Ressler had driven a few miles when it became clear he needed to get off the road. He should not be driving in the state he was in. As if to emphasize the point, a car horn blared at him when he ran an orange light that turned red before he cleared the intersection. He was going to get himself or someone else killed. A school was up ahead, closed now for break, and he changed lanes toward it. Once there, he pulled into the empty parking lot and came in behind the building and parked, hidden from the road. His phone rang in his pocket startling him, before he pulled it out of his pocket and saw it was Cooper. He couldn't talk to him right now. He dropped the phone in the cup holder between the seats, letting it ring out.
Behind him was the grassed area, normally where kids ran and played. He exited the car, leaving the phone and walked across some concrete courts, then onto the mowed grass, making his way toward a picnic area under the trees. Sitting on one of the bench seats, hands in pockets, he stared out at the oval and school buildings. His tears had stopped, but still he was shaking. He'd totally lost it back there and was still trying to understand what had happened. He should go and apologize to a comatose woman for shouting at her. He should go back and talk to Debbie. He should call Cooper. He should probably talk to Reddington. He should do a lot of things. And yet, he just sat, mind reeling, breathing hard, his heart hammering in his chest.
He'd never felt so alone. Tears threatened again, blurring his vision, and blinking rapidly, he willed them away.
Slowly the sound of birds in the trees came to him over the hum of traffic. Kids played in gardens near the school, squealing and laughing. A dog barked, to be answered by another a few houses away. The soft chop of a helicopter was heard in the distance. A car horn. Life went on around him, and yet, he felt isolated from it all.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there, when he finally noticed he could no longer feel his heart thumping in his chest and he was breathing normally. He rose, and walked slowly across the grass in the direction of the car. He heard his phone ringing before he even unlocked the doors. It was time to talk to his boss. The problem was, he didn't know what was going to come out of his mouth once he heard Cooper's voice.
Would he tell him everything? Tell him nothing? Tell him he was fine? Admit he was in a tough place? His not knowing left him standing by the car, listening to the phone ring out before it stopped. He sighed, unlocked the door and slid into the driver's seat, then picked up his phone. There were four missed calls from his boss. One from Samar. A text from Aram, [Agent Ressler, we're all worried about you]. And a call from an unknown number, which had to be Reddington. The only good news he had was that Prescott was not among the throng of people trying to find him. He didn't know what to tell any of them.
Two minutes later his phone rang again while he still held it, and after looking at Cooper's name, and taking a shuddering breath, he answered.
"Agent Ressler!" Cooper said, surprised that he'd finally answered. "Where are you? You just left?"
Ressler didn't know how to answer that. "Yes, sir. I…" He stopped, looking down with a sigh.
"Don, are you okay?"
"I'm fine." So there was his answer. Follow the Ressler rule book, block it all out and tell people he was fine.
"Are you? Samar said you took off without a word. What's going on?"
How did he answer that? He was guilty of murder, a cover up, being blackmailed by his Fixer, hiding evidence, lying to his boss and coworkers. Reddington was being more mysterious and frustrating than ever. Liz refused to wake up. Add in tampering with evidence and they may as well just come and arrest him now. He might not be a crooked cop, but he was doing everything a crooked cop would do. The courts would not distinguish between the two.
He still hadn't answered Cooper. With a sigh, he asked, "Sir, is that offer to take some time off still on the table?"
Cooper paused a moment, then replied, his tone softening. "It is, but I would like to talk to you first."
Ressler looked out the windscreen of his vehicle, at the concrete blocks of the school building. He should have known Cooper would want that.
"Where are you? I'll come to you," Cooper pressed in his best fatherly tone, when Ressler didn't answer.
"I don't know. A school," he told his boss, looking for a name or something to identify the location. A sign was painted on a door further down from where he was parked. "It's, uh, the Claremont Elementary, near 395 South."
"I'll look it up. Wait for me," Cooper said. "I'll get there as soon as I can."
Ressler only nodded, while knowing his boss couldn't see that, and hung up. Waiting became unbearable, and a part of him just wanted to take off and head for his cabin. The other part, the part that he listened to, told him he needed to wait for Cooper. But not in the car. Once again he found himself walking across the grass playing area toward the picnic tables. He could breathe better out there. He didn't sit, and just walked around the grassed area, past the playground and concrete courts. He was on his third slow lap of the small oval when a car pulled in beside his, and Cooper got out. Ressler made his way to the outdoor tables under the trees, and waited for his boss as he walked over to him.
"Don? What are you doing out here?" Cooper asked, coming to sit across from him at the table.
"Just thinking. Clearing my head."
"What is it that you needed to clear from your head?"
Ressler looked out over the grass, not really focusing on anything in particular. There was no way he could even admit half of it. "Just a lot going on. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just left like that."
"You haven't been yourself for months. I know it's been hard for you having Elizabeth down like this. But I can't help but think something more is going on."
And suddenly, he was talking, and more than a little concerned with just how much he'd say. He looked straight at his boss. "Reddington is lying. Those bodies that the prints came from, he killed them the night Liz was attacked, not recently."
Cooper looked surprised, shaking his head. "Why would he withhold that?"
"I don't know. He told me something that first night we were at the hospital. Someone has leverage over him, and Tom got involved in it somehow, and got killed for it. He knows far more than he's saying. It's like he gives us just enough to hit a brick wall every time, but keeping his real agenda hidden while he works on it himself." He stopped, then added, "I mean, more than normal."
"How long have you known this?" Cooper then nodded, realizing something. "Wait. Since you spoke to Reddington in the prison. I knew there was more you weren't telling us."
"Yes. He told me there were bodies in Liz's apartment that night, and he took them. All I can figure is he'd got nothing from them, and was throwing us a bone," Ressler said, telling the truth but carefully concealing that last piece of the puzzle about who had cleaned up.
"And he told you that, knowing that if Panabaker heard, she'd never reinstate his immunity deal."
"Right."
"What made him so sure you wouldn't tell her everything?"
Ressler just looked at his boss. Because he could be bought, apparently.
"Right. This is Reddington we're talking about." Cooper paused, then asked, "So these prints today. Where did they really come from?"
And here it was. "I got them from where Reddington said the bodies were taken," he said, recalling the chemical smell, and Prescott helping him while stabbing him in the back. His teeth clenched.
"So that's where you went this morning."
He nodded, exhaling slowly. One wrong word here, and Cooper would ask more about where they were hidden and suspect more was happening.
"Yes. Reddington was right on that part. Those prints came from dead men."
"Dead men who weren't in the system," Cooper added.
Ressler steadied his breathing. "No, they weren't."
"Do you think it's possible Reddington has an inside man at CODIS who removed all trace?"
Ressler's mouth was suddenly dry, as he shook his head slowly. "I don't know."
"That's what you didn't know, what you said to Samar before you left." He nodded slowly, looking at Ressler kindly. "I understand now."
No, you don't. You don't understand at all, Ressler thought, not meeting Cooper's eyes.
"I'll talk to Reddington and see if we can get some more out of him. Though you and I both know he only tells what he wants to tell. But why do you think he told only you about these bodies and where to get the prints?"
Ressler didn't trust his voice, and shrugged. He needed to get off the subject of finding hidden bodies in Henry Prescott's storage shed.
"Is there anything else?" Cooper asked.
"Isn't this enough?"
"It is. I know you've been under a lot of pressure. It's been hard with Elizabeth's situation. I guess I just didn't fully appreciate how rough it's actually been for you."
Ressler's mind immediately went back to his meltdown, yelling at her to wake up. Shouting at a comatose patient just so he could talk to her. "Yeah…"
Cooper looked at him a moment, taking in the downward eyes and haunted look in his lead agent. "I'll put the order in for personal time off as soon as I get back. How long do you think you'll need?"
Now that he'd had time to think, Ressler wasn't so sure that he should head out of town. If Prescott wanted something and he was gone, things would get even worse. "I don't need the time off. I'm fine," he told his boss, trying to convince them both. "I'm fine now."
"You're taking time off. I insist on it. Either that, or I'm sending you to Dr. Friedman."
At the mention of the shrink's name, Ressler grimaced and exhaled. "Fine."
"I'll put it in for two weeks. I don't want to see you back before that," Cooper said, looking across to Ressler.
He nodded at his boss, half relieved and half terrified. He'd have to figure out Prescott. The story of his life.
Cooper's tone lightened. "And a word of advice. Next time things reach boiling point, come and talk to me before you fly out of the place. This child sized seat is not good for my knees."
###
After Cooper left the school, with a firm 'I'll see you in two weeks, and not before', Ressler sat in his car a moment, before starting the engine. He knew what he had to do, and putting the car in gear, he reversed, got back out onto the street and headed back up to Camp Liz.
As he entered the double doors of the large house, he was greeted with Debbie coming into the large foyer. "Oh, Don! I've been so worried about you!" She came up to him, touching her hand to his arm as he stopped. "Are you okay, hon?" she asked, searching his eyes.
"Yeah, and I'm sorry about earlier."
"Oh, you have nothing to be sorry for. It's been a hard few months for you. All of us reach our breaking point at times."
He was sorry though, despite her dismissal. "I'm gonna go see her," he said, stepping away, then looked back with a small, rueful smile. "Don't worry, there won't be any shouting."
Behind him, Debbie watched him walk toward Liz's room. "I know," she said, smiling.
Ressler entered Liz's room, noting that nothing had changed. That she lay in the same position as before and yet, something had changed. Within him. He walked up to her and stood silently. In his head, he could hear himself shouting at her to wake up. He exhaled, looking away at that memory. Finally, he leaned close. "I'm sorry. If you're in there, and heard me shouting at you, I'm sorry. It's not your fault that this happened to you and that you can't wake up. I'm sorry."
He stood and walked to the window, looking out at the late morning sky. Hands in his pockets, he watched the gardener working some distance away. He'd never had any interest in gardening itself, but appreciated the landscaping around the large house. He turned back to Liz, and leaned down to her again. "I'm going back to my apartment. I've been here, living under Reddington's thumb for too long. I know you'll understand that, Liz. Probably better than anyone."
He kissed her forehead, then turned and left, heading for his own room where he set about packing up the few suits he had there, and emptied the drawers and his few things in the attached bathroom. He didn't have that much there, but it still filled a duffel bag and his suit carrier was bulging. With a quick look around the room, he picked up his gear and left, closing the door behind him.
The smell of cooking was coming from the kitchen, and he poked his head in, to find Carol cooking and Debbie sitting at the large table, updating Liz's chart, which she kept in a large file folder. Debbie saw the suit carrier and duffel bag.
"You're moving out," she said.
"Yeah, it's time."
"Have some lunch before you go," Carol said, turning to him. "Mr Reddington and that voracious appetite of Dembe's will be here soon."
Lunch was the last thing on his mind. "I can't stay, but it smells great," he told her, forcing a smile. Debbie stood up, coming beside him as he stepped back, ready to head out.
"Is there anything I can do?" she asked.
"You're already doing it. Keep taking care of her," he said, walking toward the front door. "I'll still look in on her, but it's time I went back to my own apartment and cooked my own meals and made my own bed," he told her.
"I understand. Don't be a stranger though," she said, smiling at him.
He nodded, then turned to the door. He paused a moment, put down his gear and then turned back to the nurse. Wrapping his arms around her, he hugged her for a moment, feeling her arms around him patting his back. He held her a moment longer, then turned and left without saying a word.
###
He made it all the way to his apartment before his phone rang and the bottom fell out of his day again.
"What do you want?" he asked Prescott.
"Agent Ressler. Did you get my message?" Prescott asked.
Ressler could have strangled the man through the phone. "I got it, you son of a bitch. You KNEW I needed the I.D.'s on those bodies."
"Yes. I needed to remind you that you're not in charge. You do as I say. What I want, and when I want it."
Ressler gripped his phone, clenching his teeth as he listened to the man. And his plans changed immediately. He was not going to sit around for two weeks in his apartment on the off chance Prescott needed his errand boy.
"Well, you're gonna be without me for two weeks. I'll be off work and off the grid."
"Is that so? You get suspended? That happens to crooked cops you know. But don't worry, I'll have plenty for you to do when you're back. But don't be late back. I have your boss's number."
Ressler didn't offer a reply. He hung up and flung his phone, smashing it against the living room wall where it shattered under the impact, leaving a dent in the wall. Storming into his bedroom, he threw jeans and shirts into another duffel bag, grabbed his hiking boots and a jacket, picked up his luggage and left his apartment. His smashed phone lay on the living room floor where he'd left it. He was done. Done with Henry Prescott. Done with everything.
And once again he got in his car when he probably shouldn't have been driving, teeth clenched and furious with the world, and headed south out of the city.
###
After 30 minutes, he calmed down somewhat, but still clenched his teeth at the thought of Henry Prescott. After an hour, he was feeling a little better as the city dropped away and he sped down Highway 95 toward his cabin. The city grid had been left behind, replaced with towns with fields and greenery between them. After two hours, he realized he was hungry. He probably should have listened to Carol and stayed for lunch. But he hadn't been able to face food then, plus had wanted to leave so as not to set eyes on damn Reddington. And by the time 3 hours passed, now well and truly stomach-growling hungry, he pulled into the small town of Newville and parked out front of the country store.
As he got out of the car, he noticed his badge and gun attached to his belt. Stowing them in the glove box and locking it, he then entered the store, a bell jingling as he walked in.
"Afternoon," the girl at the register called out to him.
Ressler nodded to her, then set about grabbing a few essentials. A couple of steaks, sandwich meat, a loaf of bread and some fruit and vegetables. A six pack of beer. He didn't cook gourmet meals. He was a meat and potatoes guy. Three slices of a cooked pizza were turning slowly on a warmer as he went up to the counter to pay. And despite the fact it had probably been cooked hours ago, he was hungry enough that he didn't care. "I'll have what's left of that pizza too," he told the girl at the register, who boxed it up for him. As Ressler paid for his groceries, an older man came out from the small office behind the register, and looked at him in surprise.
"Donnie Ressler? My God, is that you?"
Ressler looked up, recognizing the owner of the store. "Hey, yeah. Long time no see," he told the guy.
"As I live and breathe! It is you! How's your mother doing?"
Ressler smiled and nodded to the man. "She's doing well. Still up in Detroit with my brother and his family. How are you doing, Bill?"
"Aaahh, can't complain. No one listens when you do, right? Thinking about retiring, but I still just keep on getting up every morning and coming in here. You heading up to your place?"
"Yeah, taking a break from the city," Ressler told him.
"Well, if you get sick of being out there by yourself, you come on into town and eat with us. Miriam would love to see you and catch up," he told Ressler.
"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks," he said, grabbed his groceries and pizza, which had been driving him insane with the smell wafting from the box, and with a quick goodbye to Bill, he then left the store. He ate a slice of pizza before taking off, helping ease his hunger.
A few minutes later he pulled off the main road into a narrower, less traveled path, going a couple of miles into the wooded area. And after a few more minutes, he turned off into a long, barely-there excuse for a driveway between the trees. A few more minutes, plus several years in between, he rounded a slight bend in the road and a rocky outcrop, and saw the cabin in front of him. Carved from trees in the area by his grandfather, and then later renovated by his own father, it had held up well.
Memories welled up in him at the sight of it. Of lazy summers with no thought of school. Memories of he and his brother playing on the swing, now long gone but the thick tree branch still scarred from the ropes. Of lighting campfires and sleeping under the stars. Of his parents sitting on the porch together as the sun set. He eyed the corner of the porch he'd sat on while his father gave him the serious talk about the facts of life. The porch chairs where he'd sat with his mother as she explained how you always needed to treat people in a way you liked to be treated yourself. In an instant the place came alive in his mind. It beckoned to him, with the years of laughter and voices buried in its walls.
###
The key was still where it belonged. Hidden under the corner brick that made up the floor inside the small shed out back. With thick leaves underfoot, he walked once around the place, checking the windows and general state of repair. Flipping the fuses on the fuse box outside the front door, he turned the power on. His dress shoes and suit were out of place here, and once inside he rectified that problem and changed into jeans and an old Quantico sweatshirt. His room, which used to be his parents room, was sparse, but comfortable. A few shirts, mostly plaid, hung in the closet, and a couple of pairs of jeans and a few t-shirts were in the dresser. After walking through the place he found himself back in the kitchen. He opened the fridge, despite it not being cold yet, and placed his meager groceries inside. He then leaned on the kitchen counter, eating the rest of the now almost cold pizza and surveyed the comfortable living room.
If he'd wanted to get away from it all and make a clean break, he couldn't have found a more perfect spot. There was no one here to demand anything of him, and yet, the thought of two weeks out of touch and completely off the grid (even more so when he remembered he'd smashed his phone) felt a little daunting. His eyes drifted to the photos on the wall above the mantle. After throwing out the pizza box and washing his hands, he walked over to look at the photos. His father was in one, happy after a day of fishing in the nearby creek. He was younger in the photo than Ressler was now. His finger traced the outlines of his father's face. And for the first time, he felt ashamed when he looked into his father's eyes.
"Dad... You wouldn't know who I am anymore," he whispered to his long dead father. "I don't even know myself."
Unable to bear looking into his father's eyes a second longer he turned away, and went and stood on the front porch, hands in his pockets. A sea of trees filled his view. The sound of birds, and way in the distance, the soft sound of water in the creek. If he was going to spend two weeks here, he needed to find something to keep him occupied. But for now, he stood quietly, breathing in the forest air, wrapped in memories of his years in this place, trying not to think of why he was here and who he'd become.