Reddington wore a prison jumpsuit the same way he wore a three-piece suit—with total and complete confidence. He was currently lounging in The Box with his legs crossed, sitting on the sole straight-backed metal chair reading yesterday's newspaper, the only shred of entertainment allowed in with them the night before.
Keen was huddled under the poor excuse for a blanket, with the thin fabric pulled over her eyes to block out at least some of the harsh overhead lights that came along with morning.
Ressler took a deep breath and counted to ten. He really didn't need to navigate a conversation with Reddington first thing in the morning on top of his hangover and stiff muscles from sleeping at his desk. Letting the breath out slowly, he straightened his sore back and descended the short flight of stairs down to The Box.
"Donald, good morning!" Reddington greeted, over the top of the newspaper. "You'll have to excuse Elizabeth. She didn't get nearly enough sleep last night."
Ressler clenched his jaw, more aware than he ever wanted to be as to one of the reasons Keen hadn't slept. The question was whether Reddington realized that he was aware. He had to know someone was watching the security feed.
"What's all that?" Reddington asked, nodding towards the bundle in Ressler's arms.
"Pillows and some real blankets, a change of clothes for each of you. Maybe if things go well today, we can get a hold of a mattress by tonight."
"I think we'd both appreciate some earplugs." He glanced over at Keen. "And sleep masks."
"I'll see what I can do."
"A few pairs of curtains would be nice, too. Make the place more homey. Not to mention how much it would help with the privacy."
Oh, Reddington definitely knew Ressler had been the one on the other end of the security feed.
"I'm not your interior decorator, Reddington. Like hell you're getting curtains. You're just gonna have to take your chances. But, hey, I can probably get you two some, ah, prophylactics if you're gonna keep, uh…"
Reddington rolled his eyes. "That won't be necessary." He folded the newspaper and stood, walking over to the door and stopping as if he would've chosen the distance between them for himself, rather than having it chosen for him by the structure of The Box.
"Can you open this thing without all of the hullabaloo?" he asked, waving his hand around at the general surroundings. "I'd rather not disturb Elizabeth."
Ressler signaled for the agent in the observation room to deactivate the sirens before he cupped his hand around the keypad to shield it from Reddington's sharp observation and entered the code.
"I don't see why you can't just… keep it in your pants while you're in here," Ressler mused aloud. "I mean, you know someone's gonna be watching you twenty-four seven. Doesn't that embarrass you at all?" he asked. (He hoped to God the two of them didn't like being watched; that would just add insult to injury.)
"We're trying to be as discreet as possible given the circumstances, Donald, but as inconvenient as it is, it's become a necessity for us to… engage… to help curb the side-effects of our connection. You've already seen what happens when you keep us separated; you wouldn't want to deal with us if we abstain for too long while in each other's presence." Reddington paused for dramatic effect. "The phrase 'uncomfortably aroused' comes to mind. If it makes you uncomfortable yourself, perhaps you'd consider forgoing the surveillance cameras altogether."
Ressler tossed the pile of bedding at Reddington as soon as the door opened far enough and punched the code to close it again. "Not a chance."
"I had to try. Everyone wants what's best for their soulmate, Donald. You know how it is."
A hot trickle of humiliation dripped its way down Ressler's spine. Reddington knew. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew that he did. Either that or he was better at psyching out an opponent than Ressler had ever given him credit for.
"Wake Keen, get dressed," he spat. "Aram is supposed to be bringing you guys food. He'll be here any minute. You have a debriefing-slash-negotiation with Cooper at noon. You won't want to do anything that would compromise your chances of getting what you want, would you?"
"Why do you keep taunting Ressler about his soulmate?" Liz asked as she and Red attempted to change into their fresh clothes as quickly and efficiently and privately as possible. She had woken in time to overhear much of Red and Ressler's conversation, though she had feigned sleep to avoid adding another variable to an already tense situation. "Do you know who it is?"
"I do." Red unbuttoned the line of buttons down the front of his jumpsuit and shrugged out of the sleeves, letting the top half hang off him to the waist.
"How on earth could you possibly know?"
"I've seen his soulmate's tattoo." Liz bit her lip, trying to puzzle out how Red could gather who Ressler's soulmate was simply by seeing the tattoo; he must have sensed her confusion, because he elaborated. "The first word Ressler spoke to his soulmate was his own name. That… narrows it down quite a bit."
"Does he know who it is?"
He glanced at her over his shoulder while he shook out one of the clean t-shirts from the pile Ressler brought, a spark of amusement shining in his eyes. "Oh, I think he suspects."
"I don't understand. How does he not know for sure? Isn't it obvious?"
"Not always. Not everyone has something as specific as a name for a tattoo." He gestured to his own tattoo, still uncovered on his chest. "I would hazard a guess that when Ressler met his soulmate, he introduced himself. What comes after that in an average conversation can vary greatly. The trick is matching the response."
He pulled the shirt over his head.
"They haven't pursued anything, then."
"Oh, no, I doubt it very much. He wouldn't have been such an unmitigated ass these last few months if anything had been resolved," he said. "You and I both know first hand how frustrating it can be to spend time around your soulmate without being able to acknowledge it. It's torture—a slow, grating torture that grows more insistent the longer the connection goes unrecognized."
"Not all connections are as intense as ours, though."
"No. And not all connections are sexual. But they are all innate and important—denying them causes nothing but pain. If Ressler's denying his, he's undoubtedly in pain, or soon will be. And so, too, will his soulmate."