The Architect. [The Blacklist. Donald Ressler X Oc]

Not talking about it.

Ressler.

I found it odd, how what I thought was a simple change was actually the biggest one I'd had to make.

I felt like Maggie had made a big effort in making our relationship be a safe place for me in terms of trust and being comfortable in sharing work things with her. She'd always encouraged me to talk with her about anything and everything, she was my  human journal, I deposited a lot of things unto her and she willingly took them.

With me being stuck between a rock and a hard place, I'd made the silent decision of stop telling Mags about the developments of the case involving bringing Liz in. She would still, of course, ask me about my day and what I'd done, I'd opted on vague replies along the lines of "did some interrogation, chased up a guy".

That little change had almost drastically reverted our relationship back to what it had always been, and I'd often found myself laying on the couch, my head laying on Mag's outstretched legs and her fingers raking back and forth on my hair.

I heard her exhale sharply, I opened my eyes to find her smirking as she kept her eyes trained on an article she was reading.

"What?" I asked. Closing my eyes again and enjoying the feeling of her fingers on my scalp.

"You laid down and deflated like a balloon as soon as I began touching your hair" her fingers trailed down to the side of my head, rubbing just behind my ear. "Had a tough day?"

"No" I shrugged "did you know that Aram speaks like 6 languages?"

"Yeah, I knew. Alma makes it her mission to ask about every single household item for him to translate when we go to his for lunch"

I hummed, the rustle of papers indicating that she was still reading.

"And how come have you just found out about that?"

"We needed a translator" 

It was her turn to hum, pacing her forefinger behind my ear again. I don't know how much time or pages went by before she spoke again.

I heard her sharp intake of breath, I expected her to talk, but she didn't say anything. I opened my eyes and stared at her twisted lips. Our eyes met briefly and she left her papers in the armrest of the couch.

"Do you remember Glenn from the DMV? Raymond's friend?"

"He made quite an impression the first time I met him, so yeah, I remember him"

"He passed away" she followed.

I sat on the couch and turned myself around to face her, my face involuntarily twisting my eyebrows in confusion. I wasn't expecting that, I was expecting her to say something like "he asked me for a job and I don't know if I should take it or not", otherwise why bring him up?

"Who told you?"

"Dembe, he's having a party at the DMV"

"He's having a party?"

"It's celebrating his life" she excused, her tone of voice pitched up.

"It makes it look like everyone is celebrating that he died"

She clasped her tongue and gave me a scolding twist of her eyes along with a head tilt to the side.

"That's not what it is, you celebrate the good things he did. I did that with my dad"