Previously...

Reddington speaks up once more.

"While we're on that topic," he says, and his irritating cheeriness is back. "I need you and Liz in the kitchen again. It's time to tell the American people a story."

8:13 PM

"My name is Elizabeth Keen, and two years ago I knew nothing of this shadow government, of top secret FBI blacksites. I woke up one morning next to my husband, a loving man who I believed was my whole world. Tom Keen, was his name, or at least that was the name I knew him by. I was late for my first day as a profiler, and I had just stepped in dog pee."

Ressler chuckles beside her, and holds her hand as she continues. She grins at him, and looks back at the camera.

"That was the beginning of my story. Of this story. I suppose you could say... once upon a time, I stepped outside of my house, and was greeted with a helicopter and an uptight FBI agent known as Donald Ressler. And that was the moment my life changed forever."

July 25th, 5:00 PM (Reddington's Safe House)

"It has been one month to the day since Elizabeth Keen and Donald Ressler came out to the world with their story - the story that changed our lives, and not all for the better. While it is true that many Americans feel safer knowing that those in power of the Cabal have disappeared — for good, we hope — many others feel apprehension knowing that they are still at large. It has been a road filled with lies and unrest, but today we see the end of that road as the Vice President is put on trial. Just minutes ago, the verdict was given - guilty. Vice President Matthewson will face life in prison for the acts of terrorism he committed against the people, including Elizabeth Keen."

Ressler is packing with perhaps a tiny bit more force than necessary. He shoves his shirts, pants, socks, and toiletries into his bag and zips it closed with one final yank.

"Special Agent Donald Ressler has been cleared of all charges, including a charge of terrorism and betrayal of his country. He has been pardoned for his actions against the country based on the decision of a panel of judges who believed he was working for the greater good. Though he admitted to working in tandem with notorious criminal Raymond Reddington and former FBI agent Elizabeth Keen - who was outed as a Russian spy formally known as Masha Rostova - it was decided that working with them to end the nefarious crimes of the Cabal was a means to an end - the end of the Cabal, as it turns out. Agent Ressler will resume his work with the FBI, though there are no details as of yet as to where that work will be resumed. It has been speculated - "

"Are you excited to be going home, Donald?" an annoyingly cherry voice intones, interrupting the reporter. Ressler rolls his eyes, his hands clenching on the handles of his bag.

"You know damn well I am not excited, or anything other than completely pissed."

"Not to worry. Elizabeth will not spend long where she is."

Reddington is leaning against the wall of the bedroom that Ressler and Liz had shared over the past month. There are pieces of her everywhere - her comb on the dresser, her pajama pants, thrown haphazardly across the bed in her hurry to leave the morning before. Her pillow, pushed up right against his because she liked to use him as a personal heater. He sees her everywhere, and each item of hers reminds him so viscerally of when, instead of Liz coming out of the courtroom doors, two officers had walked in. It reminds him of her being led away in chains, of her final look - so scared, but ultimately accepting, because she thought she deserved this, deserved to be locked up. It reminds him of the previous night, which he'd spend most of awake, tossing and turning because she wasn't there.

Ressler clenches his fists angrily.

"It's ridiculous that I was pardoned of all crimes, but Liz wasn't! You promised," he hisses, voice lower this time as he tosses his bag over his shoulder. "You promised that she'd be pardoned. That they would see her actions as necessary to protect her life and to expose the cabal."

"I did," Reddington says regretfully, his eyes downcast as he speaks. "I shouldn't have. I was high on the feeling of success, of the FBI's agreement to meet you in private, to hear you out. I was wrong," he admits, and strangely it doesn't make Ressler feel any better, because he had been searching for her, fighting for her, so that she wouldn't end up in an iron cage, and then they'd walked straight into the courtroom, neatly pressed and hopeful because of their success and, ultimately, so, so wrong.

He remembers walking from he courtroom after kissing her on the cheek, believing Reddington's words even though he had warned Liz against believing the man hundreds, thousands of times before. He'd believed that she'd be pardoned, like him, and that they would go home together.

"Regardless, Donald, trust me - Liz will not be spending many nights away from you."

"Forgive me if trusting you is a little difficult," Ressler snaps.

"I wish I could reassure you that she'll be fine. I wish it more than anything, Donald, but you were just cleared and you can not be found complicit in what I'm about to do."

Ressler wants to nod - he understands, he does, but his understanding does not outweigh his anger.

Instead, he begins walking from the room, because he doesn't know how much longer he can stay here, with Reddington, in the room where Liz is so painfully not.

"You'll need to pack her things. Send them to my apartment, so they'll be ready for her."

Reddington nods, and leans more heavily against the door as Ressler walks down the stairs, and out the door. He lets out a tired breath as the front door slams and the sound of Dembe's car coming to life fills the air.

His eyes slip closed, and he feels more weary than he's felt in a long time, the weight of a thousand lives resting heavily on his shoulders.

"Sir?" a voice asks, and he snaps himself from his revere and walks out of the room. He turns to greet the voice with a smile - plastered in place, hiding the weight of the world.

"Yes, Liza?" he questions, straightening his cuffs and his jacket.

"We're ready, whenever you are. We can move anytime now that Agent Ressler is gone."

Reddington nods, artfully places his fedora on his head, and gives the young woman a 100-watt grin.

"Wonderful. Do ready the car. I'll be right down."

July 27th, 7:30 AM

Ressler sighs, sitting up in bed and regarding his plain, light green walls tiredly. He is exhausted, a product of tossing and turning and trying to block out the nightmares - but his skin feels like a live wire, thrumming, every inch of him awake and angry, wanting to join the fight, to bust Liz out of prison and bring her home with him.

He sighs and drops his head into his hand. There's stubble on his cheeks, and he knows he'll have to shave before heading into work, because Liz hates it when -

"Damn it!" he shouts, smacking his pillow in frustration as he stands to his feet.

The past three months had been pointless. Sure, they'd forced the Cabal into hiding against, forced them to bide their time, to operate from the shadows and give up all their power, but in the end, he'd lost the one thing he'd been most passionate about saving - Liz. He'd let her go, accepted a bullet in his shoulder, left the FBI, which meant so much to him, become a criminal on the run - all for her. And he'd lost her anyway, because he'd agreed to Reddington's plan, to let a panel of judges hear their story - the whole story - in person. He'd risked both of their lives by walking into that court room, and he'd lost.

He wants to believe Reddington. He does, but he finds it so hard when he walks around his apartment, eerily quiet in the early morning hours. He's alone, which he'd always been before, but it's different because he and Liz had spent so much time talking about what it would be like when they got back. She was going to move in with him - it wasn't like she had anywhere else to go, and besides, the comfort of having another person next to you after the long days, the horrifying things they saw everyday, was something they were both looking forward to.

Ressler presses his fists into his eyes until he sees stars, and then abruptly decides to take a shower and head into work, even though Harold Cooper - who had been returned to his position as Director of the Task Force - had told him to take a few days off.

It'll keep him busy, he reasons, turning the hot water on and stepping under the stream. He hisses as the water - warmer than he'd meant - cascades across his skin. He turns it up a little higher, and scrubs himself clean before resting his head under the hard stream of water.

It's harder than he remembers.

Being alone.

8:45 AM

She's walking across the hard, cold concrete, and though she'd seen the video, though she knows that she's retracing his exact steps, her heart is beating and her throat is tight because there's no way in hell she's actually doing this.

Except she is, and she has to keep her head low as she pushes open the glass doors. She walks inside, bumping into a young man who is in a hurry and doesn't look up into her eyes.

There's a line of course, but she keeps her eyes downcast, her hands holding tightly to the metal case that contains the information she'll need.

"Stay calm," a voice advises her, calm and collected as always, through the mic in her ear. "You have to uphold my legacy here, Lizzie. Stop shaking."

Part of her wants to tell him off, and the other part of her wants to laugh in disbelief. She settles for smiling, which does wonders for her nerves.

It's with a refreshed sense of determination that she takes the final step up to the bored looking woman behind the counter.

"My name is Elizabeth Keen, and I need to speak to your Director."

The bored looking woman suddenly looks a lot less bored, and if Liz had to guess what she was staring at, open-mouthed, on her computer screen, she'd bet her left kidney that it was a picture of her, with the lovely caption of FBI Top Ten Most Wanted.

Sirens begin going off, and though her heart is now pounding so hard she can hear nothing else, she retraces his steps in her mind and walks to the middle of the floor, to the logo when meant and still means so much to her. The logo that signified everything she ever wanted out of life, everything she ever imagined herself doing.

She leans down, on her knees, and puts her hands behind her head. She's tackled, and her arms are pulled behind her back, cuffed, and the last thing she heard through the mic before it's pulled from her ear is a soft, chuckling,

"Good luck, and see you soon."

10:15 AM

Ressler wants to roll his eyes, or possibly stand up and snap the blinds shut so that people will stop staring at him. He knows they mean well. Especially Aram and Samar, who have been shooting him - and more pointedly, the empty chair across from him - pitying looks for the past two hours.

He's fully aware that her chair is empty, he thinks, shuffling through another file - one of hundreds that had piled up while he was gone. Their office is only half full, and he finds himself sighing every few minutes when he looks up and doesn't see her head of dark hair, her smile or her sparkling eyes.

"Shut up!" he yells out of his open door, and a new recruit squeaks in surprise and hurries past his office, where he'd been unfortunate enough to walk at the wrong time. Aram just tosses him an amused grin.

"Didn't say anything, boss."

"I can hear you thinking. Leave me alone. And I'm not your boss," he grouses, and Aram chuckles to himself, amused. Samar, who is sitting next to him, punches him lightly in the arm. He presses his lips together, containing his laughter but not his smile.

They're worried about Liz, of course, but when Ressler had told them Reddington had a plan, they seemed relieved and confident that Liz would be home soon. Ressler couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had followed him from Florida, however.

His dread is immediately replaced with adrenaline when alarms start going off, however. The red, flashing light fills his office, and he should have known that the Post Office couldn't go more than a day without a crisis of some sort. He jumps up and runs out of his office, meeting Harold Cooper at the bottom of the stairs.

"What's going on, boss?" he asks, and Harold smiles slightly at the acknowledgement before nodding his head in Aram's direction, motioning that he and Samar should join them.

"I just got word that they're bringing someone in. The Field Office just called ahead and said that they're transporting a Top Ten to us for lockdown."

Ressler's heart begins beating fast, his pulse stuttering as he walks faster. Reddington? he thinks, and he doesn't have time to contemplate what that means for Liz - or him - before he's standing in a room, rectangular in shape, filled with flashing lights and the sound he'd grown so used to years ago - the sound of the klaxons blaring as the box - the box which he'd almost died in last year - readied itself for its newest prisoner.

Then the room is silent - blessedly silent - and all eyes are on him as the prisoner turns around, a prisoner that is most definitely not Raymond Reddington, but who is most definitely on the FBI's Top Ten Most Wanted list.

All eyes are on him. He can feel them, but he doesn't spare them a single glance. His eyes are glued to the screen, where the image of Elizabeth Keen greets him. She seems him standing in the observation room, and grins at his shocked expression as she opens her mouth to speak.

"My name is Elizabeth Keen, and from here on out, I speak only with Donald Ressler."

BAM. Done.

Please Review! I LOVE this ending, tell me what you think!