So, after waiting all week with absolute nervousness (yes I was nervous!) and baited breath to see Ressler being hunted, I must admit I loved what we got – but was SO frustrated that it wasn't enough! (Maybe I'm just never happy?!) But seriously…he's being hunted, then we get this LONG scene between Red and Peter Fonda, and all about Dembe (I loved hearing Dembe's history, don't get me wrong – but did it have to be right THEN?!) and meanwhile our favourite agent is running for his life and not getting any screen time! So yeah…'just a little' bummed out about that. And then at the end, he 'just appeared' in the ambulance?! Seriously?! How did he get out of his running for his life?! How did he get rescued and taken to the ambo?! What did he and Liz say to each other - and why was the scene shot from SO far away?! So, when I calmed down after seeing him SO sad at the end (when he broke down I literally cried with him...) I thought, well, maybe this is how it all went down…

(And yes, it would appear Diego himself read this chapter, seeing his reply to me on Twitter! And you guessed it - that about made my giddy Diego/Ressler/Keenler heart explode!)

The campfire was making him sweat more, sitting in the wool hat and coat. And sitting with stuffed bodies wasn't helping the situation either. What kind of sick…? He'd never seen anything like it. And coupled with how his gut was currently feeling, it was all he could do to sit still among them, wearing a wool hat and coat that a dead, stuffed guy had just been clothed in. But it was his only chance. He couldn't run right now after his legs cramped up. And so he sat…holding a cup, sitting as still as he could before the…hunter…caught up to him.

Damn it! Keep your hand still! Keep your head down!

There was movement off to his right. Someone approaching – and talking to the stuffed bodies?! Good God.

The cup was moving and he gripped it harder, which only made it shake more. Damn it! Keep still! And as he struggled to keep his breathing in check as sweat rolled down his face, the eyes of the man turned toward him. Ressler wasn't even looking at the tall, bald man but he could feel his eyes burning into him.

Now! He lunged, jumping over the campfire, and hit the man full on in the chest. He'd hit brick walls that were softer. The man fell back from the log at the impact, and rolling on the ground, Ressler's head struck the ground and he grimaced in pain. And then he was being lifted. Bodily lifted, as an adult would lift a child. The strength of the bald man was incredible.

Or I'm just too much of a JUNKIE to resist right now. Chungs' words wouldn't stop shouting in his brain.

Ressler fought, but the bald man's hands were around his throat, holding him up against a tree trunk as he struggled for breath. Panting, trying to move away, he was trapped. If he'd been in a better frame of mind he might actually have found it amusing that all 6 feet, 180lb of him was being lifted this way - held against an unforgiving tree trunk. The guy has to be 7 foot tall!

Knife!

He saw the knife coming up, realizing in horror that he was unarmed. No, not completely! The arrow tip that had killed Chung was now in his hand. He swung it, striking the bald giant in the gut, ripping the arrow through him. Terror met his eyes as he looked into the bald man's face, and then blood was pouring onto his hand. He hit the ground as the giant let go of him. Struggling to regain his feet, he scooted away from the man, who was now clutching his bleeding stomach with both hands.

Clambering unsteadily to his feet now as he ran, his breath heaved in his chest. Run! And in some distant memory he heard "Run, Forrest! Run!"

Run, Donnie! Run!

And he ran. As fast as his unsteady feet could carry him, crashing blindly through the underbrush. Within moments was out of sight of the bleeding giant and his sick taxidermy camp fire. He kept running, until he tripped and fell headlong on a tree root, crying out and gasping for breath.

Rolling onto his back testing his ankle that had caught the tree root, he looked up at the tree tops that rose above him, barely moving in the stillness. The only sound permeating the night was his heavy breathing and he tried desperately to still it. He was also sure someone would hear his heart pounding in his chest. Thankfully his ankle was still mobile, but another cramp tore through his belly then, causing him to retch again as he struggled to roll over. Climbing unsteadily to his knees, he clenched his shaking hands again, ignoring the throbbing in his broken thumb.

He'd give anything for a pain pill right now.

Absolutely anything.

But no pain pills were coming. He'd checked his pockets a dozen times, his thumb screaming each time he did so, and they were most definitely not on him.

You're a junkie. Now move it!

He moved. Lurching to his feet, he took off again, heading away from the camp fire that was still barely visible through the trees behind him. But of the giant, there was no sign. Running for another minute or so, he pulled up short, grabbing a tree trunk as the ground dropped off sharply in front of him.

Damn it. The ground dropped away at his feet. He'd have really done a number on himself if he'd fallen down that sharp incline.

Turning, he followed the ridge now, still heading away from the campfire. He had no clue what direction he was heading, having long since lost his bearing. I think it's south…we'll say it's south.

The road with the gas station had been off to the east when he'd approached the Ranch. He stopped, looking around for anything that could tell him what direction he was heading in. And then he looked up, seeing only trees. Moving to a small clearing he looked up again. Teen astronomy 101 kicked in. It had been a while, but he recognized the major constellations. Okay, there's the North Star… Yeah… I think... okay, then this way is East… He moved off, slower now, still looking behind him. There was no sign of pursuit.

He looked up at the sky again, seeing something that made his breath catch in his throat. Sinking to his knees, looking up at the sky, he stared in wonder at the Aurora Borealis. The Northern Lights danced slowly above him, green sheets of light shimmering in the sky.

"Audrey…" he whispered, thinking of her as he watched the green and purple curtains rippling across the sky.

And suddenly, tears flowed down his cheeks at the pure beauty of it. In the midst of running for his life, his body screaming, sweating and cramping with no pills, he was struck down by the sheer majesty of the lights in the sky above him.

And for a moment, he almost didn't care if this was the last thing he ever saw.

###

A sound came from behind him and to his right, bringing him to his senses. Looking sharply in that direction he then quickly charged for cover behind a tree, the spell of the lights above him broken now. Keeping a lookout as he leaned on the tree trunk, his stomach suddenly heaved again and he leaned over, dry retching.

Keep quiet! Absolutely sure an arrow from a cross bow would shoot out from the dark at any second, he couldn't stay there and turned and ran again. Heading along the ridge, he hoped like hell he could reach the road that he'd come in on.

The northern lights above him lit his way now. But he soon realized they also lit the way for his pursuer. And it was while he was making his way over a large rocky outcrop, keeping in the same general eastward direction, that he realized his pursuer must have overtaken him. A flashlight shone in the trees off to his right, and he had nowhere to go. He was on the rocks, with the drop off to his left, and commotion in the trees in the direction he was heading for.

Dammit! Move!

He ran as fast as he could and almost fell over the rocks in his effort to get ahead of his pursuer now. He had no choice if he was to overtake the man and reach the road. Hurtling through the trees now, his breath was heaving, keeping an eye on the light off to his right. He was well aware of the noise he was making. A flashlight was moving through the trees to his right, getting closer.

He was running so hard, with his eyes averted to the right that he didn't see the man in front of him until he slammed right into him.

God! No!

He rolled on the ground, his thumb screaming in agony having taken most of the brunt of the hit. Get up! Get up! Get up!

"HRT! Freeze!" The man yelled out.

Ressler saw the assault rifle pointed right at him, and was picking himself up off the ground to hurtle away when the words registered in his fried brain.

HRT?! He made out the green uniform of the Hostage Rescue Team then, and gasped.

"Wait! …Donald Ressler! …FBI!" he yelled at the man breathlessly and staggered to his feet, leaning over as another cramp shot through his belly.

The man withdrew his rifle immediately and instead reached out one arm to Ressler to steady him. With his other hand he picked up his radio.

"Subject secured! I have located the Federal Agent! All units converge on my location."

As his stomach settled, Ressler stood now with his chest heaving looking at the HRT guy. "Am I … glad to see you. There's a man out… out there with a cross bow, hunting me…"

"We located him and two others sir, at their home. All suspects are now deceased."

"What…?" Then…no one has been pursuing me for a while…?

Other men were making their way through the trees now, surrounding him. Ressler suddenly felt very exposed. Sweating and unsteady in the midst of them, he felt like the entire world could see… I am a junkie… Chung's words wouldn't shut up in his head. He'd denied it. But Chung had been right.

Someone threw a light blue blanket over his shoulders and he gripped it, mainly for something to shield himself with than for warmth.

"If you are able to, you can come this way sir." The HRT guy told him and Ressler nodded as they left the area. He noticed the men kept their weapons at the ready on the perimeter. But right now, he was too exhausted to care and just needed to get to wherever the men were leading him.

And sit down and have some pain pills.

As it turned out, he had been very close to the ranch house. In just a few minutes they approached the scene and he saw it swarming with FBI and HRT. For a second he stopped. It was Stanley Kornish all over again. The Stewmaker and his cabin in the woods, swarming with law enforcement. He found his feet again and continued walking unsteadily toward the scene.

Led to an ambulance, he almost fell down on the back tailgate rather than sitting. His legs were fast abandoning him, feeling like spaghetti and his body hurt everywhere. He was glad for the semi darkness, not wanting to be seen by too many people right now. The medic appeared beside him, asking him something.

"What…?" with an effort he focused on the guy, listening.

"Are you hurt sir?" the medic was asking him, reaching for his stethoscope and listening to Ressler's chest.

Silently, Ressler motioned to his right ear that had been tagged. Like a deer. A deer that had been hunted to be slaughtered. He'd have ended up like one of those poor stuffed guys sitting around that sick taxidermy campfire. He leaned forward at that thought, his stomach clenching.

"Are you nauseous?" the medic was asking him, now checking the tag on his ear.

You could say that. Junkie withdrawal's a bitch.

"I'm fine…" he panted, just wishing the guy would hurry up.

"I can give you something for your stomach, if you wish." He told the agent, but at that moment Ressler just wanted to walk away. Just walk away and stand in the trees by himself. Because he was trying very hard not to lose it.

He didn't answer the medic. Just shook his head a little.

"Okay sir, keep still and I'll get this tag off your ear…" said the medic, now pouring liberal amounts of alcohol over his ear to sterilize it.

"Damn!" Ressler spun at that.

"Sorry sir. I'll have it out in a jiffy…" Ressler felt pressure, heard a snip right at his ear and then the tag was sitting in the medic's hands. "And there we go sir, all done."

Ressler reached up and took the yellow tag from the medic's hand, both fascinated and horrified by it. He licked his lips and dropped the tag to the ground as the medic placed some sterile tape over his ear, stopping the bleeding.

"Let me take a look at your thumb here, sir." He said, reaching for his left hand.

But Ressler pulled it from his grasp. "Old injury… It's fine." He panted. Please just...just go away and don't look too closely at me...

"Are you okay sir…?" Now the medic WAS looking closer, his eyes narrowing as he took in the agent's sweaty, pale appearance.

Don't. Just don't.

"I'm fine. Please, just…let me be." Ressler almost begged the guy. And when he did pack up his stethoscope and did let him be, he wasn't sure if the medic had listened to him, or realized exactly what was wrong and had backed off.

Either way, he didn't care.

Right now, all he wanted to do was find the nearest hole and crawl into it – after he'd had some pain pills. Yet for some reason that he couldn't explain, even to himself, he had been unable to ask the medic for some pain pills. Just couldn't bring himself to do it. It was something he needed to do in private, to stand at the mirror and berate himself while doing it...and that was a hard habit to break. Pulling his blanket more around his shoulders now, he sat there, almost oblivious to the activity around him. What had happened to him today would come to light. He wouldn't be able to hide this…drug addiction…anymore.

He sat there staring blindly at the activity around him, his body aching from head to foot as his thumb throbbed (whose fault is that?). He finally became aware of someone approaching him, and in a daze he looked up.

And froze.

He hadn't even realized she was here.

"Liz? What are you doing here?" He leaned up and away from her, instinctively trying to back up and hide himself from her view.

Oh my God! He didn't want her to see him. Not like this!

But she had seen. She moved in closer to him as his eyes dropped to her hands - that he now realized were holding onto something carefully, half hidden as she showed only him.

She was holding his pills.

And all he could do was stare at the bottle, then up into her eyes. But then he couldn't help himself and dropped his gaze and reached hungrily for them, taking them from her hand.

The junkie needs his drugs. Oh, God...

He gripped them in his right hand, hiding them from view. And he looked at her again and met her eyes. And realized he'd let down the one person that he had never wanted to.

And damn it, she's looking at me KINDLY.

That was harder than if she'd been angry.

He dropped his gaze and closed his eyes, and now she was sitting beside him. Close by him when all he'd done was let her down.

She knew what he was. A junkie.

Her arm was on his shoulder now. Soft and warm and safe.

No. I don't… deserve it…I don't…

What was left of his carefully built wall around himself came tumbling down as her arm held him. Dropping his head into his hand he couldn't stop the tears now as she leaned into him more. Not saying a word, just being with him.

Liz…I don't… Tears fell as he slipped his hand to the back of his neck now, dropping his head further as she sat with him.

And while she sat beside him supporting him as he cried, he held out his hand to her and gave her the pill bottle. He couldn't hold it anymore. Couldn't think about them anymore. Needed to stop taking them right now. She took it, slipping them into her pocket and leaned closer to him now with one arm on his shoulder and the other now holding his empty hand.

And his earlier thought came flooding back. It was the Stewmaker all over again. Only this time he was the one collapsing while she held him up.

"It's going to be okay, Ress… it will be okay…" she whispered gently to him.

And as his tears fell, he wished he could believe her. Because right now, the bottom had just fallen out of his world.

All over again.