The Short Game
Story 8
Author's Note: Deals with aftermath of sexual assault.
Let me know what you think.
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Liz Keen ran with Agnes and Ressler down the quiet DC street toward the park. He was pushing the running stroller and she was keeping up by his side. She sensed that he was holding back a little in his run but was grateful because she wouldn't have been able to keep up.
It had been one week since she was hurt by Tom, taken advantage of, assaulted, violated, and he was gone. She still felt numb most of the time but had discovered that the burn she felt in her lungs as she ran made her feel more human again, more alive. So, she ran, she went running with Ressler everyday for four days now, and for four days she felt herself for a little bit everyday.
The irony of the situation was not lost on her, running away from her problems was what made her feel better. Sitting in the chair and talking to the counselor, as much as she knew it was important in her head, was the opposite. She felt like it made her examine her life through a lens she preferred not to. The woman who had a violent past with this man shouldn't be shocked that he turned violent again. She also willingly returned to him, despite the lies, the obfuscation, and the fact that he was never who he presented, ever. And, she had slept with him and produced Agnes to save the man running next to her from getting as fucked up as she was. And here Ressler was, running next to her, pushing the child that was not his, helping her despite all she had done to him. In some ways, all of that was easier to talk about than the assault. She preferred it; preferred asking for guidance and understanding into the twisted path she had followed. She hadn't told her counsellor that she had been having an affair with Ressler yet. That would probably have to be disclosed soon.
She sensed Ressler slowing as they approached a bench and matched his pace. When he came to a stop, she was grateful for the break and reached for her water bottle in the cup holder of Agnes' buggy.
"Out like a light, every time," Liz smiled down at her daughter. The daughter produced unexpectedly but loved all the same.
"I remember my mom said that she used to get my dad to drive me around in the car to put me to sleep," Ressler chuckled as he reached for his water as well.
Liz took a long drink and stood wiping her mouth.
"How's work?" She asked.
They hadn't spoken about work in the last week. He had taken a couple of days off when he first got back, to keep watch over her and probably make himself feel better about the situation. She was grateful for it, but also happy when he went back to work. She didn't need anyone else watching her for some kind of mental collapse each day.
"Good," Ressler said. "New case about a guy who uses puzzles to confess his crimes."
She raised an eyebrow, it sounded intriguing.
"You need help with a profile?" Liz asked.
She saw a look pass over his face, he wanted to tell her to take it easy, to not worry, but knew that would not be well received. Liz realized in that moment how well she knew this man.
"Sure," he said. "If you're up for it."
She nodded.
"I can bring the files over tomorrow morning before work," Ressler said.
"How about you and I stay at your place tonight and I can look them over then?" Liz asked.
He looked at her even more concerned.
"What about Agnes?" Ressler asked, but Liz could tell he was confused about her wanting to stay with him.
"Dembe and Reddington are staying in the suite next to me," she said. "I am sure they could take her for the night. They do most nights anyways once the sedatives kick in."
He furrowed his brow.
They hadn't stayed alone together since before the attack. Sure, he had sat up with her, held her hand, kissed her forehead, but they were never really alone with guards, Reddington, Agnes, and Dembe always around in some capacity.
"Are you sure…I don't mean to question…" Ressler stammered.
She reached for his hand to reassure him; one of the few times she had initiated contact in the last week.
"I need to do this sooner rather than later," Liz said softly.
Ressler looked even more confused.
"I need to know that I can lay in your arms, sleep in your arms…" Liz said softly. "I don't know when anything else will come, when I can…"
"Liz, I don't…."
"I'm just saying," Liz said as she squeezed his hand, and her eyes got a little watery. "I need this."
He nodded and looked down at their joined hands. Liz had noted that he had been very aware of not touching her first; always waiting for her to initiate any sort of contact. He had not pressured her to talk about it, to talk about her feelings, to talk about anything she didn't want to. He visited her and Agnes everyday after work and on the weekend for hours and left before 10 to go home to his own apartment across town. She felt no pressure from him to 'be normal' again and Liz would be forever grateful for that.
"You ready to head back or you want to push for another mile?" Ressler asked.
Liz could sense that he really wanted to ask how she was, was she tired and defeated or wanting to move on.
"Another mile," she said as they dropped hands. Liz nodded toward her sleeping baby. "I need to train to keep up with her one day."
Ressler laughed. "I sense she's going to keep you busy."
She snickered and it felt odd laughing, for a split second before I felt okay to be laughing again.
As they placed their water bottles back in the cup holder, she looked at Ressler.
"He's dead," she said as she met his eyes.
"I know," he replied softly, holding her gaze. "How are you with that?"
It was the first time he'd ever asked her about Tom and how she was with what had happened this week. He'd asked her with glances, with kind gestures, with soft looks. But outright asked her? This was a first.
A tear fell down her cheek and she nodded. "Good."
She heard him audibly swallow.
"It's okay if you're not good with him being dead," Ressler said, putting into words the thoughts that had been swirling in her head for days.
She looked at him surprised; he knew.
How could she mourn the man who violated her? The man who cheated and lied to her? The man who was never really who he was, but was also the father of her child?
"I don't know how to feel about that," she admitted to herself and him for the very first time.
He nodded.
"I don't know if there's a right way to feel," he said kindly.
A few tears started to flow down her face, and she could tell he was resisting pulling her against him to comfort her. She reached for a burp cloth and wiped at her face with the flannel. Would anything ever feel normal again?
"Liz," he said as he looked at her carefully. "I can't imagine what's going on in your head right now. But if you ever want to talk, I'm good to listen."
Liz started to cry harder, he was such a good man. She stepped toward him and crashed against his chest sobbing. She felt his arms loosely and carefully come around her holding her, but not so tight that she felt restricted. She chuckled through her tears. It was like he had read some kind of manual on how to be the perfect partner to a sexual assault victim.
He held her gently while she cried and laughed and when she pulled back, he didn't resist letting her go. They finished their run and, that night, dressed in his track pants and t-shirt she crawled into bed next to him and slept fitfully. He whispered to her in the darkness when she woke up time and time again. Sometimes she woke from memories of the attack, sometimes from other memories. And finally, when she managed to sleep for a few hours, her first non-sedated sleep all week, she woke in the morning light with him laying on his back next to her and her arm thrown over his torso as if it always belonged there. She resisted pulling away immediately, and just existed in this space with him sleeping peacefully next to her in a t-shirt and pajama pants, breathing evenly.
Liz slowed her erratic breathing and matched his, her breath relaxed and even, in and out of her body until she laid her head back down on the pillow next to his and fell asleep again, her arm still over his torso and his breath keeping her calm.
To be continued…