Previously...
"We're ready," he announces, and the calm is shattered as Ressler leads Liz back into the kitchen where Aram has set up what seems like hundreds of pieces of technology with thousands of wires filling every outlet on the wall. (If the power surge doesn't let the Cabal know where they are, Ressler muses, he doesn't know what will. A smoke signal, perhaps?)
"And!" Aram exclaims, fingers flying across the keyboard as he puts the final touches on his (hopefully un-hack-able) program. "Just in time for the evening news." He looks up to Reddington, his index finger hovering over the 'enter' key on his keyboard.
Reddington nods, and Ressler flinches as Aram presses the button. Suddenly, every screen in the room is taken over by darkness, and then the image they'd recorded (Liz grabbing his hand, staring at him for a few seconds, and then turning toward the screen) is all he can see.
"I am Special Agent Elizabeth Keen, and ..."
May 23rd, 2:05 AM, Reddington's Safe House
It's well after midnight before Aram has shut down his computers and they've finished filing away all of Reddington's gathered information. The reporters they'd left in New York, Ressler muses, rubbing his eyes and biting back a yawn, have done a lot of work - good work - and if he has any say in it, they are going to be well compensated for risking their lives when (if) he got his position as Acting Director back.
"Aaaaaand... done," Liz announces, sweeping the last stack of papers off of the table with a flourish. She deposits them into one of Reddington's carefully labeled boxes, snapping the top closed and leaning heavily against it.
Ressler is about to grab Liz and demand they go to bed (he's not entirely certain he's above falling asleep standing up, at this point) when Reddington walks into the room, tired and somber.
"Thank you," he says simply, resting his hand on Ressler's shoulder as Liz slumps over to his side, resting her head on his chest. Ressler is sorely tempted to wrap his arms around her, but he's bright enough to resist that particular temptation while Reddington is standing right next to him. Ressler does, however, grin down at her as he nods in Reddington's direction, acknowledging his thanks. But the older man hasn't said all he has planned, apparently, because he shifts until he's facing the tired duo and continues talking. "Thank you, for everything. When I first came into the Post Office and demanded to talk to Lizzie, I had no idea this would be the eventual fallout. My presence is what caused this upheaval in your lives. I remember," he reflects, his gaze growing far away as he chuckles, his lips lifting in a half grin. "The first time I saw you at the post office, Liz. So different. So different than I expected, with a fire in you that you've proven cannot be put out. And Donald - Dear Donald - you are her anchor. You keep her grounded. She's too much... too much like me, a free and possibly often illegal spirit. You give her a reason to stay anchored in the real world, and I can never thank you enough for that."
Ressler doesn't know what to say so he ends up not saying anything, which he regrets immensely because Reddington does not open up - ever. Liz is better with feelings, he decides as she responds to Reddington by moving from Ressler's chest to wrap the older man in a hug. She rests her head on his chest, and then leans up to kiss his cheek. She smiles, and her smile seems to say everything that needs said, because Reddington accepts it and walks quietly out of the room, leaving Liz and Ressler standing close but not close enough.
"Bed?" she asks, and Ressler tries not to get excited that she chose to use the word "bed" instead of "sleep", but it's two in the fucking morning and he has little control over the parts of his body that react positively to the word bed.
"For sleep," Liz monotones as she notices his reaction.
"Hey, can't blame a guy for trying," he shrugs, grinning as he pulls her close, kissing her forehead and then her cheek. She's the one who finally shifts so their lips slide together, softly, gently, a barley-there touch that has Ressler tingling from his lips to his toes.
He breathes out slowly, grinning against her lips. "You're sure?" he asks, and she slaps his arm playfully, laughing as she walks ahead of him out of the room.
"That wasn't a no!" he shouts after her, watching her walk from the room, and he's spurred into motion when she casts a sly look back over her shoulder. His feet are moving so fast he's surprised he doesn't trip.
He follows her amused chuckle all the way up the stairs and into their shared room.
He follows her sleepy smiles through the motions of changing out of the clothes they'd worn for the video.
He follows her unspoken request to join her closer than normal on her side of the bed.
As he follows her, he adds the sounds of her amused laughter, her sleepy sighs, and her quieted moans to the list of his favorite sounds.
His favorite sound of all, though, is her soft sigh of happiness as she snuggles to his side when it's all over, completely content and warm in his embrace.
May 23rd, 11:56 AM, Reddington's Safe House
Ressler groans as he rolls over, cursing the bright sunlight that's streaming through the upstairs window. His head is aching and he knows that if he opens his eyes, the warmth pressed against his eyelids will blind him for many minutes.
"Open your eyes, you big baby," Liz scoffs in amusement, swatting his backside as she pulls the blankets off of their shared bed.
Ressler yelps and opens his eyes in surprise, blinking harshly against the sunlight. He grumbles something about pushy girlfriends before trying to snuggle back into the pillows, but there's something highly undignified about snuggling into pillows when one is stark naked and he sighs, knowing he's lost this battle. He rolls over onto his back, feeling slightly more confident when his ass is no longer on display.
"I'm taking a shower," Liz says, and the glance she tosses over her shoulder as she walks (naked as the day she was born) into the attached bathroom let's him know it's an invitation and motivation to get his ass out of bed all in one.
He joins her in the shower, and after they dress and walk downstairs, he tries not to snort coffee through his nose when Aram offhandedly comments, "We ran out of hot water this morning."
Reddington's grin can only be described as "shit-eating" and Ressler tries not to let it bother him as he takes another sip of coffee. "That's odd," he says, grinning up at Ressler and Liz. "The hot water heater in this house is quite large. Someone - or two someones - would have had to take an amazingly long shower to use all the hot water."
Liz looks mortified (much like one would look if their father found out they'd had sex under his roof the previous night, Ressler decides) as she stirs sugar into her own coffee. She joins Ressler, Reddington, and Aram at the table, though with considerably more room between her and the object of her mortification than Ressler would have preferred.
"What's on the agenda today?" she asks into the stifling silence, and it's such an obvious change of topic that no one dares comment on it. Reddington, still grinning his signature, smarmy grin, takes another sip of coffee and leans back in his chair.
"We will record a second statement. Based on the response we've already received, it is eagerly awaited. Here, turn on the news," he says, sliding the remote across the table. Liz grabs at it as it flies across the table, clumsily setting down her coffee and wrapping her slender fingers around the black remote. She turns toward the small TV that sits on the kitchen counter and flicks the 'on' button as everyone turns around, watching with bated breath as the TV flickers to life.
"Responses are flooding in from across the globe," the young woman reports, and she looks impressively put together for the worry etched across her face. "Officials from several different governments are responding to these allegations in obvious disbelief. Many wonder if Liz Keen and Donald Ressler are to be believed - not just about Daniel Sims, but also about our entire government, and governments across the world. Daniel Sims, who occupies a seat on the senate and, until last night, lived peacefully with his wife and son, has fallen off the radar. Those who believe the accusations against him are accusing him of running and hiding, but he still has many supports who are arguing that he's just protecting his family from the fallout. Regardless of what the truth is, there is unrest among the people. There have been riots outside the senate, demanding to see Sims, demanding to know the truth. But no matter what the truth is - whether we have reason to fear we've been lied to by the government that we put out trust in - it will soon be uncovered."
The news report ends, and Ressler realizes he's holding his coffee cup to his lips without drinking when the weatherman steps onto the screen. He mentally shakes himself from surprise, and takes a sip of coffee as Liz changes the channel. She flips through two family TV shows before settling on a talk show. They all watch raptly as the two men begin to speak.
"So, David, tell me how you feel about these new allegations against Daniel Sims."
The man on TV - a well-known talk show host that Ressler is sure he's seen before - shifts in his seat before grinning, obviously loving the attention this scandal has brought his show.
"I've long believed that there is corruption in our government. While I don't yet know if I believe this Keen and Ressler, I do know that I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if they were telling the truth."
"If they were being blackmailed?" the other man asks, and Liz's eyes flicker between the two deceptively calm men on the screen.
"If they were being blackmailed," the first, David, agrees, nodding. "If they know something the government doesn't want them to know, I'm surprised they're not dead!"
Ressler swallows hard, and puts down his coffee cup. He needs to focus all of his attention on the screen. It's drawing him in, and he finds himself leaning closer as David begins to speak again.
"Regardless of whether it's reality or fantasy," he says, a twinkle in his eyes as he addresses his audience. "I, for one, am eager to hear the rest of this "truth" they've promised us."
Liz clicks off the TV, and the silence is almost overwhelming until Reddington speaks.
"It's been like that since last night. There have been reports of riots outside the senate, attempted break-ins at the Sims home, actual break-ins, death threats, and absolutely no sign of Sims since about twelve seconds after we broadcasted. The world is on fire over this, outraged at the deception of Sims - deception every organization with more than two initials have been looking into since you aired - and we need to use it to our advantage. Something bigger this time, but not too big. A dangling carrot, if you will!"
Aram clears his throat, and holds up a hand as he grabs something from the pile of files he has sitting next to him. He finished his cup of coffee in three quick swallows, and clears his throat again. By this time, everyone is looking at him expectantly.
"I couldn't sleep last night," he explains, his eyes flashing briefly to the ancient couch in the living room, and Ressler isn't surprised he couldn't. The thing just looks uncomfortable. "So I went through these files, ordering them from small fry - Sims - to the biggest story that we would dare go public with before the public has found their proof and are buying in."
Ressler waits, tapping his foot anxiously on the floor. Liz, beside him, is almost twitching in anticipation. She seems calm enough, Ressler supposes, but he can tell by the way her eyes are flickering between Aram, Reddington, and him, that she's unsure of what to do or how to react to any of this.
"Right. The reporters discovered a doctor, Dr. -uh," Aram looks into the file again, opening and closing it quickly. "Dr. Benedict Amador. He, uh, works for the Cabal, we're assuming, because he is paid far more than what even a surgeon of his standing should normally be paid. Reddington and I believe that he's working for a man like Dr. James Covington, through obviously not Covington himself, since he's no longer on the Blacklist. He is the doctor on call for the Cabal, you could say. He treats their wounded, pushes them forward on organ recipient lists, and could possibly be connected to a few suspicious, medical deaths recently."
"Deaths that benefited the Cabal, I assume," Ressler asks, picking through the file Aram has given him. He sees autopsy reports from several people - reporters, insurance company representatives - and knows what Aram is going to say before he says it.
"People who were getting too close to the truth. Reporters, other doctors sticking their noses into Amador's business. That kind of thing. Even one random patient, who overhead what he shouldn't have. Complications of surgery was the listed cause of death, but only days before Amador had listed the man as perfectly healthy. A nurse overheard the patient asking Amador about something, though she wouldn't say what, and she said they sounded angry before Amador stalked out of the patients room. He was dead before morning."
"Right. Ok. We can work with this," Liz says, reading over Ressler's shoulder as he flips through the file. She has her (mostly empty) coffee cup in one hand, and the other is resting gently on Ressler's shoulder, which is far more distracting than it should be and also not helping him concentrate. "We can use this information to cast doubt on this doctor. If our allegations toward Sims are found to be true - "
"When," Reddington cuts in, because he's nothing if not confident of his work and his findings. He's smiling, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pencil between his fingers.
Liz nods, rolling her eyes and offering Reddington a small smile. "When our allegations against Sims are found to be true, people will be more likely to believe us. We can't cripple the Cabal with these moves, but we can give them something to fear."
Ressler nods, templing his fingers together and leaning forward on the table, attempting to concentrate as Liz leans more heavily into him. He clears his throat. "So. Do we have a script this time?"
Aram looks between the two (ex)agents. "You didn't last time. It was fine," he says, and then passes a copy of the file over. "But you should both study up on this before ... ah, presenting," he finishes lamely.
Liz nods and sits down, this time much closer to Ressler. She seems to have forgotten her earlier mortification at being found out by Reddington as she leans into his side, tucking her feet under her on the chair and resting her back on his shoulder, settling in as she places the file on her knees and begins to read through it. For lack of anything better to do in the sudden silence, Ressler flips back to the beginning of his copy and begins reading.
Dr. Benedict Amador, 46, graduated from the University if Michigan in 1992 ...
May 23rd, 11:45 PM (Reddington's Safe House)
It's weird, he thinks later, as he watches himself on TV from where he's perched on the armrest of Aram's uncomfortable couch. Seeing himself and hearing himself and not really being able to connect the fact that he's on TV trying to disband a corrupt group of government officials.
It doesn't feel like he's on the run, he decides as Liz, who's sitting on the end of the couch with her head in his lap, sighs and turns her head away from the TV. It's the third time they've watched their own broadcast amidst frantic news programs, talk shows, and from brief clips interspersed with footage of the fallout that their newest video had caused. He winces - bloodshed and death was not what he wanted, but there had been a few casualties from riots and protests.
His own voice washes over him, and he feels strangely detached a she watches the beginning of their broadcast again.
"I'm afraid that we, as a country, will never know the full truth, or uncover all of the lies. Those we trust implicitly have been shown to be untrustworthy. One such person is Dr. Benedict Amador. Dr. Amador has murdered, in cold blood, innocent people who were only trying to uncover the truth. One man, Everett Cole, had by some miracle survived his third surgery and had been pronounced cancer free when he overheard his doctor speaking of evils he had committed. He could have walked away, pretended he had heard nothing, but because Everett was a man of integrity, he couldn't let this slide, and he was killed for speaking out. He was survived by his wife and two daughters, ages 3 and 7. The girls were shocked and heartbroken at the news of losing their father, since their mother had just told them that daddy was coming home - "
"Turn it off," Liz mumbles, her face pressed into Ressler's stomach. He nods and reached for the controller, cutting off his own voice as he presses the 'off' button. Liz curls closer to him and sighs, and he feels the muscles of his stomach contract as her warm breath washes over him.
"Will this ever end?" she asks, and he doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything. Instead, he runs his fingers through her hair, equal parts trying to calm her and trying to calm his own doubts and uncertainty.
It will. It has to, he thinks as he stands up, pulling Liz with him because it's time for them to go to bed - it's been a long day, and they have to be ready for whatever tomorrow brings.
I have an important revelation! ... I am a horrible person. *hides in shame* Really, Ella, a whole MONTH?! This story has been extended, because the end of the last chapter and the next one I had planned didn't match up well, so this chapter was an extra to fill in space and show the growing unrest of the people. I know I am a horrible person, but if you're still reading after my unexplained disappearance, PLEASE let me know what you think! :)
Please Review!