CHAPTER ONE

Donald sat at his desk, one foot tapping, eyes narrowed as he stared at the prescription bottle he gripped in his hand. He narrowed his eyes further. Son of a bitch.

He could beat this thing. He exerted self-control in every aspect of his life, he wasn't about to let it slide, and certainly not in a situation as shameful, idiotic, and most definitely hazardous to his career as this.

He blinked furiously, rubbing at his eyes, before he heard a knock at the door and quickly dropped the bottle into his other hand, tossing them into a drawer and shutting it with his knee. He looked up, clearing his throat. "Yeah."

Liz peeked her head in. She studied him for a second, then grinned, feigning sleepiness. "Man, I don't know what /you/ got up to today, but I was held hostage in a fake hospital where they stuck needles in my arm and doped me up. What kind of nonsense did Donald Ressler partake in?"

He forced a chuckle, trying to steady his hands, which were the first indicator that his body has begun the sad process of betraying him, giving into the cruel beginnings of withdrawals. He winced. "Funny, much of the same."

She stepped all the way in and sat on his desk, swinging her legs. "You know, I could have sworn I just heard Cooper in here telling you to get home and rest. But maybe that was just me."

He forced another weak chuckle, sure that he was even less convincing this time around. "Ah... you know me..."

"Married to the job?" He looked down. Liz shut her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't think-"

He glanced up, just wanting to shut the whole conversation down. "It's fine. Really."

She sighed. "Well. I'm gonna take Cooper's advice. Try to get some rest."

He sighed, too. "You do that."

She nodded, swinging her legs again, before hopping off the desk. "Take care of yourself, Ressler." He raised a hand to indicate he understood, and she walked out. Ressler breathed a sigh of relief, before reaching into his drawer and dispensing two pills into his palm.

"Oh, forgot to ask, did you-" Liz stopped in the doorway in shock, catching him red-handed. He let his head hang, swearing under his breath. "Oh, man. Come on, Ressler, don't do this to yourself."

He lifted his head. "Just forget it, yeah?" He dropped the pills back into the bottle and ran his hands through his hair.

"You're gonna lose your job."

"Not if Cooper doesn't find out." Silence. He looked up. "Are you gonna tell him?"

She shrugged. "Not my story to tell. But it'll show itself. It'll start showing, in your work. I've seen this before. It just gets worse."

Ressler stood, pacing the length of the office. "I've got it under control. I can stop."

She smiled sadly. "Whenever you want, right?" He let his head hang, and she leaned on the doorway. "If you decide you want change, I'm here to help."

He scoffed. "You'll be the first person I call."

"I'm serious, Ressler."

He spoke through clenched teeth. "I've got it, /Keen/."

She looked as though she'd been slapped in the face, and then nodded, looking down. "You can't push me away. I'll be here, I'll always be here. When you're ready. I'll be here."

He waved a hand, and she nodded, biting a lip, then taking her leave, glancing back at him one more time before she left. Ressler pounded a fist against the desk, then swiped the papers from its surface in anger, a guttural noise of rage rising from deep in his throat. He sat back in his seat, taking a few deep breaths, before he reached into his desk, pulling out the bottle and shaking two into his palm again, tossing them into his mouth and biting down to activate them faster. He let his eyes drift shut as he waited for the relief to kick in. He let his head tilt back, and about seven minutes later, he let release a soft moan in his pleasure.

Donald remembered a time when the job, when serving his country and the agency, were the most important things in the world to him. He remembered a time when Audrey was the most important thing in the world to him. Hell, he remembered, back when he was tracking the Concierge of Crime, when /Reddington/ was the most important thing in the world to him, but these days, it's these pills. The high. Oxycontin + Federal Agent = Recipe for Disaster. He knew it was coming, he knew it. He knew he would be ruined, sooner or later, and someway, somehow, he was okay with that fact. Not okay, but indifferent. It was like, it was inevitable. It was going to happen either way, he had resigned himself to beginning the transformation into the sick and sad shell of a man he knew he was becoming. He was sliding down a hill into a pit a million feet deep and was showing no signs of stopping, but attempting to claw his way out was too much work, too much effort, and he just didn't have the fight left in him anymore. He didn't have a reason to fight.

As Liz peered in through the window 15 minutes later, and saw him reclined in the chair with his eyes shut and his jaw lulled open, she knew what he had done. She knew she had to save him, somehow. She had to give him that reason, a reason to fight. And she began to plot.