#i envy ressler

[falle-ness]

@redtember d a y  s i x t e e n

Any scene/season 1

Red being extremely happy to see Donald dropping by;) 

[resslington-is-my-otp]

“[...] but I also think he cares for him.”

— James Spader on Red's feelings for Ressler from Behind The Blacklist S9.

·To care for someone, v., no cont (PROTECT/PROVIDE FOR)·

to do the necessary things for someone who needs help or protection | Macmillan Dictionary

“Why the hell are you doing this? It's pretty obvious I hate your guts, and I can't imagine you hold a whole lot of warmth for me, especially after hearing about Brussels.”

“I knew about Brussels.”

“Then why save me?”

“Because that's what you do when someone is dying in front of you.”

“I'm the one who reached out to you, Donald. [...] For the moment, the scalp I'm worried about is yours. [...] I fear, Donald, that you're being hunted by a vengeful, ruthless killer.”

“Searching in the desert for a drop of vengeance to slake an unquenchable thirst is a lonely walk, my friend.”

“Agent Ressler. Once you cross over, there are things in the darkness that can keep your heart from ever feeling the light again.”

“Agent Ressler came to me for assistance, which I provided. [...] a bit of direction in an otherwise blind pursuit.”

“Donald, I understand how you feel. Beneath the iron-and-rust exterior beats the heart of a man swimming in immeasurable grief.”

“Donald, I want you to know that I do understand how you feel. There is nothing that can take the pain away. But eventually, you will find a way to live with it. There will be nightmares. And every day, when you wake up, it will be the first thing you think about. Until one day... It will be the second thing.”

“You know, Donald, before I turned myself in to the FBI, I held people like you in extremely low regard. [...] But I've found your determination to do the right thing, your genuine commitment to the thin blue line that separates order and innocence from the likes of me to be quite admirable. [...] I want you to know you can count on me if you ever find yourself in as difficult position as Officer McGinnis has put himself in. [...] Nevertheless, my offer stands.”

·

“I never thanked you for what you did after Audrey died.”

“You were preoccupied.”

“I never thanked you for that.”

“Nor should you. Your circumspection afforded me the opportunity to take care of Audrey's killer myself. It was a win-win.”

“What happened with Prescott, the missing file... Reddington did that to protect me.”

·

“You had him [Prescott] killed!”

“I did.”

“I never asked for your help.”

“With all due respect, I didn't kill Henry Prescott to protect you. I killed him to protect myself. The man knew the nature of my relationship with the FBI, and I couldn't risk that information coming to light in a public trial.”

“And my file? You had it removed from Prescott's records before they were taken into custody.”

“Sins should be buried like the dead. Not that they may be forgotten, but that we may remember them and find our way forward nonetheless. I hope this will help you do just that. Besides, after today, I'd have no reason to think you'd respond to threats, and blackmail is such a nasty business, particularly among friends, don't you think?”

“Revenge doesn't suit you, Donald.”

to love someone and feel romantic towards them | Cambridge Dictionary, Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

“Donald, you and I aren't done just yet.”

“I know a great many things about you, Donald.”

[About B-negative blood type they share] “And you thought we had nothing in common. There's only 2% of us, you know?”

if you care for someone, you feel a lot of affection for them |Collins Dictionary

“It’s not a trade or a bribe or an offer of payment in kind to entice you to look away. I admire your probity too much for that. [...] All I want is your word as a man of honor.”

“I admire the way you’re dealing with your addiction, Donald.”

“You have faith. I envy that. Justice, integrity, faith in humanity. Nobody embodies those principles more than you.”

“Your Honor, I'm happy to stipulate that Agent Ressler was the FBI agent who spent the prime years of his career engaged in a futile game of whack-a-mole.”

“Thank you, Agent Ressler. And may I say you are both everything I dislike about the FBI and everything I admire about it?”

“[He has a good soul.] I believe he does. I'm less certain about mine.”

[Dembe] “Raymond admires you. Not because of what you do, but because of who you are.”

to love someone, especially in a way that is based on friendship rather than sex | Collins Dictionary

“Allies today, enemies tomorrow... The world is a complex place, further complicated by man's fickle nature.”

“My good friend Donald Ressler sends his regards.”

- This post is inspired by amazing @kiss-my-freckle. Thank you for your words of encouragement <3

I dedicate this to everyone who have ever stumbled upon my blog/ao3 and left, hopefully, a bit more happier.

*

@randomprivateer @resslerette1 @yddraigwyllt @therattale @trishvaylar @katarinas-redemption @etahoffmann @glowstar826 @cesar-hoe — a special hug and thank you y'all <3

[artblacklist]

“𝒅𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒅” (𝒎𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒐 𝒃𝒖𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒊) ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

1501 – 1504 | michelangelo was asked to extract the colossal figure of the biblical hero. first, he studied the previous classical works. then he created a new version whose protagonist is a strong, athletic and proud young man, just before his fight with the giant goliath. the sculptor paid much attention to the head, which he molded with great expressiveness as it was considered the center of the virtues and intellectual faculties at that time. all of the above was weighted, and transformed by the artist into a sculpture that epitomizes stylistic novelties and 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩.

𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐧 (𝐧𝐨.𝟕𝟗) ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

a proud agent ready to get involved in the rescue of elizabeth keen, avoiding all the possible consequences. “I came here to get keen,

I'm not leaving without her.” —DR. (4x01) ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐤 (𝐧𝐨. 𝟏𝟒) ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

ressler trying to stop the murder of kirk putting a gun to reddington’s head “i will do this.”

red: you have faith. i envy that. 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺… nobody embodies those 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴 more than you. (3x23)

—⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

agent donald ressler.

[keenress]

Feelings...

Where is she..if she s not safe I not gonna forgive myself..ever, why did I have to be such an ass with her before she went to Court, I should have gone with her, none of this would have happened.. I could of protected her..she is so fragile and...and beautiful..oh,God, I m losing it, but yes she is beautiful, she intrigues me..everything about her is worth knowing... I need to find her and bring her in safe.. Ressler was wrestling with his own counsciousness about the intensity of his thoughts, he wanted to deny what he felt, this new feeling that was warming him up towards her, I mean how could he, she is married and he doesn t know her for long and now Lorca has her, or the Stewmaker, and he feels his hands tied up, ..but he can ask Reddington how can he be of any use, yes that s what he ll do next, he ll make ammends with the devil himself for her

Reddington , I want to come with you, I talked to Copper and there s not much you can do.

Agent Ressler, I have never saw you so anxious to get inside the Devil s Hole...well until now, I must say this intrigues me.. is it agent Keen or you just feel like living your life on the edge by coming into my world..either way, personally I hope the first one is more to your liking, let s get moving, I m cooking some stew tonight..hopefully

He felt like killing Lorca with his own hands but ne needed to play his part...

I am not the guy you kill , I m the guy you pay, Lorca and unless you want the extraordinary achievement to be in prison and free and in prison again in 24 hours...well, dance me around...

Reddington eyes were full of admiration for him, he envies everything about him, but in the good way, he is decent, honest, persuasive, everything he once was, his low regard on justice  hasn t changed...but him, there is something about him that thrilled him in the best possible way

Agent Ressler, Mr Reddington has the location for the Stewmaker, I mean how on Earth did he manage to get his location by calling Animal Control, even dogs work for Mr Reddington...nevermind the FBI... and why should I be surprised..

Aram...the adress...

Oh, yes, the adress!

He hopes she s still alive, safe, he felt like getting there was the longest trip he has ever made,like he can t handle the car.. and normally he can drive like nobody ... but his hands were too soft on the wheel,  his heart was pounding, he was hot , he kept biting his lips, they were so dry....

Ressler, are you ok?

Ressler, all good?

He didn t want to answer Meera, the intimacy of his own thoughts was not something to be displayed to anybody, just himself and he never felt like that,how could Meera understand the extrems he s finding himself at, tonight, when this morning he was such an..

The agony of driving up there has finally come to an end, now he needs to mobilise everybody into the woods and find that cabin where she is held at.. can he make it on time.. all he wants to do is hold her, comfort her, never let go.. the intensity of his emotions scared him but he had to stay focus..

As he is getting closer...he urges to enter...he leads the way...bitting his lips...

She s there, she s alive, hurt, but alive

He reaches out to her not caring about anything else, just her, he cups her face into his hands, 

Everything is going to be ok...you re safe now, he is whispering while touching her face.. she s so fragile and beautiul,  he could hold her in his arms forever

Bring a doctor in here, now, and a blanket, I need a blanket

Everything is going to be okay Liz, you re safe, I got you!

 Agent Ressler what do you want me to do? We need to start investigating t this place and write a report on how we ..

I don t care about that right now, you can take it from here, I want to make sure Liz, ..agent Keen, gets medical attention as soon as possible, I ll stay with her, 

He is holding her thight, but he feels like she s not able to walk, she s crying and she s so weak, her body is trembling

  And there he is catching her when her whole self is falling apart, she needs him...shyly but with strong arms he holds her and brings her close as she falls into his arms...shh everything is going to be okay...I got you...all those feelings resurface, and make him once more thrilled of the idea of her, he feels her body searching for comfort in his arms, he can sense her perfume, every curve as he timidly and slowly lowers his hands... I got you!

He could swear his heart was stoned after Audrey left him, but today nothing exhilarated him more than holding her in his arms for the first time comforting her, protecting her...he gave her a shy smile as he closed the door of the ambulance, bitting his lips...he was falling for her...

[kiss-my-freckle]

Red fans don’t realize this, but he admires Ressler.

Red: You look and feel and smell like cop. You are what you are. It’s admirable.

Red: I admire the way you’re dealing with your addiction, Donald.

Red: No. It’s not a trade or a bribe, or an offer of payment in kind to entice you to look away. I admire your probity too much for that.

He even envies Ressler.

Red: I know how difficult this must be for you, Donald. You have faith. I envy that. Justice, integrity, faith in humanity... nobody embodies those principles more than you.

In 5x10, referred to Ressler as a friend because he considers him one.

Red: And blackmail is such a nasty business, particularly among friends, don’t you think?

Red cares about whether or not Ressler crosses the line. That’s why he doesn’t like taking him on field trips with him. He doesn’t want Ressler there when he kills Devane. He doesn’t want Ressler taking Tanida’s head. He wants Ressler to take Krilov back to prison because revenge doesn’t suit him. He wanted to help Ressler out of his Prescott situation. He will offer his help time and time and time again like he did in Thrall’s episode. Because Ressler is a friend, and friends make fun of each other. Just look at Red & Glen. Ressler is part of the blacklist family whether fans want him to be or not. Not my fault people are threatened by his character. 

[fallenesspoetry]

The [Uninvited] Guest

AO3 FFN

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Raymond Reddington(/)Donald Ressler

Warnings: Light swearing, season 4 and season 5 spoilers. Set before season 6.

Summary: Raymond Reddington, the Concierge of Crime, shows up at Ressler’s doorstep on Christmas Eve.

Child’s-palm sized flakes of snow were collapsing on the windshield of a black Chevrolet Tahoe. Its wipers swished back and forth, sweeping the icy drops with a hissing “Swoosh!” over and over.

Skyscrapers, grey and dirty by day, molded in nightfall, flickering in reds, yellows and greens. Brakes screeched and honks blared below, the street grey-and-white from mud and snow. Coffee shops signs invitingly winked with crisp lettering at every corner, ready to welcome a passer-by for a cup of hot latte.

Just when Tahoe left tail light flicked orange, a red right blinked. The SUV braked at the crossing, giving way to pedestrians. Those had definitely underestimated today’s weather—a trench coat wasn’t of great use; one’d better wear a woolen hat and wrapped themselves in a scarf. 

Washingtonians hadn’t expected this year’s winter to have learned some tricks from her Russian sister. Snow plows could hardly keep the road clean and spread salt on the sidewalks. The freak weather made all the sane folks chill at home, watch TV and, maybe, have a beer or two.

All, but Donald Ressler, the Special Agent with the FBI. Another day, another psycho on the streets. Thugs didn’t give a damn about Christmas, so the task force closed a case. It had definitely boosted their boss’s mood, so everyone got a Christmas day off.

Donald took the FBI’s civillian SUV to drive home because his own car would stuck in the Gulliver-like snow mounds. Anxiously drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Ressler glanced either on his watch or the traffic light.

Christmas Eve was around the corner, almost hitting him in the forehead.

The twenty-fourth of December. Seven o'clock.

If he could, he would rather spend Christmas with his mom and brother. But the skies snorted at him, producing a flow of non-stop wet and sleazy cotton candy. He’d be lucky not to get into a blizzard on his way home.

The phone buzzed in his jacket’s pocket. Ressler slipped a curse. Red light had already turned green, so he hurried to push the gas pedal at the impatient “Beep!” from behind.

Someone must have really needed him, judging by the unsteady vibration tickling his chest every ten seconds.

Whoever this was, they could wait. He’d be of no use to anyone if he crashed right now.

Ressler cast a quick glance at the rear-view mirror. His heavily gelled hair was now messy and tousled like he’d just woke up. A few stray strawberry blond bangs fell onto his forehead. Pandas envied his eyes’ dark bags—sleep deprivation was his best friend these days. Steering his way through, he unconsciously licked his full, chapped lips, dehydrated from the AC’s hot air.

Someone hysterically honked behind again. To his left a reddish Mazda rushed to blinking green at the intersection.

Jerk.

In no time Donald braked at red light. The dick of a Schumacher had already halted there.

“Suck it,” Ressler muttered, loosening his tie. His eyes on the traffic light, he resisted to show that dick the middle finger.

Donald rubbed his sore eyes, their green-tobacco hue gleaming in the tail lights of a car in front.

One could squeeze him like a lemon and he wouldn’t feel a thing.

Shower. Dinner. Bed. 

A workaholic Holy Trinity.

The light changed to green.

About time.

Already dreaming of his comfy quilt and pillow, Ressler accelerated. Chevy’s engine gratefully purred when he smoothly shifted the gear, speeding up.

The vibration in his left inside pocket was almost aggressive. And the snowfall inherited dogged vibes from his cell too: he could barely see anything on the road, snowflakes splashing over the windshield with a nasty slurping sound.

Passing a Chinese take-out to his right, Ressler finally took the cell out of his pocket.

Nick’s Pizza.

Pizza delivery, my ass. He knew who hid behind that caller ID.

“Yes?” Ressler angrily blurted, pressing the cell to his ear.

“Good evening, Agent Ressler.”

He would have recognized this voice out of hundreds, no, thousands of people. Silky smooth, always with a hint of a genuine laugh at everything. But most of the time it was he, Donald, the guinea pig of the mockery.

The infamous Raymond “Red” Reddington. 

Each time Red gave the task force a case, Donald, his teeth gritted, would cut a deal with his own conscience. The Bureau threw a scumbag behind the bars; Reddington—got rid of an annoying competitor.

“Shouldn’t there be a Christmas tree for Christmas?” Reddington politely inquired.

Tahoe jerked, almost sliding in a dangerous proximity to a street pillar, but Ressler steered her right back in a moment.

“What…” he bit his tongue not to slip a curse, “tree?”

“Green, Donald. My God, these walls… No wonder you’re so uptight.”

Who the fuck he thinks he is?!

Ressler didn’t breath a sound. He dug his fingers into the steering wheel so hard it hurt.

“I apologize for the intrusion, but I’m afraid it’s rather urgent. Besides, no one of sane mind would look for me at your place.”

If he could, he’d bribe any amount of mercenaries if it spared him of this arrogant, self-absorbed, ridiculously wealthy prick.

Fortunately or not Reddington was the adjunctive informant to the FBI. It meant he was his responsibility, regardless how badly Ressler wanted to barbeque his guts. Ressler would always do his job even if the only mention of Concierge of Crime made his stomach turn with disgust.

“I’ll be there in two hours,” Donald growled, hanging up, and pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

If the blizzard went on like that, he’d be home way past Christmas.

*

Ressler parked the car, trying to wrap his mind about the fact Raymond Reddington broke into his apartment.

It’s Christmas, for God’s sake!

Muttering curses, Donald picked up his laptop bag and three pizza boxes from the backseat.

He sauntered to the front door and turned the doorhandle. The hall met him with the usual epileptic blinking—one of the bulbs hadn’t met its end yet.

Cleaning the mailbox of ads and bills, Ressler threw the latter into the bag with pizzas.

The elevator softly beeped behind his back.

Donald got in and pressed “10”. The elevator creaked up to the tenth floor much longer than usual, its snail-like speed driving him crazy.

It suddenly stopped, the door opening at the seventh floor. A man stepped in, wearing a grey coat and a red hat. His snow-white beard and thin rimmed glasses reminded Ressler of Santa Claus. The man’s hands were busy with two green and bushy Christmas trees.

Really?!!

Life had a twisted sense of humor.

Somewhere a cell rang.

Not mine.

“Yes, honey,” the stranger said, trying to make one of the trees stand straight on the floor. A trace of unwavering obedience was heard in his voice. He glanced at the changing floor number. “Just as you asked—” His forehead sank into a confused frown. “But, dear…”

A spiteful hissing of the man’s wife on the other end reached Donald’s ears. Nerves of steel? Endless love? He hadn’t even raised his voice to argue.

“I’ll figure something out… Yeah, okay.” He let a weary sigh. Noticing Ressler, he asked, “Want a Christmas tree?” There was so much hope in his voice that Donald felt sorry for him.

But he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. And yet nothing in his apartment said “Merry Christmas!” except three pizzas—cheese, pineapple and anchovies—and a six pack of beer he had bought before.

There was a box with Christmas lights somewhere in the kitchen. And another box with Christmas toys in the closet.

“Yeah, why not.”

Donald reached for his wallet.

“Nah, it’s Christmas,” the man said. The elevator halted on the tenth floor. “Woah, we’re neighbors. Merry Christmas!”

“You too.”

Ressler had almost took the keys out of his pocket when he reached the door to his apartment. A second later he realized that Reddington had already to be inside. 

He simply turned the handle and entered. It took some time and effort to secure the Christmas tree straight up, but he managed. It stood perfectly still so far, leaning against the wall. He also put his laptop bag and pizza down.

The hallway smelled of home baking.

Neighbors? If it was Reddington, he’d rather eat his badge. 

The Concierge of Crime in the apron? Ridiculous.

“Ah, Donald, here you are. I was getting worried you’d stuck in there,“ Reddington’s sneaky voice caught him off hard. 

The badge slipped from Ressler’s hand, but he managed to catch it. He felt Reddington’s eyes on him, so he muttered something about the weather.

Reddington knowingly nodded, his eyes shifting to the Christmas tree, almost five feet tall.

“Ah, the spirit of Christmas isn’t dead, is it? Well, what are you waiting for? Come on in.”

“It’s my apartment,” Ressler growled, taking off his shoes.

Whenever Reddington was around, Donald felt a worthless, miserable loser. It wasn’t true; he had been on top of his class in college and at the Academy. He had spent countless hours undercover and conducted a series of successful operations.

The one and only time the luck had turned its back on him was the Concierge of Crime’s assassination in Brussels.

It cost him dearly—he had to work his way back for almost a year to restore his reputation.

Few years later Raymond Reddington surrendered to the FBI, demanding to speak exclusively with the man who had spent the prime years of his career chasing him all over the world. 

Soon enough Donald spent more time napping on the jets to Cuba, Mexico and Prague than at his bed. His fiancé, tired of the competition, left him. He couldn’t blame her, though.

Now Reddington looked much better in person than his sketch in the database. Well-groomed, not a wrinkle on the round face, though he was over fifty. He was slightly overweight whim made him quite appealing. Some agents called him “Reddybear” behind his back.

Ressler could argue that Reddington’s reaction depended on his appearance or age. And as much as he wished to ignore it, it had saved his life once.

However, if he had the chance, he would rather shovel the Christmas tree star up into his ass.

Is he glued to floor or what?

Reddington still stood there, his thin lips twisted in a cheeky grin.

What the..? Whatever.

Donald took off his black coat and hung it on the rack. After a day of nonstop run-and-chase even a vagabond wouldn’t want to wear his coat. He had almost let a low grunt seeing Reddington’s ash-colored cashmere coat on the rack next to his leather jacket. 

Reddington was a sucker for luxury and wealth. He would always show-off wearing his three-piece suits and rarely stepped outside without a fedora.

Tonight wasn’t an exception.

“Donald, you’d better wear a scarf next time. You don’t want to catch a cold, do you?”

Almost rolling his eyes, Ressler watched Reddington leave the hallway. He took the Christmas tree and went into the living room.

What the hell…

To say he was surprised was an understatement.

“I asked Dembe to give me a hand. He wanted to help with the Christmas tree, but since it’s your place, I think you should be doing it.” Reddington took a sip of whiskey from the tumbler in his hand.

Ressler missed half of the sentence Reddington was saying, trying to take in what had just happened to the living room.

“…We left the bedroom untouched. Unfortunately, the nightmare you call ”wallpapers” is still there. However,” Reddington grinned, “you don’t invite the guests straight to bedroom, do you?”

Donald had an urge to show the exact destination he’d love to invite Reddington. Part of him wanted to strangle the bastard for what he’d done, but the other part was actually grateful. A tiny bit. Just a bit.

The room had indeed become much better: an old and tattered couch was replaced with a new, wide and comfy along with two armchairs. The walls were painted in a pleasant sandy yellow instead of the old wallpapers peeling off at the corners. There was a couple of plant pots on the windowsill—Donald had no clue where they came from. He wasn’t a plant-friendly guy, so he’d bet a hundred bucks those were dead in a week. 

Now the living room was much cozier than before. His coffee table remained at the same place, and yet it was fixed up, scuffs and scratches gone. A neat pile of The Washington Post and car repair mags had been left exactly the same way Ressler did this morning.

“You like it?” Reddington asked, a hint of genuine care heard in his voice.

Reddington and care? I must be delusional.

“Yeah, thanks. But why?”

“It’s Christmas. Of course,” Reddington gave him a foxy smile, “I’m not expecting anything in return. Gifts make me uncomfortable.” He took another sip. Swirling the tumbler, he said, “I’m afraid I couldn’t help myself. I usually prefer the taste of a much higher price tag, though… I hope you don’t mind.”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Donald, you’re a picture of hospitality.”

“I’m not the one who breaks into the apartments on Christmas.” Ressler pointed at the Christmas tree. “A hand, please?”

To Ressler’s surprise, Reddington actually helped him to put up the Christmas tree.

“Thanks. Where’s Dembe?” As far as he remembered, Dembe was Reddington’s shadow to follow him wherever he’d go. “I owe him for this one.”

For a moment Reddington’s eyes seemed to get wet with tears.

No, just a trick of light.

He and Reddington shared the same eye color—a rich green-tobacco. Each time their eyes met Ressler felt extremely odd and uncomfortable.

As if you were looking into your own.

But the difference was, one would want nothing but to escape the hard, assessing stare, picking every detail, every change you hadn’t even suspected of.

Reddington had a massive amount of dirt on everyone—CEOs, politicians, bankers, defense contractors… You name it. He also knew the whereabouts of the most dangerous outlaws no one had even heard of. Nothing slipped from him. He told Ressler once that almost all people were an open book for him. It was true.

At times Ressler was terrified at what Reddington could’ve read learned about him. He wished to erase a lot of stuff for these years of the game Reddington and the Bureau had been playing.

The fact that most of his memories involved Reddington, the man who forsook his flag and country, drove Ressler nuts.

At first he was desperately looking for the “Why me?” answer. Somehow he wanted to believe it was he who made Reddington surrender.

What could possibly the most boring person like himself do to make Concierge of Crime seek the FBI’s protection?

So he let it go.

“He’s with his granddaughter,” Reddington answered.

“Oh.”

It was beyond awkward. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Reddington had the blues.

Could he, really?

Reddington’s eyes faded, and he seemed rather stiff. For a moment Ressler missed the Reddington who’s used to cite one of those smart-ass quotes or crack a joke. Obviously, the favorite subject of ridicule was he, Donald. But eventually Ressler simply rolled with that.

Unexpectedly for himself he wanted to soothe him somehow.

Soothe?!! Soothe him?!!

Reddington was the FBI’s asset, an informant. And an extremely dangerous criminal. His empire thrived on money laundering and arms dealing. Any competitor met his maker in a shot. Literally. And though Reddington had never killed an innocent man, it didn’t change the fact he had blood on his hands.

So why it feels like shit?

The man before him wasn’t the Concierge of Crime, but a man, drowning in sickening, almost suffocating loneliness. The one Ressler knew too well.

At least there was one thing they had in common—building bulletproofs walls around themselves. Anyone who’d try to pass was immediately brushed off, with no further regrets.

The fact Reddington hadn’t hopped on his private jet to Monte Carlo, but came over to the person who hated his guts, was quite telling.

Reddington and those like him didn’t have friends. Allies, partners, acquaintances… Anyone but friends.

The very first year of Reddington and the Bureau’s symbiosis was memorable. Ressler caught a bullet into his thigh and lost lots of blood. And, as fate would have it, he got locked up with Reddington. And he, to Donald’s utmost surprise, performed a field transfusion which saved his life. Ressler was lucky they shared the same rare blood type—B negative.

Suddenly Ressler realized a thing.

Reddington considered him a friend. At least, in his twisted paradigm. If to roll with the snarky comments, Reddington must have a sort of admiration for him. He even told him that in person. But Donald would rather swallow a bullet than admit he respected Reddington.

They went into the small kitchen. There were two bags from the Sticky Fingers on the counter. The mix of ginger and vanilla in the air reminded Donald about his mom’s baking. He’d sell his soul for her pie with berries and wallnuts.

Donald put pizza boxes on the counter and then looked into the first bag.

Ginger-honey biscuits, ginger biscuits, chocolate muffins, pretzels, cupcakes, donuts. The second bag was with pies. One of them Donald instantly recognized—his Mom baked exactly the same. The other one was a meat pie.

“I didn’t know what you like. There must be baklava somewhere too.” Reddington put a teakettle on the stove, ignoring the electric one just on his right. “If we want to have Christmas dinner on time, we’d better dress the green lady up in the living room first.”

Concierge of Crime making tea in his kitchen! It’s like a snowstorm in Ecuador.

But there he was, in flesh and bone, humming some Christmas carol.

“You said it was urgent. I’m all ears.” Donald opened the drawer, taking out the box with Christmas lights. 

A number of conflicted and particularly twisted emotions was itching within him right now. The change of the subject seemed the perfect way to cool down.

“Ah, indeed. Must have slipped my mind.” Reddington paused. “I’d like to offer you a job.”

“The FBI works for you already. I can’t believe I’m saying it, but it’s a fact,” Ressler said, trying to untangle the lights’ cord with the bulbs. 

Somehow Reddington knew the exact place Ressler kept the cups and dishes. He unpacked the pie and one of the pizzas and put them in the oven. Then—arranged the muffins, cupcakes and pretzels on the plate. The rest of the goods he hid in one of the cupboards where Ressler kept bread.

Reddington found the teapot Donald hadn’t used since college and added the tea in it.

“Forget the FBI. I need you. You’re the best man for the job. Especially after Laurel’s death.” 

At this point Ressler would love nothing more but to strangle Reddington with the Christmas lights’ cord and, maybe, lit it up. 

Laurel Hitchin had been his nightmare for more than a year. Deep down he knew it had been an accident.

I didn’t mean it, for God’s sake!  

But he didn’t call it in.

Instead, he called a cleaner. 

Like the last piece of thrash on Earth. 

Of course, the luck had turned its back on him. Again. So he, once an honored FBI agent, did a number of unforgivable, horrible things. Bribing witnesses, blackmailing, moving the dead bodies, covering up murders, fabricating evidence… He did all that to keep his secret safe. 

“I was ready to go to jail. I didn’t need your help. And I didn’t ask to burn Prescott alive!”

“That’s why I need you, and no one else,” Reddington put a cup in front of him and sat at the table. “You trust no one but your gut. You’re walking on a tightrope, yet at the end of the day you make the right choice. And you can’t be bribed.” Reddington gave him a wide grin. “And, finally, you’re damn good at what you’re doing.”

“As hundreds of other agents.”

“Donald, don’t be shy,” Reddington took a sip of tea and bit at the ginger-honeyed biscuit. “M-m… Perfect. If you like honey, you’re going to like this one.” Red took another sip. “Think about it.” 

Ressler wanted to refuse at once, but Reddington raised his index finger. Apparently, he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.

“You have a week.”

Ressler sighed deeply. The cup warmed his hands, but on the inside he felt colder than an iceberg.

He didn’t realized the room was getting filled with the smell of prunes and apricots mixed with pineapples, until it’s aroma tickled his nose.

“Better do a raincheck on that.” Reddington stood up, and went to the oven. 

And Donald was left to fight with his own conscience.

To work? For him?!

The system he always put his trust with had been rotten to the core. It stank of corruption and cover-ups. More and more cases got tossed away if some moneybag threw in some cash here and there. And one could do nothing.

But what Reddington was offering… It crossed everything he woke up for in the mornings.

To seek justice for those who couldn’t do it on their own. And to punish those who deserve it.

But hadn’t he crossed the line one couldn’t go back?

The world wasn’t no longer black and white, good and evil. 

Because Reddington showed him there was much more to it.

And hadn’t he become everything he loathed?

A crooked cop.

There was no way to change that, no matter many scumbags he’d lock up.

No way to erase it. No way to make amends.

Reddington stared at him. There was something in his eyes Ressler couldn’t identify yet.

Empathy?

Understanding?

“I know what you’re thinking, Donald. And no, there are plenty of men capable of a killing job at my hire. I wouldn’t ask you to do that. At least out of the respect how much you value someone’s life.” Reddington paused, looking Ressler straight in the eye. “Even if it’s as miserable as mine.”

Ressler winced at the memory he had once caught a bullet for Reddington.

“You’re my responsibility. No matter how badly I hate your guts, it’s my job to protect you.”

“I know, Donald. And I’m ready to do the same for you.” 

Reddington gave him a long, piercing look. It seemed he was put under the microscope. Ressler could swear his whole body grew Alaska-like cold on the inside.

Donald withstood the overwhelming, almost stripping stare. Though the tide of doubts within was already coming up, ready to gargle him.

He didn’t know what to say. To he honest, he’d always been allergic to this elaborate and confusing mechanism they called a human soul. That was the reason he had almost flunk the exam on profiling.

Reddington theatrically clapped his hands.

“My goodness, the time! Donald, decorate the Christmas tree. We have one hour left. But please, don’t fall from the ladder like last time. Remind me, what was your disguise?.. Ah, the museum curator. An early Picasso hit you really bad on your head, didn’t it? Fun times, fun times indeed…”

It took Ressler a real effort not to roll his eyes on him.

This year’s Christmas seemed fun. Sort of.

Well, at least there was one thing he was still sure of.

You won’t get bored with Raymond Reddington.

[takadasaiko]

Home from the War: Chapter Fourteen

FFN II AO3

Summary: Gina makes things complicated for her captors, Ressler is forced to decide which lines he's willing to cross, and the team gets ready for the fight of their life.

Chapter Fourteen: Stubborn

Gina Zanetakos was not a sentimental woman. She had never been fool enough to think that St Regis provided her with the home that she had never had or a family that would support her against all odds. Loyalties changed at a whim. Jacob leaving had been a sharp reminder of that, and her own last second decision to put McCready in the ground to save her traitorous former lover had only proven it all the more. A power struggle had become inevitable within the organization, especially when things hadn't run as smoothly as she would have liked. As any of them would have liked. She had dug in though. She was a talented operative and a stubborn woman. She had had every intention of coming out on top.

That was over now. They were going to take that away from her. Or take her away from it, rather. She'd be damned if she let them have St Regis after all of this, even if it killed her.

Masterson tightened his hold on her as he guided her through the halls. She had felt the students' quick glances as they passed through the campus. She had been their teacher, and for many of them, she'd been to them what the Major had been to her. They hadn't known McCready, only Gina, and she'd brought them out of whatever life had tried to drown them in and given them a chance. Despite what Jacob said, she'd given them more of a chance than they ever would have had without her.

"This could have been easier," Masterson murmured in her ear. "If you'd given everything over they'd have let you live."

"Sure," Gina snorted as they paused and he knocked against the thick, wooden door leading to what had been McCready's office before it had been hers. She risked a glance back out of the corner of her eye. "I see you're still on the outside."

"Closer in than you."

"For now."

The door opened and he all but shoved her inside. She didn't let herself stumble though, and she found Geffroy and Tallert waiting. Franks was nowhere to be seen, which must have meant that Jacob's people had taken him. Well, at least there was that.

"Good to see you, Gina," Tallert said.

"Is it really?" She almost believed his lie. If Geffroy had been fond of Jacob, Tallert had liked Gina. She had been his top student and, as far as she was aware, she still held the highest score he'd given out. That didn't mean he wouldn't break her neck if it came down to it.

"Don't be bitter. You brought this on yourself," Geffroy grumbled and moved across the office to a table across the room that Gina knew well enough. He slid a panel out from the middle and pulled a keyboard from it, a loud click signalling the rest of the computer coming out of hiding as the top of the table popped open and Geffroy pulled the monitor up. He motioned to it.

"What, you don't want to wait for Franks?" she asked cheekily.

Masterson gave her another rough shove in the direction of the formerly-hidden computer system. Gina pushed a long breath out through her nose as she approached it, fingers nimble across the key as she dialed in a code. She could feel three sets of eyes latched onto her from behind, greedily waiting for the information that they thought would give them access to all that McCready had built. She reached over, the request for the thumbprint flickering across the screen, and she pressed her thumb against it.

It read the grooves on her skin and beeped once, twice, and then flashed green before cycling back around.

"What the hell is that?" Masterson growled.

Gina couldn't resist the small smirk that tilted her lips even as he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her backwards.

Tallert approached, his cool gaze taking it in. "You never had access to it," he breathed. "That's why…"

"McCready always wanted Jacob and me to take over together," Gina answered with a shrug.

Anger flashed briefly through Geffroy's eyes. "And he never took Phelps from the system."

Gina's lips quirked just a little more. She'd played them and they knew it. "He always had a soft spot for him." Her dark eyes fell on each man and she squared her shoulders as the computer timed out, relocking behind her. "Looks like you gave up half your chance to get to what you need."

He didn't like the situation. Halcyon hadn't fought him on most of the arrests made, but Ressler had known that luck wouldn't hold. The moment Victor Franks was identified as one of their captures from the raid Scottie Hargrave had stepped in and pushed for Franks to be held at the Halcyon site.

Ressler had finally convinced her that the offices within DC was the only consensus he would make, and only if his people led the interrogation. She hadn't been thrilled at the idea, but Liz's reminder of the deal Tom had made with the Task Force held more weight with Scottie than Ressler's. Now, just a few hours later, he found himself staring through a one-way window at a man that hadn't budged for him and was even showing the same indifference to Samar.

"You're not going to break him."

Ressler turned, the familiar voice from behind startling him. Tom Keen looked exhausted where he stood, his gaze focused on the man beyond the glass that he'd likely learned a thing or two from over the years. Ressler took the moment of distraction to glance him up and down, from the bruises lining his face to the splint on his right wrist. His dominant fingers on the same hand were bound together. He stood stiffly, like he was still in a lot of pain, but pushing past it.

"Liz know you're up?" Ressler asked at last.

"Yeah."

"How'd you swing that?"

"A little honesty goes a long way." Ressler snorted a laugh and Tom offered a lopsided smile. "We're on the same page. Just need to get everyone else there."

That sounded like another curve ball was coming their way. Great.

Ressler motioned to the stoic man Samar was after. "What do you know about him?"

"Victor Franks was over interrogation training while I was at St Regis. He went into semi retirement a few years ago, but he always wanted a chance at running the organization." Tom's lips rugged down. "He didn't just teach interrogation, but how to stand up under it."

"Like you did with Meera," Ressler said softly, the memory tugging hard at him.

Tom made a small sound of acknowledgement. "Meera and others over the years. Meera was good - better than I expected going in - but she was a walk in the park next to some of the interrogations I've been put through over the years. Franks taught us how to keep it together long enough to convince the interrogator we were telling the truth or would die before giving anything up."

Looking at the effects of his latest round with the man, Ressler wasn't sure he wanted to know what kind of training he'd gone under as he learned from Franks. The agent squared his shoulders and turned to look through the window. "I can't condone Samar beating the hell out of him for answers."

A rough chuckle left the dark haired man. "I'm sure she's got plenty of training beyond what the FBI is comfortable with, but she's got the same problem as we'd have if I sent Solomon in there or if I went in myself: it's the same type of training Franks taught. He'd die before cracking. We need a different approach."

"And what is that?" Ressler asked carefully.

The door behind them opened and Katarina Rostova stride in like she owned the place. Ressler stared as she offered him a wink and he turned back to Liz's husband. "You've got to be kidding me."

"She has a completely different training background than any of us. It's a different angle and the best chance we've got. If we're going to get inside St Regis, we need Franks' help to do that."

Ressler pulled in a steadying breath. If he gave her the room, he was signing off on whatever Rostova chose to do with Franks, and he still wasn't sold on if they could trust her or not.

"You could always let my daughter take a crack at him. I hear she's proven herself to be very talented at getting information when she wants it," Katarina said, a pointed look in her son-in-law's direction.

Tom gave a weak chuckle at that, running his hand along the back of his neck in a nervous motion Ressler had seen on rare occasion. "Yeah, well, Franks won't have the same motivations I did." He turned back to Ressler. "He's in Halcyon custody. If something goes sideways we'll handle it."

There was a long moment of silence between them before Ressler finally gave, offering the barest of nods. Katarina didn't wait for anything more as she ducked into the room and Ressler turned back to Tom. "How does she knows about the boat?"

Tom groaned, shaking his head. Ressler couldn't say he envied the man his luck in in-laws.

She stepped into the room, the Mossad agent instantly looking over at her, but it wasn't a set of dark eyes that hers met. Her own blue locked gazes with cool hazel of the man cuffed to the table. There was something under the mask, a small flicker of recognition, and Katarina felt the barest of smiles threaten. Masha and her husband had made the right call bringing her in.

Navabi saw the glimmer of change too and she stood. Katarina felt her gaze linger as she passed by wordlessly, the warning clear. She'd play along, but the moment one of her people told her Katarina didn't belong in there she'd be back. It had been a long time since the former KGB agent had gone toe to toe with a Mossad agent. That could be fun, but for now she had a job to do.

The amusement faded and Katarina took the seat across from Franks. "Do you know who I am?"

"A legend in your own right," Franks answered evenly.

He hadn't been expecting her. Good.

Franks sat back as best he could in his seat, his posture relaxing even if Katarina knew that was the furthest he could be from the truth. "It makes more sense now."

"What's that?"

"Phelps. The girl's not just some FBI bitch. She's Katarina Rostova's daughter."

It was meant to rile her, but instead Katarina simply stood and circled around behind him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder before drifting to the back of his neck. He didn't tense, but she didn't expect him to, even as she leaned down directly in his ear. "You're alone here, Vic. They're not coming for you because my daughter and her husband have done the dirty work for them. They have Zanetakos and they have St Regis. You are alone, unless you make yourself useful."

She felt the barest change in the muscles under her hand. "And exactly how would you suggest I do that?"

"You know your mother won't take no for an answer on this, don't you?"

Tom loosed a breath, his gaze directed at nothing in particular as he stood at the window in his office. "Yeah," he answered softly as Howard came to stand next to him. "Liz won't back down from it either." He glanced at the man to his left. "You're not here to tell me you want to try your hand in the field are you, because I seem to remember having to drag you out of the line of fire a few years ago."

Howard chuckled and Tom felt a real albeit tired smile tug into place.

"No, though you'd put an old man's mind at ease by holding back yourself."

That pulled Tom's attention over and he blinked in surprise. "You know I can't do that."

"I know," Howard said softly, "but you and I know the odds, Tom. Going in there injured you're up against even tougher ones."

"I've been through worse."

"That doesn't mean you're fit to take on an organization designed to train killers."

"That's exactly why they need me. If I sat it out, maybe Scottie would, but Liz would still be there. This is my fight."

Howard's gaze flickered up and down and lingered on Tom's battered right hand. "Can you even fire a gun right now?

Tom smirked and reached over, cuffing his father on the shoulder playfully. "You think a trained killer needs his dominant hand to shoot with?"

That didn't pull a smile from his father. If anything, Howard grew a little more serious. "You're better than them, son. Never let anyone tell you otherwise."

The younger man's expression softened at that. "Because I had the chance to be. That's what I want to give the kids in the program now. That's why this couldn't wait. That's why it still can't."

"And it has nothing to do with saving Gina Zanetakos?"

"She gave herself up for me. If I don't, exactly how am I better than anyone else put through St Regis?"

"He's stubborn like that."

Both men turned to see Liz leaning against the doorframe and she offered a strained smile. "Someone wanted to say goodbye before heading out."

Agnes peeked around her mother's leg and Tom felt the same warmth that always managed to work its way in when his daughter was nearby take hold. He took a careful knee. "Hey, kiddo. Can I get a hug before you leave with Grandpa?"

The little girl took the invitation and launched herself across the room with enough force to nearly knock Tom off his balance. He managed to stay upright, though, and wrapped an arm around her, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. He felt that thick, dark hair tickle his nose and she tightened her hold. "I don't want you and Mama to go," she said, her voice hitching halfway through.

"We'll be back before you know it," Tom promised. "You'll take care of your grandpa, right?"

"And Uncle 'Ram and Mont."

Tom snorted a laugh. "Yep. You have to make sure all of them are safe. You got this, right?"

"Right," she answered with a firm nod and Tom leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "Love you, Daddy."

"I love you too, and I'll see you as soon as this is done," he promised.

She watched him, those clever dark eyes fixed on him for a long moment before she turned abruptly and took Howard's hand with her own smaller one, like she was the one leading him to safety. Tom forced the raging emotions behind the mask of calm as his father offered him a small smile. "Be careful, son," he offered before the little girl pulled him out of the room, leaving Tom and Liz alone for the brief moment they had.

He stood, the motion slower than he would liked, but Liz didn't rush to help. She watched, taking it in, and seemed satisfied with his balance. She didn't want him going any more than Howard, but they'd had that conversation, and maybe, just maybe, he'd convinced those that needed to be convinced that he wasn't backing down from this.

"Hey," she murmured, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Hey."

Liz reached up, her touch light against his scruffy cheek and he leaned into it. "My mother cracked Franks."

Tom made a small sound of acknowledgement and he reached to take her hand, pressing a quick kiss to it. "We knew she was the only one who stood a chance. Everybody ready?"

"As we can be." She gave him a small, strained smile and pulled him down to kiss him. Tom melted into it, wishing they could stay like that.

"Thank you," she murmured as they finally broke.

"For what?"

"Not fighting me on going."

He quirked an eyebrow at that, his tone teasing. "Like you tried to do with me?" Her glare lacked its usual edge and he kissed her again. "Fighting you when you've made up your mind is dangerous. One suicide mission at a time, huh?"

That got him a light smack to the arm. "I'm trying here."

"I know." He brushed his thumb against her cheekbone. "We'll take them out together."

The woman he loved nodded and leaned into a careful hug. Tom wrapped his arms around her to pull her closer. It wasn't just his past they were fighting. They were fighting for their future, and that took both of them. Together they had to win.

TBC

Notes: Of course Tom's not sitting this out. Why would he, ya know, go home and rest or anything? :P

The next couple chapters are going to be a wild ride before the finish. Chapter after next actually got a lot more violent than I anticipated... oops O.o

If you'd like some fluff, though, I updated Truth in the Lies yesterday with a prompt that was sent in: Liz's pregnancy cravings. Hint: Agnes' taste in food is more aligned with her daddy's than her mom's.

Next Time: The two teams work to find a way into St Regis' compound only to find it's no safer outside than it is inside.

[youcantmakeme]

Ressler Week 2017 - Day 2 - Favorite moral dilemma. 

Alexander Kirk (No. 14): Conclusion 3 x 10

“You have faith. I envy that. Justice, integrity. Faith in humanity. Nobody embodies those principal more than you.

Do you want a bullet in Alexander Kirk’s head or one in mine? Decide now.”

[alyblacklist]

Do you think Keenler has any chance to happen in season 5?

Yes, I do think there is a chance for Keenler in S5.  How much of a chance? Hard to say until we see what choices the writers make in the early part of the season. But I’m actually feeling more positive about Keenler now than I did at this time last season, and here’s why

(Post edited to remove the “"keep reading” jump for those having trouble with it - sorry for length)

1) Despite everything, the writers have continued to show us in Season 4 that Ressler and Liz share a special and important bond.

One thing that has been a constant since Season 1 is that Ressler and Liz share a special bond that is different from Liz’s relationship with anyone else on the Task Force. Red has recognized it:

”What you know about her, what you feel about her could make all the difference.” (3.01)

“Agent Ressler. How’s our girl?” (3.09)

Samar has recognized it:

”But you need to be there. Forget the suspension.” (4.20)

And Mr. Kaplan recognized it in choosing Ressler as her primary Task Force target.

More importantly, the writers made sure to give us some of those moments on screen in S4. For example:

All of these little moments - Ressler dropping everything to run to Cuba, Ressler not caring about his suspension when Liz was in danger in 4.20, Liz whispering his name and punching Krilov in 4.19 - have all reaffirmed that they still care deeply for one another.

2) The writers have left Tom & Liz on less than solid ground.

While the writers did not ultimately break up Tom & Liz for Redemption, they left them on less than solid ground. Liz admitted to having doubts about loving the “real” Tom in 4.12 right before the spinoff. They haven’t kissed on screen since 3.11. They show minimal affection. They are still not married (as Tom confirmed on Redemption when he told Nez Liz was technically his “fiancee”).  And most importantly - Tom was left holding the bag of bones Kaplan dug up in the Season 4 finale.  How the writers will handle that - and the fact that Tom was basically gone for months dealing with his own family issues - remains to be seen, but I have a very hard time believing that all is going to be sunshine and roses for the Keens in Season 5.  The writers were prepared to spin off Tom if Redemption had succeeded.  That suggests to me he’s not critical to their endgame and they have a lot of flexibility in terms of where they take his character.  Personally, I’m hoping the bag of bones will lead to a more mysterious Tom along the lines of Season 1 with secrets and secret agendas. Only time will tell.  

3) All of Red’s warnings

This is a big one for me.  All of Red’s warnings about Tom.  Especially now that the writers have Liz in a place where she believes Red to be her father.  Will she finally listen to him? Red tolerates Tom, but barely.  Unless they intend to continue to portray Liz like a rebellious teenager, I have a very hard time believing that all of Red’s warnings will remain nothing more than empty words.  For example:

“Unfortunately, Lizzy, you’re chest–deep in filth, and you’re gonna have to wade through it – to get to the other side.” (1.18)

“This is an end. And then something new will begin. You deserve the best in life, Lizzy. I know that sounds odd coming from a man who has brought you some of the worst, but it’s the reason why Tom had to work so hard to be that for you. To be kind, to be thoughtful, make you laugh, to make you love him. Because you deserve that. And it will come.” (1.18)

“I am not your Tom problem, Lizzy. Tom is your Tom problem” (3.15)

“He’s reckless, dangerous. He’s not worthy of being your husband, and he sure as hell is not worthy of raising that child.” (3.15)

“No, Lizzy. I’m here to ask you, to implore you, please, don’t do this. I’m telling you, no matter what you believe, Tom is not the man you think he is…. Men like Tom don’t change. You’re attempting to build a life with a man who is fundamentally dishonest.” (3.17)

“I have found in my experience people rarely change. And when they do, they’re not to be trusted.” (4.20 (not directed to Tom, but relevant))

Contrast to how Red speaks of Ressler:

“No. It’s not a trade or a bribe or an offer of payment in kind to entice you to look away. I admire your probity too much for that….All I want is your word as a man of honor” (3.01)

“You have faith. I envy that. Justice, integrity, faith in humanity… nobody embodies those principles more than you.” (Ep 3.23)

Bottom line, I think Keenler is in a good place for S5.  Where their relationship goes will depend on many factors, and most especially how the writers handle Tom’s return with that suitcase full of bones, but I think the seeds are definitely there for things to grow again between them in S5.  Thanks for the ask! 

[sorrydearie]

It's nothing - for Red

“Oh my god,how are you still wearing that thing, what the hell is wrong with you?!”

With ahalf-hearted sway of her arm, Liz tugs in disbelief at the sleeve of Red’s suit.Ever since they had stepped out of his plane, she had practically been dying inthe late Italian midsummer sun that kept burning down on them so unforgivingly.To her American mind, 35 degrees Celsius somehow hadn’t sounded like all thatmuch. At least not until she had opened the door of the plane to risk a glanceoutside, only to shy right back inside like a vampire going up in flames at thefirst ray of light falling onto its exposed skin.

Still, shewas faring slightly better ever since she had stripped out of her blazer andpants, leaving her in only a tank top and the pair of boxers she had packed asa makeshift pajamas.

Red, on theother hand, was still dressed in his usual three-piece suit, looking for allintents and purposes like he was strolling through an appropriately-weathered park.There wasn’t even a single speck of sweat on his face - a fact that made Lizscowl in envy as the baby hairs at her temple kept sticking to her forehead.

“It’sreally not so bad, Lizzy.”

“Not sobad?” Liz parrots in a put-out grumble as she searches through her bag foranother bottle of water - her third one already.

“I feellike I’m burning alive. This is what hell must feel like.”

She heavesanother sigh - this one not nearly loud enough to drown out Red’s infuriatinglyamused chuckle - and adjusts the pair of sunglasses sitting perched on thebridge of her nose. To distract herself from the truly inhumane heat (no matterhow much Red tried to downplay it), she lets her eyes wander across the vastlanding strip where Dembe was supposed to pick them up any minute now. She justhopes that their rented car has air conditioning.

“I shouldhave stayed back home. You could have taken Ressler with you.”

Red gives anon-committal hum, sounding vaguely distracted. “That wouldn’t have been nearlyas much fun.”

“You couldhave made a road trip out of it. Like those buddy cop movies.”

For a momentLiz tries to imagine Red and Ressler sitting casually in an open car, bothwearing matching Hawaii shirts with a glaringly-bright flower print. And god,the sun was really messing with her head at this point!

“When didyou say Dembe was supposed to pick-”

A suddennoise behind her - sounding suspiciously like a sack of potatoes had justfallen to the ground - causes her to whirl around and search for Red - only tofind him lying in an unconscious heap on the floor.

“Red!” Shecries and in an instant she is at his side, kneeling on the scorching hotasphalt beside his unconscious body to check for any outward wounds orinjuries. There isn’t anything though, nothing that is visible to the bare eye atleast.

Going outon a hunch, Liz’s hands reach out to cup his cheeks and forehead, and yes, that’sit!

Under herfingers, Red is burning up quick, feeling feverishly hot to the touch.

“Idiot.”Liz mumbles grumpily as she carefully rolls him onto his back, gently placingher hand to the back of his scalp to make sure that his head wouldn’t hit theground.

“It’s not so bad, Lizzy, he says. Just a bit of heat, he says.”

With anannoyed scowl on her face, Liz brings her hands around to his front to hastily unbuttonhis suit jacket before sliding it unceremoniously - and a bit fumblingly - offhis shoulders. She briefly allows herself to wonder just how much it had costbecause - as she rolls it into a tight-knitted ball of crumpled up sleeves andlapels before wisely placing it between his head and the hard ground - Liz thinksthat this must surely be the most expensive makeshift pillow she has ever seen.

And well, beforetoday Liz would have never thought that she’d go about undressing Red in themiddle of a private airfield, but what gives?

At leastnow she doesn’t have to focus on that excruciating heat anymore.

[aussieokie]

What are you're favourite characteristics of Ressler and Liz. For example mine are that Ressler is very selfless and so strong and for Liz that she's badass and really caring. Just wanted to know what yours are.

Well answering the part on Ressler is very easy for me. He’s honourable, loyal, trustworthy, dependable in a crisis, and really is the boy scout they all tease him for being. And he’s not ashamed of that. He has morals and stands by them. And Red sees who people really are. He’s a great judge of character, and he understands, respects and even likes Ressler, and said it perfectly:

You have faith. I envy that. Justice, integrity, faith in humanity. Nobody embodies those principles more than you. 

Ressler has a soft side to him that he doesn’t show many people. He will drop everything to help those he cares for, even at his own expense. He is multilayered. On the surface he’s a by-the-book agent, but underneath he is much more. Some people find him boring. They’re just not looking deep enough.

It’s a little harder for me to say a lot about Liz. If I go back to Season 1 and 2 Liz, I saw a very caring person, who was there for her friends, particularly Ressler as she began to see him as more than just the stoic agent. That changed in 3B and 4A when she became very selfish and didn’t even talk to most of the task force, and wasn’t there for Ressler when he needed a friend. But glimpses of it reappeared in 4B, which was good to see. She began to be part of the team again. This talk of her being a badass is fine, but I’d rather see the deeper, more caring and attentive Liz that we used to have, and see her re-emerge more fully in Season 5.

Thanks for the ask!

[kiss-my-freckle]

The Lord Baltimore doppelganger brother.

Complicated -

Liz: How could you tell them apart? Lois: Rowan was a silly heart, always smiling. She was a happy child. Liz: And Nora? Lois: She was complicated.

Zoë: Do you have kids, Kenneth? Red: I do, a daughter. Zoë: The two of you close? Red: It’s complicated.

Jennifer’s memory wasn’t blocked like Liz’s was, and she recognizes Red as her real father. She remembers enough of her pink pajamas and her pink bedroom, waiting for Santa. While Liz was forced to recall a night she spent in the closet, wearing a red nightgown. Naomi’s inability to say that she was married to Red, but she was married to “a” Reddington. This would explain why Red refers to her as an “estranged sister.” Because she’d be Red’s sister-in-law. 

Red: This may be hard to understand, Frank, but after all these years, your wife has become more like an estranged sister to me. We can’t really bear each other’s company.

Red: Now, that’s a nasty look that takes practice. You must have sisters.

For Liz, her Braxton recall and Connolly flashback had her switching roles. This would be why they have two men face down on the floor - one burned, the other shot. Why she’d believe she left her father dying on the floor of a burning house, then believe she shot and killed her father. Also why she’d believe Red came looking for the Fulcrum with a woman and “his people.”

Why Red would argue her recall but not her flashback. Red didn’t die, but the other man did. Her real father saved her from the fire. 

Then you have the rest of them, and there are many. Alan Fitch, Anton Velov, Vasilia Patinka, even Dom recognizing our Red as Raymond Reddington. 

Ressler: Sounds like someone’s a little jealous. Uncle Red’s got a new crush.

Two separate families, two separate disappearances. One for Liz’s father, one for Jennifer’s. Our Red being an uncle and a father. The body in the duffel bag being an uncle and a father. 

Dembe: Raymond, I’m not sure Elizabeth will ever be ready to learn about what you did to Katarina.

Then Katarina, the man she loved killed by the child she adored. - yet our Red having an affair with her, knowing all about the Summer Palace. How she could mistake one brother for another, one living and one dead. 

Sam, who would’ve known both men personally, and for all of Liz’s and most of Red’s life. The one Red and Katarina both trusted to raise Liz. 

Into the more technical details, like Dr. Maltz. Because one could make themselves look like another, but not to the point they’d mistake him for a real or fake Reddington. A face is easy to fabricate - if the bone structures are similar, relationships are not. Details are not. Knowing them personally, caring for them on a deep level. Same with missions he took up, like the one he shared with Cooper, down to every detail. 

This could also explain the death of Red’s first family - being mistaken for his brother. If Jennifer and Liz were sisters, he would’ve had two growth charts under the panelling at the Takoma Park house. But he only had one, and it wan’t for his ballerina daughter - a daughter that lived with him on a regular basis and survived far past the age of 3. 

Liz: Nora killed Rowan because she envied her. She wanted to become her. She wanted to be the good sister, the sister who didn’t get abused by her uncle.

Add in the fact that Red has a rare blood type, and his fingerprints match that of the real Red. Which means his brother would’ve taken on some kind of role like Nora Mills did of her sister in Lord Baltimore. The bad brother like the troubled sister. Identical twins, identical DNA - making it a bit more complex to establish identity, let alone paternity. 

Not sisters. Cousins from identical twins. 

Garvey: Whatever you imagine the answer might be, it’s better than that.

[kiss-my-freckle]

Imposters, false identites, fake deaths Seasons 1 & 2

It would take too long for me to list every alias Red, Liz, and Tom has ever used. So yeah ... add all of those in if you feel like making up your own list. General Ludd has his aliases taped to the wall of his storage unit. If I’ve missed any for seasons 1 & 2, feel free to add.

Ranko Zamani aka  Sacha M. Chacko: 1x1

Cooper: Ranko Zamani’s been dead for six years. He’s a non–existent threat. Red: Then a dead man just stepped off United 283 from Munich to Dulles.

Donald Ressler acting as The Courier: 1x5

Ressler: Is this what you need to see? You want to watch me bleed, see if I react? I’ve already lost the only thing in this world I’ve ever loved. I have nothing in this world, except this job. Dechambou: Impressive. Except for one mistake. If the Iranian is dead, the real Courier would have killed me too. Which makes me wonder - Who the hell are you?

Gina Zanetakos aka Shubie Hartwell: 1x6 Liz: According to Reddington, her real name is Gina Zanetakos. Nearly a year ago, she reached out to him as Shubie Hartwell. She wanted Red to broker a deal to assassinate a supreme court judge who was the swing vote in a case that could have cost her corporate clients billions.

Nathaniel Wolff, multiple identities: 1x8

Ressler: But we’ve got Nathaniel Wolff’s fingerprints all over the place. Two different people, both with the exact same print? You can’t change his fingerprints. Liz: He changed his face.

Garrick & Shining Path: 1x9

Red: He liberated Mahmoud Al Azok from an Alcatraz–like CIA black site in the Bering Sea. Meera: That was Shining Path, a splinter cell. Azok has ties to a Caribbean money launderer. Red: No. That was Garrick, paid by that same Peruvian money launderer to make it appear as though Shining Path broke him out. It was Garrick.

Pytor & Catherine Madrczyk. Eric, Molly, and Annie Trettel: 1x12

Liz: You have eyes on the target? Meera: Target is dead. Hold tight while I look for his ghost.

Bobby Jonica & Aiko Tanida: 1x16

Red: Aiko Tanida died the day his brother was captured by Ressler’s task force. Anyone who tells you otherwise doesn’t know the difference between a water buffalo and a musk ox.

Ivan & Harrison Lee: 1x17

Ivan: It wasn’t me. Red: Then who was it? Ivan: I don’t know, but he’s been using my name.

Christopher Maly aka Craig Keen: 1x18

Red: Of course you can. I have a fingerprint. Benson ran it, got a name. She says the print belongs to a Craig Keen. Well, Craig Keen is an alias – a very good one at that, complete with a credit rating, school and medical records, passports with a long history - all the trimmings. What do you know about touch DNA?

Liz: I know who you are. I know about the time you did at Wasco. I know about the warrants. I know about you, Christopher Maly. Somebody provided you with an identity, a history, embedded you into my life. I want to know who, and I want to know why.

Berlin & Fake Berlin: 1x21 & 1x22

Liz: The man you killed wasn’t Berlin. Red: Yes, I know.

Nora & Rowan Mills: 2x1

Liz: Nora killed Rowan because she envied her. She wanted to become her. She wanted to be the good sister, the sister who didn’t get abused by her uncle. Nora/Rowan: You’re lying. Nobody murdered Rowan! I’m Rowan!

Tom Keen & Jacob Phelps: 2x1

Liz: My husband was an impostor, a fake. Keen was never his name.

Carla Reddington aka Naomi Hyland, 2x4

Naomi: Carla Reddington was a miserable housewife married to a miserable man. That woman no longer exists.

Liz and her stand-in: 2x5 Woman: Is he out there? Liz: Yeah. I’m going out back. This is for last week. Do it one more week, and I’ll pay you double. I’ll be back in one hour.

Ace & The Mombasa Cartel: 2x6

Red: There you are - Sean Salter. You went by the name “Ace” back then. You left Animal Underground two years before the Sitka Seven killings and subsequent trials. Lucky, that. But, then - you’ve always had a talent for well-timed exits. Well, it seems - Ace, there’s still some freaks up there living in the woods, skinning people and dumping them in the Bay.

Samar & The Scimitar: 2x7

Red: Because one of The Scimitar’s little-known aliases is Walid Abu Sitta. Samar: Walid Abu Sitta is the man who ordered the bombing that killed my brother. Red: Yes. That’s why I brought this case to you.

Alan Fitch & The Decembrist: 2x8

Liz: The Decembrist. His real name is Kiryl Morozov.

Red: You’re not The Decembrist. Morozov: It was the American. It was him. They gave the order! Red: What people? Morozov: I can’t say. Red: Who is The Decembrist? Morozov: Fitch. His name is Alan Fitch.

Zoe Dantonio, Berlin's daughter: 2x8

Red: You ordered the bombing in Kursk. Then you pinned it on me. You blamed me for killing his daughter. Some years ago, a copy of this photo was left on the corpse of an associate of mine. Taking it as a warning, I traced the girl to a man they call The Stewmaker. He told me a story about the girl. She was sent to him by a man she’d never met. She was in trouble, needed to disappear. So he took her photo, put it in a locket, and sent it to her father. All those years spent searching for the man who supposedly murdered his daughter, and it was you. You sat here in this very room and pretended you had no idea who Berlin was or why he was coming for me. He was coming, Alan, because you sent him.

Tracy Solobotkin & The Deer Hunter

Tracy: All those women Whitehaven had helped, just like me - I could give them their lives back by becoming him.

Liz: You’re just like your husband. Tracy: I’m nothing like my husband! Liz: You’re exactly like him - like all the sick, psychopathic animals we lock up. Tracy: Oh, you haven’t heard a word that I’ve been saying. Liz: I’ve heard every word “I could give them back their lives.” Why don’t you just admit it? You get off on killing people. It doesn’t matter if the victim’s a scumbag or a saint - you get off just the same, just like your husband.

Vanessa Cruz: 2x18

Hernandez: They found her folded clothing at Rockaway Beach. They never found a body, but I know she was dead. She’d never abandon me.

Aram: Guys, check it out. The detectives and the lawyers may not have found anything conclusive on their own, but if you put the photos they found together - Our ghost has a face.

Liz: Our ghost has a name Vanessa Cruz. If I can find the person who brokered her -

Elizabeth Keen aka Masha Rostova: 2x20

Liz: The girl - The night of the fire, they called her - Red: Masha. You were born in Moscow.

Andropov acting as Karakurt: 2x21

Red: Now, that’s what’s interesting. He orders you to send them to Union Station, ostensibly to throw them off Karakurt’s trail. Cooper: And there he is. Red: Perhaps Agent Keen was mistaken. Cooper: And assaulted by a total stranger? That makes even less sense. It was some kind of ambush. And I sent my people right into it.

Karakurt acting as a news reporter: 2x22 Karakurt: How many times are we gonna go through this? That picture isn’t me. Call my office. Check my visa, check my identity. Ressler: We know you’re working for the Cabal. We know what they’re capable of. Liz: Was this the plan all along, to protect you with this identity? The Cabal has people in the government all over the world. It wouldn’t be hard for them to create a Jonas Flemming, give him a history.