Disclaimer: I do not own these wonderful and turmoil-inducing characters. This is my very first fan-fic. I have marked it as complete because it was meant to be a stand-alone, although I may decide to continue it at a later date. The fic arose out of a frustration from watching Ressler and Keen drift further and further apart. Their interactions are now miniscule and disheartening. Where has their partnership gone? The closeness we've seen between them? The way they could read each other, tell each other everything, admit things they'd never tell another soul? Now, they barely talk, barely know a thing about each other's lives. Plus, we never got any of the satisfaction of seeing Ress's reaction to each new Liz revelation since she's been cleared. And no real hints as to his feelings regarding all of this and her. Arrrggh! Ok, apologies. Rant over. So these previous sentences are what spawned all of the following sentences. I just really felt the need to put something out for all the Keenler hearts that are struggling like I am! I hope you enjoy. Italics represent Ressler's inner thoughts.

Ressler checked the clock for the eighth time in the past 10 minutes. Where the hell was Keen? She was over two hours late, a far cry from her usual 10 minutes. Keen hadn't even called in to explain, and so far, no one seemed able to reach her. He was starting to get an uncomfortable feeling in his gut. Maybe I should check on her... He looked at the paperwork he had been trying to complete all morning, to no avail. Screw this. He abruptly stood and walked up to Cooper's office. He knocked on the open door.

"Sir?"

His boss was hunched over some paperwork with a bit of a scowl on his face. At Ressler's intrusion, Cooper glanced up and removed his glasses, clearly pleased to have a distraction.

"Yes, Agent Ressler?"

"I've gotta run out for a bit."

Cooper's brow furrowed as he leaned back in his desk chair, trying to understand this very out-of-character statement from his best and senior agent.

"Agent Ressler...?"

Don didn't want to say - to himself or his boss - that he was terribly worried about Elizabeth Keen. He didn't have any proof that there was anything amiss, just a vague uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. It certainly wasn't enough to excuse abandoning his post in the middle of the work day. So, instead, he kept his response as vague as possible. Besides, there was no sense in calling Liz's absence to attention and getting her into trouble if there were truly nothing wrong.

"It shouldn't take long. I'll be back within the hour."

Cooper was silent for another moment, staring at Agent Ressler in his agitated state. Don had to restrain himself from fidgeting. Come on. I just need to get out of here. Not that he could tell his boss to hurry... Then Cooper gave a miniscule nod to himself and went back to the paperwork on his desk.

"Sure. And Ressler?"

Don was already partially out the door the moment the permission was given and had to jerk himself back around when Cooper continued.

"Yes, sir?" Do not be annoyed. He's letting you out of here, isn't he? "Let me know if Agent Keen is alright."

Don let out a soft laugh and shook his head.

"Of course." Sly bastard knew all along. Of course, you don't make director by being a fool.

The drive to her house was plagued with phone calls and texts to Liz going unanswered. By the time he was at her door, his anxiety had become physically uncomfortable.

"Liz?" Three sharp knocks.

"Hey, Liz. It's Ressler. I'm just checking on you. Liz?" No response. He pressed his ear to the door to listen for any sign of life. His brow furrowed when he heard what seemed to be faint whimpering on the other side. If that's Liz, why isn't she answering? The gnawing in his gut became more pronounced, and his fear spiked as he pondered all the terrifying possibilities.

"Liz, I'm coming in! If you're near the door, I need you to move back. Ok. 1, 2, 3..." On three, he shoved his shoulder against the door as hard as he could, tumbling into the apartment.

"Liz?" He eyed the room frantically but saw no indications that she was there. His panic was not helping, so he took a single deep breath to center himself and tried to listen. There. He followed the whimpering sounds to the bathroom, but the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.

"Oh, God... Liz..." Liz was curled up in the fetal position in the middle of the floor, clutching her stomach. Her entire body was shuddering. She was soaked in sweat and ghostly pale gray. There were multiple bruises and cuts scattered across her exposed skin. Her arm was in a brace. Most frightening was the pool of vibrant blood, almost glowing against the starkness of the white tile. Ressler shook himself out of his stupor and knelt by her, softly moving her sweat-soaked hair out of her face. She was cold to the touch.

"Liz... what..." He didn't know what to say, didn't know what to ask. What the hell had happened here? He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around her shivering frame.

"Ress..." Her voice was weak and shuddery. He placed his hands on either side of her face, trying to look into her eyes, which were unfocused and pain-riddled.

"I'm here, Liz. I'm here. We've gotta get you to a hospital. What happened? How long... What... Who..." His mind wasn't working properly. He couldn't seem to generate any coherent thoughts. His panic, worry, and confusion were coalescing into a migraine.

"Ress... the baby... uh..." He didn't hear her trail off into groaning. All he could hear aside from the sudden rush of his own blood was a single word reverberating through his mind. Baby. Baby. Baby. Though he was staring at her, he wasn't really seeing her. His gaze was turned inward trying to make sense of all that lay in front of him. Liz was pregnant? A second later, her voice pierced his bubble of fog.

"Ress" Right. Hospital. He could try to sort through all of this confusion later. After Liz was safe and healthy once more. Then he could find out what the hell he had missed.

What felt like days later, Ressler found himself alternately pacing the floor of the waiting room and staring at the ER doors from the most uncomfortable chair imaginable. The wait felt interminable, and he had nothing to occupy his mind save for the whirling thoughts of how and when his partner came to be in this position. He didn't know if the bruises and arm brace were separate from the blood, since those had obviously been treated. So much seemed to have happened in the short amount of time since they had last seen each other. Yesterday. How could so many things have occurred in those tiny moments that he hadn't been by her side? She was supposed to be safe now. Free. And safe. He shot out of the chair to begin pacing again. It was all supposed to be over. She wasn't supposed to need his protection anymore. I never would have left her side if... I never SHOULD have left her side!

"Damnit!" His foot shot out and angrily kicked at the unpleasant chair. He hung his head, eyes closed, and tried to contain himself. He was famed for his control. He could do this. His fists clenched at his sides. Steady breaths. In. And out. In. And out. That's it. Just focus on breathing. As he re-centered himself, he opened his eyes and glanced towards the swinging doors again. The doors keeping her from me. He just couldn't understand, couldn't make sense of the little he knew. A baby. With a suddenness that was jarring, he became abruptly aware of a fact from which his brain (heart) was protecting him. She was carrying Tom's baby. A high, keening wail echoed through his head as his turmoil increased.

A hand on his shoulder startled him from his stupor.

"How's our girl?" Reddington's gruff voice was close to his ear, his hand still holding on to Ressler's shoulder. It was oddly comforting, this feeling of stability Reddington seemed to be lending him. Our girl... The thought made his heart ache. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I don't know. They won't tell me anything. I don't even know..." His throat closed, and he gasped for breath and squeezed his eyes closed against the harsh hospital environment. Reddington squeezed his shoulder again.

"She's a fighter." Ressler heard Red swallow. Then his strained voice continued.

"She'll be fine." Please, God, let that be true. Don just nodded his head and grasped Reddington's arm in an unconscious show of solidarity. In this, they were brothers, comrades, grieving and terrified for the woman for whom both would die.

After a few minutes of silent comfort, they simultaneously separated and sat down next to one another, Dembe taking a seat across from them. Ressler broke the silence.

"I don't understand what happened. I went to check on her and found her curled up on the bathroom floor. It looks like someone beat the crap out of her, but I think she had been patched up."

"Yes. A sniveling excuse for a coward recognized her and decided to dole out a certain brand of justice, leaving her unconscious in a parking lot. She was taken to the hospital."

"What? When did this all happen? I just saw her yesterday! How do you know all this? Why wasn't I told?!" Red held up his hand seeing that Ressler had no intention of stopping his tirade of questions any time soon.

"Donald, take a breath. When it comes to Lizzie, I will always know when someone has harmed her. She asked me not to say anything, so she could be the one to tell you what had happened." A peculiar light was in his eye as he gazed at Donald. Donald frowned again.

"Okay. Okay. But that doesn't explain... God, Red, there was so much blood... " He stared down at his shaking hands. He was a right mess. His shirt and hands were stained with blood (Liz's blood) from carrying her. Red reached over and clasped his forearm, to pull him from his thoughts, to steady him. Ressler took a deep shuddering breath.

"Red, she... the blood... Liz said... she said 'the baby'..." He pinched the bridge of his nose, a man on the verge. Of what? Breaking down? Crying? Screaming? Tearing this hospital to pieces? Finding Tom Keen and ripping him apart limb by limb? He shook his head in a jerky motion and tried to calm his breathing once more. He focused on Red's voice, belatedly realizing it had been coaxing him to breathe with him, in, and out. In, and out. Don nodded his head to signal that he was okay to continue for the moment. Red gave his arm one last squeeze before releasing him.

"Yes. Lizzie is pregnant. About 6 weeks along." Ressler felt a stabbing pain in his heart. He nodded his head, his face contorting into a pained grimace. He couldn't decipher his turbulent emotions. Pregnant with Tom Keen's fucking child. Rage. Bitter disappointment. Oh God. So much blood. Maybe not pregnant anymore. Heartache. Grief. Terror for himself and for her. How would she handle losing this baby? Did she want this baby? Did she want Tom? God, she would be a great mother. Selfishly, how could he bear the loss of another unborn child in his life? True, it wasn't his child, but the mother... He blinked, and reality reformed around him. Red had been trying to focus his attention once more.

"Donald. Donald." He grunted to acknowledge he was present again.

"All we can do now is wait and believe that she will endure because that is who she is. And we will be here waiting because regardless of the outcome, she is going to need the people who love her. Because that is who we are."

Hours later, a weary doctor finally broached the waiting room. The swinging of the doors alerted the three men, and all stood immediately. Each man holding his breath, afraid to ask the question that might yield a response none of them could handle.

"You're the one who brought in Ms. Keen?" Ressler's jaw clenched.

"She's my partner." Let him decipher that whichever way he will, as long as he tells me how she's doing.

"She's stable." All three men sagged a little in relief.

"We checked the arm under the brace. There seems to be no additional trauma since being treated. Her cuts and bruises merely needed some attending. The blood loss was significant, but she's had a transfusion and is replenishing her fluids." He paused, and Donald broached the delicate topic himself.

"Doctor... the baby?" Ressler knew the answer before the doctor could even open his mouth, and his heart fell. He closed his eyes against the terrible truth, the tears begging for release.

"I'm afraid there was nothing we could do. We've already done the dnc. Usually we would wait so that she could have someone with her, but with the blood loss, it was imperative to act immediately or risk losing Ms. Keen as well." Ressler collapsed into the chair behind him, all strength fleeing him. He stared ahead blankly while Red shook the doctor's hand.

"Thank you, doctor. Can we see her?"

"She's still resting, but I think it might be good for her to have someone there."

"Does she know...?" Red couldn't seem to finish the question, but the doctor understood.

"Yes, she is aware. We've given her a sedative to help, but having her loved ones may soothe her. She's in room 118. Nurse Jean here can take you to her."

"Thank you again, doctor."

Red knelt in front of Ressler.

"Donald. Now is the time. She needs us. She needs you. She needs you to be who you are. Now is the time." At the familiar phrase, Donald's eyes focused on Red's. Romeo. Trapped in that box, bleeding to death, I would have burned the whole world down to save her then. Despite everything that had occurred since, that instinct to throw away all he'd known and lived by to protect her had never dulled one iota. He could not, would not, fail her again. He nodded, and they moved as one towards room 118. Towards Liz.

He paused at the threshold of her doorway. Would she even want me here? Should I knock? Red gave him a gentle shove and a nod. With more courage than he had ever needed in all his years as an FBI agent, he entered her room.

She was lying curled on her side, her hands clenched together under her chin. She was still pale against the white sheets, but no longer gray. She looked so utterly small and helpless lying in that bed, reminding him of a lost child. And no, the irony is not lost on me you fucking worthless brain. His jaw clenched, and his cheek twitched. Her cheeks were streaked with the tracks of her tears, but she was utterly silent. He approached her bed slowly, not wanting to startle her. God, it hurt to see her in pain. He pursed his lips and gently stroked her cheek.

"Liz? Hey, it's me. Ressler." She didn't respond, didn't move, didn't even blink. He gingerly sat on the edge of the bed next to her, his hand gently resting on hers.

"Lizzie..." He had never called her that before, but it seemed natural to use it now.

"Oh Liz, I'm here. You don't need to do anything or say anything. I am right here. I will be here. For however long you need. In whatever way you need. If you need to lie there, if you need to cry. If you need to talk or scream or rail. You just do whatever you have to. I will be here. It's okay. You are going to be okay. You will make it through. If you ever need reminding of that, if you need someone to hold or someone to hit, you will always have me. Okay? You are going to get through this. You are not alone." His words seemed to incite more tears, and he was afraid he was making things worse for her. When he started to retreat and pulled his hand away, she clutched at him desperately. She didn't say a word, but she clung to his hand like he was her lifeline. He clung back just as hard and stroked her hair with his free hand.

Red watched through the window and made every effort not to cry, but a single rebellious tear made its way down his cheek. He turned away.

A little while later, Liz's grip eased, and her breathing evened out. Don was thankful she could sleep. He rose as gently as he could without releasing her hands, intending to pull the chair close and sit by her while she rested. The fluctuation in his grip must have alerted her though because she immediately redoubled her own grip.

"Ress... stay. Just... could you just..." She barely breathed the words to him, but he understood what she couldn't quite bring herself to ask aloud.

He gave her hand a quick squeeze and quietly murmured back, "Of course." Without relinquishing her hand, he maneuvered to the other side of the bed and deftly climbed in behind her. He quickly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body into his own. She needed the comfort, the human touch, a place to feel safe. One of his legs reached over and in between hers, as he cocooned her into himself.

"I'm right here Liz. I'm right here. You're safe. You're okay. I've got you." He continued to whisper his reassurances that he was not going to leave her side, and that she was in a safe space, while she latched onto him desperately. He felt it before the keening came. A deep shudder wracked her body and echoed through his. Her sobs were almost violent and crazed, but through it all, they never once let go of one another.

"Let it out, Liz. I've got you. Just let it out. It's okay." She wailed and spasmed and hiccupped until she exhausted herself back into a restless sleep, and Donald silently cried behind her until his tears were as exhausted as she.

Throughout the night, whenever she trembled in her sleep, he tried to soothe her into whatever semblance of peace he could offer. Despite the sedative and the exhaustion, her sleep was plagued with fits and whimpers, ghosts haunting her only form of restoration. Never for a single second did he relax his hold on her. She wouldn't know, probably couldn't understand and didn't need to right now that he needed this just as viscerally as she did.

When Liz stirred once more, sunlight filtered through the curtains. She had made it through the first night. That was something. She instinctively snuggled into Ressler's warm embrace, and he welcomed her openly. He realized with surprise that no one had bothered them the entire night. Glancing out the window into the hallway, the reason was blatantly obvious. Reddington must have ensured Liz would have as much peace as they could possibly provide.

Across the hall, directly opposite Liz's room, in a room Don was sure had been smoothly co-opted by Reddington, he was pacing and gesturing wildly while talking on the phone. Having hunted the man for years and begrudgingly worked with him for longer than he'd like, Ressler was positive he knew what the man was up to. He was using his considerable resources to track down the man responsible. It wouldn't take long to find him. Normal, everyday lowlifes didn't know or care to cover their tracks. His own people would carry out the pickup and hold the man until Red felt he could expend the emotion required to leave the hospital, and Lizzie's side. Dembe was keeping watch merely as a redundancy. Ress didn't actually think anyone would be enough of an imbecile to attack her in the hospital, but he knew redundancies were part of the reason Red himself had survived and thrived for as long as he had.

An errant thought trickled through his brain. Thinking of his years with Reddington brought the task force closer to the forefront of thought. Shit. Cooper. Don hadn't had even a single passing thought regarding Cooper, the task force, his promise to be back at the black site within the hour. He hadn't at all considered the expectation of his return or at the very least, word of Keen's well-being. His brow furrowed. He still had his phone, didn't he? He'd never heard it ring, never felt it buzz. Surely, by this time, they'd have pinged his location. He was honestly surprised the hospital hadn't already been stormed. What the hell? His vision passed across the hallway again, and he surmised he had his answer. Reddington must have contacted Cooper to fill him in, at least to the extent that he could. Don knew Reddington would never divulge the complete story. Liz's personal loss and tragedy was her own. It would be up to her to decide who of those close to her would be informed of her miscarriage. God. The word sounds so clinical. So pat. So very inadequate at encompassing the entirety of what it really meant.

He knew that she had always wanted children, had planned her life to include them. She was so instinctive and natural with kids. Despite the severe derailments her life had taken more than once, he also knew that, deep down, she still imagined being a mother to be a foregone conclusion. No matter what decision she would have ultimately made regarding this child at this time, Ressler felt sure that she would at least retain a connection to her child. Now all of that had been decided for her. Unfortunately, Liz might take it as a sign that she's just not meant to be a mom. As much as she tried to play the optimist, when it came to her own life and what she deserved, her measure of herself always fell short. While Ressler understood this to be rooted in her fears and insecurities, he didn't know how to make her see herself as he saw her - brave and strong and good. And utterly deserving of some God-damned breaks. She deserved to have the life she wanted. All of her suffering and her sacrifices had gained her nothing but cynicism and the sense that she was alone in the end. If only she could see. We are her family. I am her family. I could be her family. But now was not the time. Now he would be whatever she needed him to be.

She gingerly turned in his arms until she could see his eyes. He ghosted his fingertips across her face, and her eyes gently closed. Neither felt the need to break the silence. It was oddly comfortable for both, this new normal between them at the moment. They had never been this close, and certainly not for any length of time. The intimacy was welcome and natural. Being with her like this felt effortless. He tried to stop this train of thought. It only ever led to a yearning he could never squelch and never fulfill. Besides, this was a supremely inappropriate time to even be thinking these things.

Her eyes fluttered open, and a breathy "hi" reached his ears. His face softened.

"Hi." A semblance of a smile briefly flickered across her face. Then she winced, and a shadow fell over her features.

"Liz? Are you all right?" He was starting to panic again. What if the trauma was too severe? What if they didn't get everything?

"Just sore." She was so quiet. Were it not for the physical feeling of holding her in his arms, the ephemeral quality of her voice could make him believe she was only a figment, a memory.

"Can I get you anything?" He just wanted to help, wanted to not feel useless and ineffective. He wanted to absorb her pain into himself and rid her of all burdens.

"No, please don't. I just want to stay here, like this, for a while longer." A smidgen of fear entered her eyes.

"If that's all right, I mean."

"Of course, Liz. I told you. I am here for you. Whatever you need. Whenever you need it. Please, don't ever be hesitant to ask for what you need. That's what I'm here for." She curled into him even more, and he tightened his grip around her, stroking her hair. They lay in comfortable silence, simply breathing in each other's presence. It was soothing, a balm to two very weary and battered souls. Again, his thoughts drifted to how easy it was to be with her like this, despite the circumstances. They had skipped so many of the natural relationship progressions, but it sure didn't feel that way. Neither were tense nor awkward. Neither felt any compelling urge to talk about this revelatory state in which they now found themselves. Silently acknowledging the fact that these were extraordinary circumstances, it was still a breathtaking moment between them. For Ressler's part, at least, what lay between them now was a foundation it felt like they'd spent a lifetime building. Prior to yesterday, they had maintained fairly minimal physical contact, interrupted with bouts of severe crisis, emotional or physical. Now, he knew. He knew how it felt to be her anchor, her touchstone. Knew how it felt to hold her in comfort and commiseration, in solidarity and strength. Knew how it felt to hold her as a grieving husband holds his devastated wife. He also knew that he could never un-know this feeling, that he was irrevocably changed, and that his struggle to maintain a professional and friendly relationship with Keen, while fighting his instincts and inner desires, had just gotten that much more difficult. Because, now, he would be compelled to protect that foundation, to barricade it against all harm, and to build upon it his home. With Her.