So I really liked Lady Ambrosia, the more I watched it. And it's not for the case. It's seeing Liz with Ethan, and Ressler caring for and hand in hand with children. It was a beautiful thing. And it was obvious - so obvious - that they are showing us the contrast between Ressler saving children while Tom was terrorizing one. We have theories. We have hopes that the writers are laying this out in the way we want (Ress is the baby daddy) and my last two chapters have hinted at that. I so want to see Ressler happy with a child of his own.
As Ressler opens the door to his apartment, he reflects that it's been a hell of a day and one he hopes he doesn't have to repeat any time soon. He sees victims of crimes every day. Helpless individuals who call on the FBI, SWAT and the boys in blue. He's seen it all - especially since Raymond Reddington has been a part of his life. For better or worse - almost like a marriage, except there is no happy ending - the insane, corrupt and downright disturbing have come out of the woodwork in droves since the criminal has been involved with the task force. Wherever Reddington has been for the preceding two decades, he certainly has collected the oddest assortment of cohorts, enemies and associates. Yet through all of the cases and Blacklisters that have come down the pipeline, none have affected him more than when there is a child involved.
Like today.
A dozen or more children in the custody of one seriously deluded woman, hiding in plain sight under a canopy of butterflies and a hippie flower-child lack of fashion sense. As the task force swept in and freed the children, he was struck by how innocently they followed the gun wielding FBI team. Even in the midst of all of that seeming normality with a grandmotherly type, their instincts told them to go with the 'good guys'. The ones in black suits and body armor - with assault rifles strapped over their backs, lowered and not in use at his own order. Because those guys, himself included, were the rescuers. No matter how normal their lives may have seemed with Lady Ambrosia, they recognized it was wrong. They recognized that the good guys had come to save them.
And walking from the large home, hand in hand with them had felt right. It was fulfilling. In the back of his mind all he could hear was 'a man never stands as tall as when he stoops to help a child'. As his hands held their smaller ones it had touched him in a way that nothing had in quite some time, and had stirred something deep inside him that had been suppressed for far too long. Deliberately squashed at the sight of one empty pregnancy test box, the feeling had been rising to the surface for a couple of weeks.
And it doesn't take a genius to know what has brought it all to the fore at this particular time. And it's not just that this case involved children or that it's not easy to miss Liz's pregnant belly. It's that his own biological clock is telling him that window is getting smaller with each passing year in which to have his own child.
Tearing off his tie he tosses it to the coffee table as he walks past it to the kitchen, loosening the top button of his shirt. The cold beer is in his hand, cap off in moments. Leaning against the counter he sighs, swigs back another mouthful and can't stop his mind wandering back to their day.
To the one part that caused him more hurt than everything else combined. A father hugging his long lost child thought dead and now returned. Of a son unable to show emotion, yet still gravitating toward and allowing himself to be held in his fathers embrace. Of a bond so powerful, it spoke volumes without a word said between them. And all he could do was stand and watch, feeling the longing in his own heart for such an embrace from his own father that could never come again. For the longing to embrace his own child in such a way. And knowing both were out of reach.
And as he'd looked at Liz he knew she felt it too. Not in the same manner as a father and son, but as a mother and child. Yet why did she look at that bond with sadness? It was unmistakable, yet it was there. And after holding her eyes a few moments, he'd walked away rather than face that look. And had kept walking, past Aram and Samar, to the elevator and had left the building. And so, less than 30 minutes from the time Ethan and his father were reunited, he had walked into his apartment with a mind that wouldn't shut down.
A knock on his door startles him from his thoughts, and placing the half finished beer on the counter he makes his way to the front door. The peephole reveals the fedora before he even sees the face. Leaning back from the door he briefly considers not opening it, but then steps back and opens the door to Reddington.
"Donald, may I come in?"
He nods, stands back as Reddington enters and after checking to see if Dembe is coming in, then finding Red is alone, he closes the door and faces the criminal.
"I'd offer you a beer but something tells me that's not quite to your palette."
"On the contrary, I believe a beer could hit the spot right now," Red tells him with a sweep of his hand as he tosses his hat to the table by the door.
Ressler moves past him to the kitchen, finds a second beer, grabs his own half finished bottle and joins Red who is now sitting on the single chair in the living room. Unsure of what Red is doing here, he drops to his couch carefully, facing the criminal.
"I expect you're wondering what I'm doing here."
"The thought had crossed my mind." Ressler is about to add more when he meets Red's eyes, and then chooses silence as he lets the man speak.
"I never thanked you, Donald."
"For what?" Ressler asks, taking a sip of his beer while never taking his eyes off Reddington.
"I could go into detail about the wonderful time we had with you pursuing us those few weeks, just like old times, but I don't need to bore you with that. You were there. You know what went down," Red tells him, crossing his legs as he leans back, taking another swig of beer.
Ressler remains silent, just waiting for the inevitable jab. It doesn't come.
"Thank you for giving her the benefit of the doubt. For keeping her safe once you brought her in, despite what Peter and company sought to do. For staying by her side at the Court House."
Ressler shrugs. Reddington doesn't have to thank him for that. Or for anything to do with Liz.
"Donald, thank you for keeping your word."
"I told you I would," Ressler replies evenly.
"Yes, you did. And I took your word as gold, knowing you would keep it. I don't see that in many people I deal with. It's refreshing, and an honor to see it in you. A lot has happened these past few weeks. Things you held dear have been thrust open and the black core has been exposed. That's not easy for a man such as you to witness first hand."
Ressler feels almost uncomfortable under the criminal's steely gaze and resists the urge to drop his eyes.
"I don't want you to lose sight of who you are because of what you have seen with our friends in the Cabal," Red adds.
"I haven't."
"Good. Because this is just the beginning. When you stood up to Laurel Hitchin you painted a target on your back. The Cabal may have retreated to a corner to lick their collective wounds, but make no mistake, they will be back. The battle may be won but the war is far from over."
"I know. I all but threatened Laurel Hitchins and even though we have Solomon in custody, others will come."
"Exactly. I want you to be vigilant. Be aware of your surroundings and what is going on with those in power. Be ready, but don't lose sight of the law and keeping within its boundaries. Because that's what sets you and I apart, and I intend to keep it that way."
Ressler shakes his head a little and gives the man a small grin. "Right…you need me to be the boy scout."
Red's face lights up with an answering grin and tilt of his head. "Exactly, Donald. That's who I need you to remain." He pauses, takes another sip of his beer as he watches the agent, then continues. "Elizabeth told me that you're a good person. I don't need her to tell me that though. You're the good in all of us. The incorruptible one. The one with principals so unmoving they sometimes get in the way of what must be done, but no one can fault you for those morals. It is essential that recent events do not cloud your judgment of the system as a whole."
This time Ressler does drop his eyes, finding the hard surface of his coffee table where his tie still lays. "I'll keep that in mind," he tells Reddington, then leans forward on the couch taking in the unfamiliar sight of the criminal in his living room. "But that's not why you're really here, is it?"
Reddington's tone changes as his voice softens. "Oh, it's partly why. I have a feeling that the case today, while rewarding was somewhat painful for you."
Ressler nods, seeing no reason to hide that fact from Reddington. The man can read people like a book. He looks up at him. "The children told us 'a man in a hat with a nice black man' took Anya before we arrived. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Ressler asks, knowing full well the criminal knows everything about that.
Reddington merely looks at Ressler, also fully aware he doesn't need to acknowledge that. But he does. "It was a favor for a friend. A wrong made right."
Ressler nods. "And I'm sure you were well compensated. But any time you can reunite a child with a parent, that's definitely the right thing." His beer finished, he places the empty bottle on the coffee table beside his tie and rises to his feet. Reddington is sitting in the chair that will forever be the chair Audrey's suitcase was in. And something else. An empty box that held something that he never found. But he didn't need to find it. His heart knew.
"Audrey was pregnant when she died." He doesn't need to tell Reddington, yet once again, doesn't see any reason now to hide that fact.
"Donald, I'm sorry. I truly am."
"Yeah," Ressler walks to the window and peers out at the setting sun. "Me too."
"And Elizabeth…" Reddington stops as Ressler sighs.
"Yeah. With damn Tom Keen." He can't hide his frustration at that one.
Reddington rises from his chair and steps toward Ressler at the window. The yellow glow from the sunset filters through the window, hitting the wall behind them.
"I'm worried about her. I've tried to talk to her, but I'm not the right one for this," he tells Ressler.
"Well, that's Tom's job. He's the one who…" got her pregnant. Ressler doesn't finish that thought. There are a lot of things Tom Keen is. And a lot of things he isn't. And father material is definitely on the 'not even close' list.
"Regardless, she still needs a friend. She still needs someone to talk to," Reddington pushes, and Ressler can't help but notice the step closer. "She needs you."
Ressler shakes his head. He can't, because as much as he longs to go talk to her, he doesn't, because that's Tom Keen's job. And it's not that he doesn't want to talk to Liz - it's that he wants to talk to her too much. And with her having another man's child, that's not a safe place to be in.
"Did I ever tell you about a woman I once loved who was married to another man?" Reddington asks him. "No, I didn't, because it's not something I share with a lot of people."
Ressler looks sideways at the man. He's really not in a story telling mood, but he doesn't stop him.
"I loved her from the moment I saw her. Yet I couldn't have her. Well, not technically. Obviously, there are ways. But there was a look in her eyes when she looked at me from inside her marriage. She was unable to hide the 'wanting yet not being able to grasp'. Donald, I've seen that look in you."
Ressler turns his gaze to the window. "I told you it doesn't matter what I feel." And he can't quite believe he's even having this discussion with Reddington.
"Oh, but it does. It does very much, Donald."
He doesn't answer. Simply shakes his head, wanting very much now for this conversation to end.
"A long time ago I told you that one day, Audrey's death would be the second thing you thought of. Tell me, honestly. Or if not to me, tell yourself honestly, Donald. What, or who, was the first thing you thought of when you woke this morning?"
Ressler's eyes betray him. Red knows who he thinks of. Who fills his heart.
Red's hand is on his arm. "Exactly. What I learned from loving a woman I thought I couldn't have was that some things are worth fighting for. Some things are worth the pain of waiting for. It's worth it, Donald. And it will come."
Ressler smiles. A soft, barely there smile at the criminals words. He never picked Reddington for a romantic.
"But I must be off. Dembe is waiting in the car. My parting words to you are these, my friend. Choose your steps carefully, but not too carefully. Be a friend. Be a sounding board. Be a shoulder for her. But be there."
"Tom is…"
"Tom isn't there tonight."
Ressler isn't even going to ask how Red knows that for a fact.
"There's an Italian bistro two blocks from Lizzie's apartment that has a wonderful take-out menu. If you call in a dinner now it will be ready in 30 minutes. I'll have Dembe text you the details."
"I don't think…"
"Donald, don't think. Do. She's pregnant. She needs to eat, and it is-" he looks at his watch in an exaggerated manner, "-dinner time. I suggest you call soon before they close."
Ressler shakes his head at the criminal's ability to manipulate others. But it's okay, because an Italian dinner for two is starting to sound rather appealing. Almost like Wing Yee at their desks on her birthday.
And he and Liz both know where that led. And judging by his words, Reddington does too.
###
Food in hand in a large white carry bag, he knocks on the door to Liz's apartment. Even before she opens the door, he hears a familiar sound. The scurrying of little dog paws and nails on the floor.
As Liz opens the door to him, she takes in the sight of him and then smells the food. "Oh, my gosh, how did you know? I'm starving and all I have here is…an empty box of waffles and a burnt roll of paper towels."
"Hey, I aim to please," he tells her, pushing past Hudson who is now more interested in the aroma coming from food boxes before he deposits the bag on her kitchen counter. The table behind him is covered in a bedspread and he eyes it curiously.
"Aaahh, yes, that's Ethan's little safe house. Have a look in there. Look under the table."
Ressler had already seen the photos she had taken, but does as she tells him. And leaning under the table and looking up, he's stunned at the detail. The photos in the war room were one thing, but seeing the butterflies drawn with such precision on the wooden underside of the table is breathtaking.
"Whoa…"
"Isn't it something?" she asks him, busying herself with laying out the food on two plates. "I swear, I'm never selling that table!"
He looks out from under the table and stands. She's grinning and it's the first time he's seen that in what feels like forever. Even since she's been back, he hasn't seen that look. But there it is. Her birthday smile and he answers it with his own as he moves to the counter top and the two plates of food.
"Thank you for this. This is so…thoughtful," she tells him, sitting on one of the bar stools. He sits beside her, and reaches into the white bag.
"So, obviously, you aren't drinking wine tonight, so I got you an everything-free, pregnant lady approved, non-alcoholic grape juice concoction that passes as fake wine. Will that do?"
She grins again, reaching for a glass as he pops the cork from the bottle. "It sounds perfect." She meets his eyes over her glass as she takes a sip. "Just perfect…"
He pours his own glass, tries not to grimace at the taste, or lack thereof, and looks at her a moment. He's missed her. Achingly so.
"I've missed you. All those weeks on the run, you were the one I missed most of all."
She doesn't say she missed Tom, he notes. And he almost goes back to telling himself 'it doesn't matter what I feel', when he hears Reddington's words. 'And it will come.'
He lifts his glass of fake wine. "To missed friendship. To your baby. To you."
She tips his glass with hers, hesitates before taking a sip then adds "To us."
There is an 'us'. He knows that.
She's peering behind him at the bedspread covered table before they start to eat. "You know when I was a girl, Sam used to make little forts like that for me. He'd read to me in there. We'd eat our meals in there and I'd spend all day and sleep in it if I could. I loved that…"
Ressler is watching her, seeing the memories flash through her eyes. And in a moment of abandonment, he doesn't think twice and picks up his plate and glass. "Shall we?" he asks, motioning to the table, then steps to it and lowers himself under the bedspread so he's sitting on the floor inside Ethan's fort.
And she's grinning and laughing and crying all at the same time as she realizes what he's doing. "Oh, yes!" she smiles and joins him under the table as he holds her food for her.
They sit facing each other, legs crossed with food in front of them and he can't remember the last time he felt this good. Actually he can. And it involved sitting across from her with food that night too.
"You know, Red keeps telling me to try out this Bistro, but I have a feeling that going there and eating at their fancy tables wouldn't be half as nice as this," she tells him, taking another sip of her grape juice as she looks at him.
He agrees, wholeheartedly as he looks at her and raises his glass. "To friendship," he tells her as they start to eat.
He looks at her, fork poised and takes in the butterflies above them, the bedspread and the safe little fort. "You know, you don't have to wait until your baby is born before you read to him or her," he tells her.
And her eyes glisten. "Oh my gosh, you're right…and this is the perfect place under here too…"
He nods. It's absolutely the most perfect place right now.