Previously...

Sammy is cooing sleepily when Ressler notices his hands are shaking.

God, we need to finish this case fast, because I don't know how much longer I can do this, he thinks, and he feels like a fumbling middle schooler as he swoops Sammy up in his arms and contemplates locking himself in his room for the rest of the night (because he's not sure he can face Liz again after running out like that).

Liz takes the choice away from him when she walks into the room, takes Sammy from Ressler, and says, "Get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning," before smiling (softly, too kindly, the type of smile that makes his heart beat faster) and walking out.

Ressler lays down, and he's exhausted, but it's a long time before he's able to fall asleep.

June 14th, Ressler's Apartment, 6:20 AM

It's a slightly more respectable time when Ressler is awoken the next morning - Sammy waits until just after six in the morning to begin wailing, a desperate call for comfort, a diaper change, and breakfast.

Ressler groans and rolls over, sighing heavily into his pillow because dear God, he's exhausted.

"Mmm gettin' up," he grumbles, and though it's more motivation to make himself move than a statement directed at anyone specific, he hears someone chuckle in the doorway and immediately the events of the previous day come flooding back. His body suddenly feels heavier on the bed and he's not sure he can move yet.

Oh, no big deal, I just realized I'm a little bit in love with my partner and I am already too attached to the baby we're caring for and this (fake) life we have together.

"You're delightful in the morning," Liz chirps, and Ressler wants to make a snappy comment but doesn't have the energy. "Sammy and I are making breakfast, if you can haul yourself into the shower and get clean."

"If I must," he responds, flopping an arm dramatically over his eyes.

Liz grins and shakes her head as she walks out, Sammy on her shoulder. He's babbling incoherently and talking animatedly with his arms as Liz deposits him in his high chair and buckles him in, giving him a bottle to keep him busy. She quickly takes stock of the fridge and decides on pancakes for breakfast when she sees the milk, butter, syrup, and pancake mix on top of the fridge.

She's halfway through the first batch when she hears Ressler shuffling into the kitchen. He's freshly showered and is wearing sweatpants and a clean T-shirt. His hair - still wet - is longer than it looks when it's dry and perfectly brushed back. It curls rebelliously (no gel yet) and falls into his eyes. When he sees Liz staring at him, he nods in greeting, bending over to unbuckle Sammy and pull the baby into his arms. He ruffles Sammy's hair, and Liz smiles, a warm feeling blossoming in her chest because she's the only one who gets to see him like this, grumpy in the morning with crazy hair and making cute faces at a baby.

"Pancakes?" she asks, and he smiles and nods enthusiastically.

"Sammy, you don't know what you're missing. I mean, this?" he asks, flicking the baby's bottle. Sammy yells in protest, glaring a tiny baby glare at Ressler and kicking against the older man's arms as he continues sucking. "This is nothing compared to pancakes."

"Don't taunt him, Ressler. He can't have solid food for another two months," Liz says, and then bites her tongue because we won't have him in two months, don't be stupid.

"Right," Ressler says, giving in and rubbing his hand over Sammy's hair as the baby enjoys his (boring) breakfast. "Pancakes?"

"Almost," Liz says, and it's only five minutes later that they're both digging in, pancakes covered in butter and syrup and Ressler swears it's the best pancake he's had ever.

"Oh my God, Liz," he says around a mouthful of heaven. "How did you make these? Mine are never like this!"

Liz grins and shrugs, enjoying another bite of hers. She swipes her finger though some syrup on her plate, and reaches over Ressler's lap, letting Sammy try the sticky, sweet goodness. The baby's eyes go wide, and he begins beating his hands on the table, grinning and demanding more. Ressler sighs, rolling his eyes and tightening his grip around Sammy's tummy so he doesn't squirm his way off Ressler's lap. Liz lets him try another bit of syrup, and as Sammy chants, she glances up and meets Ressler's eyes.

It's confusing, these feelings she has. She's staring at her partner, who still has wet hair from the shower and is dressed casually and comfortably, a baby on his lap that she's come to love and she knows that giving this up, going back to her hotel room when this is all over, is going to be horrible. She didn't realize until just now, as she enjoyed making breakfast and waking up to Sammy's sleepy cries, how sad and lonely her life was. How truly and completely alone she had let herself become.

She swallows hard and forces herself to look away from Ressler.

"Want to go for a walk with Sammy later?" Ressler asks to fill the silence. "We have no new leads, we're technically off today, and it's nice out."

Liz smiles softly. "I'd like that. Maybe after his nap?"

Ressler nods. "It's a plan."

June 14th, Brentwood Park, 2:00 PM

Somehow, Ressler ends up wearing the baby again, this time front facing so Sammy can take in the sights and sounds of the park. His little blue eyes are wide, two fingers in his mouth as he stares at the eccentric people, hears the loud music and talking, and watches the ducks and geese flap and flutter near the pond.

Ressler chuckles. "I think we overloaded him."

Liz grins and nods. She falls silent again quickly, and Ressler knows something is wrong. He waits to ask her, however, because walking through the park is calming. Green trees sway over their heads, ducks quack, the wind blows softly. It's peaceful being out here, watching families play and be together, realizing there's more to life than the adrenaline of the chase, the constant go-go-go of their job, the sadness and weariness that goes along with chasing murders and psychotic terrorists day in and day out.

Finally, as they round the other side of the pond and unbuckle Sammy from Ressler's chest to sit him down with some bread crumbs for the ducks, Ressler speaks up.

"Hey, wanna talk?" he offers, and Liz shrugs, brushing her hand over Sammy's head. Ressler is about to tell he she doesn't have to if she doesn't want to, but she clearly needs to talk because she sighs and begins.

"I'm worried about Sammy," she confides, and Ressler is confused.

"What? Why? He's fine - I'm reasonably certain Reddington has at least three undercover men following us through this park. No one will get him here, he's - "

Liz cuts him off, passing Sammy another bread crumb as the baby tosses it as far as he can - about two feet in front of him - and yelps in surprise as a duck waddles up, grabs the bread crumb, quacks loudly at him, and waddles away. It's the most fun thing Sammy has ever done, and he claps his hands jubilantly as he reaches for more bread.

"No, I mean after all this. I'm worried we're not going to be able to save his parents."

Reddington's men were working around the clock, but their latest plan was to sit and wait - and hope Anton would find them. It wasn't a plan Ressler enjoyed - he hated sitting around - but it was their best shot. Regardless, another piece of James had shown up this morning, making his stomach turn and his worry increase.

"I'm worried about that, too."

"What if we can't save them?" she asks, pulling Sammy onto her lap as he tries to wiggle away. He's working steadily at crawling, and she could just imagine him crawling straight into the pond and having to be rescued. "What if they die?"

It's something Ressler's thought about, but-

"Will he go into foster care?" she asks, and Ressler feels panic rising, contorting into anger because he can't let her see him as weak, he'd rather her see him as angry -

"No," he says firmly, his voice deep and certain. He startles Sammy into dropping his latest piece of bread, which is snapped up by a honking goose. The goose causes Sammy to yelp in surprise, and both Ressler and Liz's eyes are drawn to the baby. "No. Never, I will not let him go into that fucked up system."

"Ressler, language," Liz says quietly, but what she really wants to say is what happened that made you hate the system?

They're silent for several minutes, and Ressler feels physically sick when he begins speaking, because he's never told anyone this before. Never. And it's both sickening and relieving to let the words flow out of him now.

"My father died when I was 3," he begins, and he won't meet her eyes. Instead, he grabs a piece of the stale bread they'd brought and distracts himself by tearing it into pieces and tossing them to the ducks. "My mom put me in foster care and waived her parental rights. I've not seen her since - I don't even remember what she looks like. And some of it was good, Liz, some of the families were real good - when I was six, I was with a family that took me to the doctor and played with me and read to me and I had a foster brother there who was my hero. I looked up to him so much - he wanted to be a police officer."

Liz stares at Ressler, her heart beating fast because she doesn't know anything about his past, not really, because he keeps it locked inside and doesn't share himself with other people, but he's sharing with her and she's afraid if she speaks he'll stop talking and that's the last thing she wants.

"That's probably what inspired my career choice," he reflects, and he clenches the bread a little tighter as he continues. "But some of it was awful, Liz. Things happened to me that I won't - that I can't - let happen to Sammy."

He falls silent again, and Liz reaches over, placing a hand on his arm. He looks up at her, and she can tell he's conflicted. She can see him warring with himself, deciding if he wants to share any more or if he wants to stop talking, to lock everything up again and deal with it on his own because it's what he's always done.

He finally sighs deeply, reaching over with his free hand and grasping hers. She thinks he's pushing her away, so she goes to move her hand, to drop it back to her side or to hand Sammy more bread.

She gasps when, instead of pushing her away, he entwines their fingers and lets their hands settle on the grass beside Sammy. His skin is warm on hers, but she can feel him shaking almost indiscernibly as he continues.

"When I was twelve, I went to live with a man. He ... was strict. He had a lot of rules, and it was kind of hard to follow them. I was scared and I felt very alone - before living with him, I'd been in a house with seven other kids, and suddenly I was alone and scared because at first he'd sometimes just scream, and it was very different than what I'd experienced."

Liz feels a sudden hatred toward this man, a burning in her chest as she tightens her grip on Ressler's hand. She hates this man, because he frightened a little Ressler, a little boy just discovering life and just beginning to grow into a man. She hates the image of Ressler - smaller and weaker than he is now - cowering into corner, because the Ressler she sees now, the Ressler that's her partner, is the strongest person she knows.

"At first, he'd yell. He told me if I was good he wouldn't have to punish me. But I kept screwing up - I'd bring him the wrong beer, I wouldn't make dinner right, I'd come home too late or too early or forget my homework or forget to walk the dog, and he got mad and one day he hit me. It... by the time my case worker found out what was going on, I'd been there for almost two years. I have marks on my skin where he put out his cigarettes on my back, where he hit me with a belt. I had scars and was scared of my own shadow and cried when I went to the next foster home and spilled my milk. I was fucking fourteen years old, and I spilled the milk and cowered on the floor like a baby and do you know what my case worker said to me?"

Liz shakes her head, tears silently tracking down her cheeks as she stares at Ressler, unable to take her eyes off of him. He smiles, but it's not a happy smile. It's a sad, resigned smile.

"She told me that if I'd told someone, if I followed the fucking rules, I wouldn't have been hurt. I mean, God, it wasn't my fault, Liz. I took me a while to realize that, but it wasn't my fault and I can't let Sammy face that - that lack of love, the lack of care, the pain and the loneliness. I can't put him in the system."

Liz is crying and she doesn't know how to stop, so she doesn't. She scoots closer to Ressler and lays her head on his shoulder, clutching Sammy sightly to her - despite his yelps of protest.

"I'm sorry," she says, and he pulls his hand out of hers to wrap it around her shoulder. "I'm sorry that you had to go through that."

"Yeah," Ressler says quietly. "I am, too. I think it brought me where I am today, though. I don't know for sure I'd have gotten in the FBI if it weren't for that jackass, and though I hate him and I hate those memories, I'm not sure I could wish it away because then I wouldn't be here."

It's simultaneously the saddest thing Liz has ever heard, and the most beautiful, because most people never reached a level of acceptance that Ressler had and he'd done it alone.

"You're here now, that's all that counts," Liz agrees.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes before Sammy realizes he's out of bread to feed the ducks and grows cranky.

"Ahhhh!" he yells, kicking Ressler's arm and pointing to the ducks. Ressler grins, pulling Sammy into his arms and standing up. He reaches a hand down and tugs Liz to her feet, too, and suddenly he can't breathe because she's really close to him, and she's smiling and he thinks he could do something really stupid if he doesn't take a step back, so he does, breathing in to clear his head.

"Ice cream?" he asks, and Liz laughs, nodding and taking his hand again as they walk down the path to acquire the sweet treat.

Neither of them mention the fact that she doesn't let his hand go until he needs it to juggle Sammy and ice cream.

June 14th, Ressler's Apartment, 9:45 PM

"I know it's stupid, but I can't... I just have a feeling," Liz says, and she rubs her hand gently up and down Sammy's back. The baby is sleeping against her shoulder, freshly bathed and dressed in a one-piece dinosaur sleeper. "I ... don't feel safe with him in the living room with just me."

Ressler agrees, though he's glad she's the one who brought it up, because "Hey Liz, will you sleep in the bedroom with me tonight because I'm paranoid and worried for you and Sammy?" probably wouldn't have gone over well (or maybe it would have, but he's not quite brave enough yet to find out). He knew they were both beginning to feel the pressure of their plan, the climbing paranoia as they continued waiting for someone to follow them, to threaten them.

"Let's pull his crib beside my bed. You'll stay with us, too," he says firmly when he sees her eyes flicker toward the couch. "We're grown FBI agents, for God's sake, we can handle sharing a bed."

Liz nods, though she looks less sure than Ressler does (he may be able to handle it, but she's been fighting these new feelings all day and she feels especially raw after his confessions earlier). Regardless, she helps him haul Sammy's pack-and-play into the bedroom, then gently lays the sleeping baby down. He stretches his limbs and yawns, and Liz winces, afraid he'll wake up. When he relaxes and falls back to sleep, Liz relaxes, too.

Until Ressler hands her a pair of his sweatpants to sleep in and walks into the bathroom so she can get changed.

"Thanks," she mumbles, and when he's left the room she quickly shimmies out of her jeans and folds them, placing them on the dresser across from his bed. She pulls off her blouse, leaving her in just a tank top and the sweats Ressler gave her.

She's in bed by the time he returns, face clean and pajamas on. He smiles at her, reaching over to shut off the light. He climbs under the covers opposite her and wiggles to get comfortable. Liz holds her breath until he settles down, back facing her.

"Good night, Liz," he breathes, and when he flips over, placing a hand under his head and smiling at her, she wants nothing more than to squirm a few inches closer to him, to lay her head on his chest, and let him hold her.

She doesn't know what possesses her, but the next thing she knows, she's doing that, curling close to Ressler's warm, solid body. His breath hitches, and she tenses, afraid he'll pull away or (worse) push her away.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he wraps an arm around her and tucks her head under his chin, breathing heavily against her ear. She can hear his heart beating furiously in his chest, and she wants to say something, anything, because maybe what she's been feeling isn't one sided, maybe he's been feeling the same way, too -

But, she falls asleep before she can make a decision.

Ressler smiles as Liz's breathing evens out. His heart is still stuttering in his chest, and if he leans down to press a kiss to her forehead, who's to blame him?

Good night, Liz.

Ahhhhhhhh! LITERALLY NEXT CHAPTER we finally get some Keenler action! :) Get excited! P.S. Pretty please let me know what you thought of the Ressler back story bit? I'm nervous posting it...

I am not above bribery... review and I'll send you a 1-2 paragraph sneak peak of Ch. 8! ;)