"Every time I think Mr. Reddington can't surprise me anymore, he manages to pull another trick out of his hat," Aram remarked as his eyes darted back and forth among the large screens in the war room. Every media outlet was running non-stop, breathless coverage of President Diaz's sudden resignation. "Part of me still can't believe he actually forced the President of the United States to resign. I mean, honestly - did you think he could pull that off?"

Ressler shook his head slightly and shrugged. Aram had no idea the half of the surprises Reddington had pulled off over the years. "Diaz had it coming ever since he took Kirk's money. Reddington wasn't gonna let that go."

"Well, I'm just glad it's Diaz's face plastered all over national TV and not ours. I wasn't looking forward to my parents finding out I was in jail or, worse, dead." Aram fingered his lower lip gingerly. His mouth was still swollen from the beating he had received at the hands of the Secret Service.

"You got that right," Ressler agreed. He glanced up at Cooper's office, which remained dark and unoccupied. "Cooper's still at the White House with Panabaker, Keen's home filling her apartment with everything pink and princess she can find - I think I'm gonna call it a night and head out. How about you?"

Aram's shoulders slumped as he fidgeted and lowered his eyes back to his workstation. "I, uh – I think I'm going to stay here a little longer, you go ahead. I'll see you Monday." Aram hunched over his keyboard and began typing rapidly in an obvious effort to look busy.

Ressler recognized all too well the signs of a man using work as an excuse to avoid going home to an empty apartment. "I'm still waiting for you to set the date, you know," he said casually as he reached for his jacket.

Aram stopped typing, looked up from his computer and frowned. "The date for what?"

"Our Ms. Pac-Man tournament," Ressler exclaimed. "I can't believe you forgot."

Aram blinked and shifted in his seat. "Wait - wait - you were serious about that?"

"Do I sound like I'm joking? Look, I don't know about you, but I've got nowhere to be tonight other than my couch. So unless you really have more important things you need to finish —" Ressler gestured towards Aram's computer "— we can do this now if you want."

"Uh – uh – no," Aram stammered. "I think this can wait until Monday. If you're sure?"

"After the day we've had, I think some arcade games and a beer or two might be exactly what I need. Unless you're afraid of getting your ass kicked by some ghosts, of course. Come on, I'll drive, you can throw your bike in the back," Ressler added enticingly.

Ressler was pleased to see Aram slowly straighten his shoulders and smirk. "You're on. Did I tell you I once held the high score at Earl's Pizza in Pike Creek?"

"You did." Ressler leaned over Aram's workstation and lowered his voice. "And you also told me you wouldn't go easy on me. Look, I know you think you're gonna kick my ass, and maybe you will, but I had a couple of brothers and plenty of time to waste as a kid, so there's only one way to find out." He folded his arms and waited for Aram's response.

Aram's eyes narrowed, his face only inches from Ressler's. "Name me one place that has a working Ms. Pac Man machine within 30 miles," he replied evenly.

Ressler was stumped. He hadn't played Ms. Pac-Man since he'd left home. He blinked and took a step back. "Uh…"

"I thought so," Aram crowed. "Lucky for you, there's a bar right near Logan's Circle that has exactly what we need."

Ressler shook his head and chuckled as he twirled his keys. "You're on. Loser pays?" he added with false bravado, already fully expecting to foot the bill for their night out.

"Definitely," Aram agreed smugly.

Within a moment of stepping through the door, Ressler recognized that the Player's Club was basically a the bar version of a geek's fantasy basement. There was a large circular bar in the center of the wood paneled room, surrounded by pool tables and various skeeball, pinball, and vintage coin-operated arcade games including – of course – Ms. Pac-Man. "Whoah, they have Space Invaders," he exclaimed as a machine next to the bar caught his eye. "I haven't played that game since I was a kid!"

"Space Invaders, Donkey Kong, Centipede, Defender-" Aram gestured towards the various games.

"I take it you've been here before?" Ressler replied drily as he scanned the room. The bar wasn't crowded, but it was still early for a Friday night.

Aram grinned and flexed his fingers. "A few times," he replied coyly. "Drinks, they can do. If you want food, you need to find –" Aram craned his neck around the bar before spotting a brunette waitress in the far corner and pointing. "Her. Anita. If you want food, you need to ask Anita and she'll bring over a tablet and order you something from the Shake Shack next door. They deliver."

"Sounds like you've been here more than a few times," Ressler observed. "Lead on."

Aram led him to a back corner of the bar where they dropped their jackets and bags on a high table with stools next to the Ms. Pac-Man machine. "So, there's a high score on the game that's practically unachievable," Aram whispered conspiratorially. "But I think I know a workaround."

"You're gonna hack the game?" Ressler asked incredulously as he eyed the vintage game that looked like it had last graced an arcade in 1985. He rarely doubted Aram's skills but the antiquated game seemed like a challenge, even for him.

"No, of course not." Aram hissed. "But I found a book at a used bookstore with some tips that I haven't had the chance to try yet."

"Isn't that cheating?" Ressler arched an eyebrow.

"The book's been out since 1986," Aram replied indignantly. "I can't help it if I'm a dedicated fan."

Ressler gaped at him for a moment and then shook his head. "I can't argue with that. You want a beer or a soda?" He reached for the menu and scanned the options.

Aram hesitated. "Beer," he replied finally.

Ressler glanced at him over the menu. "Don't feel like you gotta drink on my account," he replied. "I don't care if you drink soda all night."

Aram shook his head. "I just never – drank. It wasn't for religious reasons or anything else. I just never bothered. Elise – Janet – she kind of changed that. I could use probably use a beer tonight," he added, "but I have no idea what to order so pick two of whatever you think looks good and I'll try it," he replied apologetically.

"Suit yourself, but if you don't like it, tell me so maybe we can figure out what you do like, okay?"

"Deal, " Aram replied as he pivoted towards a change machine in the corner of the bar. "Good thing they have a machine for quarters because we don't have that bag of quarters you gave me – that's still in evidence. Whatever happened with that anyway?"

Ressler shifted uncomfortably. As much as he would have liked to tell Aram the truth, he'd sworn himself to secrecy. "Nothing. Dead end. Cold case is still a cold case," he managed as convincingly as he could.

"That's a shame," Aram replied as he scooped up the handful of quarters from the machine. "What kind of cold case?"

"Stolen identity." The arrival of a waitress was a welcome and well-timed distraction. Ressler ordered two draft IPA's and then eyed the console and Aram. "You want to go first or should I?"

"You can go first," Aram replied as he eased himself onto a stool. "Let me see what you've got."

Moments later, Ressler felt his bravado evaporate as he broke a sweat just trying to navigate the maze of walls he barely remembered from childhood. "The pretzel there - there!" Aram exclaimed. "Go get that! Ah - the strawberry! Do you see it? No, go right!"

"Dammit!" Ressler swore as the last ghost defeated Ms. Pac-Man swiftly.

"Hey that was good for a first attempt," Aram encouraged as he smoothly took over the controls and slipped another $.50 in the machine. "Watch and learn."

Ressler eased back on the stool just as the waitress appeared with their beers. He took a long sip and smiled faintly as he watched Aram deftly maneuver around walls and ghosts, devouring fruit and pretzels as his small red-ribboned yellow character out-maneuvered everything in her path. By the time Aram had reached the fifth level, suddenly Ressler sat up straight. His smile faded as he began to actually remember the game. He leaned forward as his brother's voice echoed in his head "See, Donnie. Watch the ghosts slow down. There, right there. That's when you make your move.."

"Inky, Blinky, Pinky and…" he murmured.

"Sue," Aram replied without turning around. "The slowest ghost is Clyde in regular Pac-Man but in Ms. Pac-Man, she's Sue."

Ressler's reverie was interrupted as Aram finished his first game with a score that was easily double what Ressler had achieved on his first attempt but still well shy of the top score posted on the machine. "Best high score of six? Three tries each?" Aram offered confidently as he stepped away from the controls.

"Yep," Ressler agreed as he took his place in front of the controls, grim determination on his face. Playing the game a second time was like a whole different experience. Within moments, he was transported back to his childhood in the suburbs of Detroit, battling his brothers to the accompaniment of the blinking lights and synthesized music of a 1980s arcade. He clenched the knob tightly in his sweaty right hand while he pressed the button furiously with his left. You got this, he thought as he deftly maneuvered Ms. Pac-Man around another corner.

Ten minutes later, Ressler was ready to celebrate as he narrowly beat Aram's score. "Told you not to count me out," he said smugly as he eased back on his stool and took another long sip of his beer. "I just needed a practice round." Ressler couldn't help but notice that Aram had finished more than half his beer in the short span of time that Ressler had been playing the game. "Did you like it?" Ressler asked as he gestured towards the beer.

"Yeah, it was great," Aram muttered distractedly. It was clear that all of his attention was focused on the game in front of him rather than the drink he had been consuming. The bravado and easy confidence was gone, replaced by a steely determination.

"We agreed best high score of six, right? Three turns each?" Aram glanced up at Ressler to confirm the rules of the tournament as he held his quarters over the slots. "Yep," Ressler agreed. "This is your chance to kick my ass."

Aram licked his lips. "Prepare for an epic ass-kicking then," he said quietly as he focused all of his attention on the screen in front of him.

Ressler watched, bemused, as Aram settled back into the game. The smirking and swagger was gone. Fifteen minutes later, Aram had once again beaten Ressler's score, but by an extremely narrow margin, and he was clearly unsettled.

"You hungry?" Ressler asked as Aram turned away from the machine. "I am. Maybe we eat and then do the final round?"

"No argument here," Aram replied as he picked up his beer and scanned the room. "I see Anita - I'll flag her down."

Twenty minutes later, they were on their second round of drinks, this time accompanied by burgers and fries from the Shake Shack. But Ressler could tell from Aram's silence that something was clearly bothering him.

"What's wrong?" he asked finally.

"Nothing," Aram protested. "It's nothing - never mind."

"Aram. Come on. I know you better than that. Spill it, what is it?"

"It's just —"

"What?"

"It's just - how did you know that eating that banana in the corner on level 15 would cause the level to change and the ghosts to slow down?" Aram asked suspiciously.

Ressler was genuinely startled. Of all the questions he might have expected Aram to ask, that one was unexpected. "I um, - uh —" he began.

"I mean, I get that you don't want to share your secrets. I wouldn't either. But that one —"

"Aram —"

"—that one, it was unusual. I've seen the banana on level 10, and it transports you to what is basically a level 12, but that one - I hadn't —"

"Aram," Ressler repeated more forcefully.

"What? I —"

"I have no clue. Like I said - I had two brothers. I picked up things from them along the way. That was one. Where that came from, I have no idea, but the brother who told me what to do in that particular scenario is dead, so I guess the intel died with him." Ressler leaned back and took another long sip of his beer. "Just dumb luck, I think," he added.

Aram stared at Ressler for a moment and then lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean —"

"It's fine. I mean that, really. Don't worry about it."

Aram nodded as he picked at a french fry. "It was a great move," he replied with a shy grin.

"It was," Ressler agreed, returning the grin. "It's amazing what comes back to you." His eyes scanned the room. The crowd was picking up a little.

They sat in companionable silence for a while as they finished their dinner. Finally, Aram broken the silence. "Can I ask you something else?"

Ressler paused as his dipped a fry into the sauce on his plate. "Sure. But I can't promise I'm going to remember the other moves any better than that one."

"Not about the game," Aram said quickly as he licked his lips. "Look - I know Samar isn't dead — at least I assume she's not dead," he clarified hastily, "so it's not exactly the same but — does it get better, eventually? Going home and just — missing her? Does it get better?"

Ressler held his gaze for a moment and then took another sip of his beer as he shook his head. "Yes and no? I wish I had a better answer. There's times when it's better and times when it's not."

Aram nodded, "see that's the thing — I can't imagine going home and not missing her because I see her everywhere I turn. The kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom - she's everywhere."

"Moving helped," Ressler replied quietly. Aram paused for a moment and then raised his eyebrows.

"Seriously? You think I should move? Because I don't know if I can break my lease, but —"

"No," Ressler interjected. "I don't think you should move. I'm just telling you that in my case, it helped a little. Look -" Ressler hesitated and shifted uncomfortably. "Give it time. I date other people now. I can imagine — sometimes, anyway — someday having a life with someone else. I know that sounds crazy, but —"

"No, that's good. That's kind of what I want — what I need to hear, I guess? Because right now I still can't imagine going home and even caring about being with someone else. All I see is her, all I want is — but at the same time — and this sounds terrible," Aram added, looking pained "I still want a life, you know? It's hard to accept that I'm almost 40 and this is it? This is all there will ever be? I want kids, and I want to be a dad and somehow —"

"—that's normal. At least as normal as it gets for us? Nothing about our lives is normal I guess, but I think that part is? If that makes sense?" Ressler finished, sympathetically. "I get it. I don't think any of us are living the lives now that we expected to be living at this point."

Aram nodded slowly as he turned back to his fries.

"You ready for the final round?" Ressler asked finally.

Aram grinned. "Go for it."

Ressler took a deep breath as he settled himself back in front of the machine. Focus. He turned himself as much over to autopilot as he could and by the end of the round, he took Aram's pale expression as a sign that he'd done somewhat respectably well.

"You ready to show me how it's really done?" he asked as he handed over the controls.

"Yes," Aram replied grimly.

Ressler leaned back on his stool as he watched Aram seize the controls of the game and he couldn't help but smile as he watched him actually break a sweat. He wanted Aram to beat him. But he was secretly pleased it wasn't overly easy for him either.

Finally, the round was over and Aram turned around and grinned. "I got you, but it wasn't easy. This was fun."

"It was," Ressler agreed as he returned the grin. "Now, since I'm paying — what do you say we see what we remember of Space Invaders?" he asked as he gestured towards the machine he had spotted on the way in.

"You're on," Aram chuckled. "Lead on."

Two hours later, they had moved from Space Invaders to skeeball to pool and they were finally ready to call it a night. Ressler slung his jacket over his shoulder as they stepped out into the cool night air. "We should do this again," he remarked as they walked back to the car. "Maybe invite the boss and Keen next time, too."

"I'd like that," Aram agreed. And hey — didn't Mr. Reddington say he likes Ms. Pac-Man too? That time we went to his analog war room? I could swear he said he had a machine."

Ressler stopped and gaped at Aram and then shook his head. "If you want to challenge Reddington to a Ms. Pac-Man tournament, go for it. That would be something to see. But do me a favor if you do?"

"Sure, what?"

"Loan me that book. The one you found at the used bookstore from 1986."

Aram burst out laughing. "Deal."