Disclaimer: All I own is the season one boxset. Petria is a fictional country made up for the purposes of amusing myself with this fic.

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple trip overseas to show support for a US company investing in an unstable country. But then on the last night while attending a reception at the presidential palace, Elizabeth and Henry find themselves in a situation much more complicated - and much more dangerous - than they were expecting. Set after season two. Multi-chapter.

A/N: Hello! So... I'm dead nervous about posting this story and I'm not sure it works as a concept so I'd love to know what you all think and if it's worth carrying on with or if I should just put it away in a drawer somewhere and back away slowly from the fic… any comments welcome! Thanks for reading :)

Chapter One

"We're aiming for the facility to be carbon neutral - absolutely zero waste - within three years, Ma'am."

Elizabeth McCord nodded in understanding, hoping to give the impression that the information from the man from the power plant was new. He seemed so eager to impress her, reaching up to fiddle with his bow tie and giving her the toothy smile that American businessmen abroad often gave her at events such as this. The one that tried to ally themselves with her because of their shared nationality in a foreign country. The one that suggested he enjoyed being the educator, and that was just the wrong side of smarmy.

She hadn't the heart to tell him that, actually, she had already spent the best part of a day at the renewable energy plant accompanied by its chief executive, this man's boss, not to mention that she had spent much of the fourteen hour flight to get there reading an extensive briefing book on the topic. She thought what she could say that would make her seem engaged without upsetting the man's ego. "Well, with four thousand employees working full time, you'll certainly be able to make your own fertiliser. Very efficient."

The man blinked at her.

Maybe attempting a joke hadn't been the best way to go. She smiled awkwardly, drinking from her champagne glass and looking around for a distraction. Where were her staff when she needed them to rescue her?

Mercifully, after only a few seconds, a distraction found her.

Henry appeared at her side with a polite smile and a smooth handshake for the fertiliser man, saying to him, "I hope you don't mind if I steal my wife for a dance before the evening ends?"

He didn't wait for a response, instead clapping the man on the shoulder in a friendly gesture before swiping Elizabeth's glass and abandoning it on the table behind her. He replaced the glass with his hand in hers, giving her a gentle tug towards the marble dancefloor. He smiled over his shoulder at the fertiliser man. "Thanks so much."

"That was smooth, professor," Elizabeth told her husband as he swept her up in his arms and started to sway to the music that was playing. "Although not subtle."

Henry chuckled and cast his eye around the lavish ballroom they found themselves in. "Nothing about this place is subtle, babe." He frowned. "And this music is not easy to dance to."

That much was true. The music was something vaguely folky, but not in the way Elizabeth was used to. She glanced over at the musicians playing at one end of the room. "I'm told our entertainment this evening is a traditional Petrian quintet. They're playing songs from their heritage."

"That's great, but would it be too much to ask for the music of their heritage to have a recognisable beat?"

Elizabeth smiled at Henry's genuinely perplexed expression, tightening her hold on his shoulder as they moved a little awkwardly around the floor. A few couples away she spotted President Zembrovko dancing with his wife, accidentally catching his eye. He gave her a smile that was outwardly friendly but that covered a suspicious hostility she knew lurked there. She returned the smile, confident that she was able to hide her dislike of the man better than he was his dislike of her. Still, he wasn't the most objectionable member of the government of Petria that she had met so far. She could at least hold a vaguely productive conversation with him. Unlike her counterpart at the Petrian Department of Foreign Affairs…

Henry engaged her in a little spin, drawing her attention back to him. "What's on your mind?" he questioned her, one hand riding low on her waist, his thumb stroking softly through the fabric of her evening gown.

She sighed. "Nothing. Everything." She shrugged as best she could while standing securely in Henry's hold. "I'm looking forward to getting on the plane later."

She had been dreading the red eye back to Washington DC, but the last few days in Petria had taken their toll, and she was more than ready to leave. What was supposed to be a relatively simple trip to show support for a US company making a big investment in an unstable country – albeit a simple trip with above-average security arrangements – had been plagued by protests and demonstrations and a building row between governments over the presence of the US company. Conversations had grown increasingly tense, and the divide was highlighted at this last night reception at the presidential palace: the US delegation kept to one half of the room, while the Petrians were on the other. Just like an awkward middle school dance.

Henry's head dipped low so he could speak quietly into her ear without being overheard. "Did I tell you that you look beautiful tonight?" He planted a kiss on her cheekbone as he pulled back.

She smiled at him – her sweet, wonderful husband, who had been genuinely enthusiastic about accompanying her on this trip so that he could tour the impressive local churches and meet up with a contact in the clergy while she shook hands with government officials who ranged from wary of her to outwardly disparaging, and listened to middle-aged men talk about the potential of waste water like there was nothing they found more arousing. Henry's enthralled daily description of what he had seen and done had been the only thing keeping a smile on her face over the past few days of boredom, terse negotiations and her Diplomatic Security agents hovering too close to her side every time they saw someone with a protest sign. The time together away from home had also helped to mend some of the rifts that had developed in their relationship over the past year – Dmitri and the yelling and the rest. It was almost like they were new again, relearning each other, and Elizabeth was enjoying their renewed closeness greatly. "Hmm, no, I don't think you did," she replied to Henry, knowing that he had already told her twice but keen to play along with his flirting.

After all, they were getting on the red eye soon, and she never slept that well on planes. They'd have to pass the time somehow.

Henry feigned surprise. "Oh! Well, let me tell you. You look incredible in that dress." His voice was low and his tone was sincere as he glanced down her body at the blue silk dress with the sweetheart neckline and skirt that flared out from her hips and ended just below her knees.

Heat flushed within her as the rumble of his voice passed from his chest to hers. She moved her hand from Henry's arm to stroke her fingers over his cravat – the colour of which was practically identical to the smoky gunmetal blue of her dress. "You're looking pretty delectable yourself, Dr McCord." She looked up into his eyes so he could see the truth of her statement, certain that her pupils would be just dilated enough for him to notice.

His lips brushed briefly over her hairline, as close as he could get without drawing too much unwanted attention in the very public ballroom at the event held in Elizabeth's honour. He was breathing deeply and precisely as if to steady himself. "When are we due to leave again?" he asked.

She was just about to answer him when the first gunshot fired.