Summary: This is the first part of a two-shot that takes place right at the end of the penultimate episode of Season 1. We didn't really get to see Liz's thought process, so this is my version of what's going on in her head.
Author's Note: This is old, I know, and a lot of things have changed on the show since then, but here it is anyway. I hope you enjoy it and thank you for reading!
Disclaimer: I neither own nor am I affiliated with anything related to The Blacklist and I am not making a profit from this story.
...
She was done with the lies. Done with Tom, whoever he was, done with the way he had spoon-fed her, done with his sweetness and his understanding, done with the idyllic illusion he had painted for her. She shook her head as she thought of the wasted years, all that time mooning over him and worrying that she would ruin it all with her demanding job. Her stomach churned when she remembered the most recent horrors – of living with a man she knew had betrayed her, of smiling when he touched her, of responding to his kisses because she couldn't yet show her cards. Reddington's orders.
She was done with Reddington, too. Murderer. She'd always known that, of course. She shouldn't have been surprised. But he'd said he would protect her, had professed he could live with himself because he protected her all those months ago after the Stewmaker. But he'd killed her father. She swallowed the burning bile that rose in her throat. Reddington had smothered her dad over a piece of information. How could information be worth a human life? Maybe Reddington didn't understand. Maybe he thought that because Sam hadn't been her biological father, it wouldn't hurt as much, but it did because Sam had chosen her even though he didn't have to, had raised her, had loved her. Reddington's sick attempts at bonding with her couldn't hope to compare to even a shadow of Sam's love for her.
She left her destroyed brownstone and got in the car. She didn't have any destination in mind, but she couldn't stand in the wreckage for a moment more, not tonight. She'd been driving for twenty minutes before she realized she was three quarters of the way to Ressler's building.
Ressler. He'd never lied to her, as far as she knew. He never hesitated to tell her when she screwed up, and then he helped her fix it. When he gave her the tiniest compliment, he meant it. He'd stayed with her in their office late at nights, whether to share the misery of searching for leads in files or to listen to her personal problems with Tom and Reddington, even though she only told half-truths. He always had her back in the field; had saved her from certain death more than once and had never asked for thanks or praise because he was her partner and that was his job. He'd given her hope that she could save her marriage before she'd realized that the man she'd married didn't exist, and he'd covered for her to Cooper. And he'd held her when she was vulnerable, she thought, again recalling the aftermath of Stewmaker incident. She took deep breaths.
He was, she realized belatedly, her best friend. Six months ago, if someone had told her that, she would have thought it insane. But here she was, asking the receptionist in the lobby for Ressler's apartment number.
She felt a flutter of nervousness when she knocked – how would he react to the fact that all this time, she hadn't trusted him enough to tell him the truth? She felt another surge of nausea as she realized she'd done to him exactly what Tom and Reddington had done to her.
But she would come clean, she thought. The door opened. Ressler's eyebrows were raised, but he didn't look upset, just expectant. She might have smiled in different circumstances. He was going to get more of an explanation than he could imagine.
"I didn't know where else to go."
His expression softened, and he jerked his head, welcoming her inside, and in that moment she knew everything was going to be okay, come hell or high water, and that was the truth.