So this is set in my 'Hard Rain' as well as my 'Conversations 2' universe. While it's not necessary to have read those stories, it does refer to some events in them. I wanted to 'drag Ressler through the mud' again, and what better way than with what the writers have handed us! A pain pill addicted Ressler! It's not a long story (compared to Hard Rain), but it's something I needed to get out of my system before the show gives us their version of Ressler's addiction meltdown on October 27th. As usual, from Ressler's POV with his thoughts in italics!


"So, how lucky are you, getting to go on this little pleasure cruise of yours," Liz goaded her partner, smiling at his reaction as she sat beside him in their shiny, FBI issued black Suburban. They were parked at the river, down from the Navy shipyards at their prearranged rendezvous point to meet Red.

Ressler shifted in the drivers' seat, again looking at his watch. "If the boat doesn't go out onto the water, it's technically not a cruise, Liz. We'll just be docked at the marina," he told her, hoping like hell he was right.

She smiled and looked across at him. "You really think Red's going to actually be on a boat - a boat that he now owns - and not go out on the water?"

Ressler grimaced, and leaned his head back on the head rest. The last thing he wanted today was to go sailing with Reddington.

She grinned at the response that got in him. "You're such a landlubber!"

"Why the hell does he want me in on this anyway? You'd be far more believable. You actually like boats, Keen."

"You know why. He needs his 'Donald from the State Dept' with him - a persona some of his cronies have already met. I don't think he'd be too believable having 'Lizzie from the State Dept' there instead." She looked out the window into the rear view mirror on the passenger side. "There they are," she said, seeing Dembe driving the man of the hour toward their meeting point.

Ressler opened the door to get out and meet Red, and stopped as Liz teased him again. "I hope you packed your Dramamine."

"Oh, shut up..." he moaned, then looked determinedly at her as he climbed out the vehicle. "We're just going to the marina."

She chuckled at him as they turned to face Red.

We had better just be going to the marina.

Red was approaching them, as Dembe stayed by the car. That cocky walk, spring in his step and jovial smile caused Ressler's stomach to drop. His unease was justified as soon as the criminal opened his mouth.

"Donald! Ready to go sailing?"

"Oh, shit," he groaned softly and clenched his teeth, glaring at the burst of laughter from Liz as she grinned and called out to Red. "Oh yeah, he's ready!"

Red greeted them, slapping Ressler on the back, ignoring the man's grimace and clenched teeth.

"Lizzie, I'll have your partner back in a few hours," he told her, then looked back at Ressler who was standing there with hands on hips regarding Red warily. "Come along Donald, the sea waits for no man."

As Red returned to the vehicle Ressler looked back at her. "Wish me luck..." he said, and shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"You'll be fine," she told him, smiling at him.

He nodded dubiously, then hurried after Red and got in the back of his car. He really didn't like sitting in the back of vehicles.

Especially not beside the man who takes SO much pleasure in torturing me.

###

Just over an hour later, they pulled up at a marina north of the Annapolis Naval Academy. Ressler really didn't like the ocean. Didn't like the smell of the salt water, or the sound of the mindless seagulls, or the sand that got in every nook and cranny known to man. Give me trees and mountains any day. Though his last encounter with a mountain was still fairly fresh in his mind. Perhaps I'll reconsider the mountain part. At least it's not raining today.

Dembe parked the vehicle at the marina, pulling up beside the wooden walkways. Ressler didn't even like the wooden walkways, now that he thought about it. Okay, we're here, quit complaining. So he dutifully followed Red, feeling the urge to loosen his tie as the sun shone down on him. He quickly placed his hand in his right pocket, again making sure he had his pills.

Yeah, the drug addict can't go anywhere without his damn little friends.

He had noticed something about himself. And it wasn't so much a profile, (as he knew Liz would say), but just an observation. In the mid point of a dose, when his body was all happily drugged and stable, he almost joked about them to himself. But as the hours went on that changed from joking, to sarcasm, to anger, then finally to hatred, fear, depression and self loathing when he was due for a dose. He almost didn't have to look at the clock anymore. His body told him exactly at what point he was in the cycle. So the fact he was reaching the anger stage told him he had about two hours to go before he'd need another dose.

And we should be all done by then.

"Isn't she beautiful, Donald?" Red's voice almost sang a couple of steps in front of him.

What? Oh, the boat. He looked up then and saw the boat Red was referring to.

"Whoa..." It wasn't what he was expecting. He'd thought maybe a speedboat, like you saw zipping around on lakes after summer barbecues. Or being Red, a really big speedboat. But this... this was a three story high white torpedo on the water. Sleek and seaworthy, almost a floating hotel. Even he was reluctantly impressed.

"Just look at her, Donald. All 120 feet of her, all three levels. I must admit, she cost a little more in ...resources... than I had bargained for but when I saw her, I needed to have her. To feel every inch of that beauty beneath my feet out on the ocean."

Of course you did. And what Red wants, Red gets.

Ressler sighed, his initial apprehension returning quickly. He took one last glance down at the wooden marina and followed Red up the steps to stand on the deck of the boat. "Nice boat," he intoned, and Red turned to him.

"THAT is a boat," he said, pointing across from them to a small 20 footer. THIS is a yacht," he said, proudly waving his hand to encompass the mammoth vessel they were standing on.

"Got it. Boat. Yacht," said Ressler, still hoping like hell Red had really been joking about going sailing. His stomach wasn't happy at the best of times now .. yeah, that happens when you're a freakin' drug addict... so he really, really wasn't looking forward to being out on the water at all.

Not even on this boat.

Yacht. It's a yacht.

###

Red hadn't been joking. Leading Ressler and Dembe through the yacht, through the huge living area, bar and observation deck, they approached the bow. Entering the cockpit (as Red corrected Ressler when he called it the control room) Red suggested they get settled on a seating area at the rear of the cockpit. Ressler didn't feel like sitting though. Despite himself, he couldn't help but be impressed with this yacht. It felt very stable and he moved over to look out the front windows.

"See, I told you you'd like it, Donald," smiled Red knowingly, watching the agent.

Ressler looked back at him. "Yeah, well, we're not moving right now." He turned back to look outside as Red chuckled and fired up the engines. Ressler had a momentary panic when he felt the boat... yacht... tremble beneath him as the motors started. But then was so taken aback at the look of sheer delight on Red's face that he had to smile to himself as the criminal eased the yacht out of the marina. Like a kid with a new toy.

"Where are we meeting your...friends?" he squashed down the image that sprang to his mind when he said 'friends' and tried very hard not to put his hand in his right pocket.

"They will meet up with us out in the bay. Away from prying eyes and those nasty little things called cell phones," Red informed him, steering the boat deftly through the channel to reach the outer banks of Chesapeake Bay. Ressler didn't like that. They were going somewhere that had no cell signal apparently.

"And all you need to do is agree with everything I say, and today will go swimmingly," Red beamed at him.

Yeah, and if I hold my hand in fire I won't get burned.

Ressler looked sideways at the man. Somehow, he didn't think today would go as 'swimmingly' as Red thought. He also had the distinct impression the man had not told him everything about their mission today. But then, nothing new there.

They were leaving the marina now, on their floating hotel. Ressler looked down at the smaller boats around them and again was kinda impressed with this. That didn't last too long though. As soon as they cleared the marina and entered Chesapeake Bay the feel of the yacht changed. They were no longer in calm waters. Now they were in the bay with waves. Now they were starting to sail in deeper water.

Ressler went and sat down.

"Don't tell me you're getting seasick already, Donald?" Red asked him charmingly.

Ressler just looked at him and shook his head. "No. I'm good."

Yeah...I'm amazing.

###

Forty minutes later, Ressler was definitely not feeling good. He was standing watching the shoreline disappear from behind them, with no shore in front of them. They could have been in the middle of the Atlantic, with the lack of land around them and small, choppy waves. He did not like this one bit.

He checked his cell phone and saw it was down to one bar of signal. Just great...

He turned from the cockpit and walked back through the bar area and paced around the large lounge. Needing to stop looking at the large expanse of water, he ducked into one of the bathrooms and quickly splashed his face. Drying it, he looked in the mirror. He pulled his pills out of his pocket and looked at them. Maybe if I took one early... But he actually resisted that urge - only because he didn't think he would keep it down and couldn't bear to waste one - and shoved them back in his pocket. Exiting the bathroom before he could change his mind on the pills, he sat down, facing away from the windows.

I'll just imagine I'm sitting in my living room. Right... because my living room is 30 feet long...

A few minutes later Dembe softly approached him and he looked up at the man. "Mr Reddington wishes you to come to the cockpit."

Sighing, Ressler hauled himself off the couch and followed Dembe back to the front. The first thing he noticed was a large yacht in the distance. "There is our meeting place, Donald. Think you can keep your lunch down long enough to do this?" Red asked him, noticing the agent looking a little pale around the gills.

"My lunch is doing just fine," he told the man, and turned to look at the yacht they were approaching. Right about now he was really starting to wish Red had taken 'Lizzie from the State Dept' on his little trip today.

As they approached the other yacht at a steady speed, Ressler stole a glance at his phone and saw no signal on it. Keep it together... Red changed course slightly and headed right for the other yacht now, the pitch of the engine changing as Red slowed her down. Ressler had to admit, he'd heard talk of Reddington being a Navy man for years, but seeing the man sail this yacht ...have you ever sailed across an ocean Donald?... was rather surreal. The man was at home on the water, that was for sure.

They pulled alongside the other yacht as Red shut the engine down and dropped anchor. It felt oddly quiet in comparison. Ressler again looked out the windows, seeing no land in any direction and swallowed hard.

Just don't think about it. Don't.

But he couldn't stop thinking about it. They were on the sea in the middle of nowhere with no land in sight (and no cell signal).

His stomach lurched at the mere thought of it.

###

There was movement in the yacht across from them as a small dinghy was being lowered into the water, ready for their party to come over. Red turned to Ressler.

"I cannot stress this enough Donald. Simply agree with and go along with everything I say in their presence. Let's see you channel the Agent Ressler who ad-libbed so superbly in front of Victor Lorca." He looked at Ressler and there was no humor in his gaze. Ressler regarded him silently, wondering what the hell Red was up to his time, but nodded in agreement.

Hell, I'm game. The sooner we get this over, the better.

They walked from the cockpit back through the bar and lounge, through to the rear deck area. Dropping down a spiral staircase, they descended to the lower level where the small dinghy was now heading for. The dinghy cut their engine and drifted in, as a man reached over and looped a rope over a mooring post.

Ressler was looking away from the small boat, the sight of all that dark, greenish-blue water making his lunch more than ready to make a big splashy entrance all over his shoes. There were three men getting out of the boat as he glanced down on them from the deck before averting his eyes again,

He momentarily turned away, closing his eyes as a wave of nausea hit. Instinctively, he reached into his right pocket and felt the pill bottle. It was reassuring to know they were there.

Just don't lose your lunch in front of Red. You will never hear the end of it.

And now Red was talking to him while he tried not to throw up. "Donald, I'd love to do a more formal introduction, but I'm afraid that will have to wait until this gentleman is more forthcoming with minor details - such as his name. Allow me to introduce the man you know as Berlin. But I believe you two have already met."

"What the?!" Ressler spun around, his nausea suddenly forgotten.

And looked right into the eyes of Berlin.

The man who had ordered Meera killed. Who had almost killed his boss. The man who had their names on his Whitelist. He was standing there beside Reddington, and Ressler felt his blood boil. The two of them were, what, ALLIES?!

What the hell?! Don't you dare stand there smiling at me!

To say that Donald Ressler was not himself since being on pain pills would be an understatement. He reacted instinctively and without thought. He was unarmed, since Donald from the State Dept was unarmed, but he lunged at Berlin. With a strangled cry, he grabbed for the mans' throat and would have got a much better hold if it weren't for the three men who suddenly held him back.

Dembe was first to move. Grabbing Ressler's right arm he pulled it off Berlin's throat and pinned it behind the agents' back. Berlin's two men then dropped him completely to the deck. Struggling under them, trying to regain his feet, he yelled at them to let him up. They pinned him down, as Red knelt down to him.

"Really, Donald? This is how you greet my guest?"

Ressler struggled under the two men, feeling panicked as they pinned him down so close to that churning dark water. Guest?! "Get the hell off me!"

"Are you going to behave if they let you up?" Red asked him, sounding maddeningly calm.

Ressler glared at him, panting as he struggled, his face flushing. "Get them off me!" For a moment, he saw a flicker of concern cross Red's features, but then it was gone as Red stood and looked at Berlin. He struggled against the men, almost throwing them off him as he attempted to stand. He saw something out of the corner of his eye as he did so.

Something small, rolling toward the edge of the deck as he struggled.

His pill bottle.

"No! No!" He lunged for the bottle but couldn't reach it under the weight of the two goons and Dembe on him. He howled at them to let him go as he tried to reach the pills.

It was almost surreal. Almost poetic. In one perfectly timed motion, the yacht hitched on a wave and the pill bottle fell straight over the edge, hitting the water and floating under the yacht.

His pills were gone.

"NO!" Ressler howled, watching the bottle disappear so completely from view. No one else saw them. Dembe was watching his boss. Berlin's two goons were looking at each other, sharing some joke at the expense of the deranged agent they were holding down. Berlin and Red were facing each other.

Ressler was the only one who saw his lifeline slip overboard.

Red calmly faced Berlin. "Would you be so kind as to call your dogs off, so I can retrieve my puppy?"

Berlin chuckled, and said something in German to the two men. They grinned at Ressler and then let him go, standing up warily in case he lunged at their boss again. Ressler's breath hissed through his teeth and his heart pounded in his chest as he regained his feet. He glared at Red, looked at Berlin standing calmly on the deck, ran a frustrated hand across the back of his neck and stormed off the deck area.

Shit! Berlin?!

My pills! Damn it!

In a panic, he sprang up the spiral stairs away from the deck area, needing to clear his head. Almost running through the lounge area now, he headed for the bathroom he'd been in earlier and slammed the door behind him, leaning heavily against it. His reflection stared back at him. He took in the disheveled clothing, wild eyes, tousled hair and flushed face before he whirled away from the mirror. His hand flew before he realized and he screamed as he slammed his fist into the bathroom door. With a howl, he dropped to the floor holding his right knuckles.

The pain actually helped clear his head. Sitting on the floor he leaned against the door and concentrated on getting his breathing under control. Right now, the fact that Berlin was here almost paled in comparison to the fact he'd lost his pills.

Oh my God.

Leaning against the door, cradling his throbbing and bleeding knuckles, he banged the back of his head lightly over and over against the door, trying to think. Desperation was rising in him.

He needed his dose within the hour.

I need it NOW!