The Long Game

Part 7

Author's Note: This one takes place after General Ludd. I skipped ahead a little because I felt this worked better. The last one was long and this one is shorter but this seemed like a great spot to pick up with them again in a small, intimate way. Please leave a review.

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She stayed at the apartment for two nights in a row. Tom had been great, a fantastic support system in Nebraska and it had been nice back at the house, looking at so many things that reminded her of her dad. Her Aunt June was a real help, getting the few albums together with some of her father's things that she'd want to keep. When she looked around the house it was clear her father had been preparing for the end, giving away a lot of his things, selling the old cars he'd kept for years, and contacting a local realtor about the property sale a couple months ago. His funeral had been pre-arranged, his will settled, and his things split between Liz and his sister June.

When she had returned to DC Tom had hovered. Bringing her tea and toast and she'd look up to see him watching her from the edges of whatever room she was in. So, she'd called Cooper and asked to return to the undercover work for a few days before she returned to the Post Office, she needed some transition time.

She looked at her phone vibrating on the coffee table and flipped it over. Ressler.

He had been really good, going to her after she found out about her father at the airport, holding her while she fell apart, getting the orders for the airport lifted while she sat and cried in the SUV, and personally escorted her to her gate to get her on the first outgoing flight to Nebraska. She found out when she landed that he had also called Tom and given him her flight number so he could pick her up at the gate. He'd sent flowers to the funeral home, called her to check on her once when they'd spoken briefly, but otherwise left her alone to grieve the loss of her dad.

"Hey," she said as she answered.

"I heard you were back, but not quite back," Don said. "How are you doing?"

"Awful," Liz admitted.

"Yeah," Don said quietly.

The line became silent.

"Okay, I'll let you go, I don't want to…"

"He used to make up songs," Liz said as she settled back into the sofa. "Like while he was doing the dishes, he'd sing about the bubbles and the plates…stupid songs really, but…"

"That's a nice memory," Don said softly as he settled back into his chair in their office.

"I didn't have a mom," Liz said. "Just him. And he was gruff and sometimes surly, but also really funny…and he was my dad."

"It sounds like he was pretty great," Don said quietly.

"He was," Liz smiled into the phone.

"What was your birthday like?" Don asked.

"He always seemed to forget until the day of," Liz chuckled. "He would buy a cake at the grocery store and sometimes I had friends over to play, other times it was just the two of us. But there was always cake."

"Sounds like he made it work," Don said softly.

"He did," Liz smiled.

"And he was proud of you going to college?" Don asked.

"Very," Liz said. "He kept saying it's a good thing we weren't related or I wouldn't have any brains. Which sooo wasn't true. He had so many facts about World War One it was crazy."

"He was a history buff?" Don asked.

"You know all those droning black and white documentary films about taking a hill or submarines fights or air raids?"

"Yeah," Don smiled.

"That was on our TV constantly my entire life," Liz chuckled. "I couldn't tell them apart, but he knew if the History Channel had a new film or documentary almost instinctively. I swear he knew every movement of each army and individual plane and submarine."

"Old guys love those movies," Don chuckled.

"He loved them," Liz smiled and wiped at her eyes.

The line went silent and Don just sat there with her in her grief their breathing the only thing that was making a noise.

"He bought me a red bike," Liz said. "I had been eyeing it in the hardware store for weeks and I didn't know he noticed. He did."

"Dads always do," Don said.

"I think back, and it had to be so hard raising me on his own," Liz said. "Nebraska was not like the city where there are things to occupy a kid around every corner."

"So, what did you do as a kid?" Don asked.

"I played in the fields, the barn," Liz said. "I made up stories and friends. I rode my bike and sometimes I just laid in the grass and looked up at the sky for hours."

"Sounds kind of idyllic," Don admitted.

They sat in silence for a while again, Don could hear an occasional sniffle.

"What was your childhood like? What did you do as a kid?" Liz asked him.

"It was pretty opposite to yours," Don said with a chuckle. "I grew up in a working class area of Detroit. It was noisy; cars, music, yelling, the factories….there was always a kid hanging around, someone to play with. It wasn't the cleanest grass or air. But it was fun. We got into a lot of trouble."

Liz smiled at his assessment of his childhood.

"I guess, whoever our parents are, they always do their best," Liz said. "What was your dad like?"

"He was a cop, a real ball-buster," Don said. "He and I didn't see eye-to-eye much in the year before he was killed. When I was younger I idolized him, but as I got older I became a bit of a smart ass, a know-it-all and he…he was probably pretty disappointed in me before he died."

"I don't think he was," Liz said softly. "Parents know the teen years are tough. He didn't stop loving you. Parents can not like your choices or your attitude, but still love you."

Don nodded, his mom had said something similar to him when he was younger.

"I'm sorry you dad died so young," Liz said.

"Me too," Don said. "I'm sorry yours died, Liz. No one…it doesn't matter how old you are. He's still your dad."

She started to cry and nodded into the phone.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you…"

"No, it's good," Liz said. "It's a good cry."

"It doesn't sound like one," Don admitted.

Liz chuckled on the other side of the line.

"I promise it is," she smiled into the phone.

"Well, good," he said softly.

"Have a good night Don," Liz said softly.

"If you need anything, you let me know," Don said.

"I will, thanks," Liz said before she disconnected the phone.

She placed it down on the coffee table and smiled. It had been nice to talk about her dad with someone who had also lost his.

To be continued….