Part of the 2018 Blacklist Fanfic Exchange, for my recipient Mickey McKeown. So, the mod is supposed to organize who gets what assignment, based on everyone's offers and requests. But as soon as I saw your prompt go up, I HAD to write it, and I requested it. Thanks to EKween for letting me have this one. Thanks Mickey, for requesting such an awesome prompt. So here is your whump fic, Mickey, the deja vu/alternative version of Anslo Garrick. I loved writing it. I hope you enjoy reading it!

Donald Ressler sat alone in his dark apartment, and poured himself another glass of Reddington's whisky. He'd known as soon as he'd reached for the bottle - stolen it - Reddington was not going to say a word. Neither of them had as Ressler had walked away, furious. At Reddington for having Prescott killed. At Henry Prescott just for being Henry Prescott. The late Henry Prescott, thanks to Raymond damn Reddington. The nightmare with Henry Prescott and doing his bidding was over. The nightmare of living with its consequences had begun. There was definitely relief also, but he felt nothing but guilt at that relief. The specifics had changed, but he would forever be marred by what he'd done over the past year and a half. He should be in custody tonight. Should be sharing a jail cell with Henry Prescott swapping lies and paying the price. Instead, he was a free man and Prescott had been killed by Reddington.

Raymond bloody Reddington.

He took another gulp of the whisky, no longer tasting it. Only drinking it because it was Reddingtons, and the bastard deserved to have his whisky stolen, at the very least. It was petty, he was well aware of that. But it was how he felt. "Bastard," he said again, staring at the bottle on the table. He wasn't going to drink it all. He wasn't THAT far gone. But he'd made a damn good dent in it. Because despite his feelings, he intended to keep his word to Cooper. He would show up to work in the morning ready to do his job until the task force was finished. He couldn't do that if he was passed out drunk, despite his desire to escape these feelings. And once the task force was finished, so were he and Cooper. Perhaps they'd share a jail cell, he mused. Reminisce on where everything went wrong. He shook his head at that, unable to believe he was in this position.

But over the years he'd found himself in many positions he'd never imagined. Working alongside Raymond Reddington was something absolutely unheard of during the years of his Reddington Task Force. He'd hunted the man across the globe, and now he worked with him every day. But in the ensuing years he'd gone from being the butt of everyone's jokes at being such a damn Boy Scout, to accidentally killing the President's National Security Adviser and covering it up. Nothing was guaranteed anymore. What was the norm today could be the opposite in a year.

His best friend used to be Bobby Jonica. But now...Reddington had called him his friend "blackmail is such a nasty business, particularly among friends, don't you think?"

How the hell had that happened? Number 4 on the FBI Most Wanted List considered the man who had been tasked to hunt him a friend. Enough of a friend to make sure Ressler didn't end up in a 10x10 jail cell. And the most unbelievable part of it all was that Ressler also considered Reddington more than an acquaintance and 'colleague'. Friend? Perhaps a stretch. But enemy? No. Not anymore.

Ressler sighed and put the shot glass down. He'd lost count of how many he'd had, and on top of an empty stomach. To say he had a buzz going on was an understatement. He was drunk.

His eyes dropped to the envelope on his coffee table. Harold Cooper's confession. A confession he never wanted to read or even think about. It was bad enough he'd fallen into the grey. But Cooper? The fact that his own superior was not immune to the stresses of the job had come as a shock, followed rapidly by utter disappointment. And that Cooper had trusted Ressler to hold onto his confession. His boss was now his secret keeper, and he Cooper's. Both of them now tainted, holding the other's fate in their hands. His own confession to the murder of Laurel Hitchin sat in Cooper's filing cabinet. He stared at Cooper's envelope sure of one thing. He never wanted to know the contents of it.

How many more years of doing Reddington's bidding were still to come before both their confessions saw the light of day once the task force was inevitably done? Part of him wished it were over tomorrow so he could face the music. The other part never wanted that day to come.

He stood up unsteadily, stepped to the window and looked out at the city lights. His life was tied to Raymond Reddington, for better or worse. He'd meant what he'd told the criminal. He would not trade being under Prescott's thumb for being under Reddingtons. But he was under Reddington's thumb, despite Reddington's dismissal of that idea. They all were; the entire task force.

And that made him angry at Reddington all over again, as he let rip a string of expletives, each one aimed squarely at Raymond Reddington. But the worst of it was he knew he was blaming Reddington for his own shortcomings. He was the one who had killed Hitchin. He was the one who had called Prescott. He was the one who had broken the law over and over again to pay back that debt.

He walked back to the coffee table and poured one more shot of whisky.

"To you," he said, toasting the air. "You son of a bitch."

And as he downed the whisky and felt it burn his throat, he knew it wasn't only Red he was toasting, but himself.

###

The following morning Ressler arrived at the Post Office, his head definitely feeling worse for wear. He glanced up at Cooper's office, the memory of their meeting the night before fresh in his mind. The lights were on. No matter how early he arrived at work, his boss always beat him. He wanted to talk to Cooper. He also wanted to avoid his boss. Because he didn't know how things stood between them this morning.

On his way back to his office with a cup of black coffee, convincing himself he wasn't hung over, he saw Cooper coming down the metal stairs.

"Agent Ressler, good morning," Cooper greeted him.

Ressler looked up. So that's how it was going to be then. Business as usual. Letters of confession firmly in the realm of the unspoken. "Sir," he replied with a nod, and kept walking.

As Cooper reached the bottom of the stairs beside Ressler, his step paused and he looked Ressler in the eyes. For that one moment, Ressler saw the softening of understanding, the slight nod, the acknowledgment from his boss. Last night he'd been told "I'm not interested in your feelings, Agent Ressler. I'm not interested in what you want." It was loud and clear this morning that his boss was interested. And then it was gone as Cooper left his side. But it was enough.

An hour later, despite two black coffees in him, Ressler's head still hadn't cleared sufficiently to completely listen to a briefing from Liz on a company called Landmark Industries. With the memory of yesterday added to the pounding behind his temples it wasn't easy. His mind would not concentrate on what Liz was saying. Aram was flashing images on the overhead screens and Ressler had to look away as nausea threatened. The briefing was blessedly short, and as they wound up and he expected to head out to talk to a guy whose name he was only half aware of, Cooper looked at him.

"Not you, Agent Ressler." He looked to the two women. "Agents Keen and Navabi, I'd like you two to head out there."

Eyes slid Ressler's way, wondering why he'd been benched, but his colleagues were professional enough to listen to their boss and do as he'd asked. Still, Liz's eyebrow lifted toward him in question as she left. He gave her the tiniest of shrugs in reply. He didn't know either, but after what had happened last night with Prescott, he was concerned.

As the women left and Aram returned to his screen doing whatever it was he did, Ressler walked with Cooper at his bidding.

They walked into Ressler's office, then Cooper lowered his voice. "I have a meeting downtown this morning. The preliminary once over of all the names in Prescott's numerous boxes of files. Apparently there are a couple of FBI agents in it." Cooper omitted the word 'other', but Ressler knew what he meant.

Ressler looked away, unable to hide the mixed feelings, despite knowing Reddington had pulled his own file.

Cooper understood. "Don't worry, I have no doubt at all Reddington hid all traces."

Ressler didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "I know."

Cooper patted his shoulder. "But that's not why you're not going on this case today. I received a call from Reddington before the briefing."

Ressler looked up warily. "Oh?"

"Apparently he has need of you today on something that he was very tight lipped about," Cooper said.

"Me?" Ressler's stomach dropped, and it wasn't only due to the hangover he was still telling himself he didn't have.

Cooper gave him a knowing smile. "Perhaps our mutual friend feels the need to reach out to you today. Make amends?"

Ressler scowled. Both of them were well aware Reddington had killed Prescott to keep Ressler out of jail and gone against every principle they and the Bureau stood for.

"Anyway, he'll be here within the next half hour. He didn't say what he needed you for, despite my asking him, though he did say to dress casually and bring your gun," Cooper added with a small smile.

"Great," Ressler said, sighing. Just what he needed. A day of bonding with Raymond damn Reddington.

"I'm sure things will be fine," Cooper told him. "It will give you two time to discuss things."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Ressler replied, then as Cooper dismissed him with a small smile, he headed toward the locker room to change out of his suit and tie.