Oh my darling Blacklisters, I have missed you all. Just a little something to get us through this angsty patch of everything. Hope you enjoy it as much as you've been enjoying the episodes of late. Because, let's face it, they have been pretty spectacular :)

…

Somewhere to Go

…

As soon as the hot water hits her back she feels better, the shower washing away the excess tension she seems to be carrying as a default mode lately. She turns to face the spray, letting the water take off her makeup and leave her bare. It's been a trying few weeks and she's not sure any shower in the world could make her feel clean again. Still, she grabs her shampoo and begins to wash her hair.

The method in washing herself distracts her from the war waging in her mind, the battle of this good and evil thing she seems to have been caught up in. Because on one hand, she knows that the law will see her as innocent but, on the other, she knows that this is only because of her ties to the most guilty man she knows.

She runs her head under the water, hissing when it flashes cold for a moment and then boiling hot, cursing the hotel plumbing and letting her mind wander to what the apartment Red had bought her would be like. She knows she'll never accept it, but it's nice to fantasise about a bathtub and a shower that doesn't run cold every five minutes.

The temperature evens out, but the pressure drops and Liz decides that that is enough showering for the day, stepping out onto the threadbare bathmat and reaching for her towel. And that's when she hears it, a shuffling in the next room.

Suddenly in defence mode, she wraps the towel around her and picks up the nearest thing to a weapon that she has – a wooden handled toilet plunger – before stepping out of the warm bathroom and into the frigidly cold hotel room. To say she is confused about her partner being there would be an understatement, but she drops the plunger immediately and adjusts her stance to be a bit more casual, "Ressler? What the hell?"

He turns around then from having been running a hand along one of her bedside tables – the one, she notices, that has her now torn stuffed toy sitting on it. "Liz. I, uh," he's obviously affected by how little the towel covers and she blushes when she realises that his eyes can't seem to settle anywhere remotely close to her face, "I just came to see if you wanted to grab a drink. Your door was open and I just…"

She raises her eyebrows. "Big turnaround from last night," she says, only barely masking the bitterness she feels. She'd been trying not to think about it, but Ressler's words had stung the night before and she wasn't sure where she stood with him right now.

For his part, he does look ashamed and Liz immediately recognises how big of a move it was for him to come here. They're stuck in such a grey area, professionally and personally, and it's hard to know what is truly right when compared with the rest of the world. She really hadn't wanted to head out anywhere tonight, so she nods softly towards the other bedside table where a bottle of alcohol sits, "Hope vodka's alright. Let me just get dressed."

He flushes red then and she feels sort of proud of that. "Okay," he agrees.

She emerges from the bathroom again not five minutes later, dressed in shorts and an oversized sweat shirt, and Ressler suddenly feels extremely overdressed. His worries are replaced by a whole other set when Liz takes a seat on her bed, leaning against the headboard and gesturing to the spot beside her. In an attempt to make the move casual, he kicks off his shoes and begins rolling up his sleeves as he sits next to his partner on the bed. It feels oddly intimate and he wonders if they've ever sat this close before when it wasn't work related.

The sound of the lid cracking off the top of the vodka bottle brings him back to the present and he realises that Liz is offering him the whole thing for a swig. She must see the uncertainty in his eyes because she rolls hers and takes the first mouthful herself, hissing as the cheap alcohol burns her throat and then holding it out for Ressler once more. "I think we've earned the right to get drunk. Tomorrow is Saturday. Live a little."

Sometimes he thinks she forgets that he's been living far too much of late. He hasn't touched his pain meds in over a month now, but their allure is still something that he thinks about often. His neck is still sore from being dragged through Kenyon's land a week before, but his emotions are more battered from the recent news that his partner is involved in something so much bigger than her, that her actions could disband the one thing that has been keeping him sane for the past couple of years, making him feel like he's repaying something of worth to the world. It's that which gives him the desire to take the edge off with pills and alcohol.

Something in Liz's eyes changes the longer he hesitates and he knows that she's beginning to understand.

"Of course. You've got your own pain, right?" she asks, capping the bottle and sitting it back on the bedside table. "Maybe straight vodka wasn't what you had in mind tonight."

The corners of his lips turn up in the closest thing to a smile he's felt himself be able to produce in days, "Something like that."

She adjusts her body so that she's sort of facing him, curling her legs up under her and leaning her shoulder into the headboard. "How have you been?"

He frowns because he can't actually remember the last time someone has asked him that. He's been so blinded by the thrill of the chase of these blacklisters that he didn't realise the one person he's confided anything in has been wrapped up in her own life and not in his. But with her question, he feels a tightening in his chest, like everything is pushing down on him and he can't breathe properly because now he has to admit his pain, now he has to face his terrors.

"Better," he eventually says and she raises her eyebrows at his omission so he knows he can't hide behind his usual 'man of few words' stature. "I haven't used in a month. But I can feel the pain consuming me and I'm tempted all the time."

He feels something cool on his arm and looks down to find Keen's hand wrapped around his wrist. "I'm sorry," she says, "for dragging you into my business when you're still hurting with your own."

His hand covers hers, wishing he could convey how much her support means to him, "It's okay. I think we're both just a little lost right now."

She looks up at him as though searching for something important and he lets her eyes roam his features, content with the comfortable silence. Then, "Why did you come here tonight?"

He pauses, hesitating for a moment, then decides honesty is key to their partnership, it's the only thing that matters. "I didn't know where else to go."

Her breath leaves her in a rush, her heart pounding at his words. It's all too much, how similar they are, how their stories are the same and maybe it's because of that that she feels her body moving closer to his as though of its own volition. He seems responsive though, if the hand moving from atop hers to her thigh is any indication. And then she gasps and his lips touch hers.

It's probably a terrible idea, worst one that either of them have ever had. Except it feels right.

His free hand drags up the outside of her arm and then cups her cheek, pulling her in closer as her mouth opens up under his gentle touch. She arches into him, moving with him as they position themselves more comfortably on the bed, his entire body leaning over hers as they become lost in everything that this brewing tension between them has been.

The hand on her thigh moves upwards, passing her shorts and slipping under the band of her sweatshirt and Liz moans in content when Ressler's fingers squeeze into the sensitive skin of his partner's hip.

He breaks away then, pulling his hand from beneath her shirt, "We shouldn't."

And as much as she wants to grab his hand and place it back on her skin, she knows he's right. Sighing reluctantly, she wriggles out from underneath Ressler with a mature, "I know."

"One day," he says, certainty ringing in his voice.

She smiles at that and repeats, "I know," like she's known it all along. He wants to kiss her again in that moment, wipe that grin from her face, but they've pushed the boundaries on that enough for one night and he knows that they grey area of emotions is fragile at the moment and neds to be treated carefully.

So he grabs the remote instead and flicks the TV on, reaching for the phone on the bedside table and calling up his favourite pizza joint to get some food brought to them.

When he hangs up, he finds her staring at him with all manner of questions in her expression. He just smiles and shrugs, "I hope you like pepperoni."

A laugh escapes her at the ease of which they've just managed to dial their hormones back and she nods, happy to sit back, relax and eat dinner with the only person in her life that she knows how to trust.

After all, neither of them have anywhere else to go.

…

Thoughts?