Thank you to everyone who read my story 'When the Light Goes Out'. I love that story, so I was ecstatic to hear that so many of you liked it. If you haven't read it yet, all 19 chapters are up, so maybe check it out…

This story is a little different in tone. I'd love to hear what you think.

Summary: Post-S4. 'Will President Dalton endorse such behaviour?' Every picture tells a story. But what happens when that story is a lie? Photographs surface of Henry with another woman, but will Elizabeth believe him when he says he hasn't had an affair? And will she be able to prove his innocence when everyone else has already condemned him? There is no truth in politics; it's all just a game of optics.


A Game of Optics

"Somebody must have made a false accusation against Josef K., for he was arrested one morning without having done anything wrong."—The Trial, Franz Kafka.

Chapter One

Elizabeth

Silence at last. Elizabeth sank down into her chair, kicked her shoes off beneath her desk, and pulled the plate towards her. With a short sigh, she dug her fork into the linguine and swizzled it around. The pasta was dripping with butter and the scent of garlic overwhelmed everything else. She took a bite and closed her eyes. It was so good it was sinful.

There was a knock at the door and Blake popped through the gap. Elizabeth groaned. What now? "This had better be good." She shot Blake a look.

Blake hesitated. "Your husband's on the line, ma'am."

"Fine. I'll let you off." She downed the fork and picked up the phone as Blake made his retreat. She spoke into the mouthpiece. "I have to warn you: you've just come between me and a plate of pasta."

"Sounds dangerous," Henry said, and the smile shone through his voice. "Do you want me to call you back? Give you and the pasta some time alone?"

"Don't tempt me."

"Talking about time alone…the kids are out tonight, so we've got the house to ourselves."

"Oh really?" Elizabeth switched the phone to the opposite ear, a smile playing on her lips as she twisted the cord around her finger. "Did you have any plans?"

"A few…but it sounds like I've got competition."

Elizabeth chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll save room for dessert."

"You'd better," Henry said. His tone softened. "I've missed you."

"I know. Things have been kinda crazy lately." When was the last time they had spent more than ten minutes together that didn't involve lying comatose on their bed?

"What time do you think you'll be back?"

She let out a long sigh and stared at the clock as if it could predict the answer. "It depends how this afternoon goes." She picked up the fork from the edge of the plate and raked it through the pasta. Her stomach grumbled in protest. "I've got that meeting with the VP. The adoption bill. I'm dreading it." She dropped the fork again. Just the thought of a whole afternoon spent with Teresa Hurst was enough to dampen even her appetite. "Not the bill; her. Every time she looks at me, I swear she's imaging the lines she'd cut if she ever had the chance to flay me."

Henry laughed. At least someone could see the funny side. "She's just jealous because your approval ratings are higher than hers."

"Yeah, but it doesn't help that Russell promised that Conrad would endorse her." Or that Russell had neglected to tell Conrad that, or that Conrad was planing to endorse Elizabeth when she announced her intentions to run. "Now she's treating me like I'm the other woman."

"Who she wants to flay?"

"Exactly." And even Elizabeth had to smile at how ridiculous she sounded. She spun the chair round to face the small walnut cabinet behind her desk. "I'll let you know when I'm done, okay?" Her gaze fell on the photograph of herself and Henry, sat side by side on a picnic blanket, their lips meeting in a sweet kiss, whilst the sea breeze swept through their hair. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Elizabeth blew a quick kiss into the phone and then hung up. Her heart sank a little the moment that the phone found the cradle; if only she could stay on the line to him forever, so the afternoon would never come; if only the day was already over, so that she could be home alone with him, snuggled in his arms. She let out a terse puff of breath. If only, if only…But first she had pasta, and then the meeting with Teresa Hurst.


"Thank you for coming by, Elizabeth," Teresa said, and she stood up from behind her desk; Elizabeth's cue to leave—at last.

The office was airless and heavy with rose petal perfume. It reminded Elizabeth of those endless afternoons she had spent at the care home with her aunt, the heating on high whilst the sun sweated through the windows, and vase after vase of garish flowers lining every shelf and sill to mask the stench of disinfectant, urine and death.

Teresa continued to speak whilst Elizabeth tucked the loose leaves of paper into the files and wedged the folders into the bag at her feet. "You know how much this bill means to me. The thought that we'll be able to help these vulnerable children, to give them proper families, rather than leaving them in these…these institutions…"

Yeah. So long as they could stop the corruption and coercion and kidnapping that came hand in hand with international adoption. But Elizabeth kept her mouth shut. When she looked up, she caught sight of the photographs lined up along the bookshelf at the side of the room. Teresa's gaze must have followed her own, for she walked over to the frames and picked one up and stared down at it with a fond smile, then she passed it to Elizabeth. "My nephew, Thomas."

The boy in the picture must have been about ten years old, with sandy brown hair, thick-rimmed glasses and a gappy smile. He was sat on a park bench, in the shade of an oak tree, with an ice cream cone in hand—chocolate—and his own camera hanging from the strap around his neck.

"Handsome boy," Elizabeth said, and she handed the frame back.

"I never got the chance to adopt, but fortunately my sister lived nearby, so I was able to see Thomas growing up." Teresa's smile turned wistful. "I'm grateful for that." She let out a long breath. "Though of course he's all grown-up now and moved away."

"Where does he live?" Elizabeth stood up and took a step towards the door. The clock on the wall was inching its way round to 5pm. With any luck, she could debrief her staff and be out of the office by six, then in Henry's arms by half past.

"Silicon Valley," Teresa said. "He's always had a knack for technology, so I guess it was inevitable. We still keep in touch though; he visits whenever he can drag himself away from work." She laid her hand against the door handle. The pastel pink of her nails glinted in the artificial light.

"My brother recently moved back to the area," Elizabeth said, and her lips curled into a smile that spread warmth through her chest. "I'm finally getting to spend time with my niece, so I know how precious they are."

"It's not the same though, is it?" Teresa's expression remained as pleasant as before, but its depth had gone. Like the theatre masks of Ancient Greece, there was something unsettling about it. "I mean, you have children of your own." She pulled open the door, and Elizabeth just looked at her, tongue floundering. How did that conversation pivot so quickly? "I'd like the proposals drawn up by tomorrow morning."

Elizabeth stalled in the doorway. "Wait. What?"

"I'm having a brunch with a few members of Congress, and I'm hoping to secure their support," Teresa said, "so I need the proposals before then."

"But my staff and I would need to stay up the whole night, and even then the proposals would only be preliminary."

"That's fine. Unless you have an issue with working late?" Teresa raised her eyebrows just a fraction. "This bill is to protect vulnerable children, after all." Her smile turned as sweet as acid drops. "If you can send it over by seven, I'd be most grateful." Her gaze flitted to the corridor, as if her look alone could usher Elizabeth out. And, for some reason—perhaps the snipe at Elizabeth's motherhood, or just the audacity of the request—it worked.


As soon as the car door closed, Elizabeth let out a groan. God, that woman was manipulative. But she did it in such a way that to refuse her would be like admitting you got a thrill from punching kittens. Elizabeth pulled out her phone and dialled Henry's number.

"Hey, babe," Henry said. And his voice was full of hope. "You leaving already?"

Elizabeth let out a sharp breath, and her eyes shut. If only.

"Oh no—" the cheer fled "—don't tell me you're standing me up."

"The VP wants me to put together a proposal for the bill before tomorrow morning," Elizabeth said. "So it's going to be a long night at the State Department."

"But, babe, that's insane." And it was insane. Anything keeping her away from her plans with Henry was insane. "Couldn't you have said no?"

"She's already guilt-tripping me, and I don't want her to become even more hostile." Elizabeth picked pieces of lint from her trousers and flicked them onto the floor. "Look, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Henry snorted. "Unless something else comes up." But a moment later, he added, "I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. I'm just frustrated. I was looking forward…" but he trailed off, as if such thoughts no longer mattered. "I'll see you tomorrow. I love you."

"You too," Elizabeth said, but the line had already cut out. She stared down at the screen. It was probably just patchy signal, but she wouldn't have blamed Henry if he had hung up.


The staff were gathered around the table in the meeting room, staring up at the television mounted on the wall. A half-eaten tray of sandwiches and several bowls of popcorn littered the table, along with an assortment of coffee mugs. Elizabeth pulled out her glasses from her bag and shoved them on before she barged the door open. The staff turned to her briefly— a flurry of nods and "Evening, ma'am"—before looking back up at the screen.

President Salnikov was sat in a midnight blue armchair, knees wide as if to emphasise his machismo (or something else). He gesticulated as he spoke to the two blonde women—presumably the presenters, or perhaps talking mannequins—who perched behind the desk. In the background, the screen showed a picture of Elizabeth, and not a favourable one at that. Why did they always have to pick the photos where she looked chinny, or was scowling, or both?

"I'm not sure what he's saying," Elizabeth said as she pointed up at the screen, "but even I understand enough Russian to know this isn't good." Salnikov had now turned to her picture and thrust one finger at the image as he let loose on his tirade.

Matt spun towards her in his chair. He had removed his jacket, and his tie hung loose around his collar. "He's calling you a power-grabbing, imperialistic, heartless—"

Elizabeth held one hand up. "Skip the adjectives and get to the point."

Jay had been twiddling a pen, but he tossed it down onto the desk and looked up at her. "They're not happy about us closing down the consulate in Seattle." He shrugged. "Apparently we unjustly removed innocent diplomats and are negatively impacting the lives of Russian citizens visiting or living in the US."

"Innocent diplomats?" Elizabeth gestured at the screen, her flourish as wild as Salnikov's. "They were running a spy ring for God's sake."

"Not according to Salnikov," Matt said. "And he's taken up his own Late Late Show dedicated to slagging you off."

"Great." Elizabeth sighed. Just what they needed: more drama with the Russians. She tossed her bag down onto the table and grabbed herself a handful of popcorn. She leant back against the wall and tossed the pieces into her mouth one at a time. It was stale, and bits lodged in her teeth.

Jay hit the mute button on the remote, leaving Salnikov to mime his outrage. "How did the meeting go with Vice President Hurst?"

Elizabeth gave a bitter laugh. "You're gonna love this." Her staff looked up at her with half-expectant, half-wary expressions; like children hoping to go to Disneyland, but suspecting they would be taken to the doctor for shots instead. "She wants the proposals for the bill by seven tomorrow morning."

"What?" Kat pounded the desk and then leant back in her chair. Her hands formed a net behind her head. Probably a good thing too, because she looked about ready to chuck another table.

"Oh yeah." Elizabeth nodded with a wry smile. "She's got a brunch with members of Congress and she wants to present the plans in order to start drumming up support."

"So, let me get this straight," Matt said, and he pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose, his lips twisted with a kind of amused disbelief, "whilst she finalises her pastries and cocktails, we have to stay up all night putting the proposal in place?"

Elizabeth arched her eyebrows. "I said you'd love it."

"But it's not possible," Jay said. He picked up the pen from the desk and tapped it against his notepad, a beat to emphasise each point. "I mean, international adoption is a minefield for child trafficking, kidnapping, coercion…We need to put safeguards in place to ensure that only children with genuine need are included in the scheme, and we need the governments of the countries involved to agree to all these measures." He shook his head to himself. "She should have waited until we had something in place before arranging any meetings."

Elizabeth poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher and took a swig, her tongue working to dislodge the popcorn from her teeth. "I know, but it's happening, Jay, whether we like it or not, so let's quit complaining and start coming up with a framework."

She dragged out a chair and slumped into it. Her whole body ached. She rolled the sleeves of her blouse up to her elbows and then reached across the desk to the tray of sandwiches. Wilted lettuce and dry ham. So much for dessert with Henry.