"Sonofabitch," Donald Ressler muttered as he tossed Reddington's bottle of whiskey on the passenger seat of his SUV. Reddington's doorman had given him a curious look as he'd stalked out of the elevator with the bottle in his hand, but Ressler had ignored him and hurried out into the cold night air. Ressler shivered slightly as he put the vehicle in gear and peeled away from the curb. He'd left the Post Office in such a hurry to confront Reddington that he hadn't even bothered to grab his overcoat. He reached down and turned up the heat but the engine was still cold so he was greeted only by a blast of cool air. Ressler gripped the wheel tightly as he drove home through the dark city streets. He could hardly believe that things had ended so suddenly with Prescott dead. He'd expected to spend the night in a holding cell somewhere. He should have known Reddington would have other plans.

When he arrived at his apartment, Ressler placed the whiskey bottle on the bar in the living room. He eyed it for a moment before reaching for a glass and pouring himself a generous sample. "To Reddington," he mumbled before bringing the glass to his lips and taking a sip. The whiskey burned his throat pleasantly and instantly warmed him. Ressler took another long sip and smacked his lips in appreciation before carefully setting the glass down on the bar and heading into the bedroom to change. Of course Reddington had good taste in whiskey.

As Ressler removed his suit jacket, the envelope with Cooper's confession crinkled. Ressler picked it up and studied it. It was sealed. As curious as he was about its contents, he had no intention of opening it. Not now, anyway, and hopefully not ever. Ressler opened his nighttable drawer and pulled out small wooden box. He opened the lid of the box and carefully removed the handful of objects it contained, including his father's watch, and set them on the bed. He pressed lightly on the bottom of the box to release its false bottom. He pulled out the folded piece of paper inside and also set that on the bed before replacing it with Cooper's envelope. With a sigh, he picked up the folded piece of paper and turned it over in his hands before opening it.

"Donald, I want to let you know that I do know how you feel…." Reddington's handwriting flowed across the page. Ressler couldn't count how many times he'd read those words, but it was enough that he had them committed to memory. After a moment, he re-folded the note and placed it back on top of Cooper's envelope and carefully replaced the false bottom of the box before refilling it with its contents. He fingers lingered for a moment on his father's watch before he deposited that back into the box too. I wonder what you'd think of what I've become, he thought.

Ressler stood up and loosened his tie and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He'd mentally prepared himself for the prospect of spending the foreseeable future in a cell and so it felt strangely surreal to be home as if it were any ordinary evening. He slipped into a t-shirt and jeans and made his way barefoot into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and stared grimly at the mostly empty shelves. Time to restock, he thought before slamming the door shut and reaching for a takeout menu.

With his food order placed, Ressler returned to the living room and once again eyed the whiskey bottle on the counter. To hell with it, he thought as he poured himself a full glass and sat down on the couch. By the time the doorbell rang and his food arrived, the alcohol on top of an empty stomach left him feeling a slight buzz. Ressler set his food down on the coffee table and headed to the kitchen to grab a beer, unwilling to risk the inevitable hangover that would result if he continued to consume the whiskey.

Ressler flipped on the TV to watch the Nationals game while he ate, but his mind kept wandering and eventually he turned off the television and sat in silence. Why did Red suddenly get rid of Prescott now? After all these months? He knew there had to be more to it than Reddington's supposed concern about Prescott knowing of their relationship. That had been the case for months, and Reddington had done nothing about it until now. Suddenly he made the connection. Liz. He'd almost forgotten in the rush of the day's events that Samar had told him that Liz was back in town and, more importantly, that she didn't think Liz was ever coming back to the Task Force. He hadn't gotten a chance to press Samar as to what had made her say that. He'd have to remember to ask her tomorrow. But clearly something was wrong, and if he knew Reddington, it was no coincidence that Reddington had chosen to eliminate his Prescott problem as soon as Liz returned. Ressler felt a strange sense of relief at the idea that Reddington's agenda might really be that simple.

Liz. Ressler leaned back on the couch and sipped his beer. He'd mostly managed to put her out of his mind the last few months. She'd been distant and withdrawn the last time he'd seen her and she'd made it clear she didn't want contact while she was gone. Before that, she'd been single mindedly focused on reconstructing the events of the day Tom was killed. Practically from the moment she could speak again, she'd grilled him and made him meticulously retrace every moment of that final, fatal day to make sure she hadn't forgotten or misremembered a single thing. And the crime scene. She'd wanted every detail he could remember of the crime scene at her apartment. He'd told her as much as he could, but it hadn't been pleasant for either of them. He hoped the time away had given her some space to heal and to start moving on. Ressler closed his eyes as the memories of that night came flooding back.

He'd watched the surgeon prepare to drill into Liz's skull to relieve the pressure on her brain. He was so focused on the horrifying scene in front of him that he'd barely registered Cooper's hand gripping his arm and Cooper's voice in his ear murmuring "Don, let's go. You don't want to watch this." As if in a haze, he'd followed Cooper and the others out into the hallway and eventually down the hall to the waiting room. He hadn't lasted long there. Sitting and waiting was driving him crazy. He'd needed to move to distract himself, so with a murmured excuse to Samar and Aram about grabbing coffee, he'd fled outside. He'd paced up and down the block outside the hospital until at some point, he'd spotted Reddington's car parked with Reddington in the back seat. He'd made eye contact with the man, who looked so absolutely beat down and destroyed that Ressler had simply nodded and headed back towards the hospital entrance to leave him in peace. As he'd re-entered the hospital, he'd found the brightness and the noise immediately jarring. He'd spotted a sign pointing towards the chapel and while he didn't consider himself a particularly religious man, he'd hoped it might be a place of peaceful refuge. Thankfully, the chapel was empty and he'd sunk down into a chair near the back of the room and rested his head in his hands. He wasn't sure how long he'd sat there but eventually, the door had swung open and Cooper had taken a seat next to him. "She's stable," he'd said. "But it's going to be touch and go for a while. In the meanwhile, I want you and Navabi to get over to that apartment and get a look at the scene. We need to find out who did this." Cooper had cleared his throat before continuing. "Tom Keen didn't make it so this is now a murder investigation." Ressler remembered swallowing hard. Damn, he'd thought Tom Keen was practically invincible. "Yes, sir," Ressler had managed as he stood and made his way to the door where Samar was waiting.

"I can't believe Tom is dead," Samar had said quietly as they drove towards Liz's apartment. "Liz will be devastated when she wakes up." Ressler had nodded wordlessly, unable to articulate how he really felt about the whole situation. When they'd arrived at the Keens' apartment, the place was swarming with police officers. They'd flashed their badges and introduced themselves to the lead detective. The small apartment was littered with bodies. And blood. So much blood. The detective was attempting to explain what they knew about the bodies but Ressler had barely heard him as he'd stopped and stared at an enormous pool of blood on the floor with no body nearby. He'd known without needing to be told that it was Liz's blood - the blood from her head injury. He'd taken a step backwards, feeling suddenly lightheaded, as Samar gripped his arm. "Ressler, you ok?" she'd asked. "I gotta step outside for a minute," he'd gasped as he pushed past the surprised detective and taken the stairs two at a time down to the street below where he'd gulped in lungfuls of cool air. Samar had joined him a few minutes later and placed a hand on his back. "I can handle this if you need to go," she'd said quietly. "She's going to be ok." Ressler had shaken his head. "No, I can do this. I need to do this. I'm fine. Let's go."

Ressler opened his eyes and realized he'd drained his beer. With a grunt, he got up and made his way into the kitchen and deposited the bottle in the recycling bin. He glanced at his watch. It was almost ten. Ressler pulled out his phone and hesitated for a moment before pressing Liz's number. The phone rang a few times before Liz's voicemail picked up. He cleared his throat before leaving his message. "Liz, hey. I heard from Samar that you're back in town. Hope all's well. Give me a call so we can catch up." He set his phone down on the counter, opened the refrigerator, and reached for another beer.

Across town, Liz felt her phone vibrate in her pocket as she stood amidst the shattered glass of Bobby Navarro's coffee table. Gasping, she pulled it out and stared blankly at Ressler's name flashing on the screen. For a split second, she considered answering the call and asking for his help but just as quickly, she rejected the idea. Her hand shook as she pressed ignore and shoved the phone back in her pocket. Not now, she thought as she gradually became aware of a sharp pain in her abdomen.