September 13th, 1997

2341 hours

Matt

Something was completely different about Rachel as she lay next to me. We were in our usual position when we weren't arguing about something—me big spoon, her little spoon—and her hand was holding mine. But she was still awake because a) she was holding tightly, and b) she was touching my wedding band. I didn't have to look to know she was staring straight ahead, biting her lip.

"Rachel, what's wrong? You're starting to worry me," I murmured, sliding a hand up her arm.

"What?" Her voice was absent, like she'd only just noticed I was there and touching my hand was just a reflex.

I sighed. "Baby, c'mon. You haven't slept."

"Neither have you. Not for long, anyway."

"Tell me what's on your mind," I asked. "You're never this tense."

She turned into me and the motion was almost submissive; without meaning to, I held her tighter, pulling her as close as I could. Her hand grazed a scar on my side, sliding up my shirt and lingering there.

Her voice was soft. "Jerusalem, right? This time last year? A knife wound."

"Good recall."

She paused. "It was a close one," she mumbled, replaying the incident in her head

I shook my head. "We're not playing the guilt game tonight, Rachel. You were doing the far more important work of saving hostages at the time."

"I should've killed him while I had the chance. Quick, clean. It would've been so easy for me to do that and spare you the pain."

"Rachel—"

"I was up with Cammie last week, while you were still gone in Ibiza, and she asked me if you were okay. Of course I told her yes. But I thought back to when I saw you come back out that abandoned synagogue and your side was covered in blood, the wound was so much bigger than it should've been and you were already so pale. All I remember thinking of was, You need to live. Our daughter needs a dad. And I need my husband."

"I'm good at this, Rachel. And so are you. I'll be fine. Always."

"Don't lie to me like that. I've never lied to you."

And she was right. For all her occasional frigidness, Rachel was always candid. She never said anything she didn't mean and she despised pleasantries-she never lied. I sat up and she sat up with me, the strap of her tank top drifting off her shoulder and her hair messy from the pillow. My wife looked exhausted.

"You're right. I'm sorry. But I can't stop saying it. If I do, it…it leaves room for doubt. And none of us need that."

Her expression tightened and I saw her eyes move away from me, dark brown spheres but bright in the dark. "I don't say it much, because you're right about leaving room for doubt. But our careers do terrify me. I love the fighting, I love the intrigue, I love the travel, and I love that I'm good at it. But it's not solid. It can fall like a house of fucking cards and that makes me want to hold onto you, to hold onto Cammie, to make sure we can't go anywhere."

I held her face in my hands, her perfect, unbelievably beautiful face. "We'll be fine, Rachel. Believe that. Please. And even if we're not, we'll get through it." I managed to smile at her, remembering her incredible resolve after her parents died. "You're made of iron."

"Not when it comes to you." She slipped her hands over mine. "When it comes to my family, I'm made of porcelain."

I started to say something else, but turned immediately as our bedroom door creaked open, letting in a crack of light from the hallway.

"Mommy? Daddy?" Cammie's voice was tiny as she stood there, holding her stuffed cat around his neck in a chokehold.

Rachel changed back to confident motherhood as if a switch had been flipped. "What is it, kiddo? It's so late, you should be in bed."

"I can't sleep. I had a bad dream."

My wife and I looked at each other and I turned back to Cammie. "Come on, little lady. You're safe with us."

Cammie nodded and sniffled before fumbling towards the bed. Rachel picked her up with a relatively impressive degree of strength—even considering her being a spy—and deposited her between us.

"Why are you awake?" Cammie asked as I shuffled the covers around us.

There was a millisecond pause before I said, "Talking. Now you just get some shut eye, we're going to the playground tomorrow, remember?"

Cammie smiled at this and immediately snuggled down into the pillows. I kissed her on the forehead. "Nighty night, little lady."

"Night, Daddy, night Mommy. I love you."

"Love you, too, kiddo." Rachel sank back into the sheets and so did I, and we both stayed awake until Cammie's breathing evened out into sleep.

Rachel sighed. "You see what I meant?" she whispered, and kissed Cammie on the cheek before tucking her hair behind her ear. "Porcelain."

Somehow, all three of us managed to get to sleep.