I THINK THIS IS GOING TO HELP EXPLAIN SOME THINGS - AND I HOPE YOU SEE ELIZABETH IN A DIFFERENT LIGHT... AND TO SEE HER REGRET... AND THAT THINGS WEREN'T PERFECT. MESSAGE ME OR LEAVE A REIVEW TO LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK.
Twelve years earlier
The letter felt heavy in her hand as it brushed against her skirt as she walked up the staircase. The staircase that had been the way to the unknown before – walking to the office of her boss, while it hadn't been terrifying, it held its own level of uneasiness. Who wouldn't feel that way when walking to the director of the CIA's office?
But normally, she'd have in her hands a file, a report, detailing intelligence that her team had collected. As backup for whatever summons she had gotten. She'd wait for his secretary to allow her in – and she'd wait patiently.
Which she did this day – but this time, the letter pulled her hand to the ground as she stood there – waiting. Unable to sit in the uncomfortable chairs in the room. Unable to sit still. Unable to think about anything but what words. What would could she possibly use to tell him?
Her free hand brushed against her small bump, noticeable now – except she'd wore a suit coat that helped hide it.
She wished she'd done this before. Wished she'd thought about telling him before now. Before, when she could walk into the room and have the upper hand. She could lay the letter down on his desk, and walk out – they'd both understand. And he'd never have to know.
"He'll see you now."
She nodded at the secretary. And took a deep breath. Willing her heart to stop pounding against her chest. Unable to distinguish the difference between nervous butterflies in her stomach and morning sickness.
She quietly knocked and walked into the door.
The whole room full of light streaming in from the ginormous windows, matching the overwhelming desk where he sat. Until he stood up, tucking his red tie against his chest as he smiled at her.
That was as much as she could look at his face. Because the images it brought to her were overwhelming. His dark eyes – they had stared down at her as his hands ravished her body. His lips had surrounded her own, leaving a trail down her naked body.
"Bess."
His voice. The way he'd said her name that night – whispered – breathed – in between deep and dark kisses. Crying it out, his warm breath against her skin.
With as much strength as she could summon, she stared at the letter in her hand. And acknowledged him, "Director Dalton."
His tone, so patronizing, filled her ear, "Come on, Bess…" She watched as he walked toward her from behind the desk. "You know it doesn't have to be like this…"
And now she could see his shoes standing right in front of her. So close to her.
"It does." So short. And so on task. And she thrust the letter forward, And looked up into his dark eyes, "I'm resigning."
His eyes drifted down to the letter, and then up to her eyes again.
"Bess, it was just…" Again, patronizing. Treating her like a child who was throwing a tantrum.
She shook her head. "We both know what happened wasn't 'just' anything." If anything about the last few months had taught her anything, it was that.
His hand reached forward and rested on her shoulder, his thumb slowly rubbing around in circles, "Bess, no one has to know." Taking charge. "It was a mistake. And yes, it was wrong…"
She followed his arm to her shoulder, realizing it was the first time she'd been touched since that night. The first time a man had cared enough to worry about her like that.
But she knew it was fleeting.
And she knew it wasn't Henry's touch. It wasn't his loving embrace when she returned from her tour in Baghdad. It wasn't his hand long her cheek as he stared deeply into her eyes
It wasn't the one she wanted.
And she quietly said, "I'm pregnant, Conrad."
His hand fell from her shoulder.
And his face fell. No longer thinking that the relationship could be salvaged. She knew the feeling as she watched him.
He took a step back, his eyes searching hers.
"You're…"
And she nodded, biting her bottom lip.
He took a deep breath, walking back to his chair, almost falling into it as if he'd lost the ability to stand. His face, now pale, stared off into space – out the window. As he came to terms with it.
She just stood there awkwardly, but still. She knew she couldn't just leave.
"And you're sure…" He looked up at her with a little bit of hope in his eyes.
And she just shook her head as she sat down in the chair across the desk from him, arching her back just a little as she attempted to get comfortable. "Being away for ten months and coming home three months pregnant…"
Conrad's eyes widened, "No." He shook his head, "You knew you were pregnant for three months before you came home?"
She nodded, her turn to look at her hands twisting in her lap, right over the small bump that now protruded out of her suit coat, "I was suspicious for a month… then the last two…" She thought back. Those days, while they tracked the terrorist groups movement, she'd attempted to keep her mind occupied. Not wanting to think about the fact she'd not had her period for a month.
And then, when the realization set in – when she actually thought about it – the guilt that ate at her. Laying on her cot at night, imagining every scenario in which it would be ok.
None had ever surfaced.
She'd attempted to hide her morning sickness from everyone around her – saying she'd drank something weird or that she was just dehydrated. Watching the way her body changed – hoping no one could tell.
And Conrad.
As she looked at him there in her office – she remembered how abhorrent she'd felt about him in Baghdad. How every time they passed each other, she'd never look him in the eye. When he came in for an update on the mission, she'd stoically state the facts and findings – allowing others to brief him deeper.
She watched as, across the desk, he began to realize it.
His voice was barely a voice, "I thought you just felt guilty about what happened that night."
She nodded, "That was part of it." And she added, "The other part was… I didn't know how to tell myself that this was happening to me, I couldn't imagine what would happen when I got home, and…" She just shrugged her shoulders, "And telling you and hearing your reaction was just too overwhelming."
He slowly nodded. Then, without making eye contact, asked her, "So that day, when I cornered you…"
She remembered. She'd been avoiding him every chance she could. But he was about to go back to the states – the team would stay behind and close up all the logistical things before heading back. She'd stayed away from him as much as she could, and she thought she'd succeeded.
********* One month before
"I'll make sure these boxes get to the loading dock." She told Isabelle, who was in the middle of shredding the documents that didn't need to be saved. Looking around at the small building that had served as their workspace for the last ten months, she was in awe of how fast the paperwork was filed away, the equipment transferred into crates to be flown back to the US, and the nonessential personnel were sent on to the next assignment. "Seems like just yesterday we stumbled in here, wondering how on earth we'd survive the heat and sand and close quarters."
Isabelle nodded absentmindedly, "How this could be the place we saved so many people, and now – it's nothing but an empty room."
Bess nodded as she opened the door and motioned to the furniture dolly full of document boxes, "I'll wheel these to the dock."
"I'll be here…" Isabelle called out as the door slammed behind her.
Through the little base-town, Bess tried to think about all the things she wouldn't see again. The small clouds of dust that kicked up with every step of her combat boots, the way the sun felt on her face. She knew the base like the back of her hand, moving between small constructed buildings, around tents, navigating around the traffic and tanks and jeeps.
She saw the landing field – with three helicopters in various stages of loading. And looked across the street before she started to walk across, until a hand wrapped around her elbow and pulled her back to the side of the street.
"Bess."
She'd almost hauled off and slapped the man who grabbed her arm – until she heard her name.
Catching her footing as she looked at the ground, "Conrad, I've got to take these…"
"Hey."
Her heart pounded against her chest as she felt his hand on her arm, turning her to face him. She couldn't think about it. She couldn't talk to him. She knew the tone of voice he was using – she knew he wasn't going to give her orders about the mission or ask her opinion about a different tactic they'd used. No. This wasn't business.
What did she say? She couldn't move her mouth. Instead, she just shook her head, "I need to make sure…"
Before she knew it, he'd pulled her into the corner tent – one that was completely empty – waiting simply to be taken down. The flap flew back down as he secured it down while she tried to catch her balance inside the tent.
She tried to breathe – tried to simply take in air as he turned around.
"Bess, we have to talk."
Instead, the words began to come faster than she could control, "We can't do this right now, Conrad." She looked into his dark eyes as she walked closer – and she stepped back. "I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to hear anything – I just want to desperately forget that it happened… Conrad, I…"
He moved in closer, cornering her against a pole of the tent. And he said, "Bess…" And his hand reached out and tried to touch her cheek.
But she knew better than that – she knew better than anyone where that could lead.
And she vehemently hissed, "If you touch me with that hand, I swear to God I'll break your wrist."
And immediately he stepped back, holding his hands up in the air, "Whoa, I didn't mean anything, Bess. I wasn't…"
She knew. She nodded, breathing just a little easier as he now stood at least three feet from her. "I know."
"I was just trying to talk to you…"
She nodded, and then brushed her stray hair that trickled down her face back behind her ear as she stated, "I can't talk to you right now, Conrad." She shook her head as she looked at the ground, knowing so much more than he did. She couldn't tell him what she wanted. She couldn't tell him that she regretted everything about that night on the mission. She couldn't tell him that their one drunken night together only brought feelings of disgust and shame every time she thought about it. She couldn't tell him what she knew. She couldn't tell him that their night would never stay a secret. That soon at least one other person would know… But she could say one thing. And she could say it looking at him.
She waited until his eyes were focused on hers, and she sternly said, "I'm never going to get over what I did with you that night. And…" She tightened her jaw, as she moved away from him toward the door of the tent, "It was wrong, in every fucking sense of the word. And…" She never broke eye contact even as she lifted the flap, "You know it was wrong."
And then she'd ran across the street, dropping the crates off at the landing strip.
She'd held tears away while she signed the custody of the documents over to the loading crew. She'd bit her lip as they asked her about going home. She'd muttered something.
And then she ran away. Ran to the edge of the camp, between two tents. And she'd broke. Hating everything about herself in that moment.
Thinking through that day – Bess nodded at Conrad in his office, "I didn't want to see you and be reminded of the fact that my life back home was about to come crashing down on me."
He must've been thinking about that same day – he absentmindedly nodded, and quietly said, "We both know that was… such a horrendous thing to do."
Bess agreed, "One night will completely destroy us."
That seemed to shake him out of his reverie, and he leaned over the desk, "Bess, it doesn't have to destroy our reputations."
She knew he'd say that. And she sarcastically chuckled, "I kinda think my husband might disagree with you."
And Conrad's eyes opened wide, "You told Henry?"
"Yes." She wanted to laugh if the situation hadn't been so serious, "I am four months pregnant… I came home with a small bump…" She'd barely kissed the children before she'd sat down with Henry. "I couldn't tell him it was a tumor."
He swallowed hard. And fell back in his chair again, "Dear Lord, he's going to destroy me."
His reputation. She knew it. She knew he'd respond like this. And she just shook her head, "Actually, he's ready to stone me, and he just thinks you're the scum of the world."
Then the question – the question she knew he'd ask, "Why didn't you just have an abortion?"
The question she'd asked herself after being kicked out of own house by her husband.
She repeated what she'd told herself every day, "Because this baby isn't the problem." It was true, "Terminating the pregnancy wouldn't change the fact that I was unfaithful to my husband. That was the problem."
"But he never would've had to know…"
"That wouldn't be a marriage relationship for Henry and I, Conrad. We're honest with each other. Even…"
Her voice caught as she remembered how horrifically angry Henry had been as he slammed the door with her on the outside. The way he wouldn't look at her, couldn't make eye contact as he let her into the house for her once a week visit with the kids. The amount of distance he always wanted between the two of them – the way he'd treated her as if she was the rotting trash that needed to be thrown out.
And she continued quietly, "Even if that means it ended my marriage."
Because she still didn't know how anything could ever be better. She didn't know how things could ever be half of what they were before she told him about the one night. She had no hope. She'd been living out of a hotel for two months. She'd schedule to have the baby at the hospital alone. She checked her mail every day waiting for Henry to have filed divorce papers. Her life would never be the same.
But she knew one thing. She still loved him. Even though she knew Henry would never love her again.
