Author's notes: So, it's been forever since my last fanfic, and I thought I had left this world behind, but I am obsessed with The Blacklist and this season is too good not to wonder and write. I wrote this piece in a few minutes last night after watching 3x02 so if there's something wrong or weird please forgive me, and let me know. Hope you like it!

Eyes closed. Deep breath. The only sound reaching his ears was the sound of the water coming out of the faucet. For a second, he had peace. But just for a second, and she immediately came into his thoughts. He opened his eyes, the water dripping from his eyelids and running down his freckled cheeks like tears. He closes the faucet, and silence invades his ears. Inside his head, nothing but noise. The screams, the shots, the explosions. He closes his eyes again, and images join the noises. Her face, far away. Escaping, again.
He doesn't bother drying his face, and the cold of the air conditioning is felt strong in his skin. He walks silently through the room, observing his task-force working at full speed, for no use. Three months since that day. Three months with no clue, no sighting, no leads, nothing. This is what Reddington does best, and of course he would do it for her. But he couldn't avoid the thoughts. She's hurt, she's in danger. She's dead. Thinking about it brings and excruciating pain in his chest. He looks at the empty desk to his left, her desk. No one dared use that desk, and he was glad. He goes up to his office, Cooper's office, and the thought of the former director of the task-force brings more doubts. Cooper never doubted her, he stood by her side and that cost him his job, his dignity. But he did it because he believed in her. Should he do it, too?
Three months with that in his head, and now he didn't know anything anymore. He did his job, but now he was more like a robot following the rules, rules that he wasn't so sure he believed in anymore. Everytime he had to follow the rules, he rememberd that day. He didn't follow the rules, he believed in her, and he let her go, for good.
He sat in his chair and bent back, looking up. On the ceiling, her face. In his mind, her face.
"Ressler" Samar's strong voice broke his thoughts, and hre face vanished like a ghost. He turned his attention to his agent. "I'm going home. We all are going to stop for a drink, wanna come?"
"No" he answered in his mind, but all agent Navabi heard was a grunt, and she understood. It was horrible to see what he had become. People talked about his five years looking for Reddington, how that had consumed him, but this was worse. He didn't care for Reddington, it was his job. Now, she wasn't sure. It was like a dorment feeling that felt satisfied with what they had suddenly came out strong as ever, desperate because of the absence. She nodded and closed the door, sighing at the thought of leaving him there. He wouldn't go home, he would stay there.
She met Aram by the elevator, and they communicated via looks. He understood, and then guided her towards the elevator. They couldn't help but looking up while the door closes, worriying about him.
The silence of the Post Office empty was painful. It gave room for the noises to come back. He was tired, he hadn't slept for days. Suddenly, her face came to him, clearly, as if she was there. She was hurt, scratches and bruises tainting her beautiful face. She was there, but they weren't in the post office anymore. It was a hotel room, a cheap hotel room, dark and smelly. She let him in, as if they were still partners, as if he wasn't hunting her.
"It's time, Liz" he said. "It's safer this way".
"No, it isn't" she replied, sitting on the bed, her blue eyes tearing up. He had just one instinct, sit down next to her and comfort her. He wanted to bring her close, shield her from her pain, but they weren't there yet, so he just held her hand. She looked at him, and for a few seconds they shared thoughts, they understood each other. She looked tired, thinner, her hair blonde. It was wrong, so wrong. He missed her original hair, her smile, the normal days.
"Ressler, I called you here because I need you to understand. I..."
"I know, Liz" he interrupted her "that's why it's best if you come with me, surrender, stop running. We're close!"
They had discovered so much more about the Cabal, and their intentions behind framing her for all those murders, it seemed so close to an end. She should turn herself in, she should come with him. They could help her, prove her innocence. She would still have to answer for the murder of Tom Connoly, but they could prove his involvement, it wouldn't be so bad, she would be safe.
She didn't think the same way "they will kill me if I turn myself in. They want me to still be guilty, it's not going to be over this way." She smiled shily, and his stomach revolved with butterflies at the sight. "I'm happy you believe me, but I still can't come back. I called you here so you'd know. Red has arranged everything, I'm going away. You have to stay quiet, stop the search, or else they will kill you. We're close and it's time to let Red find the last pieces. It's time for us criminals to do the search." He hated that she included herself in Reddington's category, but he hated even more that he couldn't also be part of that.
A tear escaped from her eye and ran loose through her face. He didn't think, he raised his hand and stopped it, cupping her cheeks. She closed her eyes, welcoming his touch, and another tear came out of her other eye. He let his impulses command his actions, and used the other hand to hold her face close. She motioned towards him, so he slided his hand to the back of her head, tangling his fingers on her hair and bringing her head close until they foreheads touch. She is crying now, tears of fear, of tiredness. For that moment she wants to go with him, finish this, and he wants her to run, to escape, to survive. Their roles inverted in a single moment of closeness.
She moves her head upwards and her mouth comes so close. A strange feeling invades him, eats up his heart and he can't think straight. In a fast movement that he doesn't know how to explain, he pulls her head and kisses her, passionately. He feels in her lips the shock of the surprise, but a few milliseconds are enough for her to relax. He finally realises what's happening, and moved to stop it, but her lips hunts his, and they kiss again, a mutual desperate call for contact, for each other, it's ckear. Looking for her, missing her as his partner, his friend, brough up something stronger, something real, and in that kiss he understood that she felt the same. She didn't need to call him, tell him she was going away. She wanted to see him, one last time.
The kiss was becoming both more passionate and more relaxed. They felt comfortable with each other, and that felt natural, and at the same time, the absence, the whole situation that kept them apart, in different sides, intensified the need for closeness, to be together again.
She moved even closer, and held his head between her hands, sinking her fingers into his hair, and he shivered with her touch, and for a moment, he forgot she was a wanted terrorist, his responsibility, for a moment she was just Liz, and she was his Liz.
They broke the kiss, and the eyes found each other and they smiled like teenagers in love. They didn't say anything, they didn't have to, their eyes communicated, their touches, their bodies. As he moved towards her, kissing her neck, something interrupted them. A loud bang, an explosion, that invaded the room. He instinctively shielded her, and they rolled under the bed. Their bodies close, but in the wrong way.
He took little time to wake up from that dream, his training kicking in as he stood up to understand what was going on.
An attack, and he wondered if it could be the FBI. Had he given any tip, had they follow him? Bang!
No it wasn't them. It was worse. These men wanted her, and they were not under his command. Another explosion and then the shots. They were shooting, they wanted them dead. They moved fast, she had guns on the bedside table. She tossed him one, partners, always. They shared looks, and a plan was on, like telepathy. She went on, and he covered her. Shot! Shot! He killed the first man trying to get in, and they got closer to the window, no man was coming in. They were behind cars, shotting, but they could move. His car was on the other side. He thought fast. Special Agent Ressler should take her in, but Donald wanted her gone, safe. He tossed her his car keys, and screamed "go!"
She looked confused, but understood as he picked up his phone to call for backup. Another bang and fire and smoke took over the room. She stood up and their eyes met again, a silent goodbye, sorrow for what could have happened, and hope of what would come. He screamed again, "run" and turned his attention to the men shooting at her direction. Protect her as she runs away, again.
Suddenly a ring interrupt the loud noises, and he's back at the post office. He had fallen asleep, and as usual, dreamt of the day. His phone was about to fall from the desk with the buzzing when he picked it up.
"Ressler" and nothing on the other end. He repeated his name, and sat straight as a million possibilities came to his head. A deep breath came from the other side, and he let his feelings speak up "Liz?" He said, a whisper came back with his name. "Don" she said, her voice low and calm. In normal circumstances he would love to hear her say his name like that, but now...

"Liz where are you? What's happened?" He said, and his cop side started acting by connecting the phone to the tracking device, find her, now!
"Donald" she said again, and it sounded like pain. She's hurt, she's dying. No!
"Liz, talk to me! Keen!" The tracking working so slow, where is she? He was impatient, desperate. She took a deep breath and said "out...side"
Where? Outside? She hung up and the tracking stopped, but he knew. He ran desperate down the stairs to the door. He picked his phone and called Samar while he ran. "Samar, come, quick! Ambulance, Liz, now!" It was all he could say to the agent, and then tossed his phone, not realising what he was doing, fumbbling with his fingers as he tried to type in the code to open the door.
There she was. She was hurt. She was bleeding, but she was there. He threw himself on the floor and picked her up, running back in. He found a table and put her there, lying as she grunted with pain. She had a knife wound on her belly, what had happened!? She was crying, he was crying. He started to examine the wound as she used her bloody hand to bring his head close, and whisper in his ear "call Red. It's done" and then she passed away, leaving him shaking and confused. He reached for his phone, and remembered that he tossed it away somewhere along the way. He cursed himself, but couldn't leave her. He had called Samar, someone would be there soon. Instead he allowed himself to calm down, and kissed her forehead. She looked peaceful, as she was finally sleeping, and he gave himself that moment of observing her, her features, her face, her mouth, still bright red and full of life. She was going to be ok, he knew that. He kissed her, and then held her head close as he could hear the sound of someone approaching. "Call Red" he said, instincts telling him it was Samar. The accented voice of the Iranian agent ensured him he was right, as she commanded someone to bring an ambulance and at the same time called Reddington. "She's here! She's hurt"
"It's done" Ressler said, repeating her words "tell him it's done. I'm sure he know what it means".
He heard the sound of Samar's phone being put away as she approached and helped him pick Liz up. "He's coming" she said. "And he said it's over."