So a few of us got together on Twitter, and decided to give our writing some inspiration. So we came up with a prompt idea for a Ressler one shot. We each had a few days to write it and then we all shared them privately and loved what each had come up with. So this is the first one.
Ressler Prompt #1: Set in a power blackout. Perhaps trapped somewhere. Choose who he is with. Angst if desired. Set in any time, any place, any Season.
It's been a long, drawn out day culminating in a dead suspect and Ressler is angry. Even more so than usual, a fact that has not gone unnoticed by his partner sitting beside him in the SUV. He's been silently stewing the entire drive back from the crime scene, ignoring her questions. Because he doesn't have the answer she wants. But more than that, he can't go down the rabbit hole of where the conversation will head it he tries to explain what really happened. He finally pulls into the underground parking lot at the Post Office, shuts off the engine and shoves open the car door.
"Wait!" she calls out quickly, and yet as much as he doesn't want to hear it again, he stops. "So again, what really happened back there? I would prefer knowing before Cooper asks," she repeats, the irritation evident in her tone.
He doesn't look at her. He'd shot a suspect during a foot chase is what happened. The fact they needed to talk to the guy and needed him alive was most definitely in his mind, but a gun drawn at almost point blank range doesn't leave much room for debate. He'd fired, taking the guy down with a head shot and killed him instantly. But even he knows he didn't have to kill the guy. But he's not himself and is not making good choices right now. Because he's a damn junkie who made an emotionally charged decision. And there is no way he can explain that to himself, let alone his partner.
At his silence, her voice rises in frustration. "We needed to talk to him! Now we have no-"
"You think I don't know that, Keen?" he spits out, exiting and slamming the car door behind him before striding to the elevator. She's two steps behind him but he's ignoring her and the security guards because he knows what's really bothering him. It's more than two hours past when he should have had another dose of his damn Oxy and his nerves are hot and jangling. Unable to grab his bottle of pills before they had left in search of their target several hours ago, he's angry that he's this dependent on them. The shakes have begun. His brain is quivering in his skull and he has no time for this inquisition.
Standing in the elevator together as it descends to the war room, he sees her arms fold against her belly.
"I just-"
"Not now," he snaps, fully aware he's on his last thread of tolerance, and the only thing holding him together is that he's just two minutes away from being able to take a couple of pills. Two minutes away from being able to dial down his body more than a few notches and come back to some semblance of normal.
But that two minutes suddenly becomes unreachable as the elevator lurches to a stop and the lights flicker before shutting off completely, plunging them into darkness.
"Son of a-"
"What the hell?" He hears Liz in the dark over the pounding in his chest.
His own thoughts are more colorful than that but he manages to hold his tongue. "Power failure," he answers shortly, slamming his hand in the direction of the elevator control, demanding it work miracles.
"But why didn't the generator come on?" Liz asks.
His question exactly. He's already fishing his phone out of his pocket and the bright light from it pierces the pitch black elevator as he dials. "Aram, what's going on?"
He listens impatiently as Aram tries to give him what little information they have. But the only thing Ressler gleans from the conversation is that he's fifty feet from his drug stash and is unable to get to it for a while. And he needs it. Badly.
"Shit," he curses, shutting off his phone and plunging them back into darkness. Something he's welcoming right now as his hand is already shaking badly.
"How long?" Liz asks.
"Too damn long."
His hand finds his neck and wipes across it in frustration as his eyes try to adjust to the dark. There is no light though, as he moves to the other side of the elevator and leans heavily on the wall.
She does the same, sliding down to her haunches against the opposite wall. Even in the dark, she's not letting up on him. "So since we're stuck here, let's have it. Today wasn't the first time, Ress. You've been off your game for weeks. Late to work. Not yourself, and not just in Warsaw."
He doesn't reply, because he's too busy trying not to thump the elevator door and motivate it forcibly to open. And because she's right. He's glad for the darkness that hides him wiping away the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the nervous flick of his tongue over his lips. Unable to stand still, he paces from one side of the small elevator to the other, holding out his hand to touch the wall at each turn.
Her accusatory tone comes out of the dark again over his hitching breaths. "I figure now is as good a time as any to get this in the open. So what's wrong? Are you sick?"
Sick? He's a damn addict. One who is rapidly losing it because he can't get his next fix. "I'm fine, Keen." His reply punctuates the air as he slams his fist into the door at the culmination of one stalk across the floor, perfectly demonstrating that he is not fine.
"No, you're not."
"Damn it. How long is this power going to be out?" he mutters, ignoring her statement. The darkness is black and inky between them. An outstretched hand in front of his face is invisible to him. Yet the blackout is bittersweet. While it's his ally in hiding his agitation and withdrawal it's also prolonging it.
"What's going on with you?" she persists.
"I'm fine. I just need some rest," he replies, opting to slide down the wall and sit on his haunches instead of pacing like a caged lion.
"Right. Today maybe. But what's your excuse been for the last few weeks? You may think you're hiding this from everyone, but I KNOW you, Ressler, and this isn't you."
She does, a fact that's not lost on him. He's once again thankful for the darkness as it hides his scowl. He glances at his watch, seeing the tiny green illuminated hands in the dark. They've been in here about 20 minutes. It feels so much longer.
"I'll see if Aram has heard anything more," she says after a few more minutes, breaking into the darkness between them. He doesn't reply and crouches in silence, now leaning his head back against the wall. It takes a few moments before he realizes his fingers are digging painfully into his knees.
The light from her phone is jarring as she talks to Aram, but Ressler remains shrouded in darkness across from her. After averting his eyes from the light, they slide back to her. He's never been able to keep his eyes off her for long.
She hangs up on their colleague, looking in his direction in the dark. "He said the entire city block is out, but they're working on it. Cooper is already sending most people home, having them leave through the back exit into the alley."
"What does that mean? That we're in here for the long haul?" he asks, squashing down the jolt of panic at the thought of that.
"He wasn't sure. It may take a little while to get the emergency generator on and to reboot everything." He hears her sigh, shifting her position in the dark. "Aram said his first fear was another incursion," she adds quietly.
That thought had also occurred to him, in the few moments he had pushed aside the immediate need for his pills. The dead giveaway was the silence though. No machine guns. No agents being slaughtered in hallways by the Wild Bunch. And no leg ripped to shreds with him down and bleeding out onto a shiny floor at the mercy of Raymond Reddington.
He nods, stops gripping his knees and wipes the sweat of his palms before rising to his feet again in the dark, unable to remain crouched a second longer. Valiantly trying to stand in one place, he gives up before resuming his pacing in the limited space.
"Will you please stop doing that?" she asks him. "I can't see you but I can hear you pacing." She gives a short laugh in an effort to break the tension. "Plus, you're making the elevator wobble."
He stops, clenches his fists and closes his eyes in an effort to shut out the image of the small vial of Oxy in his desk drawer. It's rather disconcerting that there is no difference in whether his eyes are open or closed so he opens them to the pitch black again. Besides, the thought of those damn pills will not let up, eyes open or closed.
The pitch black surrounds them as he hears her move up the wall, followed by the step of her boot heels on the metal floor. She reaches his side and he can smell her faint perfume as he breathes it in. Her hand reaches in his direction, fumbling for his arm in the dark before settling on his bicep.
He flinches at her touch. It's unexpected, even with her proximity. But he remains beside her.
"Ress, you're shaking."
At that he steps away causing her hand to drop from his arm, inwardly berating himself for letting her get that close to him right now. In an effort to stop her touching him again and to ease his trembling muscles, he paces once more in the confined space. He can't see, holding his hand in front to feel the wall at the culmination of each pace across the floor.
"Ressler." Her tone changes. "Ress..." Irritation is replaced with genuine concern, but that just makes it even worse. He'd rather she be annoyed with him than worried.
"I'm-"
"Fine. Yes, I know," she finishes for him.
He remains silent in the dark, taking the steadiest breaths he can, again wiping his forehead. He has to know how long it's been and shoving his suit sleeve up again, he can see it's now been 35 minutes. Closing his eyes again, attempting futilely to shut everything out, he's unable to quell the rising panic.
"Why do you do this?" she asks, moving in the dark again to find him. "You shut people out. Why is that?"
His reply is to pound the door again with his fist. He can feel the sweaty imprint his fist leaves behind, but not see it.
"See, the Ressler I know-"
"Drop it, Keen. Just shut the hell up!" It's out before he can stop it as his blood courses through his veins seeking relief in little white pills. He drops to the floor again, suddenly not trusting his legs. Sitting against the cold metal wall he lowers his head to his raised knees with a shuddering breath.
She doesn't reply, and he's not sure if she's formulating another tactic or she's given up for now. And the worst part is that he doesn't care either way and welcomes the silence. The only sound is that of the slight creaking of the metal box they're in. And him trying to get his breathing under control.
"Damn it." His fist flies again, pounding on the cold metal floor beside him.
"Does that help?" she asks quietly, her voice coming out of the dark.
"No."
His phone is ringing, momentarily interrupting their conversation. Taking it out of his pocket with shaking fingers he sees Coopers caller ID. Having no desire to talk to his boss, he answers anyway. Cooper's voice sounds louder in the pitch black.
"Ressler, I know the two of you have been stuck in there a while, but rest assured we have a team working on restoring the emergency generator to get that elevator moving again."
He grips the phone tighter, "Thank you, sir."
"All we can ascertain at this point is that this entire sector of the city lost power. We're unsure why our emergency power didn't fire up immediately, but as I said, they assure me they will have some systems up and running very soon. I have told them the elevator is the priority."
He takes a shuddering breath, nodding to his boss, "Good to know."
"So hang tight, and we'll get you out of there very soon," Cooper replies. "Oh, and don't worry about the briefing. That can wait until the morning now. I understand we do not have a suspect to talk to."
Ressler sighs into the phone. No, they don't, thanks to him. Another agent on scene must have relayed that to Cooper. "No sir, we don't."
"Hang tight," Cooper emphasizes and hangs up.
Climbing to his feet, he relays Cooper's words to Liz, before resuming his pacing. Slower this time, conscious of the fact he is indeed making the elevator sway on its cables as he moves. But there is no way he can just stand still, not with the way his muscles are screaming for relief. Liz doesn't ask him to stop this time and returns to sitting on her side of the elevator.
"I'm sorry." Her voice comes out of the dark a few minutes later as he's wringing his hands together in an effort to overtax every quivering muscle and keep them taut.
"For what?" he asks shakily, knowing full well. And suddenly his mind is back to three days prior after they'd returned from Warsaw. The only difference is they're in an elevator halfway between the parking lot above and their office below them. That, and the undeniable fact he should be apologizing to her.
"For doubting you. I'm sure you had a very good reason for shooting our suspect."
His silence stretches between them as he walks from one side to the other. He doesn't need to put his shaking hand out in front of him anymore. He now knows exactly how many steps it takes before turning around again. Liz is wrong though. He didn't have a good reason for killing the guy. He had the worst reason in the world for a by-the-book agent. His judgment had been chemically impaired.
Unseen in the inky blackness she speaks again, interrupting his thoughts, "And while I don't know what's going on with you," she continues, "I'm sorry I'm being a bitch about it." She chuckles softly, and adds, "I guess that just comes natural though."
A cramp shoots through his belly, causing him to double over. "Shit," he gasps, panting as the pains sears through his middle, clutching his mid-section with crossed arms. He needs to get out of here.
"What is it?" The scuffle of her feet on the floor indicate her movement as she clambers to her feet to find him in the dark.
"Nothing," he hisses, straightening as the cramp eases. He swallows hard and turns from her just as her hand finds his back.
"What's wrong?"
With the darkness hiding his deceiving eyes, he turns a little, dislodging her hand from his back in the process and lies through his teeth. "Maybe I ate something that hasn't agreed with me." Yeah, what he 'ate' was two pain pills every twelve hours for months. That definitely hasn't agreed with him.
"Are you sure that's all it is?" she asks, "Because-"
"I'll be fine." And he will be, as soon as he can get to his dose. Coopers assurance that they're working on the problem is wearing thin. He cannot stay in here much longer and inhales deeply, trying in vain to steady his breathing. He's never been claustrophobic, but the darkness is oppressive, a feeling only intensified by the barely controlled anxiety coursing through him.
"Of course you will..." she sighs, still close by him.
"Cooper said he'd get us out of here soon, though," she adds encouragingly.
And right on cue, the lights flicker back on, blinding them after the pitch dark.
"Finally!" she exclaims.
Relief floods through him. The elevator drops a foot, then stops. Instinctively he grabs her arm to keep her balanced, before realizing the irony of that. Unwittingly, she has kept him balanced while in the dark. He may not have liked her questioning, but it kept him focused on something. As if finding its own footing the elevator continues on its way smoothly before the doors finally slide open. The war room is revealed, shrouded in red emergency lighting with yellow strobe lights silently rotating. The computers and overhead monitors are dark. Full power has not yet been restored, but the generator is now up and running.
Aram is approaching as Ressler storms from the elevator with only one goal in mind. Get to their office and pop those pills before Liz or anyone else catches up to him. Get some relief. Almost shoving Aram out the way as he strides past him, he ignores the man.
"Agent Ressler, I'm sorry it took so-" Aram stops as Ressler strides on by, making a beeline for their office. "Um, right."
Plowing into his office in the dim light, colliding with the swinging door on the way through, Ressler reaches his desk that holds his drug stash. He has the drawer open, pill cap off and has two pills in his hand in seconds. No mean feat, with the way his hands no longer have the ability to keep still. Downing them without water, there is barely enough saliva in his mouth to do so and he ends up chewing them as the bitter taste permeates his mouth. But he doesn't care. Anything to get those drugs into him. Anything to stop the shakes and rattling of his nerves.
Like a damn street junkie.
###
She surprises him, coming up behind him as he's opening the car door to leave a few minutes later.
"I didn't realize you'd left until Aram said he saw you head up."
He turns to look at Liz as she stands behind him, and manages a rueful smile. "Yeah, long day."
"Are you okay?" she asks.
Hesitating a moment too long, he's acutely aware it wouldn't matter what he says. She already knows. He doesn't answer her question.
She nods. "I know it's been a rough day. A rough few weeks... months." She hesitates, as her hand lightly brushes his arm. He doesn't move this time, still feeling the familiar draw of the pills leaching their way through his system and calming him. Because as much as he's tired of her asking him what's wrong, she's still his partner. His friend. Her touch is still a port in a storm.
"What I'm trying to say is that if you need someone to talk to…" She doesn't finish at the look in his eyes. In that moment, they both know he needs someone to talk to.
But he can't talk to her. Not about this. His shame won't let him. "Keen… Liz, I'm okay, really."
The tilt of her head and the cool blue gaze of her eyes tells him she's not buying it. He glances away, then manages to look her in the eye again, and then shrinks a little more under her disappointed gaze that echoes the feeling in his heart.
She nods, pats his arm and then turns and walks to her car. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, Ress."
He watches her walking away, and calls out softly after her. "And I'm sorry too, Liz." There is no need to explain what he's sorry for.
She stops mid step and turns back and he doesn't deserve the smile she gives him. Their eyes meet in understanding. They had a bad day. Words were said in anger and irritation. And drug withdrawal. But they're still partners. She nods, turns again and leaves him at his car.
Climbing into his vehicle he sits a moment as she drives off. A soft curse escapes his lips and exhaling heavily he drops his head. His muscles have calmed, reveling in the Oxy that they're awash in, a feeling he both loves and hates. Instant relief, but at what price? While the physical symptoms have eased, still he crams his eyes shut against the torment.
Because he's not okay.
Not even close.