Heartbreak

Author's Note: So many choices…our man has been through the ringer and he's had his heart broken in both big and little ways so many times. I decided to go back in his history (that I totally made up) and find the source of his behaviour in Season 3. For Week 2 of Febressuary 2022.

Let me know what you think.

WWWWWWWWWWWWW

He'd broken this thing between him and Aram, and Ressler wasn't sure if he'd ever get his friend back. Sure, he pretended like he didn't care, but deep inside, her really did. He'd fucked up. He'd slept with the woman Aram was pining for, that he knew Aram was pining for. He'd then let Aram know it, in a not-so-subtle way and hurt him, like Ressler was hurt. It wasn't his proudest moment and he needed to find a way back to his friend. To apologize for turning into his 17-year-old self whose girlfriend left him for her old boyfriend. Who embarrassed him in front of everyone. Who he loved. Who left him.

Ressler took a deep breath and looked down at Aram working on the computer below and thought back to that time and how, even twenty years older and supposedly wiser, he had made the same fucking mistake again. He picked a vulnerable situation and didn't care who he hurt, as long as he felt better. But, just like 20 years ago, he didn't feel better. He felt like a piece of shit.

Trista Renard was unlike any girl he'd eve dated in his 17 years on earth. She was smart but not only book smart, life smart. Her family had lived in France for most of her childhood, and for brief periods in Lebanon and Martinique. She spoke fluent French, English, and Italian and a mish mash of other languages that she called 'passable' and he called incredible. When her family moved to Detroit it was to take care of her aging and ailing grandmother and she had started at a catholic school and switched to his public high school with her sister in November. She laughed without reservation; loud and hearty and didn't care that her nose flared, or her face got red. She was very free-spirited and spoke with him about going to Europe together after high school graduation and staying with some of her family but also backpacking and hopping on and off trains. It sounded exotic to Don who had only ever been to Canada, Rochester, Idaho, and Florida with his family. They had sex that felt grown up and exiting and she taught him things that he hadn't learned at seventeen, things about how to please a woman and how to not be so selfish in bed. In short, she was amazing, and they had a love affair that he was sure was going to last for years to come. Until, in May, just before graduation she started to spend time with her old boyfriend from the Catholic school again. He tried to be mature about it, thinking she'd come to her senses, that adults had friendships with their ex's, that she loved him.

She didn't outright break up with him, but his older, more mature, self now saw that she broke up with him in a way that seventeen-year-olds do; ambiguously. She was busy, they stopped sleeping together, she needed space, she had a lot on her mind, she needed some time. And, like all seventeen-year-old boys, he didn't take the hints or get the message. He pushed for answers, he pleaded for her attention, he showed up to her house, he made a nuisance of himself. Until, one day, her very French father sat him down and talked about woman and flowers and the wind. He quoted some French poem and translated it for Don and although, Don didn't know what he was exactly saying with all these metaphors, he knew her dad was telling him, politely, to leave his daughter alone.

So, he did, and on graduation day he looked down at his yearbook that had just been handed out and saw his grad photo and quote. He had thanked his parents, friends, team-mates, and teachers and then said: Trista, you are the love of my life. He'd never said that to a girl before, in print or in person, and that quote had been submitted weeks before they broke up. Weeks before fucking Sebastian, the boyfriend from Catholic school was at the grad ceremony hugging and kissing her in front of everyone. Don was teased by a few of the guys on his team, was bugged by a couple of girls who always seemed to like to glob on to any heartbreak like leaches, and his brother who was relentless in pointing out where Sebastian's hands were on Trista throughout the refreshments and picture-taking party that happened for parents, students, and their guests afterwards. It was humiliating.

Which is why he got drunk at the grad party that night. Why he fucked her sister, Celine, who was one year younger, why he told his friend, Marty, who was dating Celine to go fuck himself, and why he ended up taking a job 2 days later and leaving to work as a lifeguard at a camp on Boyne Mountain for the rest of the summer until he left for college. Celine had always had a thing for him, so she was easy to get in bed. Marty was always so trusting, so he was easy to lie to. And Trista, in his mind, deserved to know he had sex with her sister after she broke his heart and humiliated him.

He never made up with Marty, never saw Celine or Trista again, and always felt like a piece of shit for what his seventeen-year-old self did; the destruction he left in the wake of his broken heart. And he couldn't, wouldn't, allow that to happen again. He was better than that now, and he needed to be a better person for his sake as much as everyone else's.

It had been 9 days and Aram could still hardly look at him. Samar had been a mistake. A Celine mistake. He'd slept with her because of Liz. Because he was in love with Liz. Because Liz didn't love him. And because Liz and Tom seemed to be back together. He had been angry and instead of dealing with it like a mature fucking adult, he had reverted to his seventeen-year-old self, who wanted to hurt everyone around him, so they felt the pain he felt, the loss he felt. He wanted Liz to find out about Samar, just like Trista found out about Celine, he wanted her to know what he'd done.

It was destructive behaviour, he wasn't a moron, but he'd done it anyways. It had always been easy to hurt himself. He was an expert at it some days. But hurting Aram was not right. He'd fucked up and he needed to fix this; to do what was needed to fix this. Because, although he may never have Liz, and that hurt him to his core, he needed to also not lose Aram in all of this as well.

Ressler rose from his chair and walked down the stairs to Aram. He slid two passes across the desk and waited for Aram to look at him.

"There's a comedian who used to work in IT who is in DC this weekend," Ressler said. "Apparently if you're a computer person you'll die laughing. I thought you could use a break."

Aram looked at him confused and surprised.

"I know what I did was wrong," Ressler said. "And I'm not going to give you any excuses for my behaviour because there aren't any. I just want to say I'm sorry, and I'll do whatever it takes to fix this because you mean a lot to me Aram. And I'm sorry I hurt you."

Ressler could feel his eyes watering and sucked in a quick breath; he hated getting emotional in front of people, especially men.

Aram's eyes watered and he swallowed hard.

"You did hurt me. A lot," Aram said. "And I really thought I could trust you."

Ressler nodded and swallowed hard.

"Thank you," Aram said with a nod before he took both tickets and placed them in his pocket and went back to typing.

Ressler nodded and turned to walk toward his office to grab his coat and head home for the weekend. He was walking toward the elevator when Aram, not looking up from his computer, called out to him.

"Are you buying my non-alcoholic drinks and nachos as well?" Aram asked.

Ressler turned and looked at him confused; did he want money for the night out as well?

"You can pick me up at 7," Aram said, still not looking up.

Ressler smiled and nodded. "I'd like that."

He walked toward the elevator and pressed the button. He may not get the girl, but he may just get his friend back.

The end.