Red stood at the window of the reception area, looking out into the parking lot before him. It was empty. In the two hours since they had arrived at the Ranger's station, Red had checked constantly for any sign of Dembe. The storm had let up for a while, and had now resumed its drumbeat above them, blocking his view. Dembe would have been here, unless something had happened to him. Red stepped from the window and walked back to the small bedroom.

"Donald, don't go to sleep on me," he said, patting Ressler on the chest. It was hard to tell in the dark, with Ressler's eyes closed. Ressler answered with a gasp, and held one finger up to indicate he was awake. He didn't know if he'd fallen asleep or not, but was awake at Red's voice.

Red sat down on the chair again, nudging a bucket on the floor. "Still no sign of Dembe," he told Ressler, then sighed. "But the good news is, the storm is also keeping any pursuers at bay."

Ressler only half heard Reddington. He shivered under the blanket Red had put over him. His stomach churned again, and he whispered, "Puke". Red moved away from the bucket just as Ressler turned his head and threw up again, moaning with the pain that flared in his head before he lay back panting, half crying with the pain. He was going to die here; he was sure of it. After everything Reddington had done to get him here, to Dembe, the plan had fallen apart.

Reddington was beyond worried now. If Ressler didn't get medical help he would most certainly die with the building pressure on his brain. Patting Ressler on the chest he stood again, unable to sit and watch Ressler deteriorate. He needed to do something. Anything. And standing at a window waiting for Dembe was not the answer. Walking to the reception area he again tested the phones that were still dead as door nails. Resisting the urge to slam them down in frustration, he placed them back on the receivers and made a decision. He strode back into the small room.

"Donald," he said, patting Ressler on the chest again.

Ressler gave a whimper of a moan in reply.

"I need to check the work shed outside, and see if there is anything in there that can help our situation." He refrained from telling Ressler exactly what he hoped to find in the work shed.

"I'll wait here," Ressler whispered, "if you don' mind."

At that, Red had to smile. "You hold the fort in here, my friend," Red told him, then walked from the room, through the reception area, grabbed a black Park Rangers raincoat off a hook, and exited the building.

It was still raining and he pulled the raincoat close around his neck, but the wind had dropped, signaling the end of this storm cell. Lightning still flashed occasionally, but not as thick as it had been earlier. The ground was saturated under Red's feet as he walked across the soggy grass toward a small work shed. He hadn't checked it earlier, noting immediately upon their arrival that it couldn't possibly house a vehicle they could use. A rock took care of a small pane of glass near the door, allowing him to turn the latch and open it from the inside. He stepped into the dark, and shone the flashlight around. The light on it was dimming, and he would have to reserve the batteries unless he could find replacements. The contents of the shed were arranged on two shelves on the back wall, and he scanned them quickly. He soon found what he was looking for, and checked the contents of the metal tool kit. Above him, on the top shelf were two kerosene lanterns, but a quick search took that enthusiasm away when there was no kerosene to be found. The candles he'd found inside would have to do, once he needed them. If he needed them.

He prayed it wouldn't come to that, but he had learned to always be two steps ahead of the game. And in his hands, he held the makings of an emergency surgery. One that may become necessary if they couldn't get out of here.

"Oh, Donald," he whispered in the dark confines of the shed.

With another last look over the shed contents, he closed the door and stepped back outside. He'd taken only a few steps when he heard something above the rolling thunder in the distance. A voice, shouting. He crouched down, unseen in the shadow of the shed and pulled up the hood on the raincoat, peering into the darkness. Someone was approaching from the direction of the creek.

Until he knew who it was, Red ducked further back behind the shed. He turned quickly to look at the Ranger's station. He couldn't get back to Ressler without being seen. Cursing silently, he remained hidden, getting all the information first. The voice called again.

"Raymond Reddington!" the man called, facing the Ranger's station.

Three men appeared from the dark, silhouetted in the next flash of lightning. And Dembe was one of them. Even at this distance, the outline of his friend and bodyguard was unmistakable. Red cursed under his breath at the sight of a gun held to Dembe's head. Reddington stayed hidden until he knew what else, if anything, he was up against.

"I have your man!" the gunman called again, pointing the gun at Dembe's head. "And he's dead if you don't get out here."

Reddington watched, biding his time.

"I know what you did with your last friend. You put a bullet between his eyes. Somehow I don't think you're going to do that again!" the voice taunted. "Get out here, Reddington!"

Dembe called out then, his voice raised yet calm, "Raymond, no." And that earned him a swift punch in the stomach from the second man, before he returned to holding his pistol at the ready, eyes searching the area.

Reddington started at that, then placed the toolbox on the ground. If he could get it open, quietly... A loud roll of thunder sounded above them, and Red opened the toolbox, the sound hidden in the storm. The hammer inside was hefty and he picked it up, judging its weight and the distance to the men. It was a risk though. He couldn't take out both.

"I'm going to count to three, Reddington! If you're not out here by then, your man's brains are going to be splattered all over the ground." The man looked around, taking two steps closer to the Ranger station.

"One!"

Reddington sprinted across to a tree, getting a better angle.

"Two!"

The hammer rose in Red's hand. It was a long throw. If he could-

A shot rang out, deafening in the night.

"No!" Reddington cried, running from the cover of the tree. The man who had held the gun on Dembe was dead on the ground. With a surge of relief, Red saw that Dembe was still on his feet, bent over now and ramming into the second armed man. In one swift movement as he ran, Reddington threw the hammer, slamming it into the second gunman's head. He was dead before he hit the ground, joining his partner in crime.

"Raymond!" Dembe called. He ran up to Reddington, his hands tied behind his back.

"Dembe, are there any more?"

"No, I got the others with my rifle. Just these two. They came up behind me in the dark as I was coming down the ridge to where I saw you go down. I am sorry."

Reddington had heard enough. Without breaking stride, he turned and ran for the Ranger's station. "Ressler!"

###

Red slammed through the front door with Dembe on his heels, heading straight for the sleeping area. "Donald!" he called, shining the small flashlight on the bed. The small bed was empty. Ressler's blood stains on the sheets gleamed in the beam of light. "My God," Red whispered.

"Raymond! Here!" Red ran toward Dembe, who was crouched over Ressler on the floor of the break room across the hall. Above them, a small window was open a notch, letting in the rain that was increasing again. Red slammed it shut and knelt down to Ressler. He was slumped against the wall below the window, barely conscious, his weapon still in his hand.

"Red..." he moaned.

"Donald, what the hell are you doing out here?"

Ressler didn't reply. Because he didn't really know how he'd got here. Or how he'd heard the men's voices outside, managed to haul himself to his feet, then grabbed his gun. It had been like a bad dream. He'd shot into the night, blinded by the lightning flash, yet trusted that he could still hit the target outside the window. Perhaps it was a dream, and he was hallucinating. But the pain in his head told him this was real. Wasn't it?

"Thank you, Agent Ressler," Dembe said, leaning down to him on the floor.

Ressler came round a little at that. But try as he might, he couldn't reply.

"He is badly hurt. Bleeding," Dembe added, looking up at Red.

"Yes, but not from this melee," Red told him, motioning to Dembe's hands, where he cut the zip tie with scissors from the First Aid kit.

"Raymond, what is wrong with him?"

"He has a hematoma under his skull." At Dembe's shocked glance upward, Red added. "Yes. A blood clot is pressing on his brain. We need to get him help, Dembe."

"Red," Ressler gasped again, his breath coming in short pants with the pain. God, it hurt. His head was going to explode. Right here, right now. He just knew it. He didn't want to die like this.

"Get him up, Dembe, and back through there onto the bed. Carefully!"

As they lifted him between them, Ressler cried out in pain as fresh blood oozed from his side. Once back on the bed he lay there, gasping.

Red turned to Dembe, talking to him quickly, as he moved him out of the sleeping area and into the reception. "I need you to run, Dembe. Run like the wind, and find help. Anywhere. Find someone, get a phone that works and get medical help out here. Tell them he needs to be air lifted and a neurosurgeon on standby. "

Dembe was already nodding, heading for the door. "I will find help."

"Wait!" Red stepped over to the door, his hand on Dembe's arm. "Tell them his blood type. Same as mine. And get hold of Harold. He needs to know."

Dembe nodded, "I will do it, my brother," and then he was gone, running into the storm. Red watched him until he could see him no more, then went back to Ressler.

"Donald," he said, pulling the chair close to the bed again. "I need to talk to you. Can you hear me?"

"Yes," Ressler whispered, his eyes closed, with tears slowly seeping from them.

"Okay, I'll make it short and to the point, understand?"

"Yes."

"I've sent Dembe to get help. But I don't know how long that will take. If I can't get you out of here and to a hospital in the next couple of hours, I can't guarantee you're going to live through this."

Ressler didn't answer. He'd already figured that out some time ago.

"Donald?"

"Yes."

"I may have to do an emergency procedure to relieve the pressure on your brain until help comes."

"No."

"I promised you I wouldn't let you die. I intend to keep that promise."

"No."

"It would involve drilling a small hole in your skull-"

"No!"

"Donald, if that pressure isn't relieved very soon, you will die right here."

"Red, no! Plea' no!" Ressler's tongue felt thick in his mouth, and forming words was difficult. Everything was taking an effort. How had he been able to drag himself up and into the other room, and fire at the man holding Dembe and yet now he couldn't even speak properly? But he had done it, because that's what you do when someone is about to be killed. Even when you're dying yourself.

"Red. No..."

"Trust me, I won't do it unless there is absolutely no other choice," Red said, his voice softening, sounding thick in the dark. His hand fumbled, brushed past Ressler's as if to hold it and then landed on Ressler's chest. "Trust me, my friend."

And suddenly Ressler didn't want to die. Not like this. Not a slow death with his brain being pushed out of shape inside his skull. Better that he go quickly at Red's hand if his procedure should fail. Better to have it end in an instant. "O...okay."

Ressler felt Red patting his chest. "Red...?"

"Yes, Donald?"

"Tell... tell Liz..." He stopped. He couldn't voice what he wanted Red to tell Liz if he should die in the next couple of hours. How could he tell her what he'd felt for her? How could he tell her that he'd done things in his life he hadn't been proud of? How could he tell Red to explain to Liz how far down the rabbit hole he'd fallen and how sorry he was? How could he explain to Red anything about what Liz meant to him? He couldn't.

"I know, Donald. I know how you feel about her. And how sorry you are. I know, my friend. And she will know."

Ressler tried to nod his head, but couldn't. Tears flowed from his bloodshot eyes, rolling from his face and past his ears as he lay on his back. Red understood. He opened his eyes and looked at the criminal. And in the glow from a distant lightning flash outside the window, he saw the sheen of a tear rolling down the criminal's cheek.

###

Some time later, Red had retrieved the toolbox from by the shed, and found all the candles he could inside the Ranger's station, plus two AA batteries for the small flashlight. He glanced at the plastic cup beside him on the break room table, where a large drill bit was soaking in Betadine. The battery operated drill had been wiped down as best he could with the same disinfectant. The First Aid kit had been completely emptied, and its contents sorted and then repacked. In the small bathroom, Red had found a plastic shaver, and had removed the razor blades and placed them in the cup of Betadine to soak also. Two rolls of paper towels lay on the table. Another bucket. A bottle of scotch found in the break room drawer. He was ready, if need be. With a glance out the window at the rain, he thought once more of Dembe. Where was he? Had he found anyone? Called for help? At what point would Ressler cross the line and need surgery with no time left? What if he cut into Ressler and help arrived 10 minutes later? Would he have in fact killed Ressler in the process of trying to save him?

He stood up and stretched. It did not pay to think of such things. If the need arose, he would do what he needed to do. He had never second guessed himself in his life, and he certainly wasn't about to start now. He had learned to trust his instincts, and would now. Walking back into the small bedroom, he sat on the chair. Ressler appeared to be asleep, but Red knew better. It was simply that Ressler was unable to stay awake anymore. His brain was prioritizing his bodily functions, and staying awake was no longer high on the list. It was not a sound rest though. Ressler gasped and moaned softly, unable to keep his limbs from jerking a little at times.

Red shone the soft light of the flashlight over the agent, pulling back the blankets to check the dressings. Covered in sweat, Ressler shivered and moaned more as Red's fingers felt along the abdominal wound, until Red let him be and pulled the blanket back over him.

Red checked his watch again. Dembe had been gone over an hour and outside the rain fell heavily again. He had no doubt of Dembe's loyalty or determination, only concern that the storm would hinder his progress. And so he waited. Paced around the break room and reception. Checked Ressler continuously. And waited some more.

###

Thirty minutes later, Red was standing at the small bedroom window watching the storm over the lake when Ressler cried out beside him. At his side instantly, Red felt Ressler's forehead. He was cold, and all but unconscious. "Donald," he said, his hand still on Ressler. The twitching in Ressler's limbs dialed up a notch, and before his eyes, Red watched as Ressler's body went into a full seizure.

"Donald!" he called out, with difficulty, he rolled Ressler to his side and held him there as best he could. Under his hands, Ressler's body rebelled at the pressure in his brain, as the electrical circuits went haywire. "Donald, no!" Red's hands held Ressler as he writhed under him. The seizure was strong and Red battled to keep the agent on the bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed to keep Ressler on it, he held him tightly. "You stay with me," Red hissed, leaning close to Ressler. "Don't you dare!"

It seemed to last forever, yet Red timed it at just under 5 minutes before the muscle contractions slowed and Ressler's body fell completely limp, with fresh blood seeping from his wound. For the first time that night, there was no sound from Ressler. No moans, no panting breath, and his limbs were now still, limp after their exertion. The seizure was over. Red grabbed the flashlight and shone it in Ressler's eyes. He could have cried at the fact that this time, there was zero reaction from Ressler at the light hitting his eyes. Completely unconscious, he lay there as Red checked both eyes. The left was slower to react now, but did shrink. The right pupil was as big and black and unresponsive as it had been before. Ressler's eye was bloodshot around it.

It was time. He couldn't wait any longer if he was to save Ressler. He only prayed now that he hadn't left it too late. Making sure Ressler would stay on his side, he ran to the break room and gathered up his surgical supplies. There was no time to lose. With his own brain sharp and his path crystal clear, there were no more doubts. Only Ressler, and a drill and a life to be saved.