Part Two

Donald Ressler followed his step-father up the stairs for the boxes in question. He didn't speak and he hoped the other man wouldn't either, but as they reached the top, the older man turned to level a look that wasn't quite a glare. "You disappear for five years with barely a word to your mother and just show up on the doorstep with some weak excuse about coming for some boxes that you've been putting off taking for years. I hope you're not planning to slip out before you've had a sitdown with your mother at least."

And there it was. Mikey was in detective mode. Analyzing Ressler's moves and waiting for him to say the wrong thing to get caught up on. He forgot just how good Mikey was and how well he knew him. He might as well cut to the chase and get it over with. Besides, who knew the damage his mother could do with Tom downstairs.

"I'll stay for dinner but I didn't come here to talk to her." Ressler took a breath. "You promised me years ago you had no part in my father's death. Prove it. Tell me what you know."

Mikey stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "I've told you everything I can, Don. Every scrap of evidence has been gone over a hundred times by the department. You know that. If we could bring the bastards in we would. Is that why you're here? You have some new thread you think you're following?" He sighed, shaking his head. "You gotta let it rest, Donnie. I loved your dad like a brother, but he's gone. Stirring up all this, all it's going to do is hurt your ma. You don't want to do that."

"By a department full of dirty cops. You expect me trust anything that they say?" Ressler had learned more about the depth of corruption than he ever wanted to in his lifetime. It cost his father his life. It nearly took Liz's. No. He was going to be smarter this time. Trust no one. That way you don't get betrayed. But, the little boy in him, the one who looked up to Mikey, wanted to trust him. The teen who cried in Mikey's arms after his father's funeral wanted to believe him. But, the FBI agent in him refused it. "When did Markin move in to the arms trade?"

There was a brief flash through the older man's eyes, one that Ressler wouldn't have caught if he hadn't known him so well. "I don't know what you talking about," he lied through his teeth.

Ressler frowned then looked to the ground. Mikey was lying. He had hoped that he would finally be truthful. If their last fight had been indication, this wouldn't be going well. Mikey was well trained in undercover work and the art of lying. And Ressler had truly hoped he had meant more to Mikey than the brotherhood he was protecting. Mikey can fool the best of them but today he wasn't fooling his step son.

"That's bullshit. You can lie to me if that's how you want to play it. But, I won't quit. Not now."

Ressler grimaced when Mikey grabbed him roughly by the arm and pulled him in to a room. It had been his old room. And not much had been changed. Mikey let go of Ressler then leaned against the door. A firm look set on his face. "Listen to me, Don. I know you don't trust me on this, and that's your call, but I will not let you bust in here and stir all of this shit up again, you hear me? Stay away from Tommy Markin. I'm trying to do you a favour, kid. Don't be so stubborn you get yourself hurt."

There was something about his words that didn't match his tone and left Ressler knowing he knew more than he was saying. The problem was he still wasn't sure if it was fear or if the man really was dirty and just trying to protect his own assets.

"I don't need your help. I'll do this on my own. No one helped my dad but I won't make the same mistake he did." Ressler paused. "I had no intention on bringing my mom into this either. I'm passing through town, wanted dad's things. I'll stay for dinner then Tom and I are out of your hair." He looked Mikey in the eye. "I'm not going home without the answers I came here for though."

Mikey gave him a long look before shaking his head. "You go digging, you're bringing your mother into it. Your friend too, but you've always been stubborn. You have to see it to believe it. Come on, if we don't come back down with those boxes your mother will know something's wrong."

Ressler decided to let it go with Mikey for now. He watched as Mikey opened up the closet and slide two decent sized boxes out and handed one to Ressler. Well, he'd be paying to have those shipped home he figured. Together they walked down the stairs and out to the rental car where they put the boxes in the trunk. It was probably time to save Tom from his mom. She was more than likely trying to pull whatever she could out of him to figure out just exactly it was that didn't sit right with her. And Ressler really hoped he hadn't miss the show yet.

Tom was chattering away when they came back inside, stirring absently at a boiling pot of noodles as he went on about some kid that supposedly was in a class. If he had ever had a Billy Salter in a class before, Ressler had no way to know, but he knew that it had been a couple years at least. It wasn't like Tom had done any recent teaching.

"I seriously have never seen a kid get such a sugar high from one fruit rollup," he was saying. "And then he'd rile the rest of them up. It was always an adventure." He glanced over, the smile that he wore reminding Ressler of the naive teacher that he had played the part of while married to Liz. He slipped right into it without so much as a twitch, the carefree attitude fitting far too easily. It wasn't him, though. Even knowing that Ressler found that he had to remind himself.

"What is that you really do?" Mary asked. She set her dish towel down and looked Tom in the eye. Ressler knew that look. She found something. Something that Tom did that alerted her. She wasn't mad, but almost amused. As if trying to put together a puzzle. When Tom didn't reply she motioned to his face. "Your eyes, dear. They give it away. Oh, it's slight. Barely noticeable. But, it's your eyes. They give it away."

Tom blinked hard. "I'm sorry?" he asked, his voice dripping with innocence. "I'm not sure… My eyes?"

"Oh, you're good." She smiled. "I call bullshit on him, Donnie," Mary called over Tom to where Ressler and Mikey were standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry but I wasn't born yesterday. You aren't the first and you won't be the last who has to tried to fool me. So, we have all evening to share."

"Sorry, Tom. Did I forget to tell you my mom is a psychologist. She worked for the state for a while interviewing criminals. She's seen it all." Ressler couldn't control his grin. The look on Tom's face was priceless.

His expression slowly changed and the innocent teacher melted away as he tilted his head a little to the side, chuckling to himself. "Well played, Ressler," he managed, shaking his head and running his hand through his hair. "I should have seen it a mile away. I mean, I married a profiler. I really am slipping." He turned his attention back to Mary and offered her a charming smile. "What I really do is… complicated at best. The easy answer is that I help the FBI on cases that they don't have the right connections on or know where to look. Well, part of the FBI. Well…. Okay, mostly just your son and Liz's team." He shrugged. "Complicated. And probably classified." He glanced over at Ressler. "I never thought about that. Am I suddenly one of your classified assets?"

There was an amusement in his voice that made Ressler want to pop him in the nose.

"Oh, you know how to push Donnie's buttons, don't you?" Mary laughed. "Donnie, you and Mikey go set the table. Tom and I have some more work in here to do."

Ressler grumbled, his victory over Tom now gone. He could hear Mikey chuckle as he grabbed some plates and headed to the dining room. If dinner went like Ressler thought it would he'd need a drink. A few. He could hear his mother and Tom laughing in the kitchen as he set the silverware on the table and rolled his eyes. Tom Keen had won his mother over. His smart, no nonsense mother. Tomorrow, they'd start in on Markin and he'd be out of this town.

If there was one thing Jacob Phelps had learned at a relatively young age it was that life threw curveballs. It was how you handled those curveballs that mattered. He had always been decent at squirming out of bad situations, but his time with the Major had helped him take that to the next level. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he had a certain type of respect for people that could call him on his bullshit. It was an incredibly short list of people that could do it without pause, and apparently Mary had been added to that short list.

Ressler had gone quiet during dinner and had lobbed a glare that could have killed when Jacob had insinuated that he was pouting. When the federal agent had decided he needed a drink after dinner, Jacob hadn't given him a choice but to take him along. He was on a roll and he'd be damned if he left it there. He couldn't say exactly what it was about getting under Ressler's skin that was quite so entertaining, but the man did provide a certain level of amusement.

They took a seat at a bar that Jacob got the impression Ressler knew and he flashed a wide, somewhat innocent grin. "You really should go home more often. Your mom is great."

"Yeah, she's a great lady. Home is D.C.. This place hasn't been home in a long time," Ressler said gruffly. "And it's so typical of you. You just waltz in and win the woman over."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. To be fair, she called me on my crap and she still liked me." Jacob almost laughed to himself. It was something he'd never really risked thinking about in a very long time: the idea that someone would prefer the real him rather than the mask he put on. Outside of Liz, few people did.

"She also liked Tommy Markin for a time. Don't get too excited." Ressler ordered a drink then turned his attention to the TV overhead.

"Wow, you know how to thank a guy for sticking his neck out to help you by comparing him to the guy you hate most." Jacob shook his head and leaned against the bar. "So is this place one of your old hangouts?"

"Before things got...to how they are now...Mikey and I would pop in here whenever I came back for a visit." Regret was visible on Ressler's face.

"You know, the way you react to him I guess I expected a complete asshole," Jacob said as he took a sip of his beer and risked a look at Ressler out of his peripheral vision. "As cops go, he seems like a pretty decent guy. So what pushed you over the edge to hating him like you do now?"

"I haven't had enough of these," Ressler said tapping his drink "to get into my family issues with you."

Jacob snorted. "Fine." He motioned to the bartender. "Two whiskeys neat please." He glanced over to Ressler, trying to gauge if he'd read him right. "You look like a whiskey guy."

"Donnie here is more of vodka guy, right buddy?" a short stocky man said slapping Ressler's back laughing.

"Hey, Darren," Ressler said through gritted teeth.

"Put it on my tab. Donnie Ress is in town!" Darren said to the bartender chuckling then walked away shaking his head.

"That guy's an ass. He and his buddies got me trashed one night. Mikey was not too happy." He looked over to Tom. "Whiskey is just fine."

"He's a cop," Jacob said, watching the man as he sauntered away. His gaze swiveled around and down the bar. "Hell, Ressler. You brought me to a cop bar, didn't you? This may turn into a race." He grabbed the glass as soon as the bartender handed him his and downed it in one swallow, the whiskey burning down his throat. He really was slipping if he hadn't noticed that when he first walked in. It was fine. Everything was fine. It wasn't like they were paying any attention to him anyway, or even if they were, as if he'd done anything to deserve it recently. It was an old discomfort at most.

Ressler chuckled before downing his drink then motioning for another. "Fatherhood is really taking its toll on you if you didn't catch on this was a police hang out."

"Yeah. Guess it is," Jacob huffed and reached for the second glass that was handed to him. "This is all going on that guy's tab right?" he asked with a grin, motioning to Darren that had dropped by and then moved on. "I mean, that's what I heard him say. Didn't you hear that, Ressler?"

That elicited an honest smile out of Ressler. "Oh, yeah. He definitely said that."

Jacob grinned broadly and raised his glass. "Never thought a cop would buy me a drink." The glasses clinked together and he took down about half of it, watching to see if Ressler did the same.

Ressler did indeed follow Tom's lead then set the glass down and stared into the dark liquid. "Mikey and I have always had our differences. After my dad was killed I was a little shit. We were fine for awhile then I joined the Bureau. And met Audrey. Then she left me. I was not only obsessed with Reddington at that point, but also what happened to my dad. Five years ago we got into a huge fight." He laughed bitterly. "I didn't even call and tell them I got shot and nearly died. They don't know about Audrey either."

"Damn," Jacob murmured, sipping on the second half of his drink. "Must of been a hell of a fight."

"It was. We both said a few things neither of us meant. Mom got hurt in the process. I just...it was easier to walk away." Ressler finished his drink. "I've had my doubts about him. Where he stands. I don't know...if...he can't be part of this. He can't."

"Never said he had to be. He's a cop. I'm not really inclined to trust him to begin with," Jacob answered, scooting the glass for a refill and smirking at Ressler. "Keep up."

"Trying to get me drunk or trying to rack up a hefty bill for asshat Darren?" Ressler questioned.

"Pick one," the younger man answered with a grin. "Who knows what sort of secrets you have, Agent Ressler. In my experience, people talk a little easier with alcohol in their system. Well, most people."

"Between the two of us, I think you have the better secrets to share. So, tell me, does this work for super secret agent spies as well us normal folk?"

"Are you asking if I drink enough if I'll spill all my secrets? Yes. Let me tell you them all right now." He looked over to Ressler and started laughing openly at him. "You get that I have over twenty years of training for against any sort of interrogation, yeah?"

Ressler flashed a look of annoyance at Jacob. "Do you have any lines other than 'I have over twenty years of training'? It gets old man. I know. I get it. You had super spy training. Enough." Ressler took a sip. "Your poor kid. I can see it now.. 'Now, Hope. Remember, dad had special spy training so I know if you are lying. Did you eat that candy bar?'" He said in his best Jacob voice. Then he switched to little girl voice. "No, daddy, I didn't. Nevermind the chocolate all over my face." He laughed at himself for moment before taking another sip.

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Seriously, that's the best you have? That didn't even sound like me. Did you fail the undercover portion of Quantico?"

"Sorry impersonations of your friend's annoying husband was not part of FBI training," Ressler snapped back. "Yeah, that's it. I'm going to teach Hope to call you Spy Hard. It's settled."

"And you'll be Uncle Boy Scout. Keep pouring?" he asked the bartender as he motioned for him to keep going on the refill. "And no, I don't plan to tell my daughter about my training. I don't… I won't lie to her, but the less she knows about what my time growing up, the better."

"Perhaps I'll have to come up with something better then. I suppose I'll have to agree that keeping her from knowing some of your past is a good idea." Ressler's face turned serious. "You have a good thing back home. Those ladies waiting at home for you. You're lucky."

Jacob felt a smile take hold of him without permission, Liz and their daughter coming to mind. "Yeah," he murmured. "I am. Didn't think I'd live to see the day." He pulled in a deep breath, trying to refocus. Ressler was turning the conversation back around on him and he'd almost let him. Clever fed, but he'd never admit it out loud. He turned his eyes on him, swallowing down the whiskey hard and studying him. There was more to their irritability at each other than a simple lack of anything in common. The funny thing was that they had the most important thing in common: Liz. It had always been a point of discontent between them, and even now Jacob hated the way that Liz went on about how Ressler didn't open up to her like he used to. "She misses you, you know," the words slipped out and Jacob was acutely aware that he had had more to drink than he realized - or it was affecting him more than he was used to - as soon as they had. He schooled his expression, though, as if he'd meant to say it.

"I miss her," he said softly. "It's not the same now. It will never be the same. She can't be...she's not..," Ressler trailed off. "You know how much I hate that she picked you?" Ressler snapped. As if lashing out would take back what he just almost admitted.

Jacob stared for a moment, the words sinking in and he blinked, letting them rattle around in his mind for a moment to make sure he'd heard them right. He'd known. He'd always known, but he couldn't say that he had ever expected Donald Ressler to admit it. It terrified him in a way. Here was this man - this good man that was everything Jacob could only pretend to be - that cared about Liz. Maybe even loved her. If she'd known that… Well, he didn't know what she would have done. The idea of losing her, of her leaving, was more than he cared to dwell on, and it left his mood soured as his shoulders slumped and he turned his gaze on the bar in front of him. He took a long drink from his glass and snorted, setting it down hard, scooting it forward before reaching for Ressler's mostly empty glass and having them both refilled. "It's a race," he reminded him with a smirk. "And your buddy's paying."

"It worries you. My feelings for her," Ressler said, obviously not catching or caring that Jacob was trying to change the subject. "As much as I'd love to be some macho guy and say I could have her if I wanted...it'd be a lie. And I'm not the kind of guy to go after another man's family." Ressler took another drink. "Damn booze."

Jacob chuckled into his own glass. "Seriously, man. Pick a subject other than this one and I'll tell you pretty much anything. Let's stay the hell away from this landmine, huh?"

"Anything, huh? In that case…," Ressler paused then smirked. "Your first kill."

The dark haired man blinked hard, images rushing through his mind easier than they might have had he been entirely sober. He frowned and shoved the memories down hard before letting his lips quirk upward in a smirk. "Yeah, not giving you something with no statute of limitations while sitting in a bar full of cops. I plead the fifth. New question."

"The cop in me had to try," Ressler offered in defense. "Your family. Where are they?"

Jacob's smirk didn't fade. "At home, probably asleep with any luck on Liz's part."

"Smart ass." Ressler shook his head. "Your mom and dad."

His expression finally evened out a little and he lifted the glass to his lips and took a long drink from it. Well, he'd said most anything. He really didn't have a valid excuse against this one. "I have no idea who my dad was. Not mentioned on my birth certificate and as far as I remember I never met him. I have maybe two clear memories of my mom? I was just something she had to deal with until she didn't, and then CPS picked me up. No idea what happened to her after that." He finished his glass in one more gulp and loosed a long breath. He did his best not to think about her. It never ended well.

"Damn, that…," Ressler waited a beat then said "sucks."

Jacob shrugged. "Not as much as staying would have," he said quietly. "I would have been dead either way if I had. I guess at least with all the shit that happened afterwards I had a fighting chance."

"You fell in with a man like The Major...how was that a fighting chance?" Ressler shook his head, and Jacob wasn't sure if it was sympathy he saw on the other man's face or not. "I gotta take a leak," Ressler blurted out of the blue and slipped off his barstool. He stumbled a bit but straightened himself. "There's a booth over there. And they have amazing nachos. Do me a favor and order us some?" And with that Ressler was gone.

Jacob snorted, shaking his head as the bartender nodded that he'd heard and the dark haired man started for the booth, swallowing hard as he did, images of a woman he did his damndest not to think about floating through his mind. Yeah, even Bud had been a fighting chance next to her. Even if Bud had tried to kill him more than once now. At least he could swing back, just like he had with his last foster father. He'd been a small child with his mother and she'd left him to fend for himself for days on end. According to his file they estimated she'd been gone nearly five days when they had found him. He didn't remember that, though. He just remembered her back as she walked out the door and her blurred face as she shoved him under the water, trying to end what she must have thought was the only mistake she'd ever made by not tossing him out as soon as he was born. It was fine, though. Ressler hadn't been able to walk a straight line all the way to the restroom, so he wouldn't remember to ask when he got back and Jacob wouldn't remind him. He just hoped that he wouldn't remember the conversation to bring it back up when he sobered up.

Ressler washed his hands and looked in the mirror. His cheeks were getting red. A sure sign perhaps he had one too many. But, he felt a warmth in him and a lightness he hadn't felt in a long time so he just didn't care. And, if Tom did as he asked there would be nachos waiting for him at the table. Nachos made everything better. Even being stuck in his home town with the woman he...with his partner's husband. As he made his way out in the bar, he found Tom sitting in the booth. They were talking about something. It was kind of deep but Ressler had forgotten. He tended to be like that when intoxicated. And happier than he usually was.

"Hey, man. You order the nachos?" He slid in the booth across from Tom.

"Yep. They're on their way. Two more rounds too, but I figured ice was probably not a bad life choice for this one." He looked at him for a moment, eyes studying, and damn it all if he didn't at least sound entirely sober. It must have been something he'd learned. Had to be.

"For once, I'll have to agree." Ressler was trying to remember what they were discussing before his bathroom break but for the life of him could not. "What were we talking about? Earlier? Before I got called away to the office," he laughed at his bad joke.

Tom rolled his eyes a little and shook his head. "I think you were about to give me some information on Markin. That or your deepest darkest secret that I can hold over your head once you sober up. On second though, I'm going with the second."

"Why would I ever give you any kind of leverage against me? And you'd just tell Liz. And she'd tell Reddington...and then everyone would know." Ressler couldn't believe Tom. Like he was going to give him anything good. His mother probably already gave him a treasure trove of information while making dinner. Yeah, he was going to pass on that. "I'll pass."

"Damn. I was hoping to hear the clown story straight from you. You know your mom keeps a picture?" The waitress set the nachos down between them and a drink down in front of each man. Tom flashed her a smile. The man was enjoying this far too much. "Thanks."

Ressler clenched his jaw for a brief moment. "Yeah, she can't keep her mouth shut on that one." Ressler had a fear that Tom now had a copy of the infamous clown picture and his life would never be the same. "All you need to know is one night my parents were watching tv while I should have been sleeping. I peeked my head out and what is on TV...but some creepy as clown. They were watching poltergeist. My birthday party was the next day. Guess what the entertainment was?"

Tom snorted and grabbed a nacho. "That's amazing. I'm holding onto that one," he promised. "So, we were talking about you growing up or something?"

"No, no, no," Ressler chuckled. "I'm not giving you anything else. What was Tommy Boy like as kid? I mean besides being some degenerate thug?" Ressler laughed. Something in him told him this may not be a path he wanted to go down, but he pushed that nagging feeling and whatever brought it there away.

The dark haired man watched him for just a moment, his expression eerily blank before a calm smile took hold. "Degenerate thug, huh? That's no fun. You seem to know that already. I think your childhood seems a lot more interesting. I mean, c'mon. It was enough to drag you back to this place and face people that, in all honesty, seem like decent people you've treated crappy. I mean, I've seen my fair share of terrible father-figures, and I'll tell ya, that's not the vibe I get off of your pal Mike and your mom is a class act. So tell me, what could have possibly been so bad that you walked off and don't bother with a family that genuinely seems to love you?"

"You think you know so much," Ressler snapped. "You think you have me all figured. Some spoiled brat who grew up with anything he wanted. You don't know a damn a thing." He was getting angry. It wasn't the first time someone called him on his decision to walk away from his family. Audrey did when they got back together. Their first time around she used to tell him to let the past go but he couldn't. "You want to know what a class act my Ma is? She shipped me off to Maryland for a 6 months to stay with my grandpa because Mikey said it was best for me. And when I finally get to come home she's shacking up with Mike. Ships me off, moves him in." Ressler reached for his now refilled drink. "My dad was killed and she sends me away. To my grandfather who is ex PD and filled my mind with all sorts of theories of what happened to my dad." Ressler balled his fist under the table. "Sorry I didn't live on the streets and I didn't have to steal to survive, but my life has been anything but perfect."

He reached for another sip and Tom's hand shot forward. "I think you're done for a while. Eat your damn nachos." His voice was tight and controlled, his eyes carefully shielding whatever it was he was feeling so that no visible reaction came through. He pulled the glass full of whiskey back and sat back in his seat.

"I don't want my damn nachos. I want my drink," Ressler hissed. This was why he didn't discuss his family or past. It brought back painful memories. He was trying to work on his emotions and how to best to deal with them with his sponsor from his NA meetings but so far...Donald Ressler and emotions were a dangerous mix.

"You're the one that wanted them in the first place," Tom pointed out reasonably, running a hand through his hair in a frustrated fashion and leaving it standing on end. He sighed, setting his jaw a little. "You don't want to talk about it, fine. Dropped, because I just remembered that the only reason I give a damn at all is because I'm trying to keep Liz from worrying, so let's focus on what we're here for: Markin. We've been here for an afternoon and all you've managed to do is piss people off and get drunk. Tell me about Markin and what plan you have."

"Find him and put a bullet in his head." Part of him meant it. Part of him wanted to look that bastard in the eye and end him. But, the agent him wanted it done right. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "I've lost count on how many we've had. Discussing plans while...over the limit...not always a good mix."

"Sounds like the first intelligent thing said in a while from what I hear."

Both men looked up, startled, and found Mikey standing over them with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown set deep.

"What the hell, Mikey? Did you get a phone call the minute I walked in or something? Everytime. I can't do a damn thing without you knowing about it," Ressler growled as he snagged his drink from where Tom placed it. He downed in one go.

"No," the man that had married his mother growled, "I got a call when you started stumbling around the bar. You don't get to turn this on me, Don. Come on. Let's pay the tab and go."

Tom quirked a smile. "Taken care of already," he offered, glancing around and Ressler saw him check to make sure Darren was still up at the bar.

Ressler slid out of the booth and nodded to the bartender. He could feel Tom and Mikey on his heel as he walked up to Darren and with a shit eating grin he slapped the man on the back. "Hey, man. Great seeing you." And when the bartender slid Darren the bill, Ressler laughed. "Thanks for the drinks."

"Yeah, sure," Darren began not realizing the two drinks he intended had become their whole night. Ressler jumped back just as Darren spun around. "You little shit," he said with venom in his voice.

"You know what they say about payback, right?" Ressler looked him in the eye. Daring him to start something.

He heard a shift behind him and expected Mikey to put a hand on him to hold him there. If he did, though, Ressler wasn't sure he wouldn't turn swinging. Instead, just out of his peripheral he saw Tom come to stand next to him, the smirk aimed at Darren. "Sit down and have another drink, buddy. You earned it tonight." There was something about his tone that made it sound like he knew every ounce of what Ressler did about the man, but he couldn't have. Darren didn't know that though, and apparently he was further gone than either of them were. There was something he should remember: Tom's tricks to defuse situations didn't seem to work on drunk cops. Darren stood up from his seat, still pissed.

"I'm not paying this, you and your friend better pony up before I kick your asses."

"I would love to see you try," Ressler taunted. He was always the first to throw a punch in a fight but in a situation like this, he wanted Darren to.

"Man, you're the one that offered. Not our fault if you're too drunk now to remember," Tom popped off and straightened his back a little to pull himself up to his full height. Apparently he was as ready for the fight as Ressler felt.

"Boys," Mikey warned from behind, his tone sounding more like he was talking to two punk teenagers than two grown men.

"Typical. Gotta get Mikey to keep you inline. You're a hot head with a bad temper. Your dad must be rolling in his grave at the disappointment you've become," Darren mouthed out. Then came Ressler's fist right to his face.

Darren was back on his feet in a second and all hell broke loose. He took a swing and Ressler ducked, stepping back and into Tom who was right next to him, eyeing the other men - all cops - that were tensed and ready. "I swear, Ressler, if you get me arrested I'm going to break something on you," the former operative growled.

If Ressler had thought that meant that he was going somewhere, though, he was wrong. Tom looked ready to take on anyone that was stupid enough to come at him, not budging from his place.

"We won't get arrested...but the odds aren't in our favor," he hissed as he dodged a blow from Darren. The next hit connected with his gut.

"The one time you decide to break a rule has to be in a bar full of cops," Tom growled and Ressler risked a look back, seeing him dodge a blow just to take another, stumbling back and into him so that they were back to back. "Listen, I'm sure you have some valiant no running policy or some shit, but we're going to get our asses handed to us if we don't go now."

Ressler looked for Mikey but couldn't find him. They were well outnumbered and while he knew the cops never arrested another cop when called to this place they were still likely to take on a hurting if they didn't book it. Ressler got a few more hits in, one to Darren and a guy he didn't recognize before yelling to Tom, "I'm not that stupid."

"Could have fooled me," Tom snapped, taking a hard blow that sent him to his knees. He sat there for a moment, looking dazed, before his gaze hardened just a little and he swept out with one leg, easily taking the man from his feet and his boot connected with his chin before he popped back to his feet. "Could we please get out of here before I have a warrant issued on for me for killing one of these idiots?"

"Yeah, let's roll!" Ressler kicked Darren in the gut then bodyslammed another guy to clear their way out.

Tom was right with him as they burst through the door and saw Mikey sitting in the driver's seat of his car with the window rolled down and he offered them a knowing look. "Your bags are in trunk, but I'm not defending you to your mother."

If Ressler was going to argue that he didn't need Mike's help, he didn't get the chance. Tom moved past him, grabbing a handful of his coat as he did, and shoved him in the backseat. "You know, there was a day when I said I would have paid good money to see you in a bar fight," he grumbled, following him, "but I take it back now."

Ressler didn't say anything the whole ride home. Darren was right. There was a pattern of Mikey coming to his aid but that was mostly when he was that angry teen after his father died. Darren was a second generation police office and their dads worked together. So, this wasn't exactly his first run in with him. Ressler didn't want to admit that hitting Darren felt good. He hated that violence had soothed him. Tomorrow he was going to embark on his mission to get his father justice. Tonight, he had to survive his mother. Because, Lord knows she would was going to be laying in to him something fierce.

"That was years in the making so you know. First the prick steals my girlfriend then he and his buddies get me trashed the day before I leave for the college," Ressler finally spoke up as they pulled in the driveway.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself to make you feel better," Tom grumbled, slumped down in his seat and gaze focused on whatever was on the other side of the window. Ressler couldn't tell if he was pissed that it all had happened or if he was just saving whatever he was really thinking for later. Whatever the case, apparently he was done talking. The car stopped and the dark haired man piled out before the engine was even cut, circling around to grab his bag and leaving Ressler to face it alone.

It had been a hell of a night. Jacob ran the towel across his hair and winced at the bruises already starting to form. As much as he wanted to say he was pissed at Ressler for starting the fight and dragging him into it - and he wasn't happy about that, of course - that wasn't what was bothering him. Ressler was right. He thought he did have him all figured out, and he was still pretty sure he was close to the point, but then there'd be something. It was small, maybe not even something someone else would recognize, but it made it harder to hate him. It was a lot easier if he could just hate him and do this strictly for Liz.

Jacob hadn't been so caught up in the fight that he hadn't noticed that Ressler had take a couple of blows he didn't need to because he was working with him on the fight. Oh, he'd dodged and avoided as best as he could with as much whiskey as he had in him, but there had been one particular time that Jacob had caught him out of the corner of his eye and had seen him catch hold and pull one very angry man's attention away from Jacob so that he didn't get his head bashed in from behind. He hadn't needed to. It hadn't done Ressler any real favours, but he'd done it. It was a hell of alot easier hating him and he wished he could just go back to that. This trip had been stupid.

He stepped out of the bathroom, tugging his t-shirt over his head after his shower, and nearly ran straight into the fed in question. Well, apparently his mother was done with him for the evening.

"Those conversations have never been fun. Add the alcohol and sore body…," Ressler shook his head. "I'm a grown man and my mom just went at me like I was a kid."

Jacob snorted and ran a hand through his damp hair. "Sorry I missed that. Pretty sure I heard a little of it even with the shower running."

"Oh she wanted to have a chat with you too. Mikey told her putting one dumb kid in his place was enough for tonight," Ressler chuckled and shifted his feet then looked around the hallway.

"I really can't decide if I feel a little honoured that they give a damn or terrified that I'm next," Jacob murmured with a smirk. He shook his head and leaned against the wall, feeling the weight of the bar fight and seeing it still etched into Ressler's features. This place must have been hell on him with all the memories and the people that knew him before. Jacob found himself loosing a long breath, the words riding out on it before he gave them permission to. Apparently he hadn't entirely sobered up yet. "What the hell are you doing here, Ressler? I mean, I know I wouldn't be caught dead going back to Chicago, even if I could….." He stopped blinking hard. "I get that you want to right some wrong or whatever but… do you really think you can take this guy down? You just had a bar full of cops - cops that know you - willing to beat your ass into the ground. You think for one second most of them aren't in his pocket?"

"I'm sure a good deal are. The others...they know I'm a fed. There's always rivalry between feds and local PD. And I'm not one of them. You always back your own," he said in his defense. "As for coming back...I need to try. I'm tired of living with this. That my dad gets executed and the guy behind it walks."

"And what? You're willing to die to try to make it happen? Listen, man, I've been up against some pretty crazy odds before. Hell, I've been up against them with you, but sometimes you just have to cut your losses or you're going to get yourself and everyone around you killed. Those people down there -" he motioned down the hall that Ressler had come from after talking to Mary - "are still alive. They still live here. You thought about what happens if you don't win this war?"

"They will have each other. I have no one, Tom, besides them. I need to do this. I need to try. And if it's gets too deep I want you to leave and go back home to your family." Ressler looked down at his feet. "I know it would kill her to lose me, but she'll have Mikey. I can't not try." He looked back up to Jacob and he looked defeated. "I have to do this. You don't. If you think it's too dangerous back out and I won't think anything of it."

Jacob sighed heavily. "Damn you and your principles," he growled irritably. "I really want to hate you, you know. It'd keep me alive longer." He pushed a long breath through his nose that came out more as a snort. "Listen, if we're going to do this - I mean really do this - we need to trust each other."

"Yeah, I really want to hate you too," Ressler chuckled. "I've learned we don't always get our way." Ressler nodded down the hall as if to say follow me and began to walk down the stairs and out the back door. He took a seat in one of the lawn chairs and motioned for Jacob to follow. "If you want trust, tell me about your first kill. I know the circumstances weren't the same but for me it was John Taggert. Bastard took his wife hostage. He came out of the house without her waving his gun. I put one between the eyes. We go inside and she's dead. The family dog is dead. We found their son hiding in closet. I'll never forget for as long as I live."

Jacob stared at him, pushing down the sudden urge to bolt. He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself, and reminding himself that it wasn't just a cop demanding answers. This was Liz's partner. This was a man that he'd fought side by side with before - now more than once - and had talked down from killing an unarmed man. As much as he wanted to hate Donald Ressler, a part of him respected the man. Maybe that was the real reason he wanted to hate him.

"Different circumstances," he agreed after a moment, finally letting his eyes drift open, but he was staring straight ahead, almost through the other man. "I bounced around the foster system a lot as a kid. Never stayed in good homes long because most of the time they didn't know what to do with me. Never stayed in bad homes long because I was a runner. The longest I stayed in one place in the eleven years I was in the system was the last one. I was there right around two years. It was a house with a bunch of kids in it, but I guess they didn't look close at it. I don't know. Maybe Douglas just had someone paid off. I don't know." He sniffed, sitting a little further back in the chair and his jaw clenched in a small sign of agitation. "Tony Douglas, the guy that ran it, drank a lot. Beat the hell out of us. Some of us. He liked others. Guess I was just unlucky." He looked up to find Ressler watching him silently. "One night he took a swing at me and instead of just ducking I shoved him down the stairs. He snapped his neck somewhere on his way down. I took his wallet, his keys, and I ran. Never looked back."

"That wasn't your fault though, you were just defending yourself from a man who had no business with kids. You know that right?" Ressler looked at him, not with sympathy, but perhaps with understanding. "And the system failed you. No wonder…," Ressler trailed off shaking his head.

"No wonder I turned out how I did?" Jacob chuckled mirthlessly. "Listen, I know what I am. At fourteen I would have broken his neck if he'd survived the fall. Bud used to tell me I was a survivor. Now… I don't know. Maybe. I did survive, so I guess it's true, but part of me thinks the social workers were right. I just don't care about people very much." Two faces flickered across his thoughts, bringing a sort of warmth to him, and a very small smile to his lips as he corrected, "Well, not most people." The words were leaving his mouth and he could hear his own voice speaking them, but everything in Jacob was rebelling against it. He shook his head, laughing a little at himself. "I'm never going drinking with you again."

"See I think that's bullshit. I've seen you with them. With Cooper. With Aram. Me," Ressler leaned his head back and looked up at the stars. "You had a messed up childhood. No denying that. But, you care. And that bastard deserved anything he got. Someone with authority should have stopped him. That should never have fallen on you." Ressler rubbed his eyes. "And yeah, drinking with you is bad for me. I find myself actually...oh I'm gonna be sick," Ressler said and Jacob laughed thinking he was joking but in two seconds flat Ressler was out of his seat and puking up the contents of his stomach all over his parent's backyard. Then he couldn't stop laughing.

Jacob was shaking by the time Ressler groaned, sitting back up slowly and carefully and he swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. "Damn, man, I'm sorry," he chuckled, not sounding the least bit like it was true, even to his own ears.

"Yeah, I'm sure." He wiped his mouth with his sleeve since he had nothing else. "All that booze, and nachos..and that gut punch, well it doesn't not make for a good combination. That and I was about to say something nice. That was the final straw."

"Listen, let's not go that far, alright," Jacob chuckled, slipping back in his seat so that he was slouched and a little more comfortable. He watched the other man who was looking just a little less miserable. "If you'd told me back then that I'd be friends with a cop - a fed - I never would have believed it." He stopped, catching the word and he watched as casually as he could muster to see if maybe it'd slipped past Ressler.

"Is that what you think we are?" Ressler questioned. His tone even. He looked over at Jacob and waited a beat before slapping him on the arm. "Thanks for having my back at the bar."

"Well, in my experience my friends tend to get me shot, so I hope not," Jacob answered with a cheeky grin. "You too. Pretty sure you got that shiner showing up there from the jerk that nearly took my head off from behind."

"Well, I did sort of throw the first punch so it was my fault we were in that mess. Was the least I could do." He sighed loudly then stood up. "I need to brush my teeth. And shower. My mother will be upset if I didn't tell you to make yourself at home. Just lock the door when you come in." Ressler didn't wait for a response but slipped back in the house leaving Jacob all alone. After a moment he shook his head and stood, moving towards the house.

TBC

Notes: So glad you guys are liking it!

Next time - Ressler and Jacob approach Tommy Markin while Mikey and Mary get some unexpected visitors.