Meant to be

Slowly, the limousine disappeared. Only a couple of minutes after Charles had gotten in with a stone-like expression on his face, the car had become a small black smudge in the landscape.

Martha looked at it one last time, then turned to the people around her. The Secret Service agents had a look on their faces she had learned to recognize as concern. No one else did, certainly not the Army Officers or the press people, even though some of the latter were speaking furiously on their cell phones. It surely would become a very long day for them.

Martha felt a hand being put on her shoulder and looked up. Mike smiled sympathetically at her and said in a low voice, "We could go back now, Martha"; except he made it sound like a question.

She smiled back at him, or tried to, and softly said, "Alright". When Mike led her to her very own limousine, she took one last glance at the airfield. This was where her husband's career and freedom had come to an end; and so would her life as she knew it.

Her smile faded, she felt numb. Somehow, Mike managed to get her into the car, where she sat, alone. It was a victory, for her, for the country probably, but still, it didn't feel that way. It felt like betrayal. In spite of what Charles had done in the last months, he still was the man she had been married to for 25 years. Martha looked out the darkened, bullet-proof window as the car started to roll. She wondered when and where she would see him next time. Or if she would at all.

A single tear rolled down her face without her noticing it. She still couldn't believe the last 24 hours hadn't been a nightmare, a fever dream she would wake up from every minute.

The convoy arrived at the Presidential Retreat at 7.32. Before getting out, Martha inhaled deeply. She didn't even know if she was supposed to be here anymore. Technically, Charles was still the President, of course, but she didn't feel like she belonged here.

Everything seemed changed when she got out. Brighter yet darker. Most of the waiting personnel knew already; Martha saw suppressed anger, but mostly confusion. She guessed that was exactly what the American people would soon feel, and for a long time so.

Martha didn't see many familiar faces. Mike had already informed her that Evelyn had been found dead in a non-descript motel room. Martha had no idea why, and, to some extent, she didn't care. Her continuous numbness prevented her from fully processing the news – at least for now.

Mike came up behind her; he had climbed out of one of the other black limousines that had followed hers. Martha felt slightly disoriented, like getting up for the first time after a long illness.

Somehow, there was only one thing she could think of to say. Not looking at Mike, she started, "Is Aaron…?", but couldn't finish. "He's still here, in guest apartment two", said Mike without hesitation. Martha smiled in spite of herself, because Mike knew her so well, and mouthed a silent "Thank you".

Mike looked after her strolling toward the west entrance and told the Secret Service agents to stand back. He took a brief moment to collect himself, then started in direction of the Presidential Headquarters, followed by the rest of the staff. It would be a long day for them as well.

Slowly, Martha walked the corridor to the guest rooms. Hundreds of times she had done the same with Charles at her side.

For too long, she had kept believing in him. But when he had followed her into that hangar at the airport and had mishandled her searching for a bug, that was when she stopped believing.

She knocked softly on the door of the guest apartment, but didn't wait for an answer.

Aaron turned around when she entered. Seeing it was her, a look of alarm mixed with relief appeared on his face. He quickly turned off the TV he had been watching, newsmen still unaware, talking about David Palmer's burial.

Martha silently shut the door behind her. Aaron came toward her. "Martha, I've heard…" "Yes. Jack's plan worked", she said without letting him finish.

Aaron was now wearing black jogging pants and a dark grey T-shirt. His hair was still wet from the shower he had taken.

Martha moved closer to him, they were looking at each other in silence. She could almost fell his breath on her face. "Martha…", Aaron whispered. She silenced him by softly putting her fingers over his lips and a small, one-time headshake. She moved her face even closer to his and with their lips only an inch apart she stopped one last time to look into his eyes. She saw empathy, guilt, longing.

And they kissed. Cautiously at first, as if they were 13 years old and had never kissed anyone before in their lives, then more and more passionately. It felt like arriving, like coming home, like doing what was meant to be done all along.

When they stopped for a moment to catch their breath, Aaron took Martha's hands in his. This familiar touch and looking into Aaron's eyes brought it all back to her, all the pain and surrealism of the day that lay behind her. She had shot someone, Evelyn was dead, and the man she had spent the good part of her life with was a traitor to everything she knew and loved.

Silently but violently, Martha began to cry. Aaron knew better than to speak, he just took her shaking, fragile body into his arms and held her.

After a few minutes, he led her to the bed in the middle of the room. They sat down, Martha still weeping, Aaron still holding her. Then they lay down, side by side. They lay there for what seemed to be forever, her head on his shoulder, with his arms around her.

And then and there, Martha knew that this was something she would never want to do without again, ever, for the rest of her life.

The End.