A bleary-eyed Elizabeth Keen opens her eyes. She hadn't been able to get any sleep.
In truth, she never even tried.

She checks her watch… eight minutes ago she had decided to try and get some rest, but now it seemed more sensible to just get dressed… Donald had been gone for five hours… and if he wasn't back before the end of the next two, she'd rather be explaining this to her colleagues with pants on, rather than off.
But what would she possibly tell them anyway?

She climbs out of the van and shoves her feet into her shoes, calling 'Don?'

Where is he? She wonders, absentmindedly pushing concerns about insect bites, and the fact that his shirt was still in the van, discarded out of her mind only to hear his parting words over, and over, and over.

Get the fuck away from me, Keen.

Although her concern for Ressler's safety won out, and she wanted him back at the van as soon as possible, she couldn't help but feel relieved that with every passing moment, she didn't have to face him. Again she wonders about heading off to find him, but he could be anywhere by now, and it was a stupid idea to leave the van, in case help came early, or he returned while she was gone.

She runs soft fingertips over her collarbone, disgusted at herself all the while. She is so confused. But one thing is certain to her… her friend, her colleague, her partner Don needs help. She wasn't going to let him go on like this, sleep deprived and suffering. After the initial shock of Tom's betrayal, even with the hurt of each passing day, aware that she might never have a family, the one thing she wanted the most… it was a different sort of pain to Don's; it gave her freedom and clarity as much as it scared her.

Don's torture wasn't over, it grew bitterer, more twisted every night and Liz truly feared it would swallow him whole.

She doesn't want to think about how fierce her protection was last night, how acutely she wanted him to stop screaming, the way she exhaled when he woke, exhaled with relief and pity and exhaustion, how her heart stopped when he pulled her closer… how it would feel if he came back and got in the van and only called her Keen from now on, only when he really had to, and gave her the cold shoulder for the rest of their time working together. She was tired and sick of going back and forth in her mind over what she wanted from Donald Ressler, and what was right and what was wrong and what was going to happen next.

For a moment, Liz admitted to herself that she missed her old life… not so much Tom, or her profiling career or any of the specifics but the way she used to feel: youthful and troubled but making something of herself, being happy, going forward. Now it was round and round, one Blacklister after another, each one a slap in the face to her personal life.

She finds another tin of fruit, just the one, and opens it. It's not perfect, but at least it's not pancakes.

"You'd better save some of that crap for me, Liz." A distant voice calls out to her, from behind.

She whirls around.

"Don?"

Hobbling towards her from afar was a still-shirtless Ressler. She picks herself up, walking quickly towards him, breaking into a run.

'D...' She hesitates, not sure where she stood with him, 'Ressler- are you hurt?'

He limps forward a bit, 'Just a sprain. But I've walked on it about three miles now.'

He stops suddenly to lean against a tree for support, causing Liz to almost collide with him. She brakes just in time but finds herself closer to him than she'd planned. There's a moment of silence between them, as he looks down through his lashes at her.

She smiles despite herself. 'There was no way you were coming back injury-free, was there?' in the cold light of day, it's blindingly obvious how bare he was… she struggles to pose the question; 'Do you, uh… do you want a hand?'

He shrugs, staring out ahead, 'Please.' His expression is stoic as he tries to remain dignified, difficult as Keen slings his arm over his shoulder and they both start to walk, matching paces.

As soon as they're back at the van, and he's safely on the ground with a can of tinned peaches in hand, Ressler clears his throat… 'Liz, my- uh, shirt?'

She nods quickly, 'Yeah! No, of course. Here you go.'

She hands him his shirt, folded like he left it and he puts it on, handling the buttons deftly.

'Jesus, your ankle's swollen!' Liz sits down, a noticeable distance from him -scared to cross a line that could be anywhere.

He gives a short sigh, a quick smile. 'Yeah, I feel like a right idiot. They'll all get a good laugh at this when we get back to the office.'

She nods, muttering 'Don't forget your forehead.'

As she walks past him to gather the litter from their meals, he catches her by the arm.

'Liz,' his tone indicates a change in the mood of the conversation. Instinctively, she kneels down beside him.

'Look Liz, I'm sorry about what I said to you last night-' he starts.

She shakes her head, refusing this. 'No, Don, I was out of line. It wasn't helpful.'

'But you were trying to help.' He looks at her sincerely 'and that was helpful. Once I came to my senses.'

'That wasn't the first time, was it?' She asks quietly, studying him.

He takes a breath. Shakes his head. 'No.'

'Every night?' She goes on tentatively.

'Every night.'

'I'm worried about you Don. That wasn't you, when you were dreaming'

'But what if it is?' He counters, words tumbling out in his low, angst-ridden tone. 'What if that's who I am from now on… haunted by Audrey. What if I don't ever move on from this, Liz?' And there's a slight tremble in his voice that he fights out. But it's there… he believes this, he's scared.

'You will.' She says with resolution.

'I don't even think I want to.' He admits. This whole thing would be easier with beer.

'Eventually, you will.'

'Maybe for most people.' he looks down at his hands, and then back at her with a rueful smile. 'But, I don't have all that much of a life, Liz. I come home from work, I drink beer and I avoid sleeping. It's nice to have her to keep me company.'

She can't think of anything to say, so instead focuses on not tearing up. That's not going to do anyone any good.

He reflects on this, and gives a singular mirthless laugh. 'I sound like a madman.'

She shakes her head, listening so purposefully.

A few moments pass and they both stare at the ground, the air still not quite clear between them.

He clears his throat, embarrassed. 'I'm not just sorry about what I said.' His eyes slide from hers momentarily and drop to the place where he'd kissed her.

'I… didn't mind.' She says, slowly.

Then crashes her head into her hands.

'I, ugh- I didn't mean it like that. It wasn't supposed to sound that way.'

She takes her hand away from her eyes, feeling utterly idiotic. 'I can't believe I-'

He hesitates, not sure what he's about to say, trying to delay himself to make it sound better before actually speaking.

'It's fine.' He looks at her. Directly at her. 'I know things aren't… as black and white as they used to be. It's gotten more complicated.'

She stops short of saying anything, hoping he'll keep talking so she won't have to. She wouldn't have a clue what to say.

'I don't have the energy to work it out, Liz. So can we just leave it at that? Not question it?'

'Go on as we are.' She surmises for him, nodding. 'That sounds good to me.'

'We could both use each other's help.' He adds, smiling weakly. 'We're both as screwed up as each other.'

Liz smiles her agreement, and moves to get up.

'But, Don?' she frowns, forgetting something, and relaxes back into the ground.

'What are you going to do about these dreams? They're draining you.'

He shrugs. He avoided worries about the night as much as possible during the day, to avoid completely losing his mind.

'I'm not going to see anyone. My psych evaluation for work was enough fun.' He tells her stubbornly.

Liz is undeterred. 'Well, what else would you suggest? Sleeping pills?'

He gives her a look, 'You don't think I tried that?'

She sighs. 'Stronger ones?'

'That would involve seeing someone.' He shakes his head, strongly against the whole idea.

'How about a compromise.' He can see the idea cross Liz's face, lighting it up. 'You don't just talk to someone. You talk to me.'

He raises an eyebrow. 'With all due respect Liz, I don't think you're qualified, I mean you're a profiler, a good one-'

She smiles. 'Not as a shrink, Don. As a friend.'

He stops to listen.

'Just call me before you're about to go to bed and we can talk about something pointless, to take your mind off it. Or call me when you wake up at night and we can talk about it, about what happened, if you want.'

He's doubtful. 'You've got enough problems Liz.'

She adopts his rueful smile. 'Problems, sure. But better things to do at night? I'm fresh out of those.'

He lets the idea sit with him for a few moments, and then shrugs. 'Ok, why not.'

She smiles, before groaning a little. 'Just… no work stuff, ok?'

His eyes widen. 'Deal.'

-~-~-.-~-~-

Aram had no idea why he was needed for this.

In fact he did. With Ressler and Keen decommissioned for the day, no new Blacklister to deal with and him a pointless accompaniment on the trip to 'rescue' his partners, Cooper could just push back the paperwork from yesterday's Blacklister another day and spend some time with his family.

After what had happened to him, after what Berlin did, he couldn't blame him.

He just wished he'd come up with a better excuse for sending him. To take pictures? He doubted it required his level of technical ability to hover a camera over an engine and press a button. He leans back in his seat, taking a look at the GPS.

"Almost there." He nods at the driver.

-~-~-.-~-~-

Aram sincerely hoped he could put back the camera before Cooper noticed it was broken. How had he managed to drop it?

'How's that ankle coming along Agent Ressler?' He asks, twisting his neck to see into the back seat of the SUV. 'Ressler?'

There's no reply- he's sleeping, exhausted. His head rests upon Liz's, which in turn rests upon his shoulder, like building blocks. His arm is slung across her shoulders- protective, allowing her to lean on him.

If Aram hadn't dropped that fucking camera, he could have taken a picture.

He felt a twinge of sadness, forgetting for a moment that Meera was dead, and he had no one to tell about this.

They look like little children, passed out in the car on the way home from a beach holiday, Ressler's lips parted open slightly, betraying an innocence, a vulnerability that Aram never knew existed.

He turns his head again, remembering his responsibilities as GPS-reader.

'Uh, that's a left.' He tells the driver matter-of-factly… and then stops, sheepish, '...two blocks ago.'

Behind him, Ressler's hand starts to tremble, fingers twitching with the beginnings of a nightmare.

Sleepily, Liz slides her hand into his, and he grasps it, his hand relaxing, still fast asleep.

Peaceful, happy, with something to hold on to.

-~-~-.-~-~-

The End

A/N: Due to many positive reviews (thanks everyone) I will consider making this part of a series of fics. I feel like this one has come to a natural end point but will think about doing a sequel, whenever I get an idea I think will do Keenler justice