Donald Ressler sat in his vehicle, head down and sighed heavily. In a ritual that had started the morning after he'd poured his pills down the sink, he sat silently each day before entering the Post Office. This was his 'prep time'. A minute or two that he took each day to center his core, to ready himself for the day ahead. His days were filled with so many unknowns, but this was one part that he made sure happened.

Hi, my name is Don and I'm a drug addict... I'm a junkie... He shook his imagined opening if he ever needed to attend a Narcotics Anonymous meeting away, and silently began giving himself his pep talk. The one that went something like:

You will not think about pain pills today (except for right now). You will not call your doctor about an injury (imagined or real) that needs pain pills. You will not endlessly look at your top drawer, wondering if any pills have magically appeared in it. You will not reach into your right pocket searching for pills during stressful times. Or times that aren't so stressful. Whatever. You will not look for pills today. You will not think about drugs today.

He raised his eyes to the mirror on the back of the sun visor, forever drawn to his reflection during this entire drug addiction journey. Each step cataloged in his brain, in how he'd looked and felt at the time both good and bad, reinforcing it to himself. His blue eyes stared back at him, knowing him, understanding him, and he wasn't going to fool himself or anyone today. Just for today, he would comply. One day at a time...

Staring deeply into his eyes, he completed his internal litany - I am Special Agent Donald Ressler. And I am NOT a junkie.

Nodding, he whispered under his breath to his own eyes in the mirror. "Let's roll." His morning ritual complete, he stepped out of his car, shoving his hands in his coat pocket against the cold bite to the air. Snow had been forecast, and it had felt every bit like it this morning. Looking briefly around to see if Liz had arrived yet, he didn't see her car, but then nine times out of ten he beat her in anyway. He was a morning person - or at least HAD been stoically before... before the drugs. That was another thing he was reinforcing in himself. He hadn't yet migrated back to jogging each morning. That intense 30 minutes of running until his chest heaved, while the world woke up as the sun rose over the city. One step at a time. For now, making himself get up and watch the sun rise as he drank a coffee was a little step back into a former routine.

On hearing a car come in, he quickly looked toward the entrance. It wasn't Liz, so he walked toward the doors to the elevator as his breath vaporized around his face in the brisk air. With a quick nod and a 'good morning' to the guard at the elevator he stepped inside the yellow metal box. Alone as it descended, he looked around. They really need to repaint this in something that doesn't make us all look like jaundiced liver patients.

As he walked into the war room, everything appeared quiet. The lights were on in Cooper's office, but he was honestly beginning to wonder if the man ever went home. Aram was already in, which almost annoyed him, but he was getting good at telling himself off these days. So you're not the first one in. Get over it. Walking past the man, he said good morning to Aram.

"Uh...good morning, Agent Ressler." Aram looked up at him as he strode by, almost surprised Ressler had acknowledged him first.

Ressler had been making a concerted effort to appear more...well adjusted...around his work colleagues. So he was now on a different 'version' of himself. Donald Ressler MK4, the one that wasn't a junkie and was polite and said good morning. He stopped in his thoughts, counting back. Was it MK4? By the book, immovable Ressler (the uptight jerk, he freely admitted to himself) had been MK1. Grateful to be alive, post Anslo Garrick Ressler had been MK2. Vigilante Ressler in the wake of Audrey dying had been MK3. Then the strung out, thumb breaking, 'reached the end of his rope' version had been MK4. His numbering was off though, as he realized he was now onto 'I'm a drug addict in recovery' MK5 version of himself. Damn. Busy year...

Having got his numbering system straight, he headed to the break room for the only drug he allowed himself now - caffeine. That, and Scotch whiskey, but not on the job. Coffee in hand, he finally sat down at his desk and flipped his computer on. Warming his hands on his coffee cup while the FBI logo came up on the screen, he was making a determined effort not to look at his top drawer. The drawer formally known as 'the drug stash'. Just one peek... Oh, for God's sake. Just because he gave himself his morning litany, didn't mean it was easy to follow. But he didn't peek, his attention instead drawn to the elevator doors opening as Liz entered.

Announcing the arrival of Complication Number One... But he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been looking for her and waiting for her. Things just felt more...complete...when she was around. Which was confusing the crap out of him. All these 'C' words…complicated, complete, confusing. Let's add caring...confidante...comfortable. Crap. When she wasn't around, his glances had nowhere to focus. And that had taken him a while to realize. He hadn't even noticed how many times he glanced at her at first. In confirmation? Or in friendship? He wasn't sure. All he knew was, she was the one he sought out when something needed sharing...and he had been doing it since the day he'd met her.

As she entered their office he gave her a small smile, took a sip of his coffee and showed no sign of the confusion regarding their...relationship...going on inside his head. And he would have blissfully gone about his morning catching up on case files, with no new cases having been presented, until she spoke up.

"Hey, morning," she smiled, sitting at her desk and dropping her bag in the bottom drawer. "Red just called. He's heading in here to give us a briefing."

He leaned back in his chair at that news eying her across their desks, and suddenly had a feeling his day was going to be far from blissful. "Oh, this is going to be good." Ressler MK5 had disappeared, having been instantly replaced with sarcastic and wary Ressler MK1.

She tilted her head to one side, smiling and shaking her head at his instant wariness. "What makes you say that?"

Trust me Liz, the Ressler Radar just fired up.

He shook his head, sucking his teeth. "When was the last time he set foot in here and gave us a briefing that didn't involve him playing us for his gain? Remember Madeline Pratt? Look how well that turned out."

They both turned at the sound of the elevator doors opening, and glanced back at each other as Red entered the building. "Here we go," she said, smiling again at the mistrust emanating from him, while inwardly acknowledging to herself that her partner was right. This probably wasn't going to be good.

###

Cooper came down the stairs to the briefing, his cane tapping on each metal step as he carefully descended. Not for the first time, Ressler found himself wondering if their boss would ever walk without a cane. And looking away from Cooper, he suddenly realized that his coworkers must have thought that of him after he'd returned to work after Anslo Garrick. And that train of thought was going to lead to the pain, and the pain pills...so he immediately squashed it and glanced up at Liz as she stood beside him. She raised her eyebrows at him in question, but at that moment Red's smooth voice brought Ressler's thoughts back to the job at hand.

"Aram, if you wouldn't mind putting those pictures up that I just gave you. There's a good man."

As Aram expertly threw the images onscreen, they showed a blown out bus depot, a burnt hotel, and a couple of other buildings that had been reduced to charred rubble. "Meet the Bombmaker," said Red. Ressler drew his eyes off the monitors and glanced at the man. Seriously, who comes up with these names...

"What you see has been classified as gas leaks, natural disasters, and in one case, an out of control bus that collided with a terminal at the depot." Red turned to look at them, drawing his eyes off the screen. "None of these are accidents or gas leaks. All are the work of the Bombmaker. His devices are cleverly hidden inside vehicles and buildings, leaving no trace of his work."

Cooper was studying the images while leaning on his cane and glanced at Reddington. "How can you be sure all of these are the work of this Bombmaker if there is no trace?"

Ressler was watching Reddington, and saw the moment that something changed behind his eyes. Here we go...

"Because, Harold, all of those businesses, and others he's hit, are owned by me. All of these attacks have been directed at me and my interests over the years. And each time there is a package left at the scene the following day, with a note asking if I got the message," said Red pointedly, inclining his head to the right to emphasize his point.

Nodding, he looked over the rest of them gathered around Aram's desk. "This is personal. This man has been taking out my business interests, albeit small businesses, for years. And frankly, I'm tired of it."

Ressler shook his head and rolled his eyes, having heard enough. "You mean, you want us to take out one of your opposite numbers. Why would the Bureau get involved in something that is clearly between you and this Bombmaker?"

Red looked at Ressler, not quite condescendingly, but in an overly patient manner. Ressler didn't miss the change. A lot of water under the bridge between them now had changed the mans views toward him. Red saving his life and picking him up by his bootstraps when he couldn't function had changed things between them - but the old conflict still rose up at times.

"Because Donald, while destroying my businesses, this man also kills innocent bystanders. He ensures the body count is at its highest. And that, my friend, makes this man dangerous."

Ressler looked up at the images on the screen again, not recognizing the name on the bus depot or the hotels, then back to Red. "Where did these bombings take place?"

Red had Aram load some more images on screen. More burnt out and charred buildings came into view, showing charred bodies and mangled flesh among the ruins. "These are across Europe. Paris, one in Cologne. The restaurant there is...was... in Amsterdam."

He turned to them again. "Those were in Europe. And so far that's been the extent of his dealings with me. But I have it on good authority that he flew into JFK this morning."

Cooper interrupted. "He's on US soil? Any idea what business of yours he is targeting?"

Red turned and looked at Cooper squarely. "Oh, he's not targeting a business this time Harold. He's targeting me."

Ressler glanced at Liz, meeting her gaze. She turned to Red. "Then do we need to keep you here while he's in the country?" she asked warily, wondering where the criminal was going with this.

Reddington smiled at her, twirling his hat in his hands. "Not at all Lizzie. I have a different plan in mind," he grinned, looking at Ressler now. "After 6 years, Donald is finally going to catch me."

What...? All eyes turned to Ressler, who suddenly felt extremely exposed under their scrutiny. What the hell is he up to now...?

Reddington, with that 'cat got the canary' smile firmly in place now, slapped him on the back. "Don't look so worried, Donald! And put your game face on. You'll make the 6 o'clock news while doing so. In fact, it's essential that you do."

Ressler glared at him, silently willing Cooper to turn down Red's 'proposal'. His stomach dropped as Cooper spoke.

"How's that going to happen? Where will it go down?" Cooper asked Red.

Believing his boss was completely missing the point, Ressler asked the obvious. "What purpose will that serve?" He glanced at Liz again, meeting her eyes briefly before returning his gaze to Reddington, waiting for the answer.

Red regarded him a moment, before addressing all of them. "Over the years I have made sure the Bombmaker doesn't know my whereabouts. And though I have spent considerable resources devoted to the matter, I have never found a trace of him. He's as elusive as the bombs he builds. In order to find him, we must draw him out. We must make him come to me. And now that he is on US soil, I honestly don't know what havoc he may create in order to find me. So I'm going to make it simple for him. I'm going to show him," he looked at Ressler, "thanks to your little task force, Donald, where to find me."

Ressler nodded slowly. He'd thought as much.

"So in essence, you're the bait?" said Cooper at that moment, echoing Ressler's thought.

"Exactly. Glad to see we're all on the same page," beamed Red, and Ressler looked away quickly to avoid the urge to slap the criminal. With a concerted effort, he straightened his hand. Damn...calm down. He'd noticed this...side effect... of the drug recovery. He was even quicker to inward anger at times since not taking any pills, which was why he was consciously working on being 'Mr Nice Guy'.

Through the haze of his thoughts, Ressler heard Reddington telling Cooper that he would give them a location he'd be at this evening. He stole another glance at Liz, who met his eyes worriedly. Oh, he knew this sounded fine in theory. He knew Cooper was going for it. But inwardly, he also knew there was more to it. Had to be where Reddington was concerned. And damn it, Cooper knows the man too. Why is he going for this?

Reddington was talking to him again, and he lifted his eyes to meet the man. "Make it look good Donald. Be convincing. I'm counting on you."

###

Liz followed Ressler to their office, noting the set of his shoulders, and the dip in his head as he walked.

"Why is this bothering you so much...?" she asked him carefully as he sat down at his desk. He spun his chair slowly to face her as she sat on the edge of his desk. Their preferred positions, he'd noticed, when they talked now. They didn't usually talk across their desks anymore, as she usually came and sat near him... almost like co-conspirators...

"To be honest, I'm not sure...," he told her truthfully, picking up a pen off his desk. "I know he's playing us. But maybe because he's rubbing it in my face that I failed to catch him?" He looked up at her, asking rather than telling. Or maybe because my brain is still craving drugs and everything is suspicious?

She smiled at him. "Maybe... I thought you were over that aspect of all this though? Because you know as well as I do that if Red doesn't want something, it doesn't happen. And when he DOES want something he gets it. Including being caught."

He looked up at her, twirling the pen thoughtfully in his hands. "Yeah, but he's not telling us everything..."

She laughed and leaned down a little toward him, her hair dropping forward over her features. "I hate to break it to you, but Red is NEVER telling us everything!"

"I know." He leaned forward, dropped the pen and typed something into his computer. "And that's why this is bothering me so much." He glanced out their window, then back to her. "And I don't understand why Cooper is going along with it."

She met his eyes, saw the concern and nodded. "I don't think..." she hesitated, not wanting to voice it, but plowed on. "Ress, I'm not sure Cooper is firing on all pistons right now. He hasn't been since he got hurt...like there's something else wrong with him than what we're seeing, and that worries me too." She looked at what had come up on his computer screen. Photos of a beautiful red and gold, ornate theater.

"That's where we're heading? Wow... Oh, that has Reddington written all over it..." She was right. The theater was stunning, with seemingly every square inch of its surface decorated in gold, lavish artwork, red curtains, and hanging above the plush red seats, an enormous chandelier. The plan sounded 'simple enough'. Red would be attending the ballet at the Ohio Theater that evening. Their anonymous tip would come in (had already come in), and they'd be there to arrest him.

"Yeah, that's the place. Damn, it's huge..." He pointed to the screen. "There. He'll be in that private box overlooking the right side of the stage..."

Liz met his eyes." Right where everyone will see us arrest him."

Apparently everyone was echoing his thoughts today. "Exactly," he told her, then exited out of the screen and shut his computer off. "But we need to get ready. If the man wants to be caught in Columbus, Ohio, then we'd better get our gear and head up there."

###

To say Ressler was antzy would be an understatement. Liz was sitting beside him in the unmarked van outside the Ohio Theater, almost feeling the tension vibrating off him.

"You okay?" she whispered, and he briefly glanced at her, nodding quickly, before returning his gaze to the theatre in front of them. We just need to get this done and get the hell out of here. He was looking at, but not really seeing the patrons milling around the front of the theatre. Men in tuxedos and expensive wool coats, leading women dressed in beautiful evening gowns toward the grand entrance. They were parked across the street in the cab of a surveillance van, about half a block down the road. Part of him wanted this done. And part of him almost felt ashamed to be about to barge in on such an elite looking gathering.

"Fancy looking crowd..." said Liz quietly beside him from the passenger seat, and he actually smiled a thin smile at that. Once again, someone had voiced his own thoughts.

As they watched, the crowd began to thin out on the street. Limos had stopped arriving and burgundy clad doormen closed the front doors to the theatre. The performance had begun, and their 'assigned' time to raid the place was approaching. From behind them in the rear of the van, one of the agents spoke to him through the mic in his left ear. "We have eyes on Reddington. He's in position in the VIP box." Ressler didn't answer through his wrist mic, but turned to Liz. Her blue eyes caught the light from the street lamp above them as he nodded to her. "It's time. Let's roll."

Before he could move, her hand shot out to his right arm, resting on the nylon sleeve of his blue FBI jacket. She squeezed his arm. "I'm going to stay here with the surveillance guys, and I'll be in contact with you that way," she smiled at him from the passenger seat. "Go get him Ress. You've waited 6 years for this."

He glanced toward the theatre, then back at her, licking his bottom lip and speaking to her quietly. "You know this isn't real though, Liz."

"It's as real as you're going to get. That armed team outside don't know that. So make it good," she smiled. He held her eyes a moment longer, then nodded to her. "Wish me luck." And with that, he was gone, climbing out of the driver's seat to coordinate with the armed team gathered behind the van.

He looked over the men. Six of them dressed in black fatigues, with FBI emblazoned on their chests and backs. Two more agents in FBI jackets stepped out of a black SUV parked behind the van. There would be no doubt as to who was arresting Reddington. He addressed the team as they turned their attention to him.

"Okay, we all know the drill. Reddington is in the VIP box above the right side of the stage. We move in, surround him, cuff him, and get out without a shot fired," he said, looking at the silent team around him. "I don't want any blood spilled in this, got it?" The men nodded, affirming his order. As an afterthought, he added, "And let's try not to terrify any little old ladies in fur coats and tiaras."

He held a finger to his ear as he heard Liz's voice crackle in his earpiece. "Ressler, he's moving. Red's left the VIP box!"

"Damn it. Okay, he's on the move! Let's roll!" Ressler turned, leading the men across the street as the traffic eased up. In a tight huddle with guns drawn they approached the theatre at a run. Alarmed bystanders cried out and stood still on the sidewalk as the formation passed them by. The doormen, who had been standing around now that their jobs were done for the moment, glanced up, only to find nine gun wielding FBI agents bearing down on them. One dropped the cigarette he'd just lit. One sunk back into the ticket booth.

As they approached the doors, a shrill alarm rang out from inside the theatre. The fire alarm had been set off. Ressler almost stopped. Almost called off the entire raid at that. It was Montreal all over again, only on a much grander scale. Damn you Reddington! He knew who had pulled the fire alarm.

He had to go through with it though, and yelled at the doormen. "Open those doors!" He was about to shout 'then seal them behind us! No one gets out!' which had been the original plan, when he realized he couldn't. Not with 2000+ people inside and the fire alarm sounding. The doormen nodded fearfully, eager to comply and the main doors were thrown open. As they charged in, Ressler realized with horror there were already people spilling out of the auditorium at an alarming speed.

"Where is he?!" Ressler called into his wrist mic to Liz, getting jostled by patrons now. He could barely hear her voice. "We lost sight of him! Still looking!"

"Damn it!" He turned to his armed men, motioning to them to fan out and look for Reddington. They ran into the crowd and at the sight of them, a woman screamed. And that was all it took. One scream set off another woman, then another, and soon Ressler and his team were surrounded by screaming and yelling patrons, surging by them to reach the exit as the fire alarm rang out.

"I see him! Top of the grand staircase!" Ressler heard Liz yell in his ear. He spun around in the direction of the stairs, his way blocked by hundreds of people milling around the lobby now. Moving as fast as he could he pushed his way through jostling patrons, and followed by three of his team, he approached the red carpeted staircase. Elbowing his way through tuxedos and fur coats, mindful of the fact he had a loaded gun in his hand, he finally spotted Red on the landing at the top of the stairs. An elderly woman screamed right by his ear as a man swept her away to safety, but he kept his eyes on Red. So much for not terrifying little old ladies, he cursed to himself.

"There!" He pointed to his men, but they'd got eyes on him now and were surging by him. The terrified crowd scattered on the stairway, fleeing from the sight of the rifle wielding team. The other four armed team members now converged on the staircase, their prize in sight. "No shots! Do not fire!" Ressler shouted into his mic, warning his team again. Running up the stairs two at a time, Ressler saw Red right in front of him, surrounded by gunmen.

"Raymond Reddington! On your knees!" Ressler yelled at the criminal above the noise of the fire alarm and milling crowd. Red stood alone at the top the stairs on the landing, the patrons having fled the scene now. All that surrounded him were Ressler and his team with their weapons trained on him. At Ressler's shout, Red dutifully dropped to his knees, knitting his fingers together behind his head. He met Ressler's eyes and the two men stared at each other. And in that moment, Ressler almost forgot this wasn't real. In that moment, closing in for the arrest of Number 4, it almost felt like the culmination of 6 years work to find the criminal.

And as he approached Reddington, weapon drawn, eyes narrowed as he looked into Red's calm eyes, he was suddenly aware of a blur to his left. "Ress!" Liz yelled in warning, but it was too late. Dembe was right beside him and he had barely focused on the black man when Dembe slammed a fist into his face. Pain shot across the middle of his face and blood poured from his nose. Losing his balance at the sudden hit he dropped to his knees on the stairs, losing hold of his weapon.

Dembe pounced, grabbed the gun and held it on Ressler. And as Ressler looked up, blood dripping down his chin and onto his shirt and bulletproof vest, with Liz yelling in his ear, he looked into the barrel of his own gun.

Two of the armed team trained their weapons on Dembe while another agent shouted out, "Stand down or we will shoot you!"

Dembe ignored them as he calmly looked at Ressler, still on his knees as blood poured from his throbbing nose.

"I said stand down!" The agent held a gun to Dembe's head.

And then Red's calm voice filled the air. "Dembe, put the gun down. I don't think we'll be shooting Agent Ressler today." And Dembe calmly placed the gun on the step, before being thrown to the ground as the agent cuffed him roughly.

Ressler climbed to his feet, futilely wiping the blood from his nose and chin. He grabbed his gun, held it in both hands that were slippery with his blood and faced Red again, walking up the last few steps to face the kneeling man.

"Raymond Reddington, you are under arrest."

And he knew it wasn't real. He knew it was all for show. But damn, it felt good saying that. And with the blood dripping from his nose making him feel slightly light headed he holstered his weapon, then stepped behind Red. Reaching for the man's wrists and dropping them behind his back, he cuffed the criminal and hauled him to his feet. Red looked at him, smiling sardonically.

"Agent Ressler, I see you finally got your man."