This if far from stellar work, and for that I apologize. But it's only uphill from here! If you like it, please, please, please review! I'll write more if you do!

She walks down the pristine hallway as fast as she can manage without giving herself away, her quick footsteps pounding on the glossy floor in time with her rapidly beating heart. The smell of antiseptic is sharp in her nose as she hones in her target at the end of the hall- the guarded door, and the enigmatic man hidden behind it.

"Agent Ressler," she calls out, hearing the hesitation, the roughness of her voice.

With a quick word he sends the guard at his side away, his eyes flashing at the sight of her.

"I've got to talk to him," she pleads quietly.

"You shouldn't even be here," he rumbles. They quickly fall silent as an army nurse walks past them, wheeling a cart towards the elevator.

"You're under official review," he continues, once he's certain they are alone again. "You know that."

In spite of his words, his voice isn't harsh or aggressive- not like almost all the other times he's spoken to her. Maybe he approves of me sticking a pen in his neck, she thinks dryly. It wouldn't be horribly surprising if he did. Yet there's something almost like sympathy in his tone, in spite of his cautious urgency, and she's not one to give up easily.

"I know," Liz whispers back, impatience a wild, clawing thing in her mind. "But the Chemist isn't talking, is he?"

He gazes at her for a second before glancing away, looking resigned. "No," he admits.

"Red knows Zemane," Liz hisses, "Just give me five minutes!"

He heaves an aggravated sigh before glancing down at her again. Their gazes lock in the sudden silence, a wild clash of blue. He is as bright and cold and hard as ice, and she is as deep and dark and enveloping as the ocean. There's a wildness in that gaze; pain and fear and vulnerability and desperation, and she's too desperate to care that he can see it. There's anger, too. And he should not be letting her within a mile of one Raymond Reddington when she's already proven what she can do to him in this state.

But it's he who looks away as though in pain, unable to hold her gaze for more than a heartbeat. To her surprise- and relief- he averts his eyes, glancing in the direction of the door. Because he saw more than just their differences- he saw that they want the same thing. And if there's another reason he can't hold her gaze- well, he's got more important things on his mind.

It's a sign of defeat, of permission- of compassion, in his own way. And it's the first time she's seen anything other than rage or disbelief or mocking amusement or stoicism in his expression, as this seemingly inflexible agent breaks his own code and the codes he upholds to let her have what she wants.

What they both want- Zemane, and the admiral's daughter.

"Thank you," she breathes, brushing past him into the hospital room.

The bed is empty.

Bastard.