This story was written in response to Ressler Prompt # 2 from my Tumblr/Twitter friends: Drunk Ressler (Choose a reason why, and who he is with. Any time, any place, any season. Angst if desired). As before, all stories written concurrently & shared simultaneously among the authors & then posted here. We were amazed at how similarly we all imagined drunk Ressler and the reasons why he would drink!

Donald Ressler stared vacantly into the shadows of his living room, the glow from a small table lamp the only light in the apartment. He'd lost track of the time hours ago, but despite his stupor he knew it was late. Very late. His eyes struggled to focus, a sure sign of too much whiskey and too little sleep. He blinked hard and glanced down at the near-empty glass in his hand and swirled the last of its amber contents. He had refilled the glass too many times to count and the bottle on the coffee table was nearly empty. He was going to have a raging headache in the morning but at the moment, the numbness was welcome. The last drops burned the back of his throat and he set the glass down on the table with a bang and closed his eyes.

"Elizabeth is alive." Those three words, delivered flatly in Reddington's gravelly tones, had prompted his present drunken state. The criminal's initial shock at the news had probably equaled, if not exceeded, his own, but none of that came across during their brief conversation. Reddington seemed to have himself tightly under control, singularly focused on reaching Liz and Agnes before it was too late. Ressler had barely focused on the details of the scheme, but he understood it involved Red's own right hand woman, Mr. Kaplan, and Liz's ex-boyfriend, the doctor. A web of lies and manipulation. After Reddington hung up, he'd sat in shock at his desk for several minutes before he'd pulled himself together enough to stagger up to Cooper's office and share the news. After that, he'd beaten a hasty retreat from the Post Office, unable to face talking with anyone else until he had processed his own emotions in the privacy of his own home.

"Elizabeth is alive." How the hell….? He had seen her supposedly dead body with his own eyes. He had grieved her. They all had. The day she died - the day he thought she died, he corrected himself - he had barely held it together while they finished processing the scene. Seeing Reddington quite literally collapse had forced him to stay focused, but it had taken all his self-control not to lose it when Samar had doubled over and gripped his hand like a vice. And now? The woman he knew…the woman he thought he knew…."Who the hell are you, Elizabeth Keen," he muttered to himself. He realized he was not nearly drunk enough. Not even close. He leaned forward and clumsily unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle and poured himself another generous glass. He quickly gulped down a third of it. He knew as soon as he hung up with Reddington that he needed oblivion tonight in some form. Whiskey seemed far less dangerous than resuming some of his old habits, tempting though that might be. He'd fought too long and too hard against those particular demons to throw it all away.

He'd love to punch something - or someone, preferably. Tom Keen, specifically. He'd almost started to trust the man, he'd even tried to like him a little, for Agnes's sake. He'd certainly felt sorry for him. But he was the biggest con man of them all. The funeral, all those weeks of working together, the baptism, the "we're all one big family" crap. What a joke. He played you like a fool, Donnie. Ressler took another large gulp of the whiskey and then another. Goddam Tom f-ing Keen. He knew the guy couldn't be trusted. Lesson learned. Always trust your gut, not the fools around you.

The room tilted as he slammed the once-again empty glass back on the table. He knew he should go to bed but he was not sure he could move. He started to get up, but smacked his shin hard against the coffee table. He sank back on to the couch and rubbed his leg in frustration. He was dizzy and the room was starting to spin. He leaned back and closed his eyes once more. As the pain slowly receded from his shin, he let the darkness envelop him.

The incessant buzzing of his phone dragged him back to consciousness. He fumbled for the phone in his pocket and without even opening his eyes put it against his ear. "Ressler," he said wearily.

"Donald." Ressler groaned inwardly. Of course it was Reddington. Who else would call him in the middle of the night?

"Whaddya you want?" He slurred.

"Donald," Reddington repeated more sharply. "We were too late. Elizabeth was gone. So were Tom and Agnes."

Ressler struggled to clear his mind from its alcohol-induced haze. Gone? "So…what now?" He managed.

Reddington exhaled sharply. "My people and I will start pursuing our own leads here in Cuba. You need to get with Harold and the team and find out everything you can about Kirk's movements."

"Got it," Ressler groaned. He could feel the fog of alcohol and exhaustion encircling him once more.

"Agent Ressler!" Reddington sounded exasperated, but Ressler punched the end call button his phone and let it slip to the couch next to him. He couldn't move if he tried.

He awoke with a jolt, heart pounding, and opened his eyes. He immediately wished he hadn't. The sunlight streaming in through the windows was unbearably bright. He closed his eyes again quickly and wished he could simply sink back into oblivion. He was going to have to move though. His head was pounding and so was his bladder. He forced himself up and staggered into bathroom. After relieving himself he stared at his sunken, red rimmed eyes in the mirror. You look like shit, Donnie. He poured a couple of aspirin into his hand and headed into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

His stomach protested as he slowly sipped the water. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten totally wasted but his body was begging him to crawl into bed and sleep it off. Not an option, unfortunately. Had he really talked to Reddington or had he imagined it?

He retreated to his room and peeled off his shirt and pants. He hadn't even bothered to change when he'd arrived home last night, nor had he eaten anything. He'd just headed straight for the bottle. He stepped into the shower and rested his throbbing head against the cool tiles as the water cascaded over his back. Even the simple act of washing himself seemed like too much effort. Man, I'm a lightweight.

As the steam lifted some of his fog, he wondered what Reddington would he ask them to do this time. Liz certainly went to great lengths to escape his clutches. She even left her newborn child behind. The level of fear and desperation that she must have felt to take that step, to risk everything…. Does Liz even want to be found? "Liz, I wish I knew what the hell you want," he whispered softly to himself.

As he toweled off, a wave of nausea hit him and he dropped to his knees and retched into the toilet. He wished again that he could just crawl into bed and nurse the brutal hangover. When the retching finally stopped, he eased himself up off the floor. He would be feeling the effects of his bender all day, no doubt about that.

He dragged himself into the bedroom and got dressed and then sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. The aspirin were doing little to alleviate his throbbing head. Reddington's words echoed in his mind. "We were too late." What did that mean? Only one way to find out. He heaved himself off the bed with a sigh and grabbed his keys.

Twenty minutes later, Ressler stepped out of the elevator and looked up to see Cooper, Samar and Aram already gathered around the phone in Cooper's office. He climbed the stairs and Cooper motioned for him to close the door behind him.

"Agent Ressler just arrived. We can get started now, Reddington," Cooper said. "Ah, Agent Ressler, good of you to join us," Reddington replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Ressler ignored Cooper's look of concern, Samar's arched eyebrow, and Aram's nervous glance. He knew he looked about as bad as he felt and he could only imagine what Reddington might have told them. His head throbbed harder as Reddington described the scene. The broken baby bottle, the smashed glass, the empty crib. The blood. Ressler swallowed hard as he fought another wave of nausea.

"So we know Alexander Kirk has Elizabeth," Reddington concluded. "What we don't know is where."

"What if Liz doesn't want us to find her?" Ressler asked quietly. He hadn't planned to say it out loud but the words popped out. Cooper furrowed his brow, Samar turned to stare at him, perplexed, and Aram simply looked shocked.

Reddington was silent for a moment before responding icily. "Why would you say that, Agent Ressler? Why would you even think it?"

Ressler licked his lips. Time to lay it all out on the table. "Well she took pretty drastic measures to get away from you. So if you want our help finding her, you better start telling us more of what you know. Starting with why Alexander Kirk wanted Liz in the first place. I know you know more than you've been telling us."

They all waited quietly for Reddington's response. "Very well," he said finally. "Alexander Kirk believes himself to be Elizabeth's father."

Ressler was not sure he had heard the man correctly. "Her father? But didn't Liz say she shot and killed her father years ago?"

"And if he is her father, why would he try to abduct his own daughter at gunpoint?" Samar asked, looking as puzzled as Ressler felt.

Reddington exhaled loudly. "I said that Kirk believes he is her father, not that he actually is her father. He was married to her mother when Elizabeth was born."

Ressler eased himself onto a chair and rested his forehead on his hand as he digested the latest information. The pounding in his head was getting worse by the minute. "So what happens if he finds out that Liz is not his daughter?" he asked.

"We have to find her before that happens, Agent Ressler," Reddington said grimly. "Once Alexander Kirk discovers that he is not in fact Elizabeth's father, alliances will be exposed. Secrets that have the potential to cause great damage to a number of powerful people will come to light."

"Helping you find Elizabeth isn't going to be so simple, Reddington," Cooper interjected. "The White House was already shutting us out on investigating her death. She was a felon on probation. If word gets out that she faked her death, people other than us will be looking for her, and if they find her, she goes to jail."

"I understand that, Harold. We are going to have to have a cover story for what we are doing. That's why I'm going to give you the next name on the Blacklist."

Thirty minutes later, Ressler retreated gratefully to the privacy of his office and swallowed two more aspirin in an effort to try to quash the relentless pressure in his head. His phone buzzed again.

"Ressler," he said brusquely.

"Donald." Reddington again, damn the man.

"What do you want now?" he asked. He was in no mood to talk to Reddington any further.

"I know how you feel, Donald," Reddington began.

"You don't know a damn thing about what I feel," Ressler interrupted. He really wasn't in the mood for a Reddington pep talk.

"Oh, but I do, Donald. You may have fooled Harold and Agents Navabi and Mojtabai but you haven't fooled me. I know how much you cared for Elizabeth. I know how her apparent death affected you. You loved her, even if you won't admit it, even to yourself."

Ressler felt his cheeks flush. Sonofabitch. He clenched his jaw as Reddington continued, "A mother's desire to protect her child is an insurmountable force that can drive her to take the most unimaginable measures. I learned that from Elizabeth's mother. I should have anticipated that Elizabeth might…" His voice trailed off. After a few moments, he continued, "But you - you have an opportunity that I never had with her mother. To forgive, to have a second chance."

"I don't know what you mean by a second chance," Ressler responded slowly. "Liz made her choices. And none of those choices involved me."

"So it seems, yes," Reddington replied. "But I think many things are not as they seemed."

"What are you talking about?" Ressler had a feeling his headache was only going to get worse as the conversation continued.

"Elizabeth wanted to protect her child. And she believed that the only way to do that was to escape. Tom offered her that option."

"So what are you saying, that she didn't really want to re-marry Tom? That she was doing it all for the baby? Because she sure had me fooled if that was the case." Ressler shook his head and clenched his pencil so hard he thought it might snap.

"Elizabeth cared for you very much, Donald. Looking back, I'm sure she once imagined a very different future. But, like her mother, she made choices in a desperate effort to keep her child safe. Choices that she otherwise would never have made. I just didn't see it soon enough."

Ressler closed his eyes before continuing. "You've said you're not Liz's father. And that Kirk isn't either, but he was married to her mother. What was your relationship with her mother?"

"She was my partner, in a sense," Reddington responded slowly. "We worked together. We became close….very close. I loved her very much." Ressler could hear the emotion in the criminal's voice and knew he spoke the truth.

"And did she love you?" Ressler asked quietly.

"Yes, she did," Reddington replied. "But she loved her child more. As it should be."

Ressler was silent, digesting the criminal's words. After a few moments, he said "I'm coming down there. I'm going to help you find her."

Reddington chuckled. "I thought you might feel that way. I'll have my jet pick you up at 5. And Donald?"

"Yeah?"

"Try some oolong tea for the hangover. Works wonders. You sound like hell. Probably look even worse."