A/N: Was that birthday dinner scene like a date or what? I'm infinitely grateful we got something so beautiful and absolutely wonderful for Liz's birthday but of course, my Muse demanded more, so here, have some more.

Extended scene from the birthday dinner.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

They mesh the paper cups together but Ressler stops before taking a sip and salutes her. "Happy birthday, Liz." His face is open and honest, the smile on it genuine and she finds herself smiling back and nodding before raising the cup to her lips.

As soon as the wine hits her tongue, she knows she has made a terrible mistake – it is sour and more vinegar than wine, and she watches Ressler bemusedly as he finds that out but forces his face to remain neutral.

"How do you like the wine?"

He coughs a moment and takes another sip. "It is definitely special."

She laughs at his attempts to try and make this better and decides against making him drink any more of it. "It's terrible, isn't it?"

He smiles back and puts the cup down, the relief on his face evident. "It might be the most vile thing I have ever had, Liz. What is it?"

He picks the bottle up and inspects it, finding the label on which she knows is written Sam & Lizzie, 1992 in a child's handwriting. His eyes soften and she knows that she doesn't really need to explain anything more but finds herself wanting to.

"Sam and I, we grew these vines one year when I was a child, just for fun. And when they actually bore grapes, he decided to make wine. We only got the one bottle and I hadn't seen it since then."

He doesn't ask how she got it now because Reddington's name is hovering in the air around them anyway, but she is grateful that he won't bring it up and directs her gaze to the neat boxes he unpacked on her desk.

"So, what did you get for us?"

He seems to understand her need for a distraction and points to the boxes with explanations ready. "Chicken, lamb, fried noodles, spring rolls. A little bit spicy and nothing with beans."

She gives him a curious glance at that and the slightly sheepish look on his face is rather uncanny and delightful.

The moment he notices it, though, his expression morphs into something a bit annoyed. "I am an FBI agent, Keen, I do notice things."

He finishes it off with a smile and she knows he's not really embarrassed about his knowledge of her eating habits, so she lets it go.

The food is exactly as delicious as she remembers, as it has always been, and she feels a slight pang of sadness for not being at the restaurant itself.

"I can see why you choose Wing Yee every year; this is much better than that place Aram insists on getting lunch from."

She hums and nods in agreement and finds herself volunteering information he didn't explicitly ask for but she wants to share anyways. "Ever since I moved to D.C., I've been going there. It was the first place I found when I went to Quantico and I would make it a habit to visit it, until it somehow became my birthday place."

She thinks back to all the years she has spent there, the dinners with her friends and then, with Tom – Tom – and they seem so happy, so carefree.

"What happened this year?"

She sighs and looks at anywhere but at him for a moment. "The people I went there with, they know me and I would call them my friends but they don't really know anything about me. I couldn't stand the idea of going out with them and having to answer questions about my job, or why I haven't answered their calls in the past six months, or questions about Tom. It's just been so damn hard, trying to keep my life straight for the past two years. I am not the person they think I am."

She can feel Ressler's eyes searching her face and she meets his gaze reluctantly but finds nothing but understanding there.

"You are still you, Liz. Maybe you're not the same person you were two years ago but maybe that isn't a bad thing. We have all changed."

She thinks of the man he was when they first met, the gruff, irritable and annoyingly straight-laced FBI agent who wouldn't give her the time of day; she infinitely prefers this one sitting in front of her, who smiles at her and cares about her enough to not let her spend her birthday alone.

She's so lost in her thoughts that she doesn't realize Ressler is still looking at her, waiting for some kind of a response, until his fingertips lightly touch her hand. "You still with me, Liz?"

Even though it's been happening more and more, him calling her by her first name still manages to awake something soft and light inside of her, and she smiles at him for that. "Yeah. But I think we should try the other wine."

Ressler lets it go and gratefully puts the cup down. "And here I was, wondering if I was going to have to raid Cooper's office."

She opens the other wine Reddington gave her – and Ressler mercifully doesn't ask where that came from, probably understanding the answer implicitly – and pours them a much better drink.

They smash the paper cups again and this wine goes down her throat smoothly.

Sitting in the quiet ambiance of the office, Liz lets herself think about what she's been trying to hide from all day, her childhood, her memories, the times when her life was unburdened and a memory shakes itself loose. "You know, when I was a kid, Sam, he would make me a paper crown for all of my birthdays. And it wouldn't be just any paper crown; he would decorate it with small stones and glitter and write my name on the side. I would wear it to school for weeks after that and every night I went to bed, he would address me as Your Majesty."

"Had I known that, I might've made you one, Liz."

Ressler's comment springs another image to her mind, of him crafting a paper crown but the head he places it on is too small to be hers and the locks on that head too red. Startled, she puts the cup of wine down with more force than necessary, bewildered at the direction her thoughts took.

"I remember my 7th birthday. My mom woke me up really early in the morning but instead of going to school that day, she took me to the zoo. The polar bear had had cubs that winter and they were out in public for the first time, and she wanted me to see that." He smiles fondly and the glint in his eyes is happy, not sad. "And all I wanted to do, was eat cotton candy until I got a stomach ache."

She's never heard anything about Ressler's life and to have him volunteer such a tidbit, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant makes the warmth in her expand further.

"Are you still close with her?"

He shakes his head and a momentary sadness descends on his features. "She died when I was thirteen and I moved back in with my father."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

He nods but they both know it's been a long time, the pain having dulled a long time ago.

The take-out boxes in front of them are almost empty and Liz is more than full but she finds herself longing for the red velvet cupcakes Aram made and she never did get a chance to taste. Just as the thought enters her head, Ressler reaches behind him and produces two cupcakes from the box on the desk.

"You saved them?"

"It's not a birthday without cake, Liz." He has even procured a small birthday candle which he sticks into one of the cupcakes and lights on fire.

"Make a wish."

The candlelight enhances his features in the dimmed light of the office and when she closes her eyes to blow it out, the image from before is in front of her, of paper crowns and delicate hands. This time, she doesn't fight it but smiles and finds herself wishing for that warmth inside of her to not dissipate.

When she opens her eyes, she finds something equally warm and soft in Ressler's eyes. She expects herself to fight it, to withdraw from it and try and put more distance between them but that is nowhere to be found; instead she smiles lightly and plucks the candle from the cake.

"This better be as delicious as Aram made them out to be."

Ressler chuckles and just like with the paper cups, touches his own cupcake against hers before taking a bite out of it. The hum that escapes him is low and delicious and she watches him for a second before remembering her own cupcake and taking a bite to drown out where her thoughts wanted to drag her.

"This is really good. From now on, I propose we put Aram in charge of all the pastries."

He smiles and nods. "That's what this place needs – more pastries."

They continue eating in companionable silence until it's all done and she finds herself wishing she wouldn't have to go home yet. She doesn't want to leave this office, this building, doesn't want to leave him.

"Hey, do you want to share a cab? I don't think either of us should be driving." Ressler points to the empty wine bottle – and she hadn't even noticed he kept refilling the cups – and she finds herself wondering if he doesn't want to be left alone quite yet, if he also feels like there is something simmering underneath the take-out and the wine and the cupcakes.

"I would love that."

When they exit the Post Office together, she doesn't miss his hand on her lower back, gently guiding her towards the elevator or how much closer he stands to her and she leans back into it, lets it consume her and surround her.

In the cab, he sits in the backseat with her and she looks at his profile, illuminated by the streetlights, the same play of shadows and light on his face as in the office. There is darkness there, the kind she feels growing inside of herself every day on this job but also the possibility for light and that is what draws her in, what speaks to something deeper inside of her.

They reach the motel quicker than she expected and she doesn't know how to express her feelings about it but he looks at her and smiles slightly. "I'll find another cab."

When the car drives off, they're left standing in the parking lot, surrounded by a whole lot of quietness.

"I had a great birthday. Thank you, Ressler."

His eyes search her face and he nods. "You know, you can call me Don. I mean, if you want to."

Liz would be lying if she said it doesn't make something flutter inside of her. "Okay. Thank you, Don."

It feels slightly strange, rolling off her tongue but she decides it is worth it when he smiles in response and nods. "You're very welcome, Liz."

Slowly, very carefully, he leans closer and kisses the corner of her mouth, the barest of touches but she inhales sharply at the sensation and closes her eyes.

Which doesn't appear to be the best response from her when he pulls back and struggles to explain himself. "I'm sorry, I...I didn't mean that."

Liz opens her eyes and gives him a curious glance. "Didn't you?"

He doesn't lie to her, so instead he purses his lips together for a moment and shakes his head. "I don't want to start something you're not ready for."

It's a small sentence, nothing grand or overbearing but his understanding of the confusion in her life, the mess she's still coming out of is more than she ever could've expected, but she doesn't want to let it go. "But you would...?"

She doesn't quite know what to say or how to express what it is that she's been feeling ever since he told her they'd be having dinner together, and shared pieces of himself with her; or maybe ever since he appeared on her doorstep and commandeered her life.

"I would."

The two words are a mere whisper but she hears them anyway, and sees the clear want in his eyes, and decides that maybe words aren't what are needed in this moment.

So she steps closer to him and after a moment of telegraphing her intentions to him with her eyes – and finding no objections, only pure wonder – kisses him tenderly but properly. He responds as carefully as he's been handling this entire night but she can feel the want she saw translate into his response and lets herself melt into the kiss.

Ressler stops entirely too soon for her liking, pulling away before she fully falls and she is not the slightest bit embarrassed about the small whimper that escapes her.

He seems slightly bemused by that and she wishes he would not stop but continue this all the way but he must sense her heightened emotions and steps even further back. "Slow, Liz."

She almost pouts at his gentle reminder but knows instinctively that this should not be rushed, that this is worth the time he will demand of her.

So she concedes and does not reach out for him, does not succumb to the desire to ask him to come in but merely smiles at him. "Good night, Don."

He puts his hands into the pockets of his coat – to stop himself from reaching to her as well? – and nods slowly. "Good night, Liz."

When he walks away, she watches him go and wonders just when did they become this, when did he become something tangible for her future. There is much about her life which is still a mess but she has the inkling that this could be better than almost anything else.