And oh yeah: Don. Man, watching him run the room tonight. Quarterbacking the manhunt. Stoic, focused on the mission. He has most of the team fooled: but Samar and I can tell. he's being turned through the ringer. I don't know how long he can keep going on like this. And, what's worse, I don't know the alternative. Because searching for Liz, searching for the answer, staying the course - that might be all he has left.-Amir Arison (Aram's Notes, NBC . com)
12:32 AM (Myanmar, on Reddington's private plane)
"What the hell was that?!" Liz shouts, moving to Reddington (to punch him, slap him, beat him bloody? she's not sure). He grabs onto her wrists before she can get too close, understanding her intentions clearly.
"Calm down, Lizzie."
"I will not calm down! Holy shit, you shot Ressler!"
These words have been running through her mind on repeat for the past thirty minutes, but she hasn't had a chance to spit them out before now - running to board a private jet to escape the FBI (yet again) leaves little time for conversation.
"Yes, I did," Reddington agrees, and it's something about his perfectly calm demeanor that finally makes her take a deep breath in. "I did it to save him."
Liz pulls her arms from Reddington's grasp, shifting away from him. She glares at him, because her heart is still racing and she's still pissed that he shot her partner. But she also recognizes on some level that, if Red isn't upset or worried, logically she shouldn't be either (because she knows that Reddington developed some kind of attachment to Ressler throughout the whole Audrey debacle). However, logic is not in control and she still wants very much to punch him.
"What?" she asks breathlessly (confused), holding her left fist into her palm.
"I shot Ressler to save him. The FBI was on your trial, they'd been closing in on your position for several minutes. They may have already seen too much," he warns, and she swallows thickly (because if they know that Ressler wasn't going to arrest her, he'll probably be removed from his position and possibly be blackmailed to keep him quiet). "Very touching, that scene was, but very stupid. Lizzie, what the hell were you thinking?"
She doesn't respond, because she wasn't really thinking. Or, she was thinking that she knew calling and seeing him was dangerous, wrong, but she didn't want to stop.
"Oh, well. At least if he gets publicly outed for his little addiction, we can pull him to our side. He'd be less help here than in New York, but at least he wouldn't be useless."
Liz wants to punch him all over again, because Ressler is not useless.
She's also still a little worried for his safety.
"He'll be OK?" she asks quietly, and Reddington lays a hand on her arm (she doesn't shrug him off this time) and smiles softly.
"I made sure to shoot just close enough to major arteries and vital organs that it will look like I was going for a kill shot, but yes, he should be just fine. Lots of blood loss - and only 2% of the world has Dear Donald's blood type, it's practically like he's robbing a bank! - but he'll recover, as long as his doctors are competent."
"Strangely, that's not very reassuring," Liz deadpans, but despite her words she feels herself calming down. The FBI has great doctors, she tells herself. Ressler is strong, he'll be fine.
He has to be.
10:00 AM (New York Time)
"Sleeping beauty awakens!"
Ressler remembers Audrey comparing him waking up to a bear waking from hibernation early, and waking from a drug induced sleep after coming out of major surgery seems to be no exception. He's cranky and confused and everything hurts.
" 'the hell?" he questions groggily, and tries very hard to focus his vision as he remembers oh, yeah, Reddington shot him. His surroundings are blurry and his throat is on fire. "Water," he croaks, and the blurry shape he's fairly certain is Aram leans over and suddenly cool glass is pressed to his lips and he takes small sips of the glorious water offered.
"They pulled out the intubation tube last time you woke up," Aram says, confirming Ressler's suspicions. He's had more than one of those tubes down his throat, and it never got more pleasant. When Ressler makes a vaguely confused noise, Aram continues. "You were only up for like three minutes and you were pretty out of it. I'm not surprised you don't remember."
"How long?" Ressler manages, and he sounds like a 95-year-old smoker. He coughs to try and clear his voice, but that hurts like a bitch so he doesn't do it again.
Aram understands anyway. "It's been a few days," he says. "You were at a hospital in Myanmar for two days, while they operated and removed the bullet. They kept you until you were stable and shipped you back here. Samar and I have been taking shifts for about 36 hours."
"Samar?" Ressler questions, raising his eyebrow. Because Aram has never called Agent Navabi by her fist name (in his presence). Aram blushes beautifully and it makes the pain caused by laughing worth it.
"I-I mean, Agent Navabi, of course," he backpedals, and then winces with Ressler when a particularly loud chuckle makes the man moan in pain. Ressler doesn't make a move to speak again (pain) so Aram fills the silence. "You saw her, didn't you?"
His voice is quiet, as if he thinks they may be being watched, or listened to (and for once in Ressler's life, it's probably the correct amount of paranoia). He nods minutely and closes his eyes. Aram whistles quietly, and grins as Ressler turns to look at him again.
"We knew - Agent Navabi and I - you know," he says quietly. "That you let her go. I mean, it was obvious to those who know you and Liz. The cameras were out for just long enough, and Liz, she's good - but you're a faster runner. I know you caught her."
Ressler grunts, because grunting doesn't hurt as much and also Aram is a know-it-all.
"We're on your side, you know."
The room is silent for a few minutes.
"We know how hard it is for you, being in charge, leading the manhunt."
Ressler closes his eyes again, because he doesn't want to be having this (one-sided) conversation but the pain to tell Aram to shut the hell up is worse than laying and listening. So he pretends he's not listening, but really he's feeling something strange in his chest, listening to Aram talk, knowing that the younger man had guessed at his struggle and had been supporting him this entire time.
"And I know that if you weren't in pain, you'd be slapping me upside the head and telling me to shut up, but because you're an invalid, I can finally say all of this."
Ressler wants to chuckle, but pain and also he doesn't want to give Aram the satisfaction.
"Most people think I'm just the computer guy - and I do know my way around a computer, and it's sexy as hell - but I notice things, too. I spend a lot of time listening and working on my laptop and no one knows I'm listening. But I'm guessing that, right now, finding Liz - finding answers - it's the only think keeping you going."
And damn it, grown men do NOT cry in front of each other, so Ressler bites the inside of his cheek. He's drugged, in pain, and missing his partner, damn it. His partner who was driven by the system to kill an (admittedly evil) man and run away. It was his fucking job to hunt her down, and Aram should have been a profiler because damn he hit that one on the head.
"Just know we're on your side, no matter what," Aram finishes, and then he reaches out to squeeze Ressler's (uninjured) shoulder. He pats his shoulder awkwardly a few times and stands up. "Gonna get coffee," he says, but Ressler knows he's just being observant again because it takes just about the same amount of time for Aram to exit the room as it does for Ressler to lose control of his tears.
He rolls his head back and tries to get comfortable as he resolutely ignores the wetness on his cheeks.
He falls asleep before Aram comes back.
Limerick, Ireland
Though Liz has always wanted to visit Ireland, she finds she cares less about the scenery as they drive through the small, sleepy town as she does glaring at Reddington.
"I need to know he's fine."
"My people have taken care of it - he came out of surgery two days ago and they report he's woken up a few times since then - like I've told you."
Liz shakes her head. She's been having this fight with Reddington for a few days now, and even though Reddington assures her that Dembe had personally seen Ressler cussing the nurses out as they tried to make him walk around, she knows her heart won't stop beating painfully in her chest until she talks to him herself.
"No more calling," Reddington says firmly, and Liz feels like she's twelve.
"Oh, my God," she exclaims, throwing her hands into the air and turning to look out of the window. She knows - as does Reddington - that the first chance she has to get a hold of a phone, she will call, damn it, and he will have to physically restrain her if he wants to keep her from calling.
She stares angrily at rain soaked streets (and sheep) for a total of seven minutes before Reddington sighs loudly.
"One call. Sixty seconds. Toss the burner," he says.
She smiles triumphantly (and tries not to think about the fact that she won this fight by acting like a petulant child). She's about to open her mouth to ask when she should make the call (because she does recognize that Reddington is the resident expert on running away and staying hidden) when his own burner rings.
Reddington opens his phone and holds it to his ear, not offering a greeting. Liz knows that this is because Dembe should be the only one with the number (all contact to Reddington is going through Dembe right now) and that he knows to speak first. After listening, Reddington sighs, thanks Dembe, and closes his phone.
Liz stares at Reddington inquiringly. "What's going on?"
"We lost a journalist," Reddington says, and Liz can tell he's sad because they mischievous glint is gone from his eyes and the wrinkles around his eyes are more pronounced as he scowls grimly. "One of the more... resilient. He was leading the information hunt. Last I heard, he was suspicious that not only was Connolly - the attorney general - involved in this great conspiracy, but also the secretary of defense and the Vice."
Liz gasps, because this is new information to her. "Oh, my God."
Reddington nods grimly. "He was convinced that the Vice had a plan to get rid of the President. God, Liz, can you imagine the Cabal with that much power?Obviously, if the president were to tragically perish, the Vice would take his place."
Liz nods, thinking that if their journalist was right then she might never get back home. "He must have been right, or at least his digging was scaring someone," she says, and Reddington nods, because he was clearly murdered to cover up whatever he found.
"If the Cabal has someone with that much power, Liz, I can't even fathom the fallout."
The thoughts that accompany Liz to the next town haunt her dreams for the next few nights.
2:03 AM (Ressler)
He was uncomfortable and tired and a little cranky - he couldn't sleep, yet Samar was sleeping like the dead five feet away in an uncomfortable waiting room chair. He was also in pain despite having had five days to heal since being shot.
He's about to give in and press the 'call' button for some sleeping medicine at the very least, if not painkillers, when his cell phone rings. He winces, because he's sitting on it, and getting to it requires he reach around his own body.
Grunting in pain, he reaches down and grabs his phone. He sees unknown number flash across the screen, and his heart beats a little faster as he swipes to answer it and presses it to his ear. "Hello," he breaths, shifting again to take pressure off of his right shoulder.
"Ress," the voice says, and it's the best thing he's heard all damn day.
"Liz," he says happily, and he sighs as he leans back on the bed, closing his eyes. "You're alive."
"I wasn't the one who was shot!"
Ressler chuckles. "About that. You tell Reddington he'd better have a damn good reason for shooting me."
"I will." She pauses. "He told me sixty seconds. I don't think I can listen to him this time."
"I promise I'm not tracking you from my hospital bed," Ressler says, then continues (because it's highly possible that someone else might try), "I'll even have Aram destroy my SIM card with the record of this call on it if you'll keep talking."
He's a little desperate, and she must hear an edge to his voice, because she asks, "Are you doing alright?"
Ressler sighs, and answers truthfully. "I'm healing. I'm in pain - yesterday I told them to cut me off the good stuff," because I liked it a little too much, he adds silently. He knows she'll understand.
Liz is silent for a minute. "I'm afraid I may never get back home," she finally confides in him.
"You have to, you will," he says in determination. "I can't lose you, Liz. I don't have much else going for me here. I need my partner."
"I need you, too," she admits, and because they're straying into new and uncomfortable territory, Ressler changes the conversation.
"Tell me about some of the places you've been. Not where you are, of course, but some of your favorites."
He can feel his eyes drooping as Liz's voice washes over him. "We went to England first, and..."
The last thing he hears before he falls to sleep, phone slipping from his fingers, is Liz talking about tea and it comforts him in a way he's not sure how to describe or how to deal with.
So he doesn't - he sleeps instead. It's the most comfortable he's been in months.
5:12 PM (Unknown Location)
"He found them - obviously he's still useful!" The voice is sharp and feminine, annoyed at having to explain herself. "He's the only one who has found them. It's been two months, and none of our idiotic men have managed it!"
There are three bodies in the room - the outspoken female and two men, older and calmer.
"He did find her," the first man offers.
The second man counters, "However, he has to intentions of arresting her. He's already working behind our backs. He did not inform us of this latest tip - he followed it himself, and found them. If it had been our men, they'd be in custody."
"I'm glad you see it my way," the lady says, smiling suddenly, her irritated facade gone as she takes the upper-hand in the conversation. "He is useful - very much so. He found Agent Keen and he can do it again. But we need someone on the inside to keep us informed, to let us know as soon as he has a lead. We need a man in the Post Office, able to keep an eye on Acting Director Donald Ressler."
The first man looks thoughtful. "We could send someone in, someone to work with them." He mulls the idea over.
"Good thought," the woman says, "However, it won't work. Agent Ressler will not trust anyone from the outside. He won't tell them anything useful and we'll be right back where we began."
The man sighs, clearly annoyed at having to play twenty questions with the younger woman. "Then what, Yvonne, do you suggest?"
The woman grins mischievously. "Why, I thought you'd never ask." She waves her hand in the general direction of the doorway just as it bursts open. It takes a minute for the two older men to figure out what's going on, as the room is suddenly full of struggling and grunting as two additional men haul a kicking and screaming younger man into the room.
The man is forced to his knees, and a bag is ripped off of his head, revealing dark black hair and angry eyes. The man is gagged and has is sporting a black eye and a split lip (most likely earned as a result of his struggling).
"Meet Aram Mojabai. Our inside man."
SO SORRY for taking so long to update. I have some stuff going on - some serious stuff - and I'm going to be slow with updating for a few weeks until everything calms down. Life struck and I am being pulled in too many directions.
On another note, WHAT DO YOU THINK? I am SO excited about this chapter and ALSO WHAT AMIR SAID ON HIS ARAM'S NOTES BLOG! OMG, he's totally a #Keenler shipper!
Please Review!