"I don't know why you bother," a familiar voice said coolly. "She clearly doesn't care about you, so why do you still care about her?" Donald Ressler looked up to see his partner, Samar Navabi, leaning in the doorway of his office, her arms folded across her chest. He had just finished being briefed by Cooper and was gathering the last things he would need for his trip to Cuba to meet Reddington.

"Doesn't matter how I feel," he replied brusquely. "Keen's in trouble and she needs our help."

"You still can't let her go, can you?" Samar replied, shaking her head. "One of these days, you're going to get yourself killed, and for what?"

"If you're so worried about my well-being, why don't you come along and back me up?" he replied irritably. He was not in the mood for a lecture. He had a job to do and he was eager to get moving.

"No. You're on your own with this one, I'm sorry. You may be able to forgive her, but I can't. Not yet, anyway." Samar pursed her lips together tightly.

"It's not about forgiving her. It's about bringing her back safely. Her and Agnes. We can deal with the rest of it after that." He grabbed his bag and moved towards the doorway, expecting her to move aside.

Samar held her ground. "What is so special about Elizabeth Keen?" she asked, bitterly.

"What are you talking about?" he asked impatiently.

"Reddington...you...what is so damn special about Elizabeth Keen that you are both willing to lay down your lives for her over and over and over again no matter what she does?"

Ressler stared at her, unsure how to respond. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said as he brushed past her, forcing her to step aside.

"She doesn't love you, you know. She doesn't even care about you or she wouldn't have done any of the things that she did. You need to stop fooling yourself," Samar called out to his retreating back. Ressler stopped for a moment and squared his shoulders as he felt his face flush. He clenched his jaw and kept going towards the elevator without looking back.

He jabbed the elevator button angrily with his finger. The last 12 hours had been little more than a blur since Reddington had called to announce that Liz was alive. Ressler had wanted to jump on the first plane to Havana but protocol demanded that they get clearance from the White House first. He was eager to get moving and to do something. He had no patience for standing around staring at screens while waiting for Reddington to call. He needed to be on the ground, to be part of the hunt. He felt energized in a way he hadn't felt in months and waiting around while bureaucrats obtained the necessary authorizations was killing him. Most of all, he just wanted to see her - to see with his own eyes that she was alive. He didn't know whether he wanted to shake her, scream at her, or hug her, but there was plenty of time to figure that out. The only thing that mattered right now was finding her - and Agnes - and bringing them back safely. Everything else could wait.

Three hours later, a wave of humidity hit him as he stepped off the plane in Havana and squinted at the blinding sun. He hailed a cab that looked like something his grandfather might have driven back in 1950s Detroit. "A donde muchacho?" the grizzly old driver asked him, peering at him through the ancient rear view mirror. Ressler provided the address and stared out the window as they passed through the crowded city streets, a thin sheen of sweat already forming on his back. He tried to imagine Liz living in this crowded, bustling city that looked like something time had forgotten, a swirling maze of pastel vehicles and buildings. The air was thick with diesel fumes and there was a constant hum of voices and music on every corner. A very different world from the tightly buttoned-up streets of D.C. Finally, the cab pulled up in front of the cafe where he was supposed to meet Manuel Esteban. Ressler paid the bill and hurried up the steps, chuckling as someone shouted something crude about his pale skin - at least as far as his rudimentary Spanish allowed him to understand. Once inside, he ordered an egg coffee as instructed. Time to get to work.

Ten hours later, he was soaked to the skin as he snapped his phone shut after Panabaker's tongue-lashing and watched as the Cuban police freed the prisoners from Esteban's dungeon. He hadn't earned himself any friends in the U.S. Government as a result of today's actions, but he didn't care. Some things were more important. He craned his neck looking for the woman he had spoken with so briefly. Finally, he saw her, shivering under a street light in the pouring rain as she looked around wildly. He pushed his way through the crowd to reach her and grabbed her elbow gently. She jumped like a startled animal but relaxed when she saw who it was.

"You ok?" he asked gently. She nodded, shivering. He took in her ragged appearance and thin frame. She was barefoot and the thin fabric of her dress was no match for the pounding rain.

"Come on, let's get you out of this rain and get you something to eat." He steered her gently down the street, away from the crowds. She stumbled slightly, and he tightened his grip on her arm as he led her towards the closest restaurant. He pushed the door open and was grateful to find the dimly lit place mostly empty with just a few patrons huddled at tables in the back. A woman in a colorful apron came forward to greet him with a smile but frowned as she saw the dripping, filthy woman behind him. Ressler opened his wallet and flashed some bills and the woman's frown disappeared as she led them to a corner table. She returned a moment later with a damp towel and a shawl and shuffled off as Ressler pressed some money into her hand. He watched as the young woman wiped her hands and face with the towel and wrapped the shawl around her shoulders.

"You speak English?" he asked after she looked more collected.

"Yes, a little," she replied. "My family works for an English man. I had to learn."

"What's your name?"

"Ivelisse," she said softly. "And you are...?"

"Don," he replied. "You can call me Don."

A waitress appeared with steaming plates of rice and beans and chicken and put it on the table in front of them. Ressler watched as Ivelisse gratefully devoured some of the food and some color gradually returned to her face.

"Thank you, Don," she said finally. "I don't know what to..."

"No need to thank me," he replied. "Just doing my job."

She looked at him quizzically. "What job brings an American like you to Cuba? What did you want with Esteban?"

Ressler hesitated, weighing what to say. "I'm looking for my friend. She was kidnapped. Her and her baby and her ... husband," he said finally. "I came down here to find the people who took them. Esteban had a lead."

Ivelisse shook her head and he could see the tears in her eyes. "Esteban is a horrible, evil man...the things he did to me...to my family..." She looked away, blinking rapidly.

"Hey," Ressler said softly, reaching out and placing his hand over hers. "You're safe now. He's gone. He can't hurt you anymore."

"Thank you," she whispered. "I can't thank you enough. Your friend - she must be very special that you come all this way and face a man like that to find her."

Ressler licked his lips and looked down at his plate, unable to meet her eyes. "She is," he said simply.

"I hope you find her and her family," Ivelisse replied gently.

"Me too," he said.

For the next hour, they chatted as they finished their food. Ivelisse told him about her father and brother and he told her what little he felt he could about Liz without giving too much away. In the end, Ivelisse's eyes were wide.

"That poor girl," she said. "She must have been so afraid for her child to leave such friends as you behind and come to a place like this. You will find her, Don. I know you will."

Finally, he paid the bill and they returned the owner's shawl and headed for the door. As they stepped out into the street, he was relieved to see that the rain had stopped and the street was much quieter than before.

"Is there someone I can call to come and get you?" he asked, turning to Ivelisse.

"No, thank you," she replied. "It is not far - I will be fine." She reached up and touched his cheek with her hand. "You are a good man, Don. Good luck with finding your friend." She bit her lip and hesitated for a moment before continuing, "And when you find her - you should tell her what you feel. I can see from how you speak of her that you love her. You should tell her that." And with that, she turned and headed down the street.

Ressler watched until she rounded the corner and then glanced at his watch. It was late and he knew he should catch at least a few hours of sleep before his flight. He'd booked a room earlier in the day once he realized that he wasn't going to make the last flight out. He had hoped to hear from Reddington again but there had been no word since he left him at the cafe to go track Esteban's lead. He hoped that no news meant good news, but he felt uneasy. He hailed a cab and headed back to the hotel which, like most others, was along the waterfront. As he exited the cab, he heard the sound of the waves crashing against the sea wall that bordered the city's waterfront. Still feeling restless, he turned and crossed the street to have a look instead of heading into the hotel. He climbed an ancient set of steps until he he could see over the wall and then stood, quietly, taking in the scene. A small sliver of moon illuminated the sea, the pounding surf the only sound except for some faint strains of music in the distance.

As he stared out at the ocean, a fine mist of spray blowing up at his face, Ivelisse's words echoed in his mind. You should tell her what you feel... He wished he had, a long time ago, before it was too late. But at the time, it just didn't feel right. Was it too late? Maybe Samar was right. Maybe he was just fooling himself. But for the first time in a long time he felt hopeful, like maybe some good would come out of this whole mess after all. A second chance. He reached down and grabbed a smooth rock and rubbed it in his palm, lost in thought. Then, with a fluid motion he hurled the rock out into the blackness of the sea. "I'm going to find you, Elizabeth Keen," he whispered.