So we FINALLY got Season 2 on the air after a very LONG summer without our show! So here we go with my first 'Conversation' from Season 2, Episode One "Lord Baltimore". And my apologies for including the first part word for word from the show. I just wanted to set the scene and get back in the saddle of writing "Conversations Season 2" (after writing "Hard Rain" the past two months) and start off with Ressler getting ticked off – which is always such a good look for him!

This series will be a little different to Conversations Season 1, (which were separate one-shots from each episode). In these Season 2 conversations, I am going to (try!) to have a more linear approach. A continuing story that weaves in and out of what we see on the show, and each chapter refers back to previous additions or edits I have made.

And as usual, these are mainly from Ressler's POV, and you see his thoughts in italics :-)

Ressler's hackles rose as soon as he saw Dr Friedman enter their shared office. So much for a successful end to our day. I am NOT talking to her.

The woman focused her attention on the only agent she had yet to talk to at this site. She had read Ressler's file and saw what had transpired with the death of his fiancé and his subsequent actions. The stress of that, coupled with the death of his coworker and near death of his Assistant Director, made it obvious this man needed counseling. Of all the staff at this site, this agent was the one she deemed needed the most help. He couldn't ignore this any longer. She stood by Liz, looking over the desks to Ressler.

"Congratulations. I heard you captured the man you were after. I thought maybe now we could go over a couple of things." She heard Ressler groan, but continued. "Maybe take stock."

Ressler ignored the 'I told you so' look Keen was giving him, as she sat almost smugly at her desk looking across at him.

The fact that Ressler was avoiding this showed Liz he needed it as much, if not more, than any of them. And as his partner – and his friend – Liz wanted him to talk to Dr Friedman. Watching him now, she saw the change come over her partner. Gone was the grinning 'I'll buy that agent a beer' guy that had been there a minute before. Mr 'I-do-things-my-way' was back, and true to form he was already up and about to leave, ignoring the two women looking pointedly at him.

"Agent Ressler." Dr Friedman said, changing her tone with the agent now as he left the office.

Ressler ignored her, his politeness with the doctor throughout the day gone now. Dr Friedman exited through the door behind Liz, and cut Ressler off as he entered the war room, rapidly losing her patience with the agent.

Ressler tried to walk by her, acutely aware of Keen watching from their office. He ignored Liz, knowing if he looked into her eyes, she'd give him 'the look' and he always had a hard time ignoring that.

"I will recommend you for suspension." The doctor told him sternly, effectively blocking Ressler from walking by her now.

He stopped, and faced her down. "Look, I don't mean to be a prick here, but I'm not sure what you think you're going to fix." His voice was even, but Liz could hear the control behind it.

"I'm not sure either, until we talk." Dr Friedman told him, not giving an inch.

Ressler finally lost his cool. He inhaled sharply. "About what? Those agents who died today? About the fact that we lost a woman that we were supposed to protect?"

The memory of begging Meera to live as their tears dripped into her blood pool came flooding back. "How do I feel about that?" He raised his voice at the woman now, leaning into her face. "I feel like CRAP."

Behind him, Liz held her breath. No, don't do this Ress, not with the shrink, she begged him inwardly. Ressler had his back to her, but she didn't need to see his face. His stance, the way he was slightly leaning into Dr Friedman, and the tension in his shoulders told her everything she needed to know. As angry as he may be appearing to the doctor, she knew he was also holding himself back, not giving in by showing the woman the entire story of how he really felt. But he needed to back down completely before he did get suspended.

Ressler almost left Dr Friedman then but continued, trying to make her understand where he was coming from. "But I know the good we do here, why it matters. And am I worried that someday it's not gonna be enough? Yeah."

He glared at her, emphasizing his point. "And when that day comes, you'll be the first to know." He took one more look at the doctor, and then strode away, feeling Liz's eyes boring into his back. Agents in the room who had witnessed the exchange awkwardly stepped aside, suddenly busy with other things as he walked briskly by them.

Aram had been sitting front and centre, and got the whole show right in front of his desk. He also held his breath as he saw Ressler walk away, and then glanced over at Meera's empty desk. It sat vacant in the middle of the bullpen, a constant reminder that one of their team would never again occupy that chair. That she would never again fill the room with her British accent, and her cutting wit. Not one of them had sat at that desk since. That's probably not healthy, he was thinking, as Liz caught his eye, walking determinedly in the direction Agent Ressler had gone.

Ressler's stomach churned as he strode down the hallway. He momentarily eyed the elevator, but didn't feel like going up to the surface in the afternoon sun. Instead, he turned and headed down toward the interrogation rooms. Rather appropriate, since Friedman wants to 'interrogate me'. No one was around, thankfully. He headed for the small meeting room at the end of the hallway, past the interrogation rooms. It was dark, lit only from the lights in the hallway as he slipped inside, not wanting to turn the light on.

Leaning heavily against the wall, he closed his eyes and sucked in a lungful of air. I shouldn't have left your side, Meera. I never should have split us up…

He heard footsteps clipping down the hallway. He knew those footsteps. Of course Liz would follow him. As Liz entered the room she fumbled on the wall looking for the light switch, but was stopped with Ressler's voice from the darkness.

"Don't."

The dark feels ...safe… Oh, hell, I don't know, I'm tired of feelings. There was something right about being in the dark though. The nightclub had been dark… she died in that dark passageway…

She dropped her hand from the wall, and sat down at one of the chairs now. "Why don't you sit down here?" She asked him quietly.

He remained standing and all she heard was him sighing heavily in the dark. As her eyes adjusted to the dark room she saw him leaning against the wall, hands on hips with his teeth clenched in that oh-so-familiar look her partner had perfected. It had been a while since she'd seen that though. He had been far more relaxed around her of late. Cracking a grin at things that wouldn't have even have raised that signature half smile of his a year ago.

In fact, their roles had almost reversed. She had become the uptight, paranoid one, and he had become more open. That is, until you mentioned Meera Malik's death. Then he became as tight lipped as the agent formerly known as Ressler circa 2013, the frowning, stuffed shirt that held everything deep inside him.

"Tell me why you really don't want to talk to her." Liz asked him, getting right to the point. She was watching him and saw him turn and look at her, his eyes catching the light from the hallway.

"You know why."

"Humor me. Tell me why." She prompted, needing him to start talking about this. In the 2 months since they had their hands shoved around Meera's throat, her warm blood spilling all over them, she had tried to discuss it with him, but he would always clam up. He would then either change the subject or say nothing until she was forced to change the subject. How ironic that he had grinned at her this morning telling her not to change the subject when she'd mentioned Dr Friedman.

"What possible good can come of reliving it?" he asked her, standing up from the wall now and shoving his hands in his pockets, his breathing more even now.

"Because we get it out in the open so it doesn't stay trapped inside." She told him, still sitting, pulling out the chair beside her to encourage him to sit down too.

He didn't take the chair and continued to stand where he was. "I don't need to talk to anyone about this. It happened. It's done."

"I'm not 'anyone', Ress. We were both there when she died." She reminded him gently.

He dropped his head, looking down in front of him. "I know that Liz. But I was the one who sent her to look downstairs while I went upstairs. I was the one who should have…" He stopped, swallowed hard and took a step toward the door.

To hell with this. I'm done talking about it.

She stood up quickly to block the doorway and he stopped short, looking into her eyes. The image of a caged lion ready to pounce came to her as she looked at his stance before her. This was the most he had said in the entire two months, and for his sake she needed him to continue.

"You should have what?" she prompted him.

Stopped her getting her damn throat cut, Keen!

She could hear his breathing catching in the dark, his voice a little louder now. "Protected her. I should have protected her!"

"Ress, you didn't know we were all in danger when you went to the club. None of us knew that until we got the call from Red." She looked up at him, seeing his eyes darting, the memories of the day consuming him. "You followed proper proced…"

"Yeah, and 'proper procedure' got her killed Keen! Her blood was all over the road - floor. That shouldn't have happened!" He spun away from her and leaned against the wall again.

Dammit!

He'd corrected himself, but she'd heard it. This wasn't only about Meera.

"Ress, this is hard for all of us. That's why the Bureau assigned Dr Friedman. There is no shame in talking about…"

"I am not discussing this any more." He interrupted again, and tried to move past her but she stood her ground, forcing him to stop. He backed up, then resumed his pacing around the small room.

I should have just gone up the damn elevator and gone home!

She watched him pacing and stepped toward him. "This morning you told me that you talk to me all the time. And you're right, you do. But I can only do so much. And it's not because I'm not 'qualified' to help you. It's because…" she inhaled sharply now, her mind back in the dark nightclub, with warm blood pouring over her hands. "It's because I miss her too. I was there too, right beside you Ress, holding her throat together as we – you and I – tried to save her."

"But we didn't save her Liz. They - she died." Damn, stop doing that! He leaned his head back on the wall now, sighing heavily.

"I know Ress. They both died and you were right there with the two of them. That's a lot for anyone to deal with. There is no shame in talking to a professional about problems you're having with this." She said gently.

"That woman out there," He leaned forward from the wall, and pointed back toward the war room, "that woman didn't even know Meera. Never met her. Never met… Audrey. How in the world can she have anything to say on this that would benefit me?" He looked across at her now, his eyes glistening more than earlier.

"That's precisely why she's able to discuss this with us. It's because she didn't know Meera… or Audrey… that she is able to step back and look at this from the outside looking in. We're too close Ress. We look at this with emotion, and that's unavoidable. She looks at it with a clinical eye, and can see areas where we may need… help."

The only help I need is in my bathroom cabinet. He shook that thought away.

He moved toward her now, toward the door again. "I'm not talking about this anymore, Liz. I don't need this. And if that's wrong, then fine. But this is my way of dealing with it."

"You need to remember that we don't have Cooper here to go into bat for us Ress… I doubt Martin will step up to the plate to bail you out if Dr Friedman does have them suspend you." She said, trying to reason with him, seeing him looking toward the exit again.

Right now, I just need to get out of here.

He moved toward her again as she continued to block his path. He looked down at her, clenched his teeth and looked briefly away, then back at her.

"I really am done, Liz. Discussion over."

"I know. Believe me, even in this almost dark room, I can still read you like a book." She moved her hand to him and gently touched his sleeve, feeling the tension in his muscles underneath her hand. "But Ress, I want you to promise me something. I need your word that you will come to me if things get... too difficult for you. Promise me." She searched his eyes, pleading with him.

His jaw set, he met her eyes silently for a moment longer, then brushed past her to exit the room.

She let him go, standing there looking down at the table in the dark. He hadn't promised. Hadn't answered her at all, which in itself wasn't unusual for Ressler. But she had needed his word that he wouldn't keep it all inside if things reached breaking point for him... again. Yes, he had opened up to her somewhat, but still had not talked enough about Meera's death. There was far more going on below the surface that he was keeping to himself. And that filled her with apprehension.

His eyes squinting in the light, he walked down the hallway away from her, feeling his head starting to ache. He did not want to go to their office to shut his computer down or do anything else – or talk to anyone. Instead, he fished his keys out of his pocket and stepped into the elevator. He avoided looking toward their office in case Dr Friedman was still standing there waiting for him to return.

That isn't happening. I am SO done.

Alone in the elevator as it rose to the surface, he looked up and sighed, long and deep. Audrey… I've been doing my job. I had hoped no one could tell... But I'm not doing so good sweetie…

###

Twenty minutes after leaving Liz he entered his apartment. It was still light out but his curtains were drawn, keeping it dark inside. Walking into his living room he turned the lamp on, seeing the soft glow fill the room, just the way he liked it. Throwing his keys on the coffee table, his gaze landed on the bar and reaching for a bottle he poured himself a shot. The scotch slid down his throat and he closed his eyes as the fire filled his belly. After pouring a second drink, he went and sat on his couch looking at the empty, softly lit room around him.

He didn't have photos in his apartment. Audrey had always wanted them to do a photo session, but he was never a fan of that. Have someone shove a camera in his face, telling him to smile here, place his hand there, look here. No thanks. He opened up his phone now though, and found the selfie that Audrey had taken one day. It was a little blurry, because she'd been laughing as she'd taken his phone and snapped the pic and had then handed his phone back to him. It was a work phone, a Bureau phone, but he had never deleted the photo. He looked at it now, at her laughing eyes, at her mouth…her hair…

He closed the photo quickly.

Don't. Just don't.

Still in his suit, he stood quickly and loosened his tie, suddenly feeling like it was strangling him. The bottle of scotch was still on the bar but he walked by it now, making his way to the bathroom instead. He needed to wash this day off him and try and snap out of this.

He undressed to take a shower, but then leaned on his sink, his mind whirling. As usual, the memories that he kept in check while at work flooded over him as soon as he arrived at his apartment. Memories of women dying in his arms, in front of him, of blood…so much blood. And always, the guilt. That awful, aching guilt, knowing that he was responsible for both of their deaths. Today was no different. No, actually, today is worse.

He slowly raised his eyes to the mirror, seeing his reflection staring back at him, almost accusatory. I don't even know who you are half the time…

There would be no sleep tonight, and no quieting of his brain – unless he took the pills again. Reaching for the prescription, he tossed two of them back in his mouth, grimacing at their bitter taste.

I hate them.

I need them.

I hate that I need them.

Things were getting worse, not better. And alone in his apartment was always the hardest time, without work to keep him occupied. He turned the water on and stepped into the shower, feeling the water hitting him. He turned up the heat, but standing under the hot water didn't help. He still felt like crap, just like he'd told Dr Friedman. I was honest with her about that.

He hadn't answered Liz's plea earlier, even though he knew what she had needed to hear. Though he had been unable to answer her at the time, now he reinforced the answer to himself.

Liz, if things ever get too much, I promise to TRY and reach out to you. I can only promise you that.