Previously...
Ressler settles in for the (hopefully quick) ride.
When he arrives about fifteen minutes later and steps out, he breathes deeply and looks around, noting the throngs of tourists and locals. Children weave around him, laughing and speaking in a language he doesn't recognize and adults are taking pictures in front of the bell, ringing it and enjoying the monument fully, feeling nothing of the worry and excitement he feels.
I'm here, he thinks. I'm here where she was less than a day ago.
It's the closest he's been in two months.
Myanmar, Hotel Mandalay - 1:45 PM Local Time
Ressler is sitting in a cafe right beside the fanciest hotel within a mile of the Mingun bell. He sips his coffee, and flips open the cell phone he'd bought when he'd landed (he needed to look into getting an international plan for his iPhone, considering how much he's been out of the country in the last few months).
He dials Aram's number swiftly, and holds the flip phone to his ear.
"Agent Mojtabai," a tired voice answers, and Ressler can hear him clicking away on his computer. He knows that it's somewhere near 3 in the morning back in New York, and he feels a little bad for calling. "This'd better be Agent Ressler," Aram follows up his greeting with a big yawn. "It's almost dawn here."
"Sorry, Aram," Ressler apologizes. He folds the newspaper he was using to hide his face and turns away from any prying eyes. "I found a hotel that's promising. It's right up Reddington's alley - fancy, serves wine, and there weren't many questions asked when I tried to book a room without proper documents as to why I was in-country and no questions asked about the large stack of cash I showed. There's a good chance they're here."
"Awesome, dude. Look, I just got word. You may not be the only FBI agent in Myanmar - be on the lookout for help coming your way."
Ressler senses that Aram can't say much more (and if there are other people in the office at 3 AM he knows that whatever's going on is serious. "I'm going to say things; let me know when I'm right."
"Yes," Aram says, and he continue typing on his computer. Ressler can hear muted voices coming closer to Aram, so he isn't too surprised when the younger man starts spouting nonsense. "That's right, I'm searching for flights back now."
"I'm also assuming that the FBI agents coming to help might not be the friendliest," Ressler guesses, and Aram gives a non-committal "Mmm-hmm," so he continues. "You have someone there poking around, asking questions about where I am, and I'm guessing it's Connolly's replacement, that Smithson dick."
Aram laughs outright. "Yeah, the soonest flight is tomorrow."
"They flagged the hit on my passport, and Smithson came sniffing around, wanting to know why I was headed to Myanmar. You told him the most vague story you could, about us getting a lead that Liz and Reddington were in Myanmar. You did not tell him about the bell, did you?" Ressler sure hoped not, that was too specific a location. (Although, the hit on his passport would have registered from the airport only 10 miles from here, so regardless, any men Smithson sent wouldn't have too much ground to cover).
"Of course not, you'll fly first class."
Good, Ressler thought. Suddenly he felt a sense of urgency that he hadn't before when sipping his coffee. "I'm going to keep looking, Aram. Thanks for the heads up."
"10 hours," Aram said, and Ressler's mind began spinning, trying to figure out what that time frame was related to. They'll be here in 10 hours, they left 10 hours ago, you have 10 hours to get the hell out? "The plane will land in the airport in 10 hours," Aram continues, sensing Ressler's frustration and confusion. "But your flight won't be until morning."
Awesome. He had 10 hours to find Liz, decide what the hell to do with her, and get our of Myanmar.
Ressler is about to say something to Aram - to thank him again - when he sees a flash of black fedora walking out of the hotel. He stutters on the words he was going to say, and his mouth falls open as he watches Reddington exit the building with Liz beside him. Her arm is looped through his, and they walk with purpose down the path leading to the street.
"Aram, I have to go. I have eyes on the target."
He hangs up without waiting for Aram to respond, flips his phone closed, and falls into line behind an older couple walking along the side of the street. Liz and Reddington are a mere 15 yards ahead of him, and he wants nothing more than to run, to grab her and ask her why the hell she left, why she left him and made him hunt her down - but he doesn't. Not yet, he tells himself. He knows he'll have a better chance once Liz is alone, apart from Reddington's prying eyes.
Swiping a hat from a nearby tourist trinket stand, he tucks it over his blond hair and casts his eyes down, working hard to blend in as he follows behind them.
Be patient, he cautions himself, and he finds himself smiling as he walks across the street, trying to vary the distance between them so neither of them can catch on.
He finally found her.
Mingun Bell, 11:45 PM
They're leaving Myanmar tonight, and for some reason she can't explain, Liz suddenly feels the need to call Ressler. She feels incredibly homesick, tired of moving from place to place.
We've been compromised, Reddington had said. FBI agents were spotted about ten miles away from here. We'll leave in an hour.
Liz had narrowly escaped the room and knew for sure that she would be given a lecture on safety later, but for right now she didn't care. She was getting ready to relocate for the fourteenth time since she'd left New York and leaving the place she decided she liked so much more than the others, the place she felt comfortable, felt like leaving home all over again.
She swipes to unlock her phone, but her fingers still, shaking almost indiscernibly over the keypad, after touching Ressler's name.
Calling... the screen says, and she swipes angrily at her eyes, realizing as she jabs the 'end call' button that she's afraid to call him, afraid to need him, to need a connection to her past.
"Goddamn it," she growls, angry at herself for being so weak.
11:52 PM Local Time
Ressler is watching her, and his chest tightens as he realizes she's started to cry. His phone flashes, incoming call, but stops just as soon as it starts. As he looks back and forth from his phone to Liz, he realizes that she had tried to call him, which shouldn't surprise him since he's been receiving calls from her for the last month, but watching her conflicted actions and realizing that she's crying as she tries to call him causes him to feel things he hasn't in quite a while.
Things he's a little afraid to feel, considering his mission here today is to arrest her and take her back to New York where he'll hand her over to the very people who tried to kill Reddington, who would certainly not fail if given another chance.
These feelings are beginning to complicate things.
Without thinking about it, he opens his phone and quickly dials the number he'd seen flash across his screen only moments before. After dialing, he looks up, watching her from about ten yards away, watching as her phone rings. He can see the confusion (it's not his normal number he's calling from) and all he can think is please, Liz, pick up your phone.
By some small miracle, she does.
"Hello?" she whispers, and he can tell she's been crying. Even if he couldn't see her face he'd know.
"Liz," he says, and holding himself in this spot hurts. "Hi."
"Hey," she sniffles. "I was just thinking about calling you."
"Oh, really?" he asks, and he wants nothing more than to go to her, but he can't - yet.
"Yeah. We're moving again tonight."
His heart clenches at the news He was just in time. To do what, though? Arrest her? Grab her and run off? (He wishes, but he can't. He can't leave the FBI yet, not when he still needs to be there to help clear her name).
"Tell me about where you are," he says, and she hesitates, but he knows she's thinking about it because what the hell? As long as she's not too specific, it can't hurt, and besides, they're moving tonight anyway.
"It's really nice," she says. Ressler watches her as she talks. She's walking slowly around the bell, running her fingers across it, and why does she like this specific location so much, anyway? he wonders. "Lots of green trees. Nice people. I can't speak the language - I should have paid more attention to foreign languages in high school - but the coffee is great."
"I bet," Ressler says, and he thinks maybe now is the time. He steps out from his hiding place, and whereas it was hard to hold himself still before, now it's hard for him to move. "Tell me about... your favorite place."
He's walking toward her, but he's moving slowly, and very quietly. He's certain she has no idea yet.
"There's a ... a famous monument," she says, being as vague as possible as she taps on the bell with her pointer finger. He notices that she's alone, completely alone, because it's dark and the only people still on the street are walking with purpose, headed home or to a bar, or wherever. "Lots of kids here during the day, playing around it. Not so much right now. I like it because it's a place that gathers all kinds around it. Old people, kids, parents, even busy locals stop by sometime. It's comforting. It reminds me of New York - the diversity of the population that this monument brings is reminiscent of what you'd see in New York, around the Twin Towers, or the Rockefeller building. It calls all types to it, and it's comforting to me."
Ressler is ten feet away now, and he knows when he speaks she'll hear him.
"New York misses you, too, you know," he says quietly, and when she turns around in shock, his voice coming to her from two different directions, he smiles. "Hi, Liz."
He can tell she wants to run. She's been found! But she seems glued to the spot, her eyes wide and her hands trembling. She drops her phone as tears begin to well in her eyes.
He moved forward quickly then, reaching out and grabbing her. She resists at first (is he going to take her with him? Handcuff her? Tie her up?) but then melts into his embrace as his large, warm hands reach up and press her head to his shoulder.
"Ressler," she says, and she's grabbing his shirt in her fists, holding on tightly. And then, when she shock is worn off, she pulls back the slightest bit and looks at him in panic. "Ressler, you can't be here. You... you need to leave! I can't come back to New York, I sh- I shot -"
Ressler cuts her off by pressing his hand over her lips, whispering, "Shhh," as he steps back the slightest bit. "I know. I know what happened, Cooper filled me in. I know he was threatening us all, and while I can't say that I'm okay with you murder... you shooting Connolly, I know you must have had a reason. Liz, you're a good person - you always have a reason. And I know, I know that I can't be here much longer. But I needed to see you."
Liz looks at him in shock. "You're not going to arrest me?"
Ressler sighs, coming to terms with a truth he knew two months ago when he let her escape the Post Office. "Liz, I can't arrest you now any more than I could the first time. I can't - I know what will happen if I do."
They stand in silence for a few seconds more, then Liz is speaking in a rush. "Ressler, I have to go, I can't stay here. But you need to know - back in New York, Reddington called together a bunch of journalists to help him expose the truth of the Cabal. He showed the the Fulcrum, the data on it that proves so many in high up positions are corrupting the government from within. If ... if you want to help me, to clear my name, work with them. They can - they have a little more power, because they're not working from within."
"I will," Ressler promises her. He reaches out, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. She tightens her grip on his arm, then releases it. Her eyes are darting all around; she looks like a deer in the headlights, and Ressler wishes that their few seconds together weren't filled with panic and terror.
"I miss you," he says honestly, and she's caught off guard once again. "We all do, Liz. It's not the same without you. God, I even miss Reddington."
Liz laughs, and focuses on him for a second more. "I miss you, too," she says quietly.
At first, she can't understand why he doesn't respond, why he doesn't say anything else. Why, in fact, the expression on his face goes from happy to shocked and pained in less than a second.
The sounds of the gunshot catches up with her a second too late, and by the time she realizes what has happened, Ressler has crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from a wound on his back.
"RESSLER!
The last thing he sees before he blacks out is Reddington, running toward them and grabbing Liz — bastard better have had a good reason for shooting me, Ressler thinks tiredly, head spinning as he tries to look around. Then, God, that hurts. I hate gunshot wounds, as he lets his head fall to the ground and sweet nothingness overtake him.
Aaaaaand cliffhanger. See if you can guess why Ressler was shot! GO!
Please review, and let me know how the story is developing. :) I have through chapter 8 planned, so chapters should pretty consistent every 2-3 days. (MOTIVATION in the form of reviews helps, though! ;)