Hey all, just only me again :) I hope this doesn't feel too forced or too rushed, I just saw it as a potential little moment between our two favourite FBI agents. Would love to know what you all think!

First fic in my 1000 followers ficathon on Tumblr. You can find me there with the URL nothandlingit.

…

When It All Gets Too Hard

…

It's raining when she finds him in the cemetery, cold and wet and paying his respects to his late partner. Liz steps up beside Don, holding out her umbrella to cover the both of them, though, at this point, he's still soaked through.

She turns her attention to the marble headstone, a simple remark on a bold life, and feels her emotions getting the best of her when she sees the amount of tributes left for Meera Malick. The flowers would have been enough to have her welling up, but the handwritten notes that had been left by Meera's daughter have the FBI profiler struggling for her next breath.

Everything feels tight in her chest, like someone is stepping on her heart and crushing it. No one has said it out loud that she is the one to blame, but she carries that burden with her nonetheless. Without her, without the whole situation with Raymond Reddington, everyone would still be alive. Everyone would be safe.

It doesn't matter that she's breaking down in front of Ressler. He's seen the vulnerable side of her before, has held her as she's clung on for dear life, has had a beer with her when her life was falling apart. And today, as she lets the tears roll down her cheeks, he wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side. It doesn't matter that he's drenched; Liz still feels the warmth in the contact.

She doesn't hesitate when he invites her back to his place, driving behind him and walking up to his apartment without the umbrella this time. If she'd let herself admit it, the reasoning behind allowing the rain to wet her is entirely to do with the idea of being able to rug up in something that smells of comfort and Ressler.

He hands her some sweat pants and a hoodie, which are entirely too large, and shows her to the bathroom to change. It's right next to his room and, when she stops moving, she can hear him shuffling around and getting changed himself. She tries not to focus on the thought of his lean and naked body and puts her unexpected desires down to, quite suddenly, not having a husband anymore.

But when they come out of the rooms at the same time and are standing in the hallway with nothing to say, all that comes to her mind are those desires and how Don's eye seem to darken when they rest on her as well.

"Beer?" he offers, quietly breaking the tension.

And she breathes again, nodding, "Yeah."

They sit on the couch and talk about anything and everything to keep their minds off the sadness of their morning visit to Meera's grave. Somewhere along the line, one of them flicks the TV on and they settle in for an afternoon marathon of The Simpsons. It's a funny picture they paint, two FBI agents laughing lightly at the cartoon, but it eases every kind of tension between them, makes it easy for Liz to rest her head on her partner's shoulder, makes it easy for Ressler's arm to come around her shoulders again.

She tries to remind herself that it shouldn't be this easy, that they shouldn't really be wrapped up in each other. That this is dangerous.

Instead, those thoughts carry her into a deep sleep and she relishes in the warmth that he gives her.

…

It's dark when her eyes open again, the TV is still on but the marathon must have ended. Her stomach rumbles lightly again and she realises that's what woke her up in the first place. She lifts her head from Ressler's shoulder and looks up at him, expecting to see him sleeping as well, but she finds that he's looking down at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

And, suddenly, she's a very different kind of hungry.

She'll blame it on still being in that not-quite-awake haze but, deep down, she knows that this is something she has wanted for a while now. His arm wraps low on her waist and lifts her slightly, their lips bumping together before they deliberately take hold. She runs a hand up his chest and around his neck, pulling herself into his embrace, letting herself be taken over by every feel of him.

It's soft and slow, but also passionate and with every passing second, she only wants more.

His tongue flicks out against her bottom lip and she moans as she opens up for him and he takes full advantage, tasting her and pushing her gently back down on the couch so he's hovering above her. She opens her legs, allowing his body to rest in the cradle she creates. His hand runs up her side, thumb just barely grazing the underside of her breast before he captures her lips again.

And then her stomach makes that sound again, the lack of food in her day making itself known with a loud rumble. Ressler pulls back, resting his forehead against hers and chuckling lightly, "Suppose we best get you something to eat."

She feels her cheeks redden slightly, her eyes closing when he presses his lips to the tip of her nose. They may not know what they're doing, what they're getting into with each other here, but at least it seems like it won't be something they ignore. She nods, agreeing with him, "It's probably for the best."

…

Her clothes are dry by the time she goes to leave, but he insists that she keeps wearing his, the implication being that he'll now have a set of clothes at her place should he ever choose to stay there.

It's an implication she is more than happy to live with.

He kisses her again at the door, chaste and unsure. But she responds almost immediately and he understands that this is something that she might want as well.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says, not really wanting her to leave just yet, but also understanding that she needs to before they go too far too fast.

"Mmhmm," she agrees, not really trusting herself to speak at the moment for fear of saying something that might frighten him off. It's only been a few months since Tom, since Audrey, and they both have far too much to deal with to be even considering what they're considering.

And yet, neither one of them seems to be able to stop.

Liz is the one who pulls away first, waving as she takes those few steps out the door. The smile he shoots her reminds her why this is so difficult in the first place because it's everything that she trusts in Ressler – his warmth, his comfort, his honesty.

It'll be weeks before they kiss again, months before they finally discuss it and, quite possibly, years before they find their balance and get it right. But until then, the look he's giving her now promises that on those cold nights, when the fears and doubts of working in the line they do threaten to consume her, she won't be alone.

…

Thoughts?