Chapter 1: In which Agent Ressler receives a unwelcome visitor…
He wonders idly if it's the painkillers wearing off but he feels it; the weight of someone fixing their eyes on his face, like the heavy rays of an early morning sun slipping through a slightly opened curtain.
And he's just so so very tired and he pointedly ignores whoever is trying to bore holes into his head. If he thinks (and he knows that he knows that he knows he's there) that he can will him to open his eyes he can just forget about it.
Then he feels it, the low dip of the mattress he is on, as a solid weight settles carefully on it. And the movement is incredibly fast and soundless that he wonders if he's imagining it all. But of course he isn't because the intrusion on his bed is firm and unrelenting like a rock planted in a middle of a sand garden.
And before he could form another coherent thought, he feels a heavy hand on his chest; a large one, full of authority and refusing to be ignored. He could tell with the way it just sits there rising and falling to the tune of his breathing.
And although it's really just been seconds, he feels the heat radiating off the hand burn through his hospital shift threatening to scald him and he really has no choice (he really never had one) but to acknowledge the infuriating man's presence.
"Red." He breathes out. The name is out before he blearily opens his eyes and he adds slight pitch of annoyance at the end making the unspoken words clear. What do you want now? And get your hand off me!
Reddington looks down at him, his lips curved up in his half mocking smile, tired lines etch below his eyes, his clothes pristinely pressed, his hand still steady on the younger man's chest. "I just want to see how you were doing Donald. Go ahead and go back to sleep."
He couldn't believe the audacity of the man. His nostrils all but flared (go back to sleep my ass!). "You want something, tell me now." He nearly shouted out the last few words and remembering who he was talking to and where they were, he was able to bite his volume back down to a growl.
A small laugh rumbled its way out of the wanted man sitting on his cot, the tremor of his voice drumming through the hand that was resting much too familiarly on top of him, reminding Ressler of grumbling storms and hot cocoa and … just damn that man! Damn him!
"Ah, Donald…" Red smiles fondly at him followed by his trademark half grin.
"Ever the impatient one." He sighs, patting the FBI agent good naturedly on his chest and resting it once more on the man's shift his fingers forming a slight curl at the end.
"And get your hand off of chest, I can't breath." Ressler finally voices out his complaint as he notices Red's digits flex inward making uncomfortable creases on his thin cotton covering.
"And ever so touchy." The older man condescendingly mocks at him but nonetheless slowly detaches his hand, much to Agent's short lived relief (Reddington, having coyly shifted it over to his recovering leg).
And it took all of whatever was left of Ressler's all ready frayed self-control to stop himself from shrieking at the man.