On This Lonely Road

Spend Your Life

Liz's vision had started to return to normal, but without her glasses it was still hard to make out what was what. Her eyes darted around her surroundings and her heart picked up rhythm. She could hear voices but wasn't sure where they were coming from. She knew she was on high alert and her fight or flight instincts were ready to act on any little thing. Each bump in the road sparked a set of nerves. She laid down on the seat and closed her eyes. She took deep breaths trying to calm her mind. She felt her body shaking, but she wasn't sure if it was from her episode or her injuries. Every time she shifted her position, she felt every sore point on her body. 

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Raylan kept glancing into the backseat of the car. He was deeply worried about Liz. His first set of thoughts was to get her to safety, with the second being to find out what was going on with her. 

"Is she ok?" Carol asked. 

"I hope so," Raylan looked over at the business woman. 

As he did, he felt a slight urge to blame her for Liz's condition. If Carol hadn't asked to go to the Bennett's, Liz wouldn't had gotten into that fight. But he restrained himself and kept all his emotions inside per usual. 

"I'm taking her to the hospital and getting some of those cuts looked at," Raylan said. 

"Sounds good deputy," Carol tried to smile but Raylan could tell she was disappointed in something. 

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By the time they got to the hospital, Liz was almost back what Raylan would call a "normal" state of mind. He could see all her sensors were in overload, but her eyes weren't wild anymore. He took her hand and walked her into the ER wanting to get her head looked at before he took her back to the office. 

She stepped out of the car and he walked over to her. 

"You alright?" he asked. 

"I have a pounding headache, I cant see straight due to the loss of my glasses," she slipped on her sunglasses, "otherwise I think I'm alright." 

"I'm not going to force you to," he said, "but I want a little explanation as to what went down back there later." 

"I'll do my best, " she said as they walked into the ER. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Art and Liz sat on the each side of his desk. She bit her lip wondering how much trouble she was going to get in for the fight. Art studied her wounds. The bandage on her eyebrow, the split lip, the bruises on her arms and the black eye. He could only imagine the muscle soreness and bodily damage she had sustained. 

"What were you thinking?" Art's voice stern. 

"That's the problem," she said, "I wasn't."  

"Raylan must be rubbing off on you," Art commented, "because this is something I would expect his stupid ass to do." 

"Well," she shrugged her shoulders. 

"Now you can stay out of trouble as long as AUSA doesn't find out about this stunt," Art said. 

"Yes boss," she nodded.

"Now Im gonna go easy on you because I know you went through a lot," Art stood up and handed her a glass of whiskey, "but take a couple days off to clear your head." 

"Boss!" she stood up to protest.

"Two days," Art restated, "go spend time with Raylan's girlfriend or go see the country side. I don't know what you girls like to do anymore." 

Liz cracked a smile at his joke, "will do." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Liz had convinced herself that she needed to talk to someone about her PTSD. But she wasn't willing to go to a psychiatrist or even sit down and talk it out with Raven or Raylan. No, she needed to speak to someone who had similar experiences. So she found herself standing in front of the desk belonging to US Deputy Marshal, Tim Gutterson. Tim looked up at the woman on the other side of his desk. 

"What can I do for you?" he asked. 

"I was wondering if we could talk," her eyes danced around the office for anyone who could be watching, "over a drink." 

Tim's face was one of pure curiosity which was unusual for the straight faced marshal.

"Sure," he answered. 

"Cool,"  she said, "see you after work." 

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They both sat at the bar with glasses full of whiskey. Liz couldn't help but laugh, must have been a Marshal thing. 

"So," Tim asked, "what did you want to talk about." 

"You served right?" Liz asked, "Afghanistan?"

"Yup," Tim's short answers Liz found to be a trait of someone trained to his status. 

 "Do you ever have experiences come back?" Liz asked.

"What do you mean?" 

"I got into a fight with someone and instead of seeing who I was fighting," she took a deep breath, "I saw resurgents from when I was in Baghdad." 

"See I've never had that," Tim took a drink, "I just hear everything." 

"How do you cope with the PTSD?" she asked. 

"The job and this," Tim raised his glass, "I only have PTSD when I handle firearms in public." 

"You were a sniper right?" Liz asked. 

"Ya," Tim replied. 

"I was part of a witsec team," Liz informed him, "at one point I had to give myself as a hostage to save my fellow marshals. IT all proved futile when a few days later they were all gunned down."

"That rough," Tim looked over at her with understanding eyes.  

She gestured to her scar, "that's where I got this." 

"I was mostly the one picking off the enemy from above why my fellow soldier were hit on the ground," Tim told her, "I would sit for days on end in a location waiting for the green light to take out the target." 

"I can't get over the triggers," Liz said, "I try and I try but I cant do it." 

"Some of us never get over it," Tim said, "just don't seek so low Raylan will kill me over it." 

"Luckily I haven't had that train of thought yet," Liz said, "the job helps me keep my head above." 

"But have you ever had an episode like that before?" Tim pried. 

"No....." the word barely left her mouth. 

"If you ever need someone to talk to," Tim turned to face her, "I'm more then happy to be there for you." 

She felt herself smile with true and genuine reassurance. 

"Thank you Deputy Gutterson," she raised her glass. 

"Anytime Deputy Hardstead," they touched glasses and then shot down the liqueur.