Ressler was in the office. Of course he was. When did anything in Liz's life ever go the easy way?
She weighed the possibility of going a few more weeks without the things she wanted to grab from her desk and cursed under her breath. So much for making it back to her car without a confrontation.
Oh, well. Might as well get it over with now, rather than waiting and have it hang over her head indefinitely.
Pushing open the door, Liz braced herself for an outburst, an argument, anything. There was no telling how Ressler would take the news that Agnes was Red's child.
"Hey," she said. "You skulking around in here so you can bite my head off for this now or are we good?"
"I'm not skulking."
"Sure you're not."
"I'm not. It's my office, too, in case you forgot. It's been mine alone for weeks."
"But that's my desk." Liz slumped into Ressler's chair, facing him across the expanse of their desks, and crossed her arms over her chest. "What the hell do you want from me, Ressler? If you're gonna chew me out, just do it and get it over with."
"I'm not gonna chew you out."
"Well, that's a relief," she said, but her tone was flat. "Why are you in here lying in wait if that's not what you're gonna do?"
Ressler seemed agitated and defensive, and a little annoyed—an incongruous cocktail of emotions for the lecture Liz expected from him.
"There's something I think you should hear. I don't know if Reddington ever told you. You've never mentioned it to me, so I'm guessing he didn't." Liz shook her head, shrugging her shoulders in confusion. "I used to visit now and then during those ten months you were in a coma. He let me sit by your bed for a while. Sometimes I talked, told you about the things we were doing at the Post Office without you. Sometimes I just… sat there and watched you. I know you weren't just sleeping—it's kinda hard to miss the ventilator—but there was part of me that hoped you might sense that I was there. I guess you didn't."
"You're mad that I didn't—"
"No," he said, cutting her off. "Can I just get this out, please? This isn't easy for me to talk about, OK?"
"Fine. OK."
Ressler nodded, leaning back in the chair. "Seeing you lying there like that really fucked me up for a long time. I felt like maybe I didn't do enough to protect you."
Liz's chest twinged. That wasn't the direction she thought this conversation was going to take. "What happened to me wasn't your fault."
"No. But protecting you is kinda part of my job," he said. "And besides… Tom kind of… Well, he brought more death and destruction wherever he went than even Reddington does. No offense."
Liz waved him off.
"I had a few chances to make sure that danger wouldn't come near you anymore and I don't think I did enough to stop it. So what happened might not've been my fault, but I still felt like it was—in a roundabout way. You know guilt's fucked up like that."
"Unfortunately."
"The thing is, if I felt guilty about what happened, I know Reddington must've felt about a thousand times worse. And we both know how he usually deals with guilt like that, guilt over things outside his control. No one better stand in his way.
"I figured after what Garvey did to you, he'd be dead in a week. A month, tops. But Reddington put the brakes on his whole operation to see after you instead. He pulled out all the stops, got you the best care money and blackmail could buy.
"That made sense. It wasn't a surprise that you were his first priority. Of course he would do everything he could to make sure you were all right, but I thought once you were stable and cared for, he'd go after Garvey. But it didn't happen. Months went by and Garvey was still out there, still breathing. I had a hard time wrapping my mind around why Reddington would allow that. But then I got a chance to see him with her."
"With Agnes."
"Yeah. I want you to know, taking care of Agnes was the only thing that kept him from burning the world down to get to Garvey. I'm sure of it," Ressler said. "For all we know, she saved his life then, too."
Liz's breath caught. She could've lost Red then, and she wouldn't have found out for god knows how long. He wouldn't have been at her side when she woke up. Agnes would've grown up without any memories of her father, or even the truth about who he was.
"God. What if that hadn't been enough? What if—"
"No, he wouldn't have left her. He wouldn't have risked it, not while you were unconscious."
"How are you so sure?"
"Well, he didn't do it, did he?" he said.
The question hung in the air. Ressler was right, of course. But that didn't make the fear, the close call, seem any less immediate. Especially after what they'd just been through.
"Sometimes," Ressler said, after a while, "when I was getting ready to leave after a visit, I'd get away with watching him and Agnes together for a few minutes before he noticed me.
"And there was one night that really made me think. Agnes, she… she called him papa. Unprompted, just out of the blue. I don't think I've ever seen so many conflicting emotions on Reddington's face all at once. I ducked back into your room and gave him a while to compose himself before I tried to leave again. Pretended I didn't hear anything or see anything.
"At the time, I thought he was her grandfather, but the way he reacted that day, the way they always were together, it never quite sat right. He was in his element, taking care of her. He was good at it. He was… soft in a way I didn't know he was capable of being. I didn't fully understand what I was seeing until today, but now I guess it makes sense. He was treating her like she was his own kid. Did he know?"
"No, not for sure. Not until recently."
"I think he wanted her to be. Even if it wasn't by blood."
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's true."
Ressler nodded, thoughtful. "Because she's your kid. She's part of you." He held her gaze for a moment, silent and serious. "He loves you."
"Yeah," she whispered, not trusting her voice not to crack. "Yeah, he does."