Previously...

"I get to go next time we have a lead," she says firmly, and Ressler grins at her before unbuckling his belt and opening his door. He steps out, then turns around, resting his hands on the top of the car. He glances in and meets her eyes, and her heart does not (absolutely does not) flutter the tiniest amount at the impish grin he gives her.

"We'll see. Have a good night, Sammy!" he calls, beating twice on the top of the car before walking in the direction of the black sedan. Liz leans back, eyes flicking toward Dembe, whose heading their way.

"Looks like it's you and me, Sammy," she says, and when Sammy kicks his feet in delight and grins a toothless grin at her she thinks,

how bad could this be?

10:00 PM (Unknown Location)

Ressler represses the urge to sigh at Reddington's paranoia as he switches from the car that Reddington hired to bring him to the car that Reddington himself is currently in. He's saved our lives several times with his paranoia, he reminds himself, opening the door and sliding in beside the older man.

When Reddington hands him a bullet proof vest and a "gun that can't be traced back to you," Ressler becomes even more wary.

"Expecting our night to go that well, huh?"

"One can never be prepared for too many outcomes," Reddington says, snapping his own vest on. Ressler follows his lead, praying he won't end up with a bullet hole in him for his efforts tonight.

Hard to take care of a baby while in the hospital, he thinks, and then laughs, because when the hell did his life begin revolving around the needs of an infant that wasn't even his?

"Care to share what about this evening is so amusing to you?" Reddington asks, motioning for his driver to begin moving. They pull out into an empty street - the road is quiet and dark, and were it not for the gun in his hand and the pressure of the life-saving vest on his chest, he might find it peaceful.

"Nothing about this outing we're taking is funny, just the fact that I've begun planning possible hospital visits around Sammy's childcare schedule."

Reddington chuckles. "How is fatherhood treating you, Donald?"

Ressler gives the man a look of disdain as he snorts. "This," he says, motioning in the air to communicate his current predicament. "Is not permanent. I am not a father."

Reddington looks at him with a gaze that Ressler's not sure how to interpret. He looks both amused and a little sad, so Ressler chooses not to dwell on it. "Regardless, it must be very interesting, this situation I've unwillingly forced on you."

Ressler wants to agree, but he doesn't want to play into whatever Reddington is leading toward. He shrugs, and sits back.

They're silent for a long time, and Ressler isn't quite sure why he opens his mouth again, but once he does, he can't stop the words. (Honestly, it's about time he shared this with someone, though Reddington wouldn't have been his first choice were he thinking clearly).

"Audrey was pregnant."

Reddington snaps his head toward Ressler in surprise, but quickly rearranges his features to be neutrally calm. "Oh?"

Ressler nods. "Yeah. I had no idea. I found the test, after..." he waves his hand around again, and wonders when he became such an appalling communicator (he'll blame the baby). He sighs. "After she died. I found the test in her things. She had it wrapped in some clothes - she was hiding it from me."

"I see," Reddington says, and Ressler wishes that for once in his godforsaken life Reddington would simply say what he was thinking.

"I would have been a horrible father," Ressler finally says, crossing his arms over his chest and staring out of the window. His words finally spur Reddington into action, and the older man's words of wisdom are not particularly helpful, though they do, in some strange way, make him feel a little better, because at least he's not alone.

"This life makes all men horrible fathers. I was a horrible father. James Madison is a horrible father, for bringing life into this world that is in such danger, always. And not just danger - every child has the chance to be kidnapped, raped, murdered. But the children in the lives of an FBI agent - in your position, that is, many people in the FBI field office have normal families and are just fine - and children born to people like me, they're messed up. There's no fixing what is done to them, they'll never escape this life. It's not worth it."

Ressler digests the man's surprisingly passionate words. "I don't think that's completely true," he says, thinking of Liz and how she turned out OK despite Sam's less than appealing career choices. Sure, she went into much the same life he did, but she liked the job, loved the thrill of the chase. Her life was a mess (dead birth parents, Sam's death, Reddington's influence, Tom's betrayal) but if someone could turn out so good despite so much bad, surely some people managed alright with their children. "I think in some cases, it could be fine. Like with Liz - Sam adopted her. Who's to say that whatever life she would have had in foster homes wouldn't have been worse? Yes, she's been sucked into this life, but she has such a passion for it, she'd probably be here anyway." Ressler pauses. "I've seen what happens in... some foster homes. In some cases, I'd rather a child be with someone like you or me than be put into that system."

Reddington smiles and it's not a smarmy grin or a knowing smirk. It's a real smile, and it surprises Ressler.

"I suppose you would know, wouldn't you?"

Ressler doesn't want to answer that (yes, I would, I have the scars to show for it) so instead he shifts the conversation.

"Where the hell are we going, anyway?"

Reddington switches gears efficiently and launches into "I know more than you, let me fill you in" mode.

"We received a tip from someone we suspected that The Repo Man would have reached out to. Once in country, he would need documents - IDs, licences - and money. I know a man who caters to people like Repo. I leave him be most of the time because he serves me just as well as others. He can prepare a go bag in less than an hour. Regardless, we were pretty sure he was who Repo contacted, and after some... gentle persuasion, he revealed that he did, indeed provide Repo with what he needed. Including a hide-out."

Ressler digests that information, his heart speeding up at the prospect of a real, solid lead. "Who is your informant?"

Reddington chuckles. "Now, Donald, if I told you that, you'd arrest him. Let's call him confidential for now."

Ressler bristles at the comment, but doesn't push. He'll find out later - for right now, Repo is more important.

"Fine. Tell me more."

"My confidential informant says Repo should be hiding out at an abandoned warehouse on 1st and Main. However, he also mentioned that he told Repo about this warehouse over two weeks ago, when he first came to the US. There's a good chance he's moved on - most do, when they get close to or apprehend their target. Switching locations frequently to throw off the scent is common. However, I'm hopeful we can catch him off-guard or find a clue as to his whereabouts. Or, at the very least, some evidence that confirms he has James Madison."

"Right. Well, it's the best lead we have do far. Aram was unable to find anything on this man. He's practically a shadow."

Reddington chuckles, reaching for his own handgun as the car slows to a stop.

"He is the best, Agent Ressler."

Ressler tries not to be annoyed at the small amount of respect he hears in Reddington's voice. The man doesn't approve of what Repo does, just that he's so good at doing it.

"How do we want to approach?" he asks quietly, clicking the safety off on his gun and sticking it back in his holster.

"I find the direct approach is always best," Reddington says, sauntering up to the front door. Before Ressler can scream, Are you fucking nuts? Reddington is knocking loudly on the door. "Hello? Is anyone home!?"

Ressler rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts. "Idiot," he murmurs, stalking up to the door and kicking it open. Ouch, that was more solid than anticipated, he winces internally as he enters the warehouse. He quickly sweeps the room, using a flashlight to check the darker corners. When he finds that no one is there - something he belatedly realizes Reddington already knew (that's why he had so much fun, screwing with Ressler the way he had approached the building) - he lowers his gun to his side and turns back to Reddington.

The man is sporting a shit-eating grin as he chuckles.

"Oh, the look on your face, Donald!"

"You knew no one was here," Ressler growls, shoving his gun back in its holster with more force than necessary. "Dick."

"I did, yes," Reddington confirms. "My inside man had already scoped the place out for his next potential client. However, he called me to let me know that there was some evidence I might want to come collect before Mr. Kaplan came to clean the place up."

Ressler pushes down his annoyance. It has been a long ass day, and all he wants to do is go home and sleep. (Though, he's not quite sure where he's sleeping tonight, but he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it).

"Fine. What evidence?"

Reddington leads him to the stairs. They lead to a smaller second story, really just a balcony over the large, dark expanse below. In the upper portion of the warehouse is a chair and a box of tools leftover from The Repo Man's stay. Ressler looks in the box and recoils quickly. He takes two steps back and is surprised to feel Reddington's hand grab onto his arm to stop him.

"Stop moving, or you're going to contaminate the sample," he says, and Ressler looks down to see a large puddle of blood - mostly congealed at this point - spanning the length of about a fourth of the room.

"Oh, God, can he even still be alive?"

That's a lot of blood.

Reddington purses his lips.

"It's uncertain. He could have given in, revealed what his captors wanted to know. If so, yes, he's dead. But if he didn't - and I find that much more likely, James is a very stubborn man - then the Repo Man will give him a few days to heal up a bit before trying again. Or, before doubling his efforts to locate some leverage over Mr. Madison."

"Sammy," Ressler says, and realizes that this job has moved from simply babysitting to around-the-clock bodyguard protection of an infant that can't be more than four months old.

"Yes," Reddington agrees, leaning down and snapping gloves on. He reaches out and his driver (it's weird not seeing Dembe with them, but of course he's protecting Liz and Sammy right now) hands him a vial and a package with a sterilized swab in it. "I'm certain this is James's blood, but just to make sure," he explains.

As he caps the sample and tosses his gloves into a bag with everything else, Ressler realizes that his presence was basically pointless, considering what Reddington already knew.

"Why am I here?" he asks, and Reddington smirks before stalking ahead of him and down the stairs.

"Company, dear Donald! I feel that we haven't spent much time together, you and I."

Ressler rolls his eyes again, but follows the man anyway.

It's a testament to his growing tolerance of Raymond Reddington that he doesn't end up yelling by the time they may it back into the car.

...

...

...

With a sign, Ressler closes the door quietly behind Dembe.

It's midnight, and he just spent the better part of two hours chasing Reddington around town like a lost puppy. He's irritated, tired, and he has to be up in a few hours to make it to the post office.

When he walks into the living room, however, his irritation melts away and he finds himself smiling.

Don't get attached, he warns himself, and struggles to rearrange his expression into something more neutral. He walks quietly over to the couch and stares at Liz and Sammy for a moment. The baby is curled up against Liz's chest, his rosy lips open as he breathes in an out and his soft wisps of blond hair sticking in all directions. His tiny fists clench Liz's blouse and she has one arm wrapped protectively around his back. It looks like they've both been sleeping for some time, and Ressler finds himself loathe to wake them.

Shaking his head, he reaches over the back of the couch (they look comfortable enough) and grabs the flannel blanket he leaves there. He sets it over the two of them, careful not to cover Sammy's face. When he finds himself fussing as he tucks it around them, he backs up quickly, satisfied they'll be warm and comfortable, and retreats to his room.

He leans against the bedroom door, breathing heavily.

Not your family, he tells himself, because though he didn't see Audrey and their unborn baby when he looked at Liz and Sammy, the affection swelling up in his chest was enough to make him realizes that he really, really misses the family that he didn't get to have.

Go to sleep, he tells himself. And deal with this in the morning.

Except, nothing is ever that easy.

I love writing Red/Ressler scenes. I find their interactions hilarious and I feel like Ressler is always coming out one step behind, which is great because Reddington is such a tease. Also, Ressler is getting attached, aww! I love him. ;) I am going to be taking some liberties with his unexplored past in this story. I'm going to explore his childhood/motivations for joining the FBI in the upcoming chapters.

Also, check out my new story When I See You Again, which is my version of house Season 3 should go, and also is going to keep me sane until season 3 IS HERE ALREADY!

Please Review! I'd love to know what you think/think should happen in this story!