NB- Apologies for the late submission. I was trying to work around other commitments at home and this writing bug is kind of a new thing and there was too much text so technical difficulties.... blah, blah, blah..
Anyways, A HUGE Thankyou! to @alyblacklist and @aussieokie for moderating Keenler Week 2020! You made this crazy year much better and I’m going to miss the daily Keenler content in my feed 😭
This is a fluffy Keenler Oneshot set in the near-ish future and inspired by Rihanna’s song by the same name:
Under my Umbrella
Ressler burst out the front doors of the posh hotel onto a chaulk-drawing cityscape, the first droplets of an impending downpour threatening.
Damn! Which way did she go? He whipped his head up and down the street, wrenching loose the bowtie of his tux. The stifling heat of the last couple of sweltering days had culminated into a riot of black clouds outlined eerily by DC’s city lights. Ressler spotted her going South on the bustling city street and bolted after her, commandeering an umbrella from a door attendant, who was left teetering after Ressler almost bowled him over in pursuit of Liz.
In the evening haze he could just make out her retreating form, a blur of billowy satin in her wake. Ressler swore under his breath and vowed to tear a strip off Reddington next time he saw him. Even the mild-mannered Dembe had levelled a stern look towards Red, punctuated by a shocked “Reh-mund!” that he’d uttered in his distinctive South Sudanese accent. Reddington’s response had been typically cavalier, “What?!”, he’d drawled, “It’s plain as day to everyone that Elizabeth was played, and STILL, she chose to squander her affections, depleting them like bubbles in tepid bath water.”
Liz had been stricken by Red’s harsh words and Ressler felt a knife twist in his gut at her pained expression. He was no fan of Tom, but Liz had loved him for better, (and, in his considered opinion, definitely for worse), and the manner in which the man had died, Ressler would not have wished on his worst enemy.
Ressler could feel the heat rising in his face as Liz struggled to keep her composure, but, within seconds, she had turned on her heel mumbling her excuses. Ressler, next to Liz, had quietly leaned in, saying, “Liz...”, but with barely a flutter of her dewey lashes in his direction, she was absorbed into the crowd around them. Ressler flung a steely “Red!...” in the blasé master criminal’s direction and the last thing he had heard as he turned to catch up with Liz, was the beginnings of what was surely to be a stern talking-to by Cooper, a stuttering but accurate assessment of the situation by Aram and, from Park, came an irate, “What just happened?”
“Liz!”, Ressler called after her once he got clear of the throngs of people coming and going from the Cherry Blossom Festival Charity Ball where the now disbanded Task Force and pardoned Raymond Reddington were to be honoured for their outstanding service to the country. He was still in hot pursuit of Liz as she veered off the street towards a nearby park, peacefully lit by incandescent lamplights along its’ meandering paths, but by the time he reached the winding path, Liz was nowhere in sight, swallowed up by the maze of trees and shrubbery.
All thoughts of irritation vanished as concern took over. Liz was hardly dressed for the rain shower that hung heavy in the air. But more than anything, he needed to be with her. He wanted to hold her. He had always had her back, but now things were different. Ever since the other day... Nothing had happened really. But everything had changed.
They had been in the field, working a difficult case of a small child who had been kidnapped and miraculously escaped, but now feared lost within an old abandoned and unstable mine. The kidnapper apprehended and in custody, Ressler and Liz now waited anxiously, listening over coms as crews tried to locate and rescue the child. Liz was especially distressed under a mask of calm and composure, but to Ressler she spoke in hushed tones of the distinct possibility that the child would be found dead and returned, broken, to her parents, and this image had discomposed her more and more with each passing moment. Ressler stayed close to her, murmuring words of comfort, knowing this was hitting close to home for Liz, the kidnapped child, equal to Agnes in age. Finally, the heightened crackle over coms indicating the excitement in the voice of the rescuer, news came that the child was found safe, and Liz, in her relief let shed the tears that had threatened and suddenly flung her arms around Ressler’s neck and held him tight, hiding a sob or two in his jacket. Ressler’s own relief was eclipsed by the sheer intensity of Liz’s emotions and her need to channel them into him and his arms wrapped around her tentatively, but suddenly Liz pulled away and looked into Ressler’s eyes.
He had wanted to kiss her. Badly. And he thought maybe she wanted the same, but he could not presume to know her feelings and this certainly wasn’t the place to sort that out. They stood there, eyes locked, while the world blurred around them. Ressler could see only Liz’s face and, in it, blinding beauty that shut out everything else. In that moment, a flood of pent up emotions from the last 7 years broke the dam Ressler had built around his heart and the landscape of his world was forever altered. But none of this could be addressed at that moment as Ressler and Liz were jostled by the parents of the kidnapped child, who demanded through tears of joy and relief when they could see their daughter and take her home. Ressler and Liz returned to professional mode immediately, following protocols to bring the case to it’s conclusion and this process lasted for a couple of days, then came the upheaval amongst the former Task Force members about the ball and the necessary preparations.
Ressler was torn between irritation and relief at all the obstacles he faced in talking to Liz about what had happened/not happened between them. His head kept telling him he was dreaming, his heart yearned for hers. Then came tonight.
