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~Chapter Ten~
Head falling back onto the neck pillow that was still in its clear plastic bag, Prescott shut his eyes to the warehouse ceiling. Hearing the thick plastic creak beneath him as he settled into the king sized mattress. Vacuumed-sealed, but still having enough give to be supportively comfortable.
He was going to miss this place.
The warehouse was a storage space for imported mattresses and related sundries. The business belonged to his team of cleaners and forensic entomologist—their service he had just terminated with severance instructions.
The door opened quietly and soft footsteps that made no effort to hide itself on the concrete floor stopped him from dozing off. Prescott listened to the footsteps stop and start, coming towards his direction. Halted where he rested.
"Now? I was about to take a nap," Prescott complained without opening his eyes.
"But then I wouldn't have perfect timing."
Solomon grinned, placing a hand against the tower of mattress that was just high enough to keep Prescott out of sight, and gave it a hard shove.
Opening his eyes in resignation, Prescott got up, and tossed the pillow down to the floor. Climbing down using the junction formed by the stacked mattresses and the rough cinderblock wall.
"Took you long enough to find me," Prescott said, tossing the pillow back to its crate. He could have used Solomon's intel in navigating his mess with Ressler.
Solomon's eyebrows rose hearing the crossness in Prescott's voice.
"Heard you're retiring. What happened with Hitchen that you had to kill her?"
"What makes you think I killed her?"
"Who else would leave her body to let us all know she's dead," Solomon said. "Anyone else would have scurried her corpse away, leaving us all wondering," he tilted his head, "—is she truly gone?"
"What do you need me for that you had to call on a debt?"
Solomon's smile widened, accepting the sidestepping, because the next thing he said was going to upset his ally.
"I want you to help Scottie. Howard framed her."
"That's what you want?!" Prescott was aghast. He knew Solomon had found employment at Halcyon. Working for Susan. But he hadn't expect loyalty coming out of it. To stick by her through her arrest.
The Hargraves' marriage had decayed and fallen apart. With the company and its operatives caught in the middle. Howard and Susan's war against each other over Halcyon Aegis resulted with one of them incarcerated.
Just like he told them. Years ago before he left.
It hadn't only been pride and self-preservation that he went to such lengths to resolve his situation with Ressler.
He didn't want the Hargraves to intercede if he actually had been arrested. And they would hear of it if he had been.
Sentimental loyalties were funny like that.
They were why he wanted Ressler to keep him off the task force's files.
Debts and favors were dangerous things and he'd rather avoid giving Reddington the means to make a deal with the Hargraves.
And now Solomon wanted him to help Susan.
His namesake. Victory snatched away from disastrous defeat when Susan suddenly pretended to be him and Howard swiftly reworking the mission details to maintain the charade. At the debrief, Howard had thought it hilarious that they succeeded by using a comedy of errors. And so the nickname stuck.
Prove her innocence, Prescott thought. Which ultimately meant reconciling the Hargraves' relationship, if not their marriage.
"I'm going to shoot you."
"No gun."
"I'll take yours."
"You owe me." Solomon smiled, showing teeth.
"I'm out of practice. I'll probably screw up."
"Still owe me!" Solomon chirped cheerfully.
"I walked away," Prescott protested half-heartedly.
"Not so far where you couldn't keep watch. You did jobs for Hitchen."
"It's good sense. And because I knew you would call on me one day."
"See? It all works out! Take a break from storing the problems of the rich and powerful. You're getting soft in all the poshness. Let's get you away from all the luxury," Solomon said, enjoying dragging Prescott back out. Besides. It was only fair. Solomon rather liked his current job.
"I like the luxury. It's simple. Uncomplicated." Delineated.
"C'mon, La Follia," Solomon said, grinning mischievously at the old appellation. "Doesn't the devil want to collect?"
The mischief didn't reach Solomon's eyes and Prescott studied the mercenary. There was a seriousness to the jocular attitude that he saw only during missions. But not quite. The nihilistic edge was missing.
"You've changed."
"It's been different. I was doing good for Scottie." Solomon's smile almost turned kind, even though cynicalness still touched it. He could almost believe nothing mattered wasn't true. "She's changed too."
"For now." Prescott sighed uselessly. Because they both knew he was never really going to turn down Solomon's request. He owed Solomon, after all. And Nez and Dumont were going to be furious when they find out. Especially Nez.
Solomon pulled out a small black box and a thumb drive, handing both to Prescott. "Howard paid some hired hands with this."
Prescott examined the light purple gemstone. Refrained from picking it up to study the multi-faceted cuts. Snapping the box shut, he tossed it back. He knew what it was, how much it was worth, and where Howard got it.
"You don't want it?" Solomon gave a look of exaggerated pain. "That's part of your funding."
"Too risky. I don't want to deal with future complications. I'm retiring."
"After all the trouble I went to helping you set up your fixer business." Solomon feigned hurt. Mostly feigned. He was still mighty proud of himself for coming up with the idea and naming the business. "What are you going to do next?"
Prescott could hear the gears already turning in Solomon's head. "I'm retiring-retiring."
"You're just going to disappear into a peaceful life. Really, now?" Solomon looked at Prescott skeptically.
"Yes," Prescott answered. Retirement was looking quite ideal right now. "You can do something else for me. Information—everything you know about Raymond Reddington and the task force he's working with." He uncovered so much unexpectedness during this job with Ressler and Solomon could give him a better picture of what he accidentally tripped into—and he wanted to know what he left his last client in.
It started slowly. A shaking of his shoulders. And Solomon laughed and laughed.
"You finally crossed paths!" Solomon said in between breaths, reveling in genuine glee. "You slipped up, didn't you? Didn't you?"
Solomon laughed some more. He could use the good cheer and he was going to take it for all its worth. Hiding from Nez while gathering intel to pass off to Prescott wasn't easy. He didn't want them to realize he was bringing Prescott back to help Scottie. "How many insurances and safeguards did you lose?"
"Anything else you want me to do?" Prescott said sourly, refusing to humor Solomon.
At that, Solomon looked sheepish.
"Nez is hunting me."
"… what did you do?"
"I killed one of her friends."
Prescott gave Solomon a withering look, not caring what the circumstances were. "You're on your own. Not helping."
Solomon raised his hands in acceptance.
"By the way," Solomon drawled slowly, amused at the familiar exasperated look Prescott was giving him. "Nez has a new brother."
"Yeah? Good for her," Prescott said, the rush of relief didn't hide his leeriness; waiting for the next surprise that Solomon was savoring to drop.
"Mm hmm." Solomon's smile was back.
"Just tell me already."
"It's Christopher Hargrave."
Prescott stared.
"Surprise! You were right. He's still alive!"
Prescott stared some more.
Shocked the Hargraves' stolen son had been found. Glad and relieved for the Hargraves. Then sinking certainty that the Hargraves had used their son against each other.
"Start talking. Tell me everything."
And Solomon talked. About Susan. How he was hired and the jobs he did. About Howard and the attempted assassination. About Reddington. The task force. Confirming what Prescott already put together. Shining more light on some. Sharing the name Dembe Zuma—the bodyguard. About Tom Keen being Christopher Hargrave—and Solomon patted Prescott's shoulder in sympathy as a horrified expression came over Prescott's face.
Reddington knew Tom Keen was Christopher Hargrave, Prescott realized as Solomon explained he thought Elizabeth Keen was Reddington's daughter because he was moving heaven-earth-hell for her.
And the Hargraves had a granddaughter.
Prescott's jaw clenched.
One way or another, Reddington would get him involved and he needed to make plans.
At least he didn't mind being around Ressler.
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Ressler stared down at his phone as minutes trickled by.
Tapped the screen before it went dark each time the brightness dimmed.
Reddington was waiting for him today with Dembe not far behind as Ressler walked aimlessly through the park—trying to decide what to do for the next month.
Sullenly, he listened to Reddington. Covering remnants of embarrassed shame at using Reddington to coerce Prescott by asking how he knew. Annoyed when Reddington ignored his question.
Reddington encouraged Ressler to enjoy the cleared conscience. Other parties had a vested interest in solving Hitchen's crimes and Reven's death. Let his government have their cake and eat it too; Ressler would just get in the way.
Told him Panabaker would handle the investigation into Hitchen with care because it would impact some of the orders she made.
Including Keen's exoneration; Reddington didn't want Panabaker to follow too closely on that.
That stopped him.
The reminder of Keen framed as an assassin and his manhunt for her finally wiped the last traces of doubt.
And Ressler found himself agreeing with Reddington.
It was done. Time to move on.
But not forget.
Because Reddington told him it'll only be a matter of time before Prescott appeared back into their lives. And Reddington didn't think Prescott would refuse his offer for work when that time came.
The drive back to his apartment was a blur.
He couldn't get the thought of Prescott's return out of his head.
That one day, out of the blue, Prescott would be back. Probably on a job Reddington hired him for and he wasn't going tell the task force about. Blindsiding them again.
The idea of his team subjected to Prescott's manipulative talents while advancing Reddington's interests—that he might have to experience it again—burned him in low anger. Dealing with Reddington's manipulation was enough. They didn't need another one.
Prescott's alias stared up at him.
So Ressler thought about it.
Keen was pardoned. They didn't know how Reddington did it but they were grateful for it all the same.
Ressler didn't know how Prescott did what he did.
… but he was grateful. Despite everything … he was grateful.
… but he hated all the manipulation.
He glanced at the blue roses sitting in the middle of the table—rearranged and trimmed—some angled awkwardly in a large salsa jar he scrounged up from the kitchen. The fake rose smell had dissipated and the color wasn't gaudy in the light.
A clench in his chest that wouldn't let him pretend he wasn't gathering up courage.
And Ressler tapped the number.
"You're calling me."
An astonishment in Prescott's steady voice and Ressler quietly let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Why?"
Because Ressler didn't know how long he could do this anymore.
If he'd snap under the pressure of working with Reddington and facing whatever was coming for Keen.
Because he thought about Prescott's and Reddington's manipulations.
The two of them using him to deal with each other.
"Reddington said you'll be back. Said your past will throw you across our way," Ressler shared. "And he's sure he'll be able to hire you." The sound of waves carried over the phone. Prescott must be starting his retirement by the sea.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Because he was going to counter Reddington's manipulation of them this time and he wasn't going to let Prescott do it either.
"He told me you'd take his offer," Ressler said. "I was thinking, maybe we can just … talk?"
Silence on the other end.
"He wants me to be your handler—I think we can save ourselves the trouble of the two of you running schemes around one another and the task force if we just got to know each other better."
"… you do realize I essentially stalked and manipulated you, right?"
"Yeah, and I'm still pissed," Ressler growled. But he was sure the manipulations Prescott used on him was just a tool for the situation of keeping them both alive and not a character defect. Didn't believe Prescott was a vindictive bastard either. He wouldn't have called Prescott otherwise. "We can talk about you not doing that again."
"Keeping your enemies close, Ressler?"
Ressler hesitated.
Prescott had called him his retirement insurance once.
Ressler wanted his own.
For himself and for his team. When this was all over. After Reddington. After his blacklist.
And he wanted to do it differently.
"I don't want to be enemies."
More silence.
"… and I don't want to be your client. I'm not playing your game, Prescott."
The silence this time turned the gripping hold on his chest into hollowness. Ressler didn't have anything else to convince Prescott if he rejected his offer as absurd and simply took off with the new information.
"… give yourself at least a week. Do something while you're at it. Maybe find a hobby. You need something outside of work, Ressler. Then decide if you still want to call me."
The answer sounded like acceptance.
"Prescott. Are you giving me therapy advice?"
The call disconnected and Ressler released a shaky breath, releasing the tension that had gathered.
He was going to do this.
~Fin.
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AN: Finally, done! And Ressler is really, really hard to write! Prescott too, but that's because he had so little screen time until the Informant and I was extrapolating and making up reasons for the different character take in his season four appearance and early season five appearances. Actually thought the show changed actors and the second one was the one that caught my attention. Disappointed that he apparently learned to be a blackmailing extortionist from Reddington and Ressler and changed for the worse in the time skip. And then killed.
Sequel is unlikely because there's a one-off I'm thinking about and I may write. I like these two, and everyone else, more than I thought.
Or maybe I played myself when I started Devil's Trill. I certainly did when I shipped Ressler and Prescott because they are really difficult to write!
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Addendum: To be clear, what Prescott did—stalk and manipulate—is still messed up and Ressler knows it. (It would've been addressed in the sequel. Along with Prescott's criminal activities. Sorry if he now appears he's letting Prescott off lightly.) His actions, and Ressler's, are being condoned in-story because this is a story of criminal protagonists and set in the sliding morality of the task force. Especially in relation to Reddington, a mass murderer who also stalks and manipulates. Both their actions are motivated by the threat of Reddington. Mostly motivated in Ressler's case, because he's also hiding from shame and guilt. Using Reven made him ashamed and guilty, but I can't see him feeling guilt over the gender-flipped scene with Hitchen except over the coverup of his personal crime and justice evasion.
This isn't a 'wrongs make a right' or a redemption story. That's why there's no mention of the murderer of Ressler's father—and it would be a reductive red herring.
It's a 'trying to break away from the corrupt status quo' story. The status quo being Reddington, the use of corruption to solve corruption thereby creating more corruption, and ethic laundering.
Looking back now, I'm not sure with this Prescott. I considered tuning him down to bring him closer to Ressler, but went more in the direction of Red instead. I had his character match with the show's extravagance because I wanted him to echo it while still being more grounded. A milder repeat without being an antagonist, for Ressler to see and take different choices—creating a quieter undercurrent. And I wanted to see if a supportive counterbalancing would solve my case of The Blacklist's slipperiness. I think part of my problem is the task force doesn't feel like they have weight. Samar and Aram's relationship and Liz's conflict is helping though. (I thought Samar fit in context, but I'm dissatisfied with how I used her. And Cooper.)
I gave Prescott manipulation skills based on his first two appearance, thought it fitting, wanted Ressler to have some control and an unexpected compass. And because the show seemed to present Prescott as an antithesis to Ressler, while also being a dark mirror to what Ressler could be. Though due to that I don't think the canon Prescott was ever a skilled manipulator; he's just as heavy handed as Ressler. Like in The Informant.
Lastly, fun trivia: natural blue roses don't exist. Neither do red irises, but science is getting closer.
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