Tiny Island of Calm

Author's Note: I always loved that line from Liz, so this feels like a perfect keenler prompt. From Week 2 of Febressuary 2022. I also think the time after Liz's coma has largely been unexplored and something worth thinking about.

Let me know your thoughts.

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Liz Keen was feeling unsteady, unsteady in a visceral and physical way. She was not used to her body betraying her like this; she was young and fit and strong, and she always knew she could take care of herself. But today, and for the last two months, she felt small and weak and fragile. She hated that.

"Come on, we just need to walk up to that booth on the path and get some ice cream," Ressler said encouraging her. "It's a beautiful day."

He was right, it was a beautiful day. One of those late summer days when the air was warm but not hot, there was a warm breeze, and the sun was out but now lower in the sky as it got later in the evening.

"Fine," she huffed.

He got out and came around, opening her door and helping her slowly rise, handing her the cane she relied on for support and helping to maneuver her away from his car door so he could shut it. She was used to this Ressler, this Ressler that had his hands all over her helping her, stretching her legs, touching her hips, wrapping his arm around her waist; supporting her. She thought of him as physio Ressler; his movements and touches were all business, not personal, he was there like a personal trainer. But yet, they were so intimate. He'd never touched her this much before in all the years they'd known each other. He wanted to help her get her strength back and was willing to jostle her around anywhere to make that happen. Today, it seemed, that included ice cream.

They slowly made their way down the path, and she felt him suddenly get on guard for her safety as roller bladers flew past, kids on bikes slightly out of control came careening toward anyone in their path, groups of teens walked in clumps with little regard for others around them, and skateboarders whizzed in arcs around all the people on the path. She felt him shielding her as she walked, his one hand on the back waistband of her shorts, ready to grab it if she started to go down, and the rest of his body blocking anyone who came near them. He was her border patrol, keeping a safe 3-foot perimeter around her as she walked. And she knew she was safe. She was always safe with him. He was her tiny island of calm.

Liz looked at his chiseled features and his eyes darting all around and smiled. In another, possibly better, life she would have been with him. She probably should have been with him. Back when she let Tom go after holding him captive, she thought about being with Ressler. She even took him out for two last minute dinners as friends that, in her mind, were trial dates. They were really good dates. They laughed, he teased, they ate, and he walked her to her car and then smiled at her before he left for his. On a real date he would have kissed her. On a good date, like the one they had, she would have invited him to come over to her place and do more than kiss. But they didn't, and she didn't, and here they were. Years later, she had remarried Tom, had a child with him, lost him, and was now practically an invalid.

And Aram had let it slip that Ressler had been dating a Czech woman for the last 6 months of her coma, named Marta who worked at the embassy. And that she was tall, and a blonde and drop dead gorgeous with a Masters in Bioethics who played on a competitive beach volleyball team. She sounded ridiculously perfect. They would have gorgeous children that spoke 7 different languages, Liz was sure. She hadn't asked him about her, and he hadn't told Liz about her, but she was pretty sure Aram had apologized to Ressler for telling Liz about her. So, he knew she knew and yet they both said nothing.

"Orange sherbet?" he asked, knowing that was her favorite flavour.

She nodded and leaned against the hut where the ice cream was ordered and served. It was then that she noticed he was tanner that he usually was, probably from watching all of the beach volleyball games his girlfriend played in in a bikini or other butt revealing outfit. Liz had watched ESPN she knew beach volleyball sportswear covered minimal areas on a woman's body and usually involved a sports bra and a pair of cheek-revealing tight and tiny bottoms.

She looked past him to a group of young women in their twenties playing beach volleyball on a court next to a bar by the water. Their ass cheeks were hanging out and they were all wearing what looked like workout bras. Their bodies were perfect specimens, and her body was unable to walk without a cane.

Ressler placed a hand on her hip and helped her turn to sit at a nearby bench while they waited for their number to be called. His one hand splayed across her midsection like he was her lover, not her physiotherapist/friend/co-worker/man she should have been with. She carefully sat down, and he plunked down next to her. Liz saw a woman on the beach volleyball court practically do the splits to get a ball. She was sure Marta was super flexible in bed too. Right now, Liz could barely reach her shins.

"How's Marta?" Liz asked him as they sat there.

He furrowed his brow, surprised by her question.

"Good, why do you ask?" Ressler asked.

Liz nodded toward the beach volleyball players.

"Yeah, her team is in the semis," he smiled.

"She must be very fit," Liz sighed as she watched the women jump and hit and run. All the things she couldn't do right now and wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to really do again.

"She likes to take care of herself," Ressler said ambiguous.

Liz swallowed.

"You've been with her, what? Eight months?" Liz asked.

"Almost that," Ressler nodded.

"That's a long time," Liz said. "Especially at your age."

He chuckled and smiled.

"I'm not a hundred, Keen," Ressler turned and looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"No, just…you're not 25 anymore, at this age, eight months is a pretty clear commitment," Liz said softly as she played with the pocket on her shorts.

He shrugged and said nothing.

The woman at the booth called their number and he rose, coming back with her Orange Sherbet and his Butter Pecan. He handed Liz her cone and sat down next to her again with his own.

"It's a beautiful day," he sighed as he looked out over the park.

"Do you have a picture of you two?" Liz asked him, knowing she needed to rip the band aid off and know what Marta looked like. She would need a few days of imagining their future perfect life together and then move on with hers. At least, that was the hope.

"Uh, yeah, probably," he said, continuing to eat his ice cream.

She looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"You going to show me?" She asked.

"Sure," he sighed as he handed her his cone and reached for his phone. He opened his gallery and found a picture of the two of them from an embassy function. He was in a tux, and she was in a long flowing strapless burgundy formal dress. It was the picture that, if he was going to frame one, would be the one he framed. But he hadn't framed any of him and Marta. He didn't actually think about them much. He went out with her, went to her volleyball games, and cheered her on, he was her plus one for embassy functions, he'd met her friends, they had a great sex life, but he honestly didn't think much about her or them or a future. He wasn't sure what that said about him.

He turned his phone for Liz to see them and watched her face for a reaction. She seemed to force a smile and nodded.

"You're a very beautiful couple," Liz looked up at him. "You look really happy Ressler."

He sighed and put his phone away.

"Are you? Happy that is?" Liz asked him as he took back his ice cream.

"Sure," he said quickly.

She furrowed her brow. That was not the answer a happy person gave.

"What's she like?" Liz asked.

He looked at the park and then back at her. "Driven, focused, passionate. She's incredibly smart and treats her body like a temple."

Liz nodded.

"She sounds a lot like you," she smiled at him.

"Are you psychoanalyzing me now, Keen?" He chuckled. "I'm dating myself?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Liz said as she placed a hand on his thigh where his shorts stopped and his skin began. "I meant she seems like a good match. Someone similar that you can be happy with."

He nodded absently and ate his ice cream.

"Take it from a woman who has probably made a lot of bad relationship choices," Liz smiled at him. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Tom in my own way, but was he my best option? Probably not. Go for the best option Ressler and be happy."

He swallowed hard and nodded.

They sat in silence, finishing the rest of their ice cream.

The end.

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