Title: Red Box With a Bow
Series: The Blacklist
Summary: Meera Malik's daughters meet her friend from work, Mr. Donald Ressler.
Disclaimer: The Blacklist is property of NBC.
There were few things that irritated Deeva Malik more than being interrupted, particularly when she was in the middle of failing ancient history and texting at the same time.
All she wanted to do was get her work done so she could go out with her friends, but, no, some dink had to come knocking when her mother was preoccupied with helping Indra with her hair.
The knock came again, this time more impatient. Indra waited for the sound of her mother's footsteps, but they never came and there was a third knock.
"Deeva, get the door, would you?"
She made a face. "Mum, I'm busy trying to be a good student!"
"Deeva, I'm not going to ask you again."
"Answer the door, Devi!" Her sister seconded. Little brat. Deeva rolled her eyes. Climbing off her bed, she stepped back into her cookie monster slippers. She fixed her hair out of habit and headed downstairs, hand dragging down the baluster.
The things she had to put up with such an inconsiderate family. How was she supposed to finish her work if they kept interrupting her? Hopping off of the stairs, she crossed the short expanse of the narrow hallway and went through the motions of unlocking the door, removing the chair and sliding back the bolts.
Her hand still on the knob of the heavy oak door, Deeva was taken aback by the tall, anxious man staring through the screen door. Her nose wrinkled at the sight of him, he stepped back, surprised. "Who are you?"
He stood out against the front porch in an army green sweatshirt and box with a bow stuck on the top. She'd never met any, but she was sure he was Jehovah Witness come to preach the end of the world or something.
"None of your business, who are you?" Deeva demanded. The man shifted awkwardly where he stood. Semi-invisible eyebrows furrowed, his chin raised and his expression became serious. "Donald Ressler, I'm a friend of your mother's," He replied.
"I know all of my mum's friends, don't know you," Deeva remained doubtful.
"I'm a recent acquaintance," He offered.
"Recent acquaintances don't bring gifts," Deeva said.
"What are you, the acquaintance police?" Ressler asked. "Is your mother home?"
"Sorry, she's busy," Deeva prepared to close the door.
"Deeva, who is it?" Deeva cast a glance over her shoulder. Her mother seemed to appear from nowhere behind her, wiping her hands against her yellow blouse. Deeva watched the man's expression light up for a second before his arms fell behind him, concealing the box. "Ressler," Deeva's eyebrows narrowed at the tone in her mother's voice. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you, but- I didn't know you had company," The man, Ressler, allowed his arms to come out from behind him and extended the hand holding the box. I came to see you.
"Excuse you, we live here," Deeva snatched the box before from his grasp and started to pull at the bow.
"Deeva, don't be rude," Her mother had to assert a physical presence - a hand on her shoulder, grabbing her wrist - let her daughter know she was disapproving of her behavior. Deeva got as far as undoing the bow before she handed the box over to her mother with a huff. "Please, come in," Meera said.
She nudged her daughter out of the way. Deeva moved toward the staircase, she was up on the second step when he crossed the threshold. She watched the way his body leaned slightly toward her mother as he surveyed the foyer. Ressler looked up at her, she looked down on him.
As if to the break the tension, her mother stepped into the space between them and said, "Ressler, this is my daughter, Deeva. Deeva, this is Donald Ressler. He's… a friend from work."
Yeah, I'll bet. The ball was in her court now. She could be rude and say nothing at all or mind her manners and acknowledge his presence as her mother wished. "I thought you said you didn't have any friends at work?"
"Well, that was earlier," Meera said. "Obviously, things are bound to change after six months."
"Maybe," Deeva remained unconvinced as Indra hopped down the stairs. One side of her head was braided while the other part was still sectioned off, a work in progress sticking off in every which direction. "Mum, who's he?" She asked. Deeva steadied her sister as she teetered on the edge of the second step, lips curled into a frown. "A friend of mum's from work," Deeva replied.
"He's big," Indra remarked.
Donald smiled at Indra, the more aggressive aspects of his features fading to reveal a weary man. "Donald Ressler," He extended his hand to her, never mind the length between them. Deeva watched his feet shift on the carpet and his eyebrow twitched as Indra hopped down the stairs toward the landing.
"But we know all of mum's friends," Indra said, shaking his hand.
The older Malik sister smiled. "That's what I said."
"He's new, sweetheart," Meera offered by way of explanation to her daughter. Indra made a little 'o' with her mouth and finished shaking Donald's hand. "Oh. In that case, nice to meet you, I guess," She said.
"Likewise," He said as Meera walked past him into the living room. Deeva watched his attention move away from her little sister immediately when her mother departed from the room. He followed after Meera. As he disappeared over the threshold of the living room, Deeva joined her sister on the landing, eyebrow raised. "I don't like him," She said.
"You don't like anyone who's not dad," Indra remarked dryly. Deeva chose not to dignify her sister's comment with any sort of jibe. It was true though. There were very few men her mother knew that stood up to their father on any level of merit.
Donald followed Meera through the living room toward the kitchen. Casting a look over his shoulder he spotted the edge of Indra's hair peeking around the corner of the living room threshold while here sister made no qualms about being seen by Donald as she watched him enter the kitchen after her mother.
He held back a small chuckle. The Malik kitchen was a picture of sophistication, like something out of a home and kitchen magazine; upscale and two toned dark grays and light silvers, decked out with the latest kitchenware. She certainly wasn't hard up for cash, let alone comfortable living. "Nice kitchen," He said.
"I could give you the number the guy who worked on it," She said. "Are you hungry?"
Donald shook his head. "No, I had a big lunch," He said, patting his stomach. "If you have some water-"
"It should be on the counter behind you," Meera interjected as she removed the top from the box and sat it on the kitchen counter. Donald turned; there was naught but a small bottle of water sitting on the counter, cramped up in a corner next to a salt shaker. Not thinking twice, he snatched the bottle from the counter and began to twist the top. The faintest of smiles crossed her lips as she raised the silver chain up into the light shining through the window. "What's the occasion?" She asked.
"No occasion, thought I'd get you something nice," Was his reply. Donald felt a little out of sorts, knowing exactly how he wanted to behave and where he wanted to behave with her, but acknowledging he couldn't, considering they weren't the only people occupying the house.
Meera leaned against the counter, arms crossed and her head bowed slightly, and her feet were crossed. "Thank you, but you could've called," She said. Her expression was far from amused, but it lacked the usual sting of irritation.
"I should've, obviously," Donald grumbled, casting a look over his shoulder. "I don't think your kids like me."
"Well, you're a stranger to them," Meera stated as matter of fact. "More importantly, Deeva's been pressing me about who I've bringing around here lately."
"You haven't told them you're seeing me," It was more of a statement than a question.
"I haven't been given a reason to give them any reason to believe I'm seeing anyone. And..."
"And?"
"A while ago, I told them I'd try to make things work with their father."
"When was that?"
"Before I met you," Meera clarified. "Besides, it didn't work out."
At Donald's expression, she said, "What are we exactly?"
Donald's jaw shifted. "What do you call the last six months?"
"I call it two people with a mutual attraction," Meera replied. "Whether or not we're serious about each other-"
"Does our relationship have been strictly defined right now?"
"It does if it means if I have to tell my kids I'm not seeing her father anymore," She replied.
"Just say we're dating."
"Are we dating?"
"Yes," Donald said, closing the distance between them. "We're dating, we're not friends benefits or whatever they're calling it."
Meera sighed and rolled her shoulders. "Good to know," She exhaled. Donald watched her shoulders relax and her eyes wander in every direction but his. She rarely let him stand this close to her (on a non-professional basis, it was usually by accident they stood anywhere situated to each other); their height difference was palpable and Ressler was raised in an environment wherein he had to be aware how his body language might be perceived as intimidating to anyone shorter than him. Right now her stance was defensive, uncomfortable. Stepping back, he moved to stand beside her and braced himself against the counter. "How long as it been since you've dated anyone?"
"A long time. Why?" Meera's head raised, chin jutting out in almost in challenge. "Are you implying-?"
"I'm not implying anything, it's just that you're - well, guarded, especially around me," He nudged her arm a little.
"The last relationship I was involved with that concerned my job ended as well as you think it could," Meera said, giving him a pointed look. "And he left for about the same reasons I assume your engagement didn't work."
Donald frowned. "Does everyone know about my ex-engagement with Audrey?"
"I'd say Aram doesn't, but I'm the one that told him," She said.
"Thanks for that."
"And anyway, don't change the subject. My professional and personal relationship with my husband didn't pan out; you're a tier below him, were involved with a civilian and lost her because you chose your job over her—""
"And, what you're judging me for that?"
"Not at all. It is, after all, why I broke up with my husband as well," She said. "Our jobs were more important than anything we could facilitate for each other. It doesn't do well for morale for the children, but neither would my staying in a loveless marriage."
"So, what? You're preemptively keeping your distance because you assume things won't work out between us?"
"No, I'm being cautious. I expect you'd doing the same as well, seeing as she ended things and you likely haven't let go."
"Things between Audrey and I are over, that's a damning fact I won't- she won't let me forget, and I can accept that-"
"But-?"
Donald shrugged. "…But, yeah, I might still carry a torch for her in some capacity."
"I see."
"But that doesn't mean I don't wanna make us work, it doesn't mean I don't want to try. I want to obviously, you're the one that's stonewalling."
"I'm stonewalling, Ressler. If you still need to figure things out with Bidwell or whoever-" Maybe it was too forward, but Donald gripped the hand next to his on the counter. He was smart enough to know that trying to pull the big romantic "kiss her without permission" move would get him a slapped, or worse, shot where it would hurt the most, so he dared to try something a little less intimidating, if only to get her attention.
Meera regarded the pale freckled hand with the vaguest hint of surprise, but maintained her otherwise stoic façade. "There's nothing to figure out," He said. "I... I wanna see where this goes with you, not Audrey," He said. "If you let me. …Please?"
Meera said nothing for the longest time, she just watched him. Watched the muscles in his face twitch as he searched for some signifying that she understood what he meant.
"Alright," She said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes when he stood with his back a little straighter and smiled, "but you can't just show up unannounced like this." Donald nodded. "Sure, I can call."
"And, you can't say anything about our relationship until I talk to them," Meera explained. "…Even then, they might not like it." Donald conceded to her request with a silent nod. Meera pushed away from counter and moved toward the kitchen entrance.
Deeva and Indra stood behind the balusters of the second floor, straining to hear what their mother was saying to the weird man in the kitchen. Indra's gaze shifted over to her sister's face, cold and fraught with a secret fear.
They knew just about everyone she interacts with by virtue of their moving about back and forth from the states to home in Leicester. The nature of her work, on the other hand, is another story. They know it has something to do with the government, which leads her youngest, Indra, to speculate she's with MI6 or a super spy, but Deeva isn't so attracted to the idea that her mother is spy working for anyone considering where that's landed other people.
That said, most of the friend's she's made have been relatively friendly, but the moment their mum hasn't spoken a word of friendly faces since going back to work and begins to sleep odd hours into the day and night, Deeva and Indra immediately assume things aren't going well.
So when a man wearing a frumpy green sweatshirt shows up, Indra wasn't crazy about what he could mean for their future, let alone their mother, who, as far as she could tell from their brief meeting, wasn't exactly thrilled to see the man at their house. Which made her inviting him further inside a little weird for her.
But then, Deeva aren't crazy about any guy who visits their home and he isn't their father. On some level, neither is Indra, but she's a little less desperate to see her mother back in the arms of a man she only vaguely remembers being around.
When they step out of the kitchen, Indra and Deeva decide to join her mother downstairs. They flank her, Deeva on one side, Indra on the other.
Mr. Ressler polite enough, Indra supposes. He's super nice to her on account of her youth, but she's old enough to know when someone's putting on an act because she's just eleven. but she appreciates the attempt at charm and humor regardless. Deeva keeps her distance and is primarily cordial with "Mr. Ressler, friend from work", but isn't terribly subtle about the fact that she doesn't like him. He doesn't seem bothered by that, really.
Meera shoos them back upstairs and asks them to find something to do. Instead, they congregate at the top of the stairs and try to eavesdrop on their conversation. Just outside the house, their voices drop in and out of ear range.
Deeva and Indra are still straining to hear what they're saying. Things finally get quiet, Mr. Ressler leaves empty handed, mum sees him off and returns to the house with a vague smile on her face.
It looks could kill, Deeva probably would've stabbed Mr. Ressler twice over.
FIN.