"You know, Donald, despite the fact your actions were chivalrous, that really was… how shall I put this… not quite the smartest move you've ever made."

Ressler did not open his eyes. A 'shut up, Reddington' came to mind, but he held his tongue. Instead, he kept as still as he could as pain seeped into his belly and tried not to think about their surroundings starting to spin around him.

"What I mean is, it wasn't necessary that you put yourself in that position."

Ressler offered a grunt as another 'shut up' formed in his mind, but it too remained unsaid as hot pain spread further through his middle.

"Donald, perhaps-"

Ressler snapped open his eyes and glared at Reddington. Mercifully, the criminal stopped talking.

"I know, okay? I'm an idiot." He closed his eyes again at a fresh wave of pain, and for just a moment, a tinge of fear surfaced. What the hell had he been injected with?

###

2 hours earlier...

"Oh, come now, Donald, where's your sense of adventure?" Reddington clapped his hands together in glee, smiling like the proverbial Cheshire Cat, while Ressler slowly shook his head.

"I think it left, along with my sense of willingness to jump in headfirst into another of your schemes."

"Schemes? Oh, you mock me." Reddington turned to Dembe, who stood silently in his designated position just behind the man. "Tell him. Go on, tell him."

Dembe's eyes drifted from Ressler and back to Reddington. "I think it would be better coming from you, Raymond."

"Once again proving the old adage that if you want something done, do it yourself." Reddington sat down in Liz's chair, placed his hat on the desk, and eyed Ressler. "This is something that only you and I, and Dembe, of course, can do. Aram would likely be traipsing along in awe caught up in the atmosphere of it all, and basically take forever to choose. And Harold," he looked up, pursing his lips in thought. "No, Harold just won't do."

"And Liz?" Ressler asked hopefully.

"No, she wouldn't be the suitable choice. No, there is no one else. It simply must be you."

Ressler sighed. He knew full well his only necessary job here was to let them back into the Post Office once they were done. Red and Dembe and his motley crew were more than capable of handling the rest. "Fine. But you're gonna owe me for this one, got it?"

Reddington beamed, stood up and placed his fedora triumphantly on his head. "That's the spirit, Donald!"

Ressler rose from his chair, looking out at the empty office as he made his way to the locker room to change out of his suit. A few minutes later, dressed in jeans, boots, and a sweater, he locked his gun in its case, grabbed his wool coat off the rack and faced Reddington.

"Lead the way." And hurry up, before I change my mind, he thought, hoping it would not take all night to help Reddington procure… a Christmas tree for the war room. A surprise for everyone when they showed up for work in the morning.

But that wasn't the real reason Ressler had finally acquiesced. It was picturing the look on Agnes's little face when Liz brought her in for their small pre-Christmas get together in the morning.

###

1 hour earlier…

Ressler had seen enough trees to last a lifetime. As the snow crunched beneath his boots, his flashlight lit up yet another 8-foot-tall fir coming into view. This tree looked promising. At least he hoped it did, because honestly, they ALL had. He was so ready to be done with this. And if he heard one more refrain of 'Oh, Tannenbaum, Oh Tannenbaum' from Reddington, Ressler would shoot the criminal. If he had his gun, of course.

They had driven out of the city to a small farm on a few acres of land owned by a Frederick Davison, whom Red had described as 'a lovely, if odd, man who owes me somewhat of a favour'. And by the time they had arrived, Ressler was firmly wishing that favour had included DELIVERING a freshly cut tree, not just giving them free run of the land to cut one down.

"What about this one, Raymond?" Dembe asked. Ressler was sure he heard the pleading in Dembe's voice, but perhaps that was just his imagination.

As Reddington studied the tree, Ressler stole a look at his phone. 8:19pm and no messages, so no excuse where he could leave them to it.

"Perfect!"

Ressler could not recall a more welcome word from Red.

"Dembe, get the saw. Donald, lay out the tarp and get the rope."

"Yes, sir," Ressler muttered, resisting the urge to throttle Reddington with said rope.

As the tree came down, landing perfectly on the tarp laying on the snow, he and Dembe wrapped it securely.

They were halfway back to the car, dragging the tree between them when car headlights lit up the area around them.

"Now, who can this be? Frederick, perhaps, bringing us a hot toddy? He's always been such a gentleman and so very thoughtful." Reddington walked a few steps ahead, silhouetted in the car headlights. "Frederick, is that you?"

Ressler, close to no longer pretending to be one of the good Christmas elves as the weight of the tree cramped his shoulders, was immediately alert. As he stopped in his tracks, Dembe did the same. An unspoken word passed between them and both lay the wrapped tree on the snow.

As they walked up to Reddington, Dembe called out to him "Raymond, wait."

Ressler instinctively reached for his sidearm – which of course, was safely in its lockbox at the Post Office. "Damn it," he cursed, and trotted up to Red. Three men now stood in the glow of the headlights, watching the tree cutters approach.

Ressler did not like this at all. Another look across to Dembe confirmed the black man was feeling the same. This wasn't right. And finally, Red's Christmas spirit departed as he shaded his eyes against the bright lights.

"Dembe, run up and see who it is."

Ressler stayed with Reddington. He might not have his sidearm, but that Spidey sense of his told him to stay by the criminal's side. And then in the light from the cars, the outline was clear. They had pulled a gun on Dembe.

"Damn. I hate it when I'm right," Ressler swore.

"Raymond! Run!" At his shouted warning, Dembe was cold cocked with the gun, and he dropped to the ground.

"Go!" Ressler yelled at Red, grabbing his arm, forcing the man to move. A scrambled exit in the dark was his only means of protecting Reddington against the two armed men approaching. But with at least a foot of snow on the ground, Ressler could not move as fast as he needed. It was also impossible to remain hidden. Like a beacon in the night, their footprints showed exactly which way they had run.

A stand of closely placed trees stood ahead in the dark, and Ressler made a beeline for it, still dragging Reddington with him. It wasn't that the criminal couldn't move fast if he wanted, but more that his looking back was slowing them down. "Dembe…" Reddington murmured, concerned.

"Come on!" Ressler told him, shoving him underneath a large pine tree.

The gunmen weren't far behind them, as Ressler looked for something to use as a weapon. And finding only a hefty branch, he held it firmly in his gloved hands, waiting.

Reddington was silent, and Ressler stole a glance at him in the darkness. "What did you do to piss off dear old Frederick?" Ressler hissed at him as they hunkered down in the underbrush. Barely able to make out the man's features, it was obvious Red was distressed, physically and emotionally.

"Surely, he wouldn't do this… not after all this time," Red whispered, not specifically answering Ressler, but more as if remembering a past he and Frederick had shared.

Ressler gripped the makeshift weapon in his hands and shook his head. "Well, whatever you did, we are about to pay for it," he said, his eyes glinting in the moonlight as the two men approached. "Do you know them?" he asked.

"One of them is Henry Castle, head of Frederick's security detail."

"Reddington!" Castle called from the clearing in front of their hiding spot. "Come on out. No one needs to get hurt!"

"Stay down!" Ressler told him, only to see Red stand up, duck under the tree branches and make his way out to the men. "No!" he hissed, grabbing at Red's coat, but missing. "Damn it, Red!"

And unwilling to leave Red to the men alone, Ressler left the meagre shelter of the trees and followed the criminal into the moonlight. Feeling slightly ridiculous by refusing to drop the makeshift weapon he had in the tree limb, he stepped up beside Red.

"He just wants to talk," Castle said, and at that Reddington scoffed.

"Talk? At gunpoint? Frederick has had years to talk, and I was led to believe any problems we have had in the past had long since been resolved. I assure you, he has more than talk on his mind."

Castle looked evenly at Red and Ressler. "Come with us."

"We're not going-"

"Donald, save your breath." Reddington told him and started walking.

But Ressler didn't save his breath. With a lunge he slammed the heavy tree branch across Castle's back, forcing the man down. As Ressler jumped forward to find the dropped gun, a flare of pain lit up the right side of his head. His vision dimmed, before everything went black as he fell to the ground.

###

30 minutes earlier…

He was cold and his head throbbed. Ressler struggled to open his eyes, not knowing where he was. With an effort, he pried his eyes open, to discover he was laying in snow, surrounded by trees under a moonlit sky. What the hell…?

And then it came flooding back to him. Reddington!

As he rose to his knees, his gloved hand gingerly felt the right side of his head. As small pieces of wood fell onto the snow beside him, he saw the cause of his discomfort laying nearby. His own 'weapon' had been used against him. If he'd had a clearer head, he'd have grimaced at the irony.

"At least you didn't get shot again," he muttered, climbing unsteadily to his feet.

It was cold. The temperature had dropped but it wasn't unbearable. After dusting the snow off himself as best he could, he took in a quick search of the surrounding ground. Under the glow of the moon, the snow told the story as it revealed multiple footsteps leading back to the parking lot and the cars. He followed the footprints, staying as hidden as he could as he backtracked the way he and Reddington had come.

The car headlights were no longer on, something he was grateful of as he approached a long building. A soft light shone through a window and that's where they likely had Red. Unsure at this point what he could do, he was still determined to find Red and Dembe and figure out what was going on.

Fresh snow started falling, but he didn't mind. If anything, it afforded him more cover as he approached the building. It was a long barn, and two large doors stood open in the dark. Isn't that too easy? Crouching in the dark behind a vehicle he watched for a couple of minutes but didn't observe any movement. Satisfied, keeping to the tree line as much as possible, he made his way to the barn doors and slipped inside.

As his eyes adjusted, he spotted something that immediately lifted his spirits. Farm implements hung on old hooks on a pegboard wall. Rusted and aged, but more than capable of causing damage in the right hands. With a quick sprint across the concrete floor, he helped himself to a large hammer, feeling a little Thor like as he tested the weight in his hands.

Behind him, he sensed rather than saw movement. He whirled, bringing the hammer down on the arm of the man behind him. Ressler's elbow then connected with the man's temple, knocking him out cold. As a gun clattered across the concrete, Ressler grabbed it, holding it on the downed man, but he lay still.

Concerned he'd been heard, Ressler held his breath, but no one came. Some rope and a filthy rag made short work of his prisoner, tying and gagging him. Breathing hard, wishing like hell the red spots in front of his eyes would just stop, Ressler waited in the dark.

The light he'd seen was toward the back of the barn, and now armed, he made his way past old horse stalls and soon heard voices. Hidden behind the wall of a wooden stall, Ressler crept closer, to see Reddington and Dembe bound in front of two men. One was Castle, who held Dembe at gunpoint, and the other had to be Frederick Davison.

"Raymond, it pains me to do this. But you and I both knew that I would never stop until I discovered what happened to Jon."

Reddington shook his head slightly. "I did what I had to do that night. And Jon…" he looked away, remembering. "Jon was an innocent victim in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn't know he was there."

"You are still to blame!" Frederick's voice rose as he stepped closer to Reddington. "And you know more! You've always known more!"

Ressler thought the man was armed, but then realized it wasn't a gun. It was a needle he held in front of Reddington. Beside Red, Dembe fought his way to his feet, only to be knocked out again by one of the gunmen.

"I'm not going to kill you. But I do need you to feel what my son felt that night." Frederick reached for Reddington; needle drawn.

Ressler was on his feet in a split second, ignoring the wave of pain in his throbbing head and fired at Castle.

As Castle dropped, Ressler aimed at Frederick while running toward him.

"Don't kill him!"

Ressler fired, Red's warning coming too late. But it had been enough to skew his aim and he hadn't got off a clean shot, just glanced off the older man's shoulder. Unable to slow down, Ressler careened into Frederick as a wave of dizziness caused the barn to spin wildly. Both men dropped to the hay.

"Donald!"

Ressler ignored Red, rolled to his knees and raised his weapon once more to face any further threats. But there were no more threats. Castle lay dead, and Frederick groaned at his side.

Red's eyes dropped to Ressler's torso. As Ressler followed where Red was looking, he saw it too. The needle sticking out from his belly, plunger fully down.

Whatever Frederick had been going to inject Reddington with, he had just received the full dose.

###

Present time…

"We need to get out of here, Raymond. More could come." Hands still bound behind his back, Dembe was once more on his feet, lightly kicking the downed form of Frederick, who groaned and lay still.

Amid the hot fire spreading through his system as he lay on his side, Ressler remembered something. "Entryway. Rusty farm tools." Catching his meaning, Dembe jogged toward the barn doors.

"Can you stand?" Reddington asked quietly.

Ressler wasn't sure but did manage to sit up. "What was that?" he asked through gritted teeth. "What did he inject into me?"

"Well, one of Frederick's talents, shall we say, is professional torturer." At Ressler's groan, he continued. "Not your thumbtacks to the eyelids or bamboo under fingernails type. And nothing quite so, ah, inventive as Brimley. No, he's their modern equivalent. He deals only in various concoctions that elicit pain directly in the nerves that few men can tolerate. Most will spill the beans as he increases the dosage."

"Great…" Ressler gasped, clutching his stomach.

"I am sorry Donald, and if it's any consolation, I am also somewhat grateful."

Dembe came back holding a rusty blade in his hands. He made short work of Red's binding, then put the knife in his belt. "You omitted to tell me about the man at the entry." It took Ressler a moment to realize what Dembe was talking about. "But he will not cause us any more problems," Dembe added.

Ressler was about to say more when the pain spreading through his system reached his head. Already throbbing from the blow he'd taken, now he sank back to the floor, sweating even in the cold barn as his head felt as if it would explode.

He heard Red's words through the hot fog in his brain. "Dembe, help me get him up. We need to get out of here."

Try as he might, Ressler could not support himself as the two men dragged him between them, his arms over their shoulders. There wasn't an inch of his body that wasn't reeling in pain. As he panted, they made their way through the barn and out into the cold night.

Their vehicle was parked a distance away, but Red motioned Dembe to run and bring it over. As he sank to the ground, Ressler flopped back on the snow. It felt so good against his hot, sweating body. In better circumstances, he'd have just stayed right where he was.

A crunch of tires on the snow brought Ressler back to his senses, and then hands were under his arms again, shoving him into the back of the 4WD pickup they'd driven on their Christmas tree expedition.

And at that, despite pain coursing through his body, Ressler let out a short laugh.

"This is funny, Donald?"

"The tree," he whispered, "The damn tree…" then he felt the leather seat beneath him and sank into it.

###

In and out of consciousness, Ressler was barely aware of it when the vehicle stopped. Unsure if he'd received a mild dose or a strong one, he felt terrible. Much more of that stuff and he might have been spilling the beans if someone had been interrogating him. But the stubborn part of him then told himself that no, he would still refuse to tell anything.

And through his fog, he briefly wondered just what had Frederick wanted to learn from Red? But just as quickly, he no longer cared as fresh pain spasmed through his stomach.

Reddington was on the phone to someone "Yes, we just arrived. How much longer?"

Dembe got out of the driver's seat and opened the door by Ressler's head. "We need to get you inside, Agent Ressler."

"I'll be… right there…" he replied through clenched teeth, not moving at all.

"They are a couple of minutes away. Let's get him out of the car," Red told Dembe, now also beside the vehicle.

As they hauled Ressler out of the car then supported him between them, Ressler's head flopped forward. His body had turned to jello. Pain wracked jello that couldn't walk even if he'd wanted to.

Car headlights swung into view, but Ressler was past caring who it was. At the sound of car doors slamming, running footsteps reached his ears.

"Chuck, Morgan, get him inside. Brimley, he's in a lot of pain."

As fresh hands took hold of him, Ressler let them drag him inside. Relentless pain hammered behind his eyes, and his heart felt tight in his chest. As he was hoisted up onto a steel table, hands tore at his coat, releasing his arms from it and removing it. Likewise, his sweater and undershirt followed, leaving him bare chested on the cold steel table.

"What are you doing?" Ressler panted through the pain, afraid he was about to get shocked as sticky pads were arranged on his chest.

"Never you mind, young man. I'm going to monitor your vitals, okay?"

Ressler opened his eyes a little to gaze at a small, grey haired man beside him. The oxygen cannula didn't instill much confidence. This guy was going to help him?

"Brimley knows his stuff," Red told him.

And through his pain, Ressler gave another short laugh. Brimley. Reddington's own torturer was hooking him up to leads. His sweaty hands found the sides of the steel table as he attempted to rise. Hands pushed him down.

"Brimley, hurry."

"No, stop!" But it was too late. As pain coursed through his body and the room spun, Ressler felt himself held down as an injection pricked his upper right arm.

"First one down. Two to go," Brimley said, pushing another shot into Ressler's arm.

"No, no," Ressler whispered, no longer understanding who was trying to hurt him or help him through the constant pain. "Stop…"

And as he felt the third injection, at the forefront of his fear was one that stood above all others.

Don't give me something that will make me addicted again!

###

"Donald, how do you feel?"

Ressler lay on the steel table and slowly opened his eyes. "Cold…"

"Get his coat and lay it over him," Reddington told someone, and Ressler felt the wool coat against his bare chest and arms.

Brimley stood beside him, and this time the man's touch felt gentler. "You're going to be alright, okay?" The man shouted every word, which Ressler found a little disconcerting.

But more awake, he now took stock of his situation. The pain level had decreased significantly throughout his body, leaving a cold weakness in its wake. Unable to move much at all, he allowed himself to lay there and be helped. But he had to know one thing.

"What… what did you give me?"

"I gave you a cocktail of nerve and muscle relaxers, to counteract the nerve stimulant you got," Brimley shouted at him.

"A cocktail…"

"Don't worry, nothing that will affect you long term."

Ressler stared silently at the small man. He'd known. He'd understood his fear. Ressler nodded and rolled his head to see Reddington standing beside him.

"I explained your past history with pharmaceuticals. He knew which ones to give you, Donald," he said quietly, in stark contrast to Brimley.

"Thank you." Ressler felt his eyes closing, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Let him sleep, it will do him good," he heard Brimley shout, but not even that was enough to stop him drifting off.

###

Sometime later, Ressler woke and found the place deserted. After the hive of activity from earlier, now only Reddington sat nearby.

"Where is everyone?" Ressler asked, as Reddington left his chair and came over.

"Gone," Reddington said, which was obvious. "On an errand."

As he flexed his arms and legs, Ressler was extremely relieved to find he could move, and sat up. His body quivered, feeling slightly surreal, but it was mobile. He sat on the edge of the steel table and dressed after Red handed him his undershirt and sweater.

"An errand?"

Reddington chuckled, "Surely you haven't forgotten the reason we were out there tonight?"

The tree. "Right…" Now dressed, he slid off the table and stood beside it, testing the strength in his legs. Confident he wasn't going to fall flat on his face, Ressler took his wool coat and slipped it on.

"Feel up to finishing what we started?" Red asked.

Ressler almost told him no, he just needed to go home and sleep for about a week, but then thought of the reason he'd volunteered – or been volunteered – to get the tree in the first place.

"Sure."

Ressler followed Red to the lone car outside. They were in an industrial area of town, deserted in the early morning. As they crunched their way across the snow, he stopped at the driver's side door.

"What do you think you're doing, Agent Ressler?"

"Well, I-"

"You're not driving, not with the drugs still in your system."

Ressler looked up at Red. He hated hearing that. It was too personal. He made his way around to the passenger side and dropped into the seat. He was exhausted. As Red drove to the Post Office, Ressler dozed. Red was right, the nerve and muscle relaxers were still floating around his veins, and he didn't need to be operating a vehicle.

On arrival, they parked the car, then waited. A phone call from Dembe told them they were almost there, and not 5 minutes later the 4WD truck pulled into the parking structure. Dembe, Chuck and Morgan jumped out, and made short work of getting the tree out the back.

Ressler greeted the security guards at the elevator, and with the tree making it a bit of a tight fit, they made their way down to the war room. Still deserted at 4:30am, Ressler left them to it as the men set up the tree.

As he sat in his office, Red came in and once more sat at Liz's desk across from him.

"I'm sorry, Donald."

Ressler smiled, and shook his head a little. "It's fine. Where you're concerned, I get used to it."

Reddington laughed at that. "Well, you do have a point there. I do tend to get you into some nasty scrapes, don't I?"

Ressler just shook his head, still smiling, and swiveled in his chair to look at the three men positioning the tree. Was it worth it? Getting injected with a powerful nerve stimulant, then facing Brimley's treatment afterward? He wasn't sure.

###

But 3 hours later, as the elevator doors opened, and Agnes rushed in to be embraced by Aram – wearing his Elf hat, of course - Ressler smiled.

He'd taken another nap, showered, and got dressed for work while Red had supervised lighting and decorating the tree. And when Ressler had next stepped into the war room, the tree was a work of art. And now, watching Agnes beam and laugh at the tree lights, with Liz beside her, Ressler smiled.

It had been worth it. Kinda.