Set after Elizabeth and Henry fight over Henry's denied permission to rejoin the DIA (Season 2 Episode 15, Right of the Boom).
Elizabeth closed the front door with a tentative clunk, and then turned, leaning her back against it. She looked over to Henry, still sat on the couch. He wasn't facing her, and for that she was glad. If he had seen her frown, the tension in her face and shoulders, he might have accused her of being unsupportive - again.
She let her eyes close for a moment, steeling herself in a diplomatic silence, and then - without so much as a word to Henry - she proceeded up the stairs. Her stomach was empty - Russell Jackson and President Dalton had arrived before she had eaten - but she no longer felt hungry. Instead her stomach growled with unrelenting nausea. Henry had his way, he would be putting his life at risk again, and she was powerless to stop it. Yes, they would be able to talk about their operations rather than keeping secrets from one another, but Elizabeth preferred the days when they'd chat about students and lectures, not religious extremists.
By the time that Henry joined her in their bedroom, Elizabeth had already changed into her pyjamas. She was clutching an old paperback in her hand. She had already read it; it wasn't good enough to warrant a second read, but she needed a distraction.
"Are we going to talk?" Henry asked. He shut the door behind him, aware that the children were still awake.
Elizabeth made a deliberate show of climbing into bed and opening the novel. She studied the first page rather than raising her gaze to meet her husband.
"Elizabeth?" His tone cautioned her; she was acting like a child.
Elizabeth turned the page with a flourish of the hand. She hadn't read a single word, but that didn't matter; the book was now just a prop. Henry was distracting her from her distraction.
"Ok, I get it - you're mad at me." Henry perched on the edge of the bed, on her side of the bed, trapping her in the conversation.
Still Elizabeth refused to engage. Though she did not deny his statement, she said, "I'm tired. I want to unwind and I want to sleep."
Reaching out, Henry freed the book from her grasp and set it down on the bedside table. "Look, I'm sorry that I accused you of blocking my application."
Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. And for grabbing my phone? And for demanding that I call the president? And for taking stupid risks when you have a family that needs you?
She bit her tongue, but her look spoke volumes. She picked up the book again, but immediately Henry took it off her.
"Are you going to say anything?" Henry held the book firmly out of her reach. He kept his eyes on hers, refusing to back down from his piercing gaze.
Elizabeth met his eyes for a moment, then sighed and shook her head. She reached for the pillow behind her and then, with it in her grasp, she clambered over his side of the bed and padded across the floor to the door. Part of her knew that she was being a bit melodramatic, but she was mad and she was tired and she didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to say something that she would later regret.
"Elizabeth!" Henry's raised voice stopped her from opening the door. In her pause, he said, "I forgave you when you accused me of having an affair!" As the words tumbled out, he knew that he had made the wrong move. Immediately, he wished he could take them back.
"I never accused you - I asked you," Elizabeth said, her tone so cutting that she didn't need to shout. "I never believed it - not for one second - but I had to ask because other people were asking. Stevie believed it, my staff believed it. They thought I was a fool for believing you." She shook her head, looking down to the floor. When she raised her eyes once more, she was looking right through him. "But that's beside the point. You know what the big difference between then and now is? Then, you were lying to me - about the NSA, granted, but lying nonetheless. I haven't lied to you. I did not block your application."
Elizabeth did not wait for Henry's response. Silently, she took her pillow and headed downstairs to the couch. She could still hear the children in their rooms, and she could only hope that they hadn't heard her and their father's hushed argument.
"What's with the neck?" Russell asked, sifting through the wad of papers in his hand. Pausing in his action, he glanced at Elizabeth's tired face and added unnecessarily, "You look awful, by the way." He resumed the shuffling.
Elizabeth frowned. "Thank you, Russell."
Russell found the pages he was looking for and laid them out on his desk, ready for Elizabeth to sign. As Elizabeth leant over them, her hand went instinctively to her neck again, futilely trying to massage out the stubborn crick.
"Turns out sleeping on the couch is not conducive to rising well-rested and limber." Elizabeth sighed, her pen dragging languidly across the page. "Hence the neck and the - " her hand waved in front of her face, motioning to her exhausted appearance.
"Why were you on the couch?" Russell collected the first set of documents and laid out the next, an efficient signature-acquiring machine.
At a loss for a satisfactory explanation, Elizabeth answered vaguely, "I just needed some space." What a tired line; she sounded like some douchebag from a straight-to-DVD romcom. Her hand went to her neck again. There was a real danger that she was acquiring a nervous tic. She could feel the incredulousness in Russell's gaze.
"Bullshit." Russell gathered up the signed documents, motioning for Elizabeth to sit on the couch whilst he filed the pages away.
Reluctantly, Elizabeth took a seat. She had been hoping to get away quickly. Now, not only had she extended their meeting but she had trapped herself in a conversation that she'd rather not be having with a colleague, especially not Russell Jackson. The only consolation was that Russell seemed as underwhelmed to be in the situation as she was; at least they could be miserable together.
"Now, are you going to tell me what's going on?" Russell asked. It was a question that could not be answered with a simple 'no', much to Elizabeth's disappointment.
Elizabeth thought that therapy would be far more effective if therapists took such a direct approach. "It's nothing," she said. "Does it matter anyway?"
"We've just set up a task force based on your recommendation. At its foundation is the understanding that there will be cross-departmental communication. If you and Henry aren't talking to one another, that's going to pose a pretty major problem."
"So, you're not concerned about the state of my marriage so much as how it's going to impact the figures." Elizabeth smiled knowingly. The job had turned her into a real cynic.
Russell smiled back, taking a seat opposite her. They had an understanding. "Have I ever pretended otherwise?" He made a good point. "Tell me what's going on."
There were worst people to confide in, Elizabeth supposed. At least she could trust that Russell had no interest in gossiping about her. And, Russell's office probably had the tightest security in the building - what was said in the room stayed in the room.
"Last night, before you and Conrad arrived, Henry accused me of blocking his application to rejoin the DIA. He accused me of lying to him and of being unsupportive."
"So, why were you the one on the couch?" Russell had been in the doghouse many times; he knew how it worked. The offending party - usually the husband - ended up on the couch.
"You know…the whole radioactive thing. He needs his rest…" Elizabeth trailed off. She was not very convincing. "But also, I felt guilty. Guilty because I wanted to block his application. And he did apologise, so I could hardly turf him out."
"So he apologised, but you didn't accept it?" Russell pressed. When Elizabeth didn't answer, he pushed further, "Why not?"
Elizabeth was hesitant. "Because it's more than that, more than just the accusation," Elizabeth said. "It wasn't my choice to leave the CIA," she said, "Well, ultimately I made the decision, but only because Henry gave me an ultimatum - him or the job. Family come first, so I quit. But I loved that job, despite everything, I loved that job. I thought that I'd made peace with it, with having to leave like that, but it turns out that it still really bugs me. When he said that I wasn't supporting him, all I could think about was how he refused to support me."
"And you didn't think to give him the same ultimatum?"
Elizabeth shrugged, defeatist. "What good would it do?"
Russell was disappointed; he thought that Elizabeth had more fight in her than that. "You know that Henry would choose you," he said, but seeing Elizabeth's expression he began to doubt, "Don't you?"
"I know," Elizabeth said with a sigh, "But he'd resent me for it. The resentment would fester. Then one day one of us would…I don't know…leave the milk on the side or something, and the next thing you know we'd be signing divorce papers."
Elizabeth knew how Henry would feel because, even after all these years, that's how she felt - resentful.
Russell leant forward, as if divulging a secret. "You need to talk to Henry, tell him what you're thinking. Resentment doesn't go away just because you refuse to acknowledge it."
Elizabeth gave him a conspiratorial smile. "And it would certainly help the task force and the figures if I was on speaking terms with Henry."
"I'm glad that we have an agreement," Russell joked, but only partly. His smile softened into genuine concern. "Seriously though, Elizabeth, I do like you and I want what's best for you. Talk to Henry, clear the air."
"I will," Elizabeth promised, though she couldn't say that she was ready to fulfil that promise immediately. She rose from her seat, smoothing down the crinkles in her skirt before stepping towards the door.
"You'd better," Russell warned, "Because you know that if this starts to affect our operations in any way, I will be forced to get involved. And none of us want that."
"No, we certainly don't," Elizabeth said. The thought of Russell Jackson acting as a relationship counsellor was enough to make her shudder. Her hand went to her neck. Yes, she told herself, she was definitely developing a nervous tick.
Stevie had gone to the trouble of preparing dinner - which made her parents unduly suspicious - and although it was tasty, the tension at the table prevented anyone from enjoying the meal.
Elizabeth and Henry sat at opposite ends of the table, so close yet it felt like with each passing second the table grew a millimetre, increasing the distance between them.
Elizabeth was yet to heed Russell's advice. She had intended to speak to Henry, but as soon as she got home, that bitter fury rose up within her again. Her lips sealed of their own accord, and she had barely even acknowledged Henry since walking through the door.
Elizabeth prodded the food with her fork. Something about being mad at Henry always made her lose her appetite. She tried to think when she had last eaten. She had missed dinner the previous night, and she left early that morning so as to avoid Henry…
"Do you not like it, Mom?" Stevie asked, drawing Elizabeth out of her thoughts. Stevie had the face of someone riddled with disappointment but trying desperately to hide it.
"Oh no, sweetheart," Elizabeth said with a smile that she hoped was reassuring. "It's lovely. And I'm so grateful for you making dinner for all of us. I'm just not that hungry this evening." She might not have felt the physical sensation of hunger, but mentally she was flagging.
Henry looked up from his own plate, his words cutting through Elizabeth as he said, "You still need to eat." His tone was cold, laced with a bitter mix of disapproval and concern.
The children looked silently between their parents. For people involved in espionage, they sure were useless at disguising their rows. Jason cut the tension with a sardonic quip, "Sounds like someone could do with some peer mediation." That earnt him a slap on the arm from Alison, and a swat around the head from Stevie.
Elizabeth set her fork down and looked up at Henry. It was an act of provocation. If he was going to demand that she eat, she would do the opposite. The look that she gave him dared him to say something, say anything. It was a dangerous look.
Wordlessly, Stevie stood up and picked up her plate. An urgent tilt of her head directed her siblings to do the same. Together, the three of them ascended the stairs. Their dinner would become a picnic camped out in Stevie's room, the door shut on their parents and whatever harsh words that would be thrown around downstairs.
With the children gone, Elizabeth too rose from the table. She headed for the kitchen. There was a bottle of wine in the fridge and the water on the table just wasn't cutting it. To her annoyance, Henry followed her.
"Elizabeth." Her name was spoken like a command.
Elizabeth stopped, turning to face Henry, her back to the counter. As she turned, Henry reached out and grabbed her wrist. Her arm tensed. She tried to grab her hand back, but Henry wouldn't relent. He stepped closer. There was so little space between them, but so much distance.
"Look, you've made your point; you're mad at me. Now can we get on to the part where you tell me what the hell for so we can just talk about this?" His eyes searched her face, looking for some clue, some weakness that he could use to break through her shell.
Elizabeth looked purposefully at her wrist, the one still clenched in Henry's hand. He held it so tightly that they could both feel her pulse throbbing beneath his fingers. The look warned him, reminded him where they were with their children upstairs and their security detail outside.
Henry sighed, his eyes closing. Letting go of her arm, he took a step back. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
With her arms folded across her chest, Henry could see the white mark his grip had left on her skin slowly pinkening. He rubbed his forehead. The frustration he felt was overwhelming, but he knew that he shouldn't have touched her - not like that.
"You can shout at me, swear at me, anything, just please don't shut me out." He shook his head. In his family there had always been arguments, loud and raging, but in her family, when they were hurting there was only silence. It had become her refuge. Until she met him, and he became her refuge. At least, that's what he thought.
Elizabeth could see Henry's dismay. She knew that silence was the one thing he couldn't handle. Her body ached - actually ached - to see him hurting. She had thought that love was just emotion until she met Henry, but now she knew that it was a physical sensation.
"You know," Elizabeth's voice cracked like dry earth. She met Henry's wide eyes; there was surprise there and she knew that he had been expecting her to remain resolute in her silence. "When I told my brother that I was going to marry you, he said 'OK, but first you gotta tell me what makes him special'." Elizabeth smiled fondly, at the thought of her brother and the memory of youthful innocence. "I think he was trying to fill the gap my father left." Her fingers clutched at the necklace given to her by her mother.
Henry reached out, tentatively laying his hand on her shoulder. This touch was different to the one before, gentle and reassuring. It was so light that she could have brushed it off with a shrug should she so wish, but she didn't.
"So I thought of all the things that made you special, all the reasons that my brother should give us his blessing. In the end I told him, Henry feels like home." Elizabeth laughed at herself, a beautiful sound both joyous and self-depreciating. She blushed, shaking out her hair. "God, it sounds cheesy even now, but that was good enough for Will."
Henry kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt her, to break this fragile communication.
"Being with you was the first home I'd had since my parents died." A deep breath in, a long sigh out, and her smile faded away. "Then came the CIA. That was my home too. Until you made me decide - you or them. I had to choose you, and I have no doubt that it was the right decision…for all of us. But I wanted it to feel like a decision, not something that was forced upon me."
Henry was frowning, his hand had retreated from her shoulder as if pricked by cold. He opened his mouth to speak, ready to ask what the CIA - buried long in the past - had to do with her mood now. A shake of Elizabeth's head told him to hold his silence.
"That was my home, that was my family. I loved that job. But I had to quit because you wouldn't support me. Now, however many years later, you accuse me of not supporting you and all I'm thinking is…hell, I'll say it -" Her hands went to her hips, her jaw squared. "I still resent you, Henry, for putting me in that position, for taking away something that I loved."
The anger was just as real as the day she handed in her notice.
Henry's reply was immediate, sharp, defensive. "Yeah, well I was scared that if you didn't quit, if you took that promotion, I'd lose someone that I loved."
The words settled in the cold air, like feathers slowly tumbling to the ground.
Elizabeth cleared her throat. "And how do you think I feel now?"
Henry bowed his head. He hadn't thought about that, he was so wrapped up in - "I just want to keep you safe. Back then that meant leaving the CIA. Now, it means me working for the DIA, for this task force, for whatever stops someone - " His fists were clenched tight, his lips pursed even tighter. "I wasn't meant to be at the talk: you were. If you had been there, you would have died. Now, if there's anything that I can do to stop that from happening again, I'm going to do it." He looked at her with pure defiance, daring her to challenge him.
"And who will keep me safe when you're gone and I have no home?" She stood before him, hands falling to her side, exposed, all the fear of a girl realising for the first time that she was alone in the world. Being tough meant nothing when you were alone.
"I won't let that happen." Henry took a step closer. "Work with me on this job, and then I promise I'll quit." Elizabeth's eyes told him that she'd heard that line before. He repeated, "I promise that I'll quit."
The small smile that emerged on Elizabeth's lips let Henry know that he was winning her over. "Swear it on the bible?"
Henry grinned. "I'll swear it on any religious text you can throw at me." Seeing the quirk in her eyebrow, he added quickly, "That's metaphorical throwing, mind." Half a step closer, and he closed the gap between them. "I'm sorry that I called you unsupportive - I know that you have always done everything you can to support me, and I'm sorry for how I acted about the CIA. I should never have given you that ultimatum. What can I do to make it up to you?" Gently, he lifted her wrist - the one he had grabbed - to his lips, finding her pulse. He felt it quicken.
"For now? Just don't die on me, OK?" She gave him a stern look, but her smile still broke through. The bitterness had faded.
"I promise," he murmured. He drew closer and closer until his lips finally found hers in a chaste kiss. He pulled back, reluctantly, and gave her a playful nudge. "Now, will you please have something to eat?"
Henry paused outside the door, a cautious ear listening out. Then he knocked, a light rap. Opening the door revealed his three children, sat on the carpet in the centre of the floor. Their plates were cleared, their expressions grave. He wondered how long they had been sat there fearing the worst.
Three sets of eyes looking up at him, wide and unblinking.
"Is Mom OK?" Stevie asked, giving the impression that she was being strong for her younger brother and sister.
Henry had always prided himself on the fact that he and Elizabeth rarely fought in front of the children, that they always promoted a healthy and open discussion. He could see though that perhaps that made it worse when they did argue, when their communications did shut down, because then the children knew that it was something serious, not just a tiff.
"Your mother is fine." He offered them a reassuring smile. "Everything is fine." Henry beckoned them out of the room. "Come on. We'll put a movie on."
Jason said unsurely, "But it's school tomorrow." It felt safer to stay upstairs. Then he could go to sleep and that evening would have been nothing more than a bad dream.
Henry shrugged. "One late night won't hurt." He extended his hand to them, helping each of them up in turn. "Come on. I'm making popcorn."
Elizabeth witnessed the reluctance and caution with which her children descended the stairs. It was as though they were being led into a crime scene. She motioned for them to join her on the couch, wanting to reassure them.
Alison sat next to her, whilst Stevie and Jason retreated to the adjacent two-seater. Jason leant forwards, clasping his hands in front of him. He frowned. "Is this when you tell us that you're getting divorced?"
"What?" Elizabeth spluttered. Immediately she felt Henry's hands gripping her shoulders from where he stood behind the sofa. "Of course not! Of course we're not getting divorced."
Three pairs of eyes shifted upwards towards their father. Henry raised his eyebrows, questioning them for questioning their mother. "We're not getting divorced," he said firmly.
Stevie had her legs folded up in front of her. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest. "I saw Mom sleeping on the couch last night." She looked to her mother. "And you've been so mad at Dad. You weren't even talking to him."
Elizabeth's head sunk into her hands and she lightly massaged her temples. She could feel Henry squeezing her shoulders, telling her that she was not to blame. She looked at each of her children in turn. It was becoming harder and harder to reassure them with the ever increasing number of secrets she was forced to keep.
"I was mad at your father," Elizabeth said, speaking slowly, "But we've talked things through and now everything is fine. We're not getting divorced."
Alison rolled her eyes. "That's what Veronica's parents said. Six months later - divorced."
"Hey!" Henry admonished their youngest daughter. He knew that Elizabeth received the brunt of her attitude and he was fed up of it. "We're not getting divorced. End of discussion. OK?"
Each child received a purposeful stare. Perhaps his tone was too harsh, but perhaps it was because they were voicing his biggest fear.
Henry retreated to the kitchen. When he returned, taking his seat next to Alison, Alison offered him a quiet apology. Henry opened his arm to her, letting her nestle against his chest. Of all their children, Alison seemed to be the one having the hardest time finding her way in the world. It meant that there had been a lot of apologising recently, but Henry was always willing to forgive.
The movie began, but Henry couldn't say what they were watching. His attention was on his wife. With his arm resting atop the back of the sofa, he reached passed Alison - still curled up against him - and his fingers found their way to Elizabeth's hair. He craved contact.
Elizabeth's hand slowly sought out his, their fingers entwining. Henry could see that her gaze was focused in the direction of the television, but she was absent, her mind elsewhere. On him, he dared to hope.
Stevie noticed her parents' every movement. They were like magnets, it seemed to her, and Alison was getting in the way. She looked at her sister, her eyes widening, trying to catch Alison's attention. With a slight but fierce flinch of the head, she silently told Alison to move.
Alison pulled a face at Stevie, not appreciating her sister's interference, but she did as instructed and retreated to a cushion on the floor. She reached for the popcorn, as if that was her intention all along.
When Alison didn't return to the couch, Henry swung one leg up onto the seat and slowly pulled Elizabeth towards him. Elizabeth settled with her back to Henry's chest, his arms wrapped securely around her waist. His lips found her shoulder, her neck, the curve of her ear. He whispered so that only she could hear, "Thank you for letting me be your home."
Russell Jackson's call was met with a groan. Reluctantly, Elizabeth answered, "Good evening, Russell." Behind her, she heard Henry chiding her gently to 'be nice'.
"Elizabeth," Russell barked, "Have you spoken to Henry yet?"
"Yes," Elizabeth said, "Everything's fine." She glanced back over her shoulder; Henry could hear every word of the conversation. "Goodnight, Russell." She hung up. On some level Russell was concerned for her, and she was grateful for that. At least the call hadn't been summoning her back to work, she was grateful for that too.
"What was that about?" Henry murmured, eliciting a 'shhhh' from the floor.
Keeping her voice low, Elizabeth told him, "Russell set me some homework."
"All completed, I hope," Henry teased.
"Of course." Elizabeth had always been the model student. "But there's a chance for extra credit later if you're up for it."
Henry raised his eyebrows.
Alison spoke up from the floor, "Guys, I can still hear you! Don't be gross!"
Elizabeth chuckled. "At least we're not getting divorced."
All three children turned to look at her, each shooting her an indignant stare. Stevie voiced the shared opinion, "Not cool, Mom!" And they turned back to the television screen.