"State your name for the record," she hears, her mind still not accepting the situation, still hoping to wake up and find this whole nightmare to be nothing more than a nightmare.
"Elizabeth McCord," she responds after a few seconds that seem to feel like forever for both her and the man sitting in front of her. He moves in his chair awkwardly, at least it looks to her that way. Not that she'd trust her judgment after everything that's already happened. After she's failed to read her own best friend who appeared to be the traitor or their own country.
"You are the State Secretary, is that correct?" the man continues after a short pause, and Liz responds with a short "Yes" only to hear the next question about the color of her hair. It's not brunette, she knows, but then again, she knows this procedure too well to be surprised with what seems to be pointless questions.
They aren't pointless, they're meant to establish the parameters of her reactions for the polygraph. They'll go back and forth with all the simple things, for hours perhaps before someone decides it's enough. At least, it used to be this way when Liz was on the other side of the mirror glass. And then she remembers it actually has to be different from how it's been before: she is different from most of the people who'd ever been questioned with a polygraph, the situation is different. They don't really think she's a traitor; they just need to follow the protocol, make sure every base is covered and then they'll release her. Or at least that's what the President told her while they were walking the corridors of the FBI building.
The interrogator asks all the right questions she herself would want to ask: detailing the trip to Iran that the whole world already knows about. Specifying her husband's involvement, her children's role, her friend's from CIA, her staff... She responds quickly every time, with either a short yes or a short no. There's nothing for her to hide: Liz went to Iran and stopped a coup her predecessor organized. She risked her life for the world peace and for the safety of her country. She keeps telling that to herself, but instead of hearing her own voice she can only remember Juliet's words: "You are the traitor, you quit... You've only put the world on the edge of a new war..." Elizabeth shakes her head trying to get rid of a stubborn idea.
"Shall I repeat it?" she hears the interrogator address her and realizes she's just missed a question. The heartbeat becomes faster, louder. "While being in Iran did you share any information that might endanger the safety of the United States of America?" he says in a low voice clearly expecting a simple answer, just the same with the other two dozens Elizabeth's already given. But she looks at him blinking, moves her eyes down onto the table, off to the walls, her hands, her shoes. Finally she answers:
"I don't know," and the man in front of her goes pale that very moment. They both know what it means. As does the President who's standing on the other side of the mirror glass watching the interrogation. As does everyone in the room beside him.