Ressler propped himself up on the old man in front of him, concerned he'd fall off the snow mobile at any second. It was almost surreal, moving through the trees this fast after walking through them at a comparative snails pace. His fate was now in the hands of this elderly gentleman and the unseen police chief he was talking to on the two way radio. Floyd held the mic in one hand as he steered the snow mobile with the other.

"Charlie, I'm tellin' ya, it's that FBI man from that missing plane!" he yelled over the snow mobile engine.

"Are you sure Floyd? They're looking for that plane down near DC! Let me speak to him!"

"They went way off course! And he's lost his voice so you're gonna have to get out here pronto and see for yourself!" yelled Floyd.

"The roads are still impassable so I'll get the chopper in the air! We'll be there in thirty!"

Floyd lifted the mic again. "And bring EMT! This fella is in bad shape, and his partner is still out in this!"

"Already on it!" replied the police chief, ending the conversation.

With his chin on the old man's shoulder while his forearms hugged the man's waist, Ressler kept his eyes on Scooter bounding through the snow ahead of them. The dog had apparently taken it upon himself to escort them through the moonlit trees and was loving every minute of it. Lights became visible as they rounded a large group of pine trees, revealing Floyd's home as Scooter barked to announce their arrival. The two story farmhouse was large, with a look of comfort and homeliness. It spoke of family. Of children raised and sent off to college and of future generations returning in their grandchildren. It was instantly welcoming.

And at the sight of the two story farmhouse, a memory came to Ressler's mind. Goodnight, John Boy… It had only been a couple of nights ago, yet felt forever ago in this cold, white land.

Floyd pulled up to the front steps of the home before jumping off the ski in a manner that belied his years. And as the position in front of him was vacated, Ressler lurched forward but was stopped from falling flat on his face by the arm that Floyd threw in front of him.

"Come on, son, let's get you out of this cold," he said, as Scooter wagged his tail and sniffed around Ressler's legs.

Accepting the old man's help again, Ressler's arm was around Floyd's shoulders as he stumbled his way up the front steps of the farmhouse. They entered the house and for the first time in two days, warm air infiltrated his lungs. The home was as comfortable on the inside as the exterior had indicated. Family pictures lined the hallway as Floyd led Ressler to the living room. And as he fell into the recliner that Floyd dropped him into, a woman came from the kitchen. But Ressler barely saw her. His mind was 8 miles away and on his partner.

We'll be there soon Liz…hang in there…

###

Five hours into the flight, the jet carrying Red, Dembe and their captors flew over the North Atlantic at a cruising altitude of 45,000 feet. The monotony of the ocean and clouds below soon drew Red's attention from the window and back to the interior of the cabin. Dembe turned to him from across the aisle, regarding his boss silently. Red nodded to him, before climbing to his feet.

"Where do you think you're going?" Anton asked him from the front of the jet.

"To the little boy's room. Do you mind? Or would like to accompany me? Though I daresay I can find everything and manage all by myself."

"We'll be in Cologne in an hour. You can't hold it?"

"Aaahh, yes, where I'll be handed off to the mysterious buyer in a meat market trade. Well, as much as I'd like to hold my urinary system in check, it might not be pretty if I attempted that. My age, you know," replied Red, standing in the aisle with hands cuffed in front of him.

"Fine," replied Anton, motioning to Young to go stand guard at the door.

Red made his way to the rear bathroom then stood by the door awaiting the arrival of his guard. Young left his seat in the mid section of the jet, his eyes meeting Dembe's as he passed by before he averted them. As he reached the rear of the plane he opened the tiny bathroom door for Red, and then undid one cuff.

"Thank you," said Red and stepped into the compact, steel bathroom.

"Make it quick," said Young and started to close the door.

Red held out his hand to stop the door closing all the way, then leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice, "I'm going to ask you to do something, but it's not for me. If you have a shred of decency in your being, find a way to call FBI Assistant Director Harold Cooper at the Washington Field Office, and give him the location of the two agents at the quarry. Do not let them die out there." And without waiting for a reply, Red closed the door to the bathroom, leaving Young standing alone at the stainless steel door.

Exiting the bathroom a few minutes later, Red allowed Young to recuff him before he made his way back to his seat. He didn't speak to him this time. He had delivered the required message to the man. Now it was up to Young to decide what he did with that information.

Young sat across from Campbell, dropping into the seat then slumping back in it. Campbell tilted his head, squinting his eyes a little.

"What happened to you?" he asked his partner in crime.

Young clenched his teeth. "Nothing. I'm just not happy being in another plane so soon after…you know."

"Yeah, I hear you on that," agreed Campbell, raising his head a little to look out the window, "though there is no snow down there if we went down again…"

Young stared at him. "Oh, that makes me feel so much better."

At the rear of the plane, Red smiled at Young's comment. To his left, Dembe rose to his feet.

Anton spoke up from the front, "Let me guess, the little boy's room too?" he called out to them, climbing from his seat. Red leaned forward, his eyes on Anton as he drew nearer.

As Dembe nodded and turned toward the bathroom, Anton was right behind him. "Not so fast. Turn around. Hands in the air," he told Dembe.

Dembe turned to face Anton, his cuffed hands held high. And with his hands in the air, his shirt rose, exposing the bandage around his middle. Anton's hands flew to Dembe's shirt and grabbed it, pushing it up and out of the way. Gritting his teeth, he tore the dressing off Dembe, causing fresh blood to seep from the wound. "Who gave you this?! Who did this?"

Red tilted his head a little, watching the change come over Anton. "Why is this such a problem to you? My man needed medical assistance and he received it."

Anton whirled on Red. "Because I said no!"

Red took an educated guess. "Am I to assume by your actions that Anita did not receive medical help, and that contributed to her death?" he asked Anton.

Anton began to tremble as the color in his face increased. "She lay there and no one came to help her! No one!"

"I fail to see what I-"

"She was on the bridge! And one of your trucks, on its new route was on that bridge. It was too big a truck to be on that small bridge! Your truck hit her and never even stopped. She lay in the grass and no one helped her! NO ONE!" Anton screamed at him, shaking hard.

Red stood in front of Anton, taking in what he was saying, nodding his head a little. He had no recollection of a hit and run involving one of his trucks. But he didn't doubt it had occurred.

"And for that I am truly sorry. But this," he held up his cuffed hands, "this doesn't make it right. Nothing can make that right."

"Oh, I can make some of it right," he said, and raised the gun to Dembe, "and this time you won't stop me."

"But I will," said Young from behind his boss, his gun held to the back of Anton's head.

###

Jerking awake in the darkness, Liz almost cried at the pain in her head. But knowing that would increase the pain, she held her tears in check. Her headache wasn't being helped at all by the shivering in her body as her muscles clenched. She'd never been so cold and miserable in her entire life. And the one thought that currently occupied her mind was of the pile of blankets lying inches behind the wall she was leaning against.

"Get up…get up… come on…"

Groaning as pain shot through her head, she slowly brought one foot up under her and then the other. Bracing her back against the wall, pushing with both legs, she inched her way off the cold floor.

"Oh God!" she cried out, as pain radiated through her head and a dizzy spell overtook her. She waited for it to subside a little before continuing to push her way back up the wall.

"If you…can… do it… Ress…so…so can I…" she grunted, closing her eyes and grimacing. And slowly, she inched her way up the wall until she was standing against it.

Sliding one foot to the side as she leaned against the wall, she then pulled her other foot to meet it. The movement almost brought her to her knees as her head swam. Again she waited for it to clear. And sliding her feet one step at a time she made her way to the doorway, feeling her way along the wall in the dark.

###

As Ressler focused on the room he was sitting in, the woman in front of him became clearer. She was speaking to him as Floyd threw a blanket over him. Nodding his thanks to the old man, he tried to take the cup of tea she was handing him, but realized his fingers weren't going to cooperate.

"I'll put it here for you," she told him, placing the mug on a small table before he spilled it.

He attempted to smile at her, knowing it was a lopsided Ressler MK1 smile at best, "Thank you, ma'am."

"Oh hush, now. Ma'am is for strangers and in our home there are no strangers. I'm Nellie."

Ressler leaned back on the recliner, his head suddenly feeling very heavy. "Thank you, Nellie." He croaked, and didn't miss the worried glance from Nellie toward Floyd. His eyes were drawn to the nearby window, almost willing the helicopter to appear. Liz…hang in there…

"I need a phone…" he told them as they hovered over him.

"Yup, I thought you might. Here," said Floyd and handed him the phone. For a moment he stared at it. He couldn't think of the number since they were programmed into his phone and he never dialed them. He retrieved his almost dead phone from his pocket, and fumbled through the recent calls to find the number he needed. Dialing, he looked at the two elderly people leaning over him. On an unspoken cue, they both leaned back and stepped away.

Ressler leaned back in the chair again, feeling something warm on his knee. Scooter was resting his chin on him and leaning up against his leg (and ignoring Floyd's hissed call for him to leave the man alone.) His phone was in his hand, with 1% remaining. And as he looked into the calm eyes of the dog, the second last thing he did with his dying cellphone was snap a picture of the grey and white dog resting his head on his knee.

The handheld phone was answered in his ear, and as Ressler was about to speak he realized it wasn't Cooper but his recording. "Damn…" shaking his head, he again looked at his contacts. And dialing another number from the list he closed his eyes and waited for the phone to be picked up at the other end.

###

The air at the Post Office was somber. With two agents and their top FBI informant missing, things were looking more dire as the days dragged on. As Aram sat at his desk looking through the latest satellite data supplied to them by the CIA, it was becoming increasingly harder to look through the images. Somewhere in that vast area around DC a small plane had gone down. But he couldn't find it. No one could find it.

Samar looked up from her desk across from Aram as he pinched the top of his nose, closing his eyes momentarily before returning his attention to his laptop. They were all concerned. Cooper had barely left the building in five days. And yet Samar was fairly sure that Aram had been here even more than Cooper. Leaving no stone unturned he had scoured the satellite images, zooming in on them for hours on end. And when he wasn't doing that he was on the phone to the search teams.

But as the days dragged on, there were less calls to and from the search teams. It was approaching the time when it would go from a rescue mission to one of recovery.

Aram felt her looking at him and raised his eyes over his laptop as she came to stand before him.

"Feel like taking a break and grabbing a coffee?" she asked him, her eyes catching his. Eyes that he couldn't resist, apparently.

"Um, yeah, sure," he said, and got up to follow her. Half way to the break room, he patted his pocket and noticed he'd left his phone on his desk.

"Hang on a sec," he told her and quickly moved back to his desk, only to find his phone ringing.

As he looked at the caller ID, he muttered, "Who the heck is Floyd Chase…?" He looked up at Samar waiting for him as he answered.

"Aram Mojtabai."

There was no one on the other end and he was about to hang up when he heard a scratchy voice.

"Aram. It's Ressler."

"Who is this…?" asked Aram as Samar came closer, seeing the look in his eyes.

"Ressler! It's Ressler!" came the voice on the phone

"Oh my God!" his eyes flew to Samar. "Agent Ressler?!" The agent beside him heard him and rose to his feet. "Is it really you? You don't sound like-" Agents in the room were coming over now, as Ressler's name was hurled around the room.

"We went off course. The plane went down. We're alive, but I don't know-"

"Hold on! Hang on! Oh my God!" he cut off Ressler as he turned toward the stairs to Cooper's office, meeting Samar's grinning face for a moment. As agents let him through, applauding and high fiving now, he ran two at a time up the metal staircase. Flying through Cooper's office door, he found the office empty. "Agent Ressler, hold on, I'm trying to find Cooper!"

Lights were on in the upstairs conference room as Aram sprinted toward the door. Not even taking the time to knock he collided with the door and almost fell into the room. Indignant voices were thrown his way as several men looked up at this intrusion. Aram, for once not worrying about appearances, sought out Cooper among the men and headed for his boss.

"Sir! It's Agent Ressler! He's alive! He's on the phone!" Aram thrust the phone toward Cooper as the other agents stood, now realizing why their meeting had been interrupted.

Cooper rose unsteadily to his feet, one hand on his cane as he grabbed the phone. "Ressler?!"

"Yes, sir. I -"

"His voice is very croaky, sir," Aram offered in explanation. Cooper looked at him as he held the phone.

"What happened? Where are you?!"

As Cooper held the phone, he heard Ressler's weak voice asking someone where he was, followed by a scratchy, 'please tell my boss'.

"Sir, this is Floyd Chase up in Livingston County, west of Dansville. Your man said his plane flew off course and his partner is still out there. I got the police chief and EMT from Dansville coming here to go out and get her."

As Cooper listened to the location, he was scribbling it down on a notepad. Aram looked at it, eyes raised, amazed that Ressler's position was so far north. No wonder they hadn't found them near DC. Cooper ripped the page off the notepad and handed it to a man beside him who ran from the room with it.

"Thank you, Mr Chase. May I please speak with my agent again?" Cooper heard the phone change hands, then Ressler croaked, "Sir."

"Ressler. Where is Reddington?"

"I don't know."

And before Cooper could ask anything else the sound of a dog barking came to him down the line.

"Sir, I have to go."

The line went dead. Ressler had hung up.

###

Anton turned to face Young, staring down the barrel of the gun his employee held on him.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked Young, his breath hissing through clenched teeth.

"You are not killing this man."

"What business is it of yours what I do?!"

As Young faced down his employer, Red had risen to his feet and now spoke up from behind Anton. "You appear to have a personnel problem in your ranks. Though I must admit, I wholeheartedly agree with your man's sentiments. I don't believe we need any killing here today either."

"Shut up, Reddington," Anton flung at him over his shoulder. Behind him, Red moved closer to the aisle standing between Anton and Dembe.

Young's eyes flickered to Red and in that instant Anton zeroed his weapon on Young. But Red was already moving. In one swift motion he collided with Anton, his cuffed arms slamming into Anton's kidneys and dropping him immediately. Young went down under the weight of Anton pitching into him, grunting as he hit the deck. Grimacing as his hand collided with the back of a seat, his weapon flew from his hand and landed under the seats a few feet from him.

Anton was down, but still had his weapon. Young darted to the side just as Anton fired and in a spray of foam and fabric, the bullet shattered the seat near Young's head.

"Whoa!" came Campbell's cry.

Diving for Young's loose weapon, Red was having difficulty reaching it with his cuffed wrists. In that same moment Dembe landed on Anton, forcing him down again and knocking the weapon from his hands. But the man was struggling under him, retrieving his gun and changing targets.

Gone was the man who was delivering his captor to someone else. Now purple faced and shaking with rage, Anton turned under Dembe and glared at Red.

"You son of a bitch. You're dead," he said, as he raised the weapon and held Red in his sights.

"Stop!" It was Campbell, standing unsteadily on his feet while leaning on the back of a seat, taking aim at Anton. And as Anton lifted his weapon to take Reddington out of his life once and for all, Campbell fired.

Anton went down immediately, a bullet slamming into the back of his skull and lodging in his brain. The body landed on Young, who stared into the dead eyes of his boss. Grunting as he extracted his legs and scooting backward, he whirled to face Campbell, "Damn it! You almost shot me!"

Campbell faltered and fell into the nearest seat as his single crutch dropped into the aisle. And as Young scrambled to his feet with his chest heaving, he stared at Red.

"Choices, Mr Young."

"Oh, shut up!" Young hurled at him, running his hand through his hair before turning and stalking toward the front of the plane.

"And you're welcome, by the way," came Red's voice from behind him.

###

As Ressler hung up on Cooper on the other end of the phone, the sound of the helicopter filled the air, announced by Scooter's barking.

"Hush!" yelled Floyd, and this time the dog listened.

Ressler was struggling to his feet, politely ignoring Floyd's wife's ministrations to have him sit back down before he fell down. But in a show of solidarity Scooter was right beside him, offering himself for support as Ressler steadied himself with his hand on the dog's back. Through the living room window, the lights from the helicopter lit up the night.

Snow flew as the helicopter landed, causing a small avalanche to descend off the pitched roof in a rumble of white powder. As the rotors slowed two men jumped down and hunched under the blades as they approached the front door. Floyd met them, holding the door open for them before guiding them to the living room.

As the police chief and EMT entered the room Ressler met the men, his FBI credentials ready for them.

"Well, it's little hard to tell under that beard and how exhausted you are, but yeah, you're the guy alright," said the Police Chief, shaking his head a little in surprise before handing the wallet back to Ressler. "Charlie Perkins, Dansville PD," he said in introduction.

Beside him, Floyd stepped aside to let the EMT through. "Sir, I'm Steve McConnell, and I'd like to examine you if I may. I understand you've been out in this weather several days," said the medic, starting to open his bag.

"I'm fine," Ressler told the medic, his voice cracking on the word 'fine' as he swayed and grabbed at the armrest of the chair, grimacing as pain flared in his right shoulder.

"That remains to be seen, though I see your sense of humor is intact," said the medic, ignoring Ressler and lifting his stethoscope out of his bag. "Take a seat please."

Ressler did not take a seat, as fresh blood seeped from under his coat and spoke to the police chief. "We need to get to my partner. She is the one who needs the medic."

"Let's get you checked out first, Agent Ressler," added Charlie.

"I said no."

Nellie was suddenly at his side and politely suggested he let them look at him. He gave her his half smile. She meant well. "Ma…Nellie, my partner is out there," he motioned to the window, "and she is in bad shape. Her need is greater than mine," he explained as his voice cracked and as he told the woman he saw her eyes soften. She patted him on his hand.

"Charlie," she addressed the chief, "you need to get this nice man back out there and find his partner," she told him. Her words were firm, yet her voice was soft. The chief listened, his eyes crinkling as he smiled at the elderly woman.

"Steve, stow that kit, we're out of here."

As Ressler began to move for the door to the living room, Floyd walked back in dressed in his coat and gloves again.

"Where do you think you're going…?" asked Nellie.

"Out there in that chopper. I've seen this FBI man this far. I gotta see his partner safe too."

Nellie nodded to her husband. "Of course you do. Go get her Floyd."

Ressler listened to the exchange as he stood propped up between Charlie and Steve. Heading down the hallway toward the front door, Scooter whined. As the front door opened and they stepped out into the cold night, Ressler stopped at the top of the steps on the front porch. He turned, the men momentarily releasing him. Kneeling with effort, Scooter bounded to him. As Ressler held the dog's head in his hands, he didn't need to say a word. Without this dog, he'd have still been uselessly walking south in the snow. Or lying dead in it.

Floyd helped him up and together they walked to the waiting helicopter where Steve and Charlie hauled him inside.

"Chesterfields Quarry," Charlie told the pilot.

Ressler leaned back in the seat beside Floyd as the helicopter rose into the night sky.

###

Red called out to Campbell who was looking decidedly green around the gills further up the plane. "A sincere thank you, Mr Campbell for that well timed, and I must say, well aimed shot." Red complimented him.

Young met the copilot who was exiting the cockpit at the sound of the shots. "What the heck is going on out here?!"

"We need to turn around and head back to Rochester!" Young shouted into the stunned copilot's face, ignoring his question.

"What…? We can't do th-"

Young interrupted him, "Turn around!"

"Sir, we need to refuel. We will be landing in Cologne in about 45 minutes."

"Change course. We are not going to Cologne," Young told the copilot. "Find a closer airport and land there. Then refuel and do whatever you need to do. Then get us the hell back to Rochester."

The copilot went to say something, but then nodded in agreement. "Yes, sir." Young was apparently very much in charge now with the instant demise of Anton.

"And he needs to make a phone call," said Young, motioning toward Red.

"Sir, regulations state that only authorized personnel-"

"The lives of two FBI agents are at stake. You will let him make a phone call, got it?"

The copilot looked down the plane toward Red, then back at Young, standing with clenched teeth before him. "Very well," the copilot nodded to Red to come forward.

Unseen by Young, Red smiled with satisfaction then turned to Dembe. The dark man was grinning at him, his white teeth flashing.

"Outstanding," said Red, grinning as he stowed Young's gun in his pocket and made his way to the cockpit.

###

Liz was unable to take another sliding step and sank to the floor as every bone and muscle in her body gave up. And frustratingly, lying about 6 feet to her right lay the pile of blankets that would offer some comfort from the bone numbing cold. But they may as well have been 60 feet away, because she could not get to them.

Staring at the blankets in the light of her phone, now she cried. She was going to die out here, of that she was now certain. And Ressler hadn't come back. He hadn't made it. And the thought of that was the hardest. He would likely die out there all alone in the snow as he was overcome by the elements, while she would die all alone on this cold floor.

And try as she might to raise her mind from that sorry outcome, she was unable to. They'd given it their best shot. They had come so far, survived the plane crash and escaped the explosives room only to have it end like this.

Trying to sit was no longer working. Her back muscles cramping and with no way to ease the spasms, she slid to her side and found herself laying on the hard floor. Her head throbbed at this new position, but she was no longer able to raise herself to a sitting position. She closed her eyes as the blood rushed to her head.

And lying on the floor, all she could do was sob. This was going to be how she died. The pain in her head was intolerable in this position on the floor. And she realized, it was true. Your life did go through your mind when death was approaching.

Visions swam in front of her. Of Sam, of being held by him and hugging his neck. "Daddy..." she murmured. Of marriage, of walking down the aisle to the one man she thought she could trust. Of dreams of a baby that never came to fruition. Of a glass box with a criminal sitting in it. "Oh, I think you're very special." And of betrayal and hurt at the hands of her husband. "Babe…"

And finally, of the one person she wanted to be thinking about if this was the end. Her partner. Her best friend. Her Boy Scout. "Ress…" And the tears fell as she held him in her mind. From his initial open hostility to her, to begrudging acceptance. To growing friendship, to trust and confiding in each other and finally to their kiss. "It was…" And as she held him, not wanting to ever let him go, she saw his face before her and clung to the thought of him. She could hear his voice, and feel his touch under the blankets the night before. He was so near and yet so far away.

"Liz."

He seemed so close.

"Liz!"

And now the voice was in her ear, not in her mind. A croaking, breaking voice. "Liz! I made it!" So close to her she could touch him now.

"Ress…?" she whispered and opened her eyes now, to find him leaning down in front of her. Lights shone outside the window as she became aware of other men in the room. Focusing on him, it was suddenly very clear that this wasn't a vision.

She sobbed, reaching for him as he leaned by her head.

Her Boy Scout had come back for her.