonged to Keen.

"Ressler?"

"Yeah…hey, Keen."

"Hey…" She stammered a bit, "I asked Cooper if I could call you…it only took him a week to make up his mind."

"Had to ask the headmaster for permission, huh?"

"You know how it is." They shared an easy laughter, "So, how's the life out there?"

"Living the dream, Keen…living the dream."

"You need anything?"

"How about a comfortable bed? Some good coffee? Beer?"

"Want me to come over with some beer?"

"Yeah…and can you pick up some pizza from Scargiano's? Deep dish pepperoni…"

"Sure, I'll be right over."

Ressler fell into the bed with what was surely a dopey grin, trying to muffle a fit of laughter that was threatening to take over. He hadn't felt that relaxed for a long time, but at the same time he was acutely aware of the sharp tinge of pain that struck his heart.

"Listen, Ressler…we're doing everything we can to figure this out. Trust me when I say that…I won't let anything happen to you. We will get those bastards, if that's the last thing I do."

"I know."

"And Reddington is on the trail…so we've got all cylinders covered."

"Papa Red to the rescue."

"So, don't you worry about a damn thing. I know you…sitting still has never been your strong suit, but…just hang in there. It'll come to an end soon, I promise you."

Ressler nodded, as if she could see him. And perhaps he would even begin to believe her words of lofty promises. "Keen…I'm alright, don't worry about me. It's like a mini-vacation, you know? Never mind the price tag on my head, I'm enjoying the down time…catching up on cross-word puzzles, game shows, and my favorite, Judge Judy."

"Ressler…"

"I know you're doing the best you can over there. I have no doubt about that."

"Don't lose hope…don't give up."

"Keen, don't be so dramatic. I'm fine, I swear."

"I'll arrange a visit, if I can."

"No, absolutely not. It's against protocol, and you know it."

"I'll confer with Cooper."

"Damn it, Keen, don't do it. I don't need you to check up on me."

"I'm not coming to check up on you."

"Well, whatever reason it is, don't do it."

"Ressler…I want to see you."

He heard the words, but much to his own unbelief, he quickly and reflexively dismissed the sentiments spoken with jest, "Nah, save yourself the trouble. I'm the same bastard you saw two weeks ago, and I can't be bothered to shave, let alone take a shower."

"Look, you don't have to be…"

"Keen, I better go…I have a busy schedule tomorrow. Breakfast at eight, board meeting with a newspaper, debriefing with the TV set all day…"

"Ressler, just stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop pretending you're fine, and that any of this is OK...because it's not."

"Keen, if you called to give me the low down on how my life is in danger...yeah, that is exactly what I needed to hear."

"Look, Ress...you don't have to pretend with me. I just want to understand..."

"And I certainly don't need you to get into my head."

"That is not what I'm trying to do. Why are you doing this? What is wrong with you?"

"What is wrong with me is that I'm done with this pep talk."

"Ressler...I called because I missed you."

"Yeah, well...just work on saving my ass over there. That's all I need."

"Ressler..."

"Bye, Keen. Take care."

With that, he hung up the phone, not even waiting for her to respond. He remained on the bed and clutched the phone in his hand, just as a sharp scowl settled on his face. He closed his eyes, wincing at the harrowing knowledge that he was a complete ass to her…but if he was in danger, there was no way in hell he was about to invite her into that madness. So he lied, and put up that damn brutish disguise, hoping that it had sufficiently managed the job of dissuading her from setting a foot in this hell hole...and away from him, the living and breathing target of all vile blood chasers. And he wanted nothing more than her simmering in anger, refusing to forgive him and rejecting even a mere idea of seeing him again.

In that reprieve and hope, he clutched his chest…as it throbbed and thumped…in the aching memory of her words, her presence, and her occupation in that crevice where his life beat. And he was tempted, fearfully and achingly...to avail his heart to believe that she was wholly truthful, in admitting that she had missed him and that she wanted to see him. And in that flickering light amidst despair, he dared to hope that he will remain alive, and that all this would indeed come to an end soon, just as she had promised.