Candles shone in the small room, and Red had the small flashlight ready. That would be his main source of light. Ressler lay motionless on the bed, on his back again after Red had gently rolled him. With some effort, he'd moved the bed and its patient away from the wall to give himself better access. Above him the rain hammered on the roof and poured down the window panes. Lightning flashed. He was alone, but knew what he needed to do. With latex gloves he'd found in a small broom closet firmly on his hands, sleeves rolled up, he took one last look around. He needed everything close by. There would be no time to run and look for something once he began. He'd never done this before himself, but had seen it done many moons ago in a small village in Germany. The fact the man had died back then was of little consequence. Ressler was going to die very soon if he did nothing. Of that, there was no doubt.

He leaned over Ressler and gently turned the agent's head more to the side, exposing his right ear and the lump above it. While the bump itself was not the problem, it indicated where the clot was building underneath it. Deftly, he picked up the small razor, now with its sterilized blade back in place and shaved a small area, about 2 inches square on Ressler's skull. The cropped ginger blond hair fell away and Red brushed it aside, where it drifted to the floor.

"It will grow back, Donald," he said softly, now sterilizing the clear patch of skin with the Betadine. The skin gleamed in the flashlight's beam, ready for his incision. A second blade from the razor had been carefully wrapped with duct tape at one end, giving him a small handle so that he wouldn't cut his fingers. This blade would double as his scalpel. Fully concentrated on the tiny shaved patch of skin, it filled his vision. Nothing else mattered. The sound of the storm faded, and Red bent closer. The blade touched the skin and then sliced it in one smooth motion. Blood flowed freely from the incision, and Red wiped it away with sterile gauze. He made a second cut, forming a large cross. There was no movement from Ressler. Sparing a couple of seconds to look up from his work, Red watched the steady rise and fall of Ressler's chest. He nodded, satisfied, holding gauze to the twin incisions as he reached for the drill. He'd been in luck and found a battery operated one. A power drill would have sealed Ressler's fate.

It was time. Red turned Ressler's head more now, so that he'd be aiming downward. He pulled the trigger once, testing the speed, then lowered the drill bit to Ressler's skull. Still seeping blood from the two incisions, Red focused on the creamy white bone beneath. The skull that he needed to penetrate.

"Here we go, Donald," he said, and felt the sudden urge to stroke Ressler's hair in comfort. He aimed the drill under the flaps of skin, settling the drill bit on the bone, and squeezed the trigger a little. Excess blood from the incisions spun away, but he barely made a mark in the bone. He pulled the trigger again, held it longer this time until a tiny hole appeared. It wasn't nearly deep enough. One quarter inch was what he needed. He placed the drill again, and fired the trigger. Ressler's head moved away with the pressure of the drill, and Red held it in place. But that left his right hand holding the heavy drill, and he needed more control. Sweating with exertion, he looked for a brace. Short of putting Ressler's head in the corner on the floor, he had nothing, and there was no way he was dropping Ressler to the floor in this state. Persevering, he drilled again, noting with satisfaction that the hole was now about one sixteenth of an inch. He had begun. He was aiming the drill again when a sound startled him, causing him to pull the whirring drill away just in time.

"Raymond!"

Red's heart leapt. "Dembe! In here, hurry!"

Dembe entered the room, sopping wet, feet muddy, and stood staring at what Reddington was doing. "Oh, Allah," he murmured, and dropped to his knees.

"Dembe, wash your hands in that alcohol and hold his head for me. Please."

Complying, Dembe rose, washed his hands with Scotch from the bottle, and knelt at Ressler's bedside. Gently, he cradled the agent's head, as if afraid he would break it. "Help is coming," he told Red, focused on Ressler.

"Thank God. I will ask you to tell me what happened out there, but for now, please hold Donald's head still for me."

Dembe nodded, and began to pray in earnest. As the chanting continued, it calmed Red, and he once again turned his attention to Ressler's skull. The drill whirred again over the sound of thunder, and Red concentrated. A tiny bit at a time. Drilling, then pulling back. He stopped to sterilize and clean the drill bit again.

"Raymond!"

Red's eyes shot up at Dembe's warning. Ressler's limbs were twitching. "No, Donald. Not again," he urged, leaning on Ressler and holding his legs and torso as much as he could, Red felt the muscles quivering under him before Ressler's entire body went into another seizure. "Hold his head, Dembe!" Under their hands Ressler's body jerked and shook, the pressure on his brain too much. "Don't, Donald, don't," Red begged as they kept his body from moving on the bed too much. Dembe was still praying, his head close to Ressler's. His abdominal wound was bleeding again at the pressure they were exerting on his body to hold him still on the small bed. "Come on, Donald... get done..." Red pleaded, glancing at his watch. And suddenly, as quickly as it had started, the seizure was done. Ressler's body fell limp again, and with a look to each other, Red eased up off Ressler's limbs while Dembe still cradled his head.

"Is he alright, Raymond?"

Red was already feeling for Ressler's pulse in his neck. It was weak, and barely there. "He's alive, Dembe. But we need to continue and get this pressure off his brain, or he won't be for much longer."

The drill back in his hands, Red repeated the process over, drilling a tiny bit and pulling back, until he felt the drill bit give the tiniest bit. He was almost through. Setting the drill aside he washed out the wound once more with Betadine, then inspected the hole. It was one quarter inch deep, and he'd almost made it to the membrane surrounding Ressler's brain. "Keep praying, Dembe," he asked, then after cleaning the drill bit again, he centered it back in the hole.

And this time, he felt it break through. Pulling the drill back immediately, he was rewarded with blood flowing over his gloved fingers, down Ressler's neck and pooling on the bed. Dembe increased the volume of his prayers, holding Ressler's head in his dark hands as Red let the wound bleed freely. As it slowed, they turned Ressler's head so that the hole was facing down, letting more blood escape. "Come on, Donald," Red whispered, "let it out."

As it finished draining, Red placed a thick wad of Betadine soaked gauze on the wound, repositioning the skin flaps in place under it. He didn't have anything to sew it back up with, but needed it kept sterile. With Dembe lifting Ressler's head a little, Red wound a long bandage around it, holding the gauze in place over the hole. He breathed a sigh of relief when done and Dembe reached over and held Red's hand.

"You did it, my friend."

"We both did it." Red looked up at Dembe. "Now, tell me."

While Dembe spoke, Red rinsed the blood off Ressler's neck and shoulder as best he could. His gaze paused on the healed bullet hole that he'd put into the agent years ago on a Vienna rooftop. A lifetime ago when Ressler had been hunting him. "Circumstances change," he whispered, ignoring Dembe's quizzical look.

Dembe continued, realizing Reddington had been talking to Ressler. "So, then I found a house up on the main road, perhaps 2 miles from here," Dembe continued. "There was a candle burning inside, and after I banged on the door, an elderly gentleman answered. I asked if I could use his phone, but he told me he did not have a phone."

Red looked up at that, and sighed.

"But he told me that his son lived further back on the same property, and he had a phone. So he gave me his name and told me to go to his son's house, which I did, and there I managed to call Director Cooper. He then hung up to make some calls, and then called the number back to let me know what he'd arranged."

Red held his breath.

"The helicopter cannot take off in this weather. The lightning is too dangerous to fly in."

"Damn," Red said, placing his hand on Ressler's chest, feeling the comforting rise and fall. He'd known that was the likely scenario, but still, it was a blow to hear it.

"But" Dembe said, allowing himself a small smile. "Director Cooper called his SWAT commander."

Red also smiled at that. "Good for you, Harold."

"They are going to bring a surgeon and a nurse here as soon as they can contact one and get him in their armored Humvee."

"And perhaps by then this damn storm will have passed and we can get airborne," Red added, looking up at the flashes of lightning in the window. "But it's okay. The cavalry are coming."

He leaned down to Ressler. "You hear that, Donald? Your boys in blue are coming," he said softly, then added, "Or green, actually. SWAT wear green."

###

Dembe cleaned up the small room, mopping the blood off the floor and placing the medical supplies in an orderly fashion on the chest of drawers. Red checked Ressler, reaching for the flashlight to check Ressler's eyes. The left eye moved quickly as the beam of light hit it. But it was when the right eye responded a little at the beam of light, Red let go of the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Good job, Donald". The pressure had eased inside with the blood pool gone, but Ressler still wasn't out of the woods.

"How did you get back here?" Red asked Dembe.

"The younger man offered his car, but with the roads so flooded and muddy, I was not positive it would make it through. So I ran back."

"You're a good man, Dembe."

Dembe looked at Ressler lying motionless on the bed. "He's is very pale, Raymond."

Red nodded, taking in the sight of the bandage around the blood stained hair on the unconscious agent. "He lost a lot of blood today, even before we were aware of the head injury." He paused, remembering something. "He knew though." Dembe looked up. "Donald told me something was wrong long before this became evident." Red stepped away from the bed and looked out the window again, willing the vehicles to appear. "Damn..."

"You also knew. Or you would not have kept going to get him here."

Red sighed, and came to stand at the bed again, almost willing Ressler to wake up. Or at least move. Something to show he was still in there.

Dembe kept his eyes on Red. "It has been almost two hours since I spoke with Director Cooper. It should not be long now."

"Even if they get here, we still can't get Donald out of here until a helicopter can land. We can't move him, not to an armored vehicle on a bumpy road."

"You saved his life. I believe it will not have been in vain."

"Thank you, Dembe."

Red returned to the window, looking out into the rain again.

###

Not quite 30 minutes later, vehicle headlights shone into the window of the small bedroom. "Finally!" Reddington said, then walked to the front door and opened it, stepping out onto the porch. Two large armored vehicles, red and blue lights flashing, were pulling up into the parking lot. "It's like the invasion of Normandy," he told Dembe who stood behind him.

The glare of headlights illuminated silhouettes of people running toward them through the rain. One of them was Cooper. Men with assault rifles fanned out, guarding the building. Definitely like Normandy, Red thought, and stepped aside as Cooper entered the Ranger station.

"What the hell happened here tonight?" Cooper asked the second he set eyes on Reddington.

"Where is the doctor, Harold?" Red asked, ignoring Cooper for the moment.

"Here," a tall, silver haired man said, hefting his medical kit with him. He was followed in by a nurse. "Dr. Mark Hughes, Neurosurgeon," the doctor said, recognizing that Red was the person he needed to speak with.

"Through here, Dr. Hughes," Red told him, leading the way.

At the sight of Ressler on the bed, and the blood stains still on the pillow and bedspread the doctor turned to Red. "What happened here?"

And this time, Red did answer the question. "I needed to drill a burr hole into his skull to release the hematoma."

"My God," Cooper gasped behind them.

"And you literally used a drill," the surgeon said, horrified, looking at the equipment on the set of drawers. He leaned down to Ressler to check him, shining his pen light in Ressler's eyes. "He's in bad shape."

"Better than he was," Red clarified.

"We have movement in both pupils, though," Hughes added, then set about removing the bandage from Ressler's head while the nurse checked vitals. As the doctor checked the wound and drill hole, he stared at it shaking his head. "A drill. A common or garden Black and Decker drill."

Cooper fumed in the hallway, listening to the doctor.

"We can't move him until we get that helicopter here, but I can get some blood into him and stabilize him," the doctor said, and called for his nurse. As activity increased around Ressler in the small room, Cooper motioned Red outside to the reception area.

"You drilled a hole in my agent's head?"

"Yes."

"What in God's name possessed you to do that?"

"He would have died, Harold. I did what needed to be done."

With a heavy exhale of breath, Cooper paced around the room, as if unable to look at Reddington. "Yes, you did. You always do, don't you?" He shook his head and looked over at Red in the dim light. "As soon as this weather lets up, we can get Ressler to a hospital. But in the meantime, you need to leave. You shouldn't be here."

"I'm not leaving until I know he's taken care of," Red said, motioning back to where Ressler lay.

"He wouldn't need taking care of if you hadn't gone off the reservation and then drilled a hole in his head!" Cooper exploded. "What were you two doing all the way out here today? And why are there two dead men outside?"

"Harold, I don't have time for this. Suffice to say things did not go to plan and we ended up here."

Red turned, and Cooper called after him. Red didn't reply. As he entered the sleeping area, the doctor had bandaged Ressler's head again and had moved onto the large abdominal wound.

"How did he do this?" he asked, looking up at Red's entrance. "What a mess..."

"He fell down a steep embankment after saving my life, and was gouged by a tree limb on the way down. He also has a couple of cracked ribs."

"All that too?" Cooper asked from behind them. "My God, what hasn't happened to my agent today?"

Red turned to Cooper. "He hasn't died, Harold. I'd say that all things considered, that's rather a good outcome."

###

Red was sitting outside on the porch an hour later, getting some air. The storm was clearing and now it was mainly rain. Dembe came out and touched his shoulder. "You should come back in." He followed Dembe inside and found Cooper in the small sleeping area with the doctor.

"We just heard from the hospital. The medivac just lifted off and is en route. Should be here in about 20 minutes," Cooper told him.

Red nodded, looking at the unconscious Ressler on the bed. "That is good news."

Red turned to leave, when Dr. Hughes looked up at him, taking his latex gloves off. "I don't know who you are or how you managed this, but I have no doubt in my mind that this man is alive tonight because of your actions." The doctor moved forward and shook Red's hand. "Well done, sir."

"Thank you, doctor. Is he going to be okay?"

"I'll know more once we can get out of here and I get him in the OR, but I'm very optimistic. He's in good health and appears strong. Assuming he remains stable, he should do well," the doctor told Red, then nodded and returned to Ressler.

Red stood there a moment and with a look to Dembe, knew it was time to be gone. He turned to Cooper. "Harold, if one of your drivers could take us further back up into the mine, to the ridge to retrieve my vehicle we can be on our way." He kept his tone businesslike.

Cooper walked slowly in front of them to stand with them out on the porch again. "I'll have one of them do that," he said, and sent one of the guards out to find the driver. Cooper hesitated, then gave a rueful smile. "I owe you an apology. I was out of line earlier."

"Yes. But I don't need your apology. The fact that Donald is going to be okay is all that is important. Just a ride to where Dembe left the car will suffice." Red walked away, jacket and hat in hand, and Cooper watched him and Dembe walk toward the Humvee.

Reddington climbed in the back of the armored vehicle and Dembe hopped in the front. As they drove out of the park and toward the access road to the mine, the driver stole a glance in the rear view mirror. "Forgive me for asking, but is it true? You drilled a hole in Agent Ressler's head?" the driver asked.

"I did, yes."

"Agent Ressler is a good agent, and from what I heard, you saved his life," the driver told him. "Thank you for that."

Red nodded to the driver, who then turned his attention back to the road. Dembe gave him directions to the car that he had arrived in, and a few minutes later they pulled up to it. They would send a couple of men back up to retrieve the car Red and Ressler had arrived in, and take Ethan's body back to his family.

And it was as the Humvee was departing, having dropped Red and Dembe off at the top of the ridge that they both saw the helicopter approaching, flying low over the lake toward the Ranger Station. Red stood in the light rain and watched as it disappeared from view and landed in the parking lot.

"Godspeed, Donald," he whispered, then turned and got in the back of the car.

###

Three days later, Ressler was sitting up in his hospital bed, his untouched lunch in front of him. While his head still ached and felt tender following his surgery, the pressure had eased. His abdominal wound had been cleaned out and sewn back up, and a thick dressing surrounded his middle. He was on the mend. After a steady stream of visits from Liz, Aram and Samar, and Cooper that morning, he was alone for now. He'd barely had time to himself. And he apparently wasn't going to get any time now. A shadow crossed the doorway of his room, and for a split second he recalled Audrey entering his hospital room years ago. But it wasn't Audrey, and in stepped Reddington. Dropping his fedora to the table, Red stood there silently.

Ressler met his eyes, grateful and a little awkward. "You didn't let me die."

"I didn't." Red smiled, then settled into the visitor's chair near the bed. "My apologies. I see I've interrupted your lunch."

Ressler waved it off. "It tastes like cardboard. I'm good."

Red observed him, noting immediately that Ressler's eyes were back to normal. "You look so much better. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Ressler said. "Truth is, I don't remember everything that happened."

"What do you remember?" Red asked.

"Ethan. You killed him," Ressler said, but there was no malice behind his words now. He looked up at Red. "Did you find his son?"

Reddington smiled. "I did. Christopher is safe, and Ethan's legacy and the information he handed over has been given to the right people."

"Good," Ressler said. "I also remember falling and you dragging me against my will through the woods."

Red chuckled at that.

"The Ranger station. That tiny bed. You saying you admired me before you poured alcohol into my open wound," Ressler added, and at Red's worried look, Ressler smiled. "I don't remember too much after that." He looked out the window for a moment, not sure if he should ask. He'd wracked his brain and just couldn't fit all the pieces of the puzzle together. "Did I shoot someone at the Ranger station?"

"Yes, you did," Red told him, and now it was his turn to give the reassuring smile. "You saved Dembe's life. How the hell you got out of bed and did that, I don't know, but I am grateful to you."

"Then I guess we're even," Ressler said, and leaned his head back on the pillow more.

Red pulled the chair a little closer, noting how tired Ressler looked. "Is there anything else you can't remember that you'd like me to fill in the details on? I know it can be disconcerting having chunks of memory lost."

Ressler thought about that for a moment, then slowly shook his head, a slow smile forming. "I was going to ask you. I thought I wanted to know. But now I think it's best I don't remember too much about you drilling a hole in my head."

Red leaned over and patted Ressler's arm. "Fair enough," he replied. "Oh, I brought you something," he said, reaching into his coat pocket. He retrieved Ressler's small flashlight and handed it to him.

Ressler looked at the small flashlight, and instantly a memory shot through his mind. Of Red shining this into his eyes. Of searing pain.

"What's wrong?" Red asked.

What was wrong was that Ressler's head that had been fairly satisfied to be lazy was suddenly waking up. Things came into focus as if he was rewinding a movie. Going to meet Ethan with Red. Of it all going to hell in a hand basket. Ethan. What Red had done. How he'd felt about that. Prescott. What he himself had done over the past year or more. Getting drunk on Reddington's whisky. Thoughts tumbled over themselves in Ressler's mind.

"You're remembering," Red said, and it wasn't a question.

Ressler nodded. "I was angry at you, over Prescott," he said, still looking at the flashlight.

"It's okay," Red said softly.

Ressler continued, barely hearing Red. "But I was angrier at myself. I should have gone to jail for what I did. I deserved to." He rolled the small flashlight around in his fingers. Red watched him silently. "When you shone this into my eyes, I was sure I was going to die. That it was my...punishment." He looked away. "A life sentence." He couldn't find the words to say what he meant.

"You didn't deserve a punishment like that for what you'd done, Donald," Red told him.

"Didn't I?" Ressler asked quietly. "I'm not so sure."

"You've made mistakes, but you cannot let that define you going forward. Learn from it. Rise above it and ensure you are not put in that position again. You will become a better man, not in spite of Prescott, but because of him."

Ressler didn't reply to that. It would be a long time before he could think of himself as a good man again.

"And that's the man whose life I saved. The man of honor. The good man that you still are. And no one deserves a second chance more than you do. I was able to give you that, and for that I will forever be grateful."

Ressler nodded, and felt tears stinging his eyes. Red wasn't only referring to his impromptu surgery. "Because you're my sin eater too," he said softly.

"Yes."

Ressler wanted to ask who took Red's sins away. But he couldn't. He just looked down, and blinked the tears away.

Red patted his arm. "When the good doctor Hughes is happy with your progress and you get out of here, come see me. We'll talk, Donald."

Ressler nodded, and looked up at Red.

"And I replaced the bottle of whisky you... borrowed," Red said with a smile, and at that Ressler felt lighter. "You have good taste. But I certainly hope you didn't drink the whole thing that night."

He'd made a good attempt, that was for sure. "No," Ressler said. "I may never drink again," he added, smiling ruefully.

"Oh, where's the fun in that?" Red said and laughed. He patted Ressler on the arm, then picked up his fedora. "Get some rest, my friend." And with that, Reddington left.

Ressler sat in the bed alone, listening to Red's footsteps fading as he walked away. He leaned over and placed his flashlight on the table by the bed, then noticed a small plastic bag where Red's fedora had been. Curious, he picked it up. Inside were 4 waterproof matches. A small note in the envelope read, "Every good Boy Scout should have these (in case you ever need to cauterize someone's leg.) -Red"

Ressler leaned back on the pillow and smiled. He was tired. He closed his eyes, and still holding his matches, he drifted off to sleep.

THE END