Written in response to Ressler Prompt # 5: Write a backstory for how Ressler got the scar on his chest seen in Lord Baltimore (Episode 2.01)
"Ok, you're cleared for discharge, Agent Keen," the young resident told Liz as he took a final glance at her chart. "You were lucky. No concussion, just a few scrapes and bruises. Try to take it easy for the rest of the day if you can," he concluded with a smile.
"Thanks, Doctor. Do you know where my partner is?" Liz asked as she reached for her jacket. She and Ressler had been pursuing their latest Blacklister when a vehicle had exploded entirely too close to them, showering them both with glass and debris and hurling them both to the pavement. The paramedics who had arrived on scene had insisted that they be taken to the ER to be checked out. Ressler had a particularly nasty gash on his right arm from an embedded piece of glass and the paramedics had indicated he would likely need stitches. Liz had been luckier and required only minimal attention to clean a few tiny pieces of glass out of her arm.
"I think he's in curtain three," the doctor replied.
Liz gathered her things and walked across the ER to curtain three. The curtain was closed but she could hear the low murmur of a female voice mixed with what sounded like the deeper tones of her partner. Liz could swear she heard...laughter?
"Ressler?" she asked hesitantly from outside the curtain. The laughter stopped.
"Yeah, Keen. In here," he replied. Liz pulled the curtain aside to find Ressler sitting shirtless on the edge of the bed as an attractive female doctor bent over his arm. The doctor looked up and seemed annoyed to see Liz standing there.
"You really shouldn't be in here, the waiting room is..." the doctor began with a frown but Ressler cut her off. "It's ok. She's my partner."
The doctor still looked annoyed but resumed her work without meeting Liz's eyes, "Of course that's up to you, Agent Ressler." Liz wondered if she had imagined the laughter only a moment before.
"How's the cut?" Liz asked, maneuvering to get a closer look.
"Deeper than I'd like," Ressler replied, grimacing as the doctor continued her work.
"You look like you have quite a few battle scars," the doctor said with a flirtatious gaze at Ressler. "You must have quite a dangerous job."
Liz rolled her eyes behind the doctor's back as Ressler chuckled. "It certainly has its moments."
"I bet there's quite a story behind that one," the doctor continued, gesturing towards a raised mark on the right side of Ressler's chest. Ressler flicked his eyes towards Liz before responding. "Not really. It was a long time ago," he said lightly. But Liz could tell from his tone and suddenly more serious demeanor that there was definitely more to the story than he was letting on. Liz couldn't really get a good look at the scar from where she was standing. She couldn't remember ever seeing it before but then again, she rarely saw her partner in any state of undress. She made a mental note to ask Ressler about it later. It was clear he wasn't interested in discussing it with the doctor.
The doctor finished cleaning, stitching and bandaging Ressler's wound, her fingers lingering on his chest and arm perhaps a little more than was required for the situation. Liz found herself feeling annoyed with the doctor's flirtatious behavior, though she really had no business feeling that way. Ressler was single and, she had to admit, attractive. It was hard to blame the woman for trying.
"Ok, all finished," the doctor said brightly. "But you should come back in tomorrow and let us change the dressing. Unless you have someone at home who can help you with that..." The doctor looked at Ressler hopefully.
"I can do it," Liz blurted out before Ressler could respond. The doctor turned and glared at her, clearly irritated. Ressler arched an eyebrow at Liz.
"Looks like I've got it covered then. Thanks, doc," he replied with a chuckle. The doctor scowled but gathered her things and swept out of the room.
"Man, you really pissed her off," Ressler laughed as he put his shirt back on. "I know you were trying to rescue me before she gave me her number, but it's really fine. I can come in and get the dressing changed here."
"No, we're partners and we should help each other out. I'm happy to do it. I'll swing by tomorrow morning and take care of it," Liz replied, blushing slightly. She was slightly embarrassed by the whole situation. But watching the doctor flirt with Ressler had unsettled her. She couldn't really explain why.
As they left the hospital, her mind turned back to the scar on Ressler's chest. She hoped she could get a better look at it when she went to help him with his bandage tomorrow. She was definitely curious to hear the story behind it, if he would tell her. There was so much she simply didn't know about his life before the Task Force.
The next morning, she knocked on Ressler's door bearing coffee and pastries. He answered the door dressed in a t-shirt and jeans.
"Aw, look at you bringing gifts for the patient!" He held the door for her as she strode past him into the apartment. She hadn't been to his place in quite a while but she was struck again how much Ressler's surroundings reflected him. Neat, orderly, understated. She set the coffee and pastries down on the kitchen counter.
"Least I could do, invading your Saturday," she said lightly.
"Hey, you're saving me a trip to the ER and some more moves by doctor what's-her-name," he laughed as he settled on to a kitchen stool. "You want to get this over with and then have our coffee?" he asked, gesturing towards his arm.
"Sure," Liz replied as she moved to the kitchen sink to wash her hands.
He sat with his arm facing her, the majority of the bandage visible below the sleeve of his t-shirt. Liz knew she could probably just roll up the sleeve and do what needed to be done, but she really wanted to get another look at the scar on his chest.
"Might be easier if you take your shirt off," she said casually, hoping he would agree. Ressler hesitated for a second but then shrugged.
"Sure doc, whatever you say," he said jokingly and he pulled his shirt over his head with his good arm. Liz felt her cheeks flush again as she bent over his arm. What was wrong with her? Ressler was her partner, that's all. She certainly hoped he didn't think she was flirting with him now.
She carefully peeled back the bandage and followed the instructions the hospital had provided for cleaning the wound. Ressler winced slightly as she dabbed the cut with the solution.
"Sorry, I don't mean to hurt you," she said. He shook his head. "It's ok. Gotta be done."
As she had hoped, her proximity allowed her to get a better look at scar on his chest. It wasn't large, but it had a strange raised shape to it, a shape that was eerily familiar. It had to be a coincidence. It had to be. She finished cleaning the wound and wrapping the new bandage around his arm and stepped back, her heart pounding and her hands shaking slightly.
"All done," she said quietly.
"Thanks, Keen," Ressler replied, reaching for his shirt. She reached her arm out to stop him and gripped his wrist.
"Wait," she said, her voice trembling.
Ressler looked at her quizzically. "What's wrong, Keen? You look like you've seen a ghost. I'll heal. Relax."
"It's not the wound," she said hesitantly. "I'd really like you tell me how you got...this," she said, reaching a finger out to stroke his scar lightly. "Please. Despite what you told the doctor yesterday, I know there's a story there and I really need you to tell me what it is."
Ressler stared at her for a long moment before he sighed and stood up. "Ok, Keen. I'll tell you what I know. Grab your coffee and let's go sit in there," he said, gesturing towards the living room. He strode into the living room shirtless and sat down on the couch.
Liz followed and settled in next to him, anxiously waiting to hear how he ended up with a scar so similar in shape to the much larger one on her wrist.
He took a sip of his coffee. "It was about five years before you showed up. I was on the Reddington task force with Bobby, Pete, Sam and the others. We were chasing Reddington all over the globe - Europe, Asia, you name it. Always one step behind. We got intel that Reddington was going to be in Brussels..."
"From Anslo Garrick, right?" Liz interrupted. She had read the incident report from the Post Office incursion and knew that Anslo had brought up a Brussels incident while Red and Ressler were in the box together.
"Not exactly..." Ressler licked his lips and hesitated, clearly weighing what to say.
"I'm sorry. I won't interrupt again. Go ahead." Liz clutched her coffee cup tightly.
Ressler took a deep breath. "It was CIA intel. I don't know where it originated from. All I know is we stepped off the plane in Brussels and were met by these CIA guys. Next thing I know we're meeting at a black site with Garrick. Garrick tells us that Reddington's going to be at the train station the next day. Gives us the track, the time of the train. Then the CIA guy tells us that it's not a capture op. It's a kill op. Joint CIA-FBI op."
Liz's eyes widened. "You were asked to assassinate Reddington?" Ressler nodded.
"But the FBI has no authority to do that, much less overseas!" Liz exclaimed.
"I know that." Ressler took another sip of his coffee.
"And you were ok with being asked to kill him?" Liz shook her head in disbelief.
"Of course I wasn't! Who do you think I am? Do you want to hear the rest of this or not?" Ressler sounded annoyed now.
"I'm sorry. I said I wouldn't interrupt and I keep interrupting. Go ahead."
"So I was the junior guy on the Task Force. But the best shot by far. So I talked to Bobby and Pete and got them on board with selling me to the CIA guys as the one who would carry out the mission. We were going to have this really narrow window to get him - like a one-shot kind of thing. I figured if I had control of the shot, I could control the outcome, you know? So we waited for him. Like an ambush. It was a real early morning train. Not a lot of people around. Not a lot of risk for collateral damage. So I waited and I had him right in my sight and he saw me too. First time I ever locked eyes with him. I nodded at him right before I fired and he didn't even try to move. I hit a sign a foot to the left of his head. He probably heard the bullet go flashing past his ear. Next thing I know, I feel this sharp pain by my shoulder and everything goes black."
"His people shot at you?" Liz exclaimed.
"I don't know. Somebody hit me over the back of the head about a second after I feel the shot hit my chest and I'm out cold. Next thing I know I wake up in the back of some warehouse with a doctor who speaks only French digging around in my chest. Hurt like hell. I had been wearing a vest, but I guess the bullet got me right at the edge of it. My head was pounding too, like I'd been hit on the back of the head with a sledgehammer. As soon as the doctor saw I was awake, he poked with me a needle full of something and I was out again. Next thing I know I wake up in my hotel with Jonica standing over me. Said that after I got knocked out, Reddington disappeared. They all chased him but he got away. When they came back, I was gone. A few hours later, he got a call to come pick me up at some abandoned warehouse. Found me sprawled out on a gurney. When I could get up, I went and looked in the mirror and I had this weird burn mark over the incision. Like it had been cauterized with something. We got the hell out of Brussels that night and I never laid eyes on Reddington again until the day he walked into FBI headquarters and asked to speak with you." Ressler leaned back and rubbed the scar absently.
"So you purposefully bungled an assassination attempt on Reddington?" Liz's mind was swirling.
"Yeah," Ressler replied sheepishly. "That wasn't the way we were supposed to catch him. It wasn't right. I was glad he got away that day but damn there were times I regretted it in the years that followed."
"Who shot you? And who hit you?" Liz asked. She had so many questions.
Ressler licked his lips. "There was a time I thought it was Reddington's people for sure. But looking back now - I'm not so sure it was Reddington's people that shot me."
"You think it was the CIA?" Liz asked. "One of the people on the op with you?"
Ressler shrugged. "Maybe. The more I've gotten to know Reddington, the more likely it seems. Knowing how the CIA and the Cabal are linked. Garrick and Alan Fitch. Reddington didn't seem to hold Brussels against me during the Garrick incident. Quite the opposite in fact. It almost seemed like he knew that I'd missed him on purpose."
Liz sighed. "He probably does know that. He's incredibly good at reading people. And at knowing everything about the people pursuing him."
Ressler nodded. "Funny how I've gone from not trusting the man at all to thinking him more trustworthy than the CIA, right? So I've told you what I know. Why were you so interested in my scar in the first place?" Ressler asked.
Liz fingered her own scar nervously, debating what to say. "Because of this," she replied finally, holding out her wrist. The shape is very similar to the scar on your chest."
Ressler held her hand and stared at her wrist. He'd seen her scar before but had never paid close attention to it. He ran his fingers over it lightly. "But didn't you say your father gave you this scar?" he asked finally. "In a fire when you were a child?"
Liz shook her head. "I think so. But my memories are so messed up, who knows. All I know is I feel like maybe it has something to do with Reddington."
Ressler stared at her wordlessly, digesting that information. "But you said Reddington's not your father..." he began.
"No, he's not," Liz replied. "But I still think he knows exactly who gave me this scar and why and how," she added.
"So if Reddington was somehow involved in your scar...you think he was responsible for mine too? Like a brand or something?" Ressler was struggling to wrap his mind around the idea that the familiar ridges on his chest were anything more than sloppy medical work.
"Maybe," Liz said slowly. "Like he was marking you in some way in case someone saw it someday?"
"Someone like you?" Ressler asked. "Or someone else? An ally? Or an enemy?"
"I don't know," Liz replied anxiously. Her mind was whirling with all sorts of possibilities. She buried her face in her hands. She could feel tears beginning to form in her eyes. She was so tired of mysteries and of not knowing the answers to the most simple questions about herself, like how she got her scar.
"Hey," Ressler said, grabbing her wrist. "Hey," he repeated more firmly. "Look at me."
Liz looked up, tears welling in her eyes. Ressler reached out and wiped one off her cheek and then grabbed her right hand firmly, stroking her scar absently. "Whatever this is - whatever this means - something or nothing. We're partners and we're friends and we're in this together, ok? We're gonna figure it out. We're gonna get you answers. And I'm not going anywhere, ok?"
Liz nodded through her tears and took a deep breath. "Thank you," she whispered.