Chapter Eight
(Warning: Brief mention of violence)
Elizabeth
"Why on Earth would I do that?"
"Why would you not?"
"Honestly Matt, I told you that going to-"
"That was not 'bad for my brain!' I won't even begin to argue with you about this, Daisy. My brain is just fine, thank you very much."
There was a distinct rustle of fabric, "You won't 'argue' with me? It was your fault in the first place."
"I didn't ask you to do any of it!" Matt hissed back.
Daisy let out a huff, "Obviously, and I didn't ask you. I thought this was clear? Honestly, I would go get your head looked at a-"
"Enough."
Elizabeth's voice cut the rest of Daisy's rant short.
With her eyes shut, she couldn't see their facial expressions, but their voices were steadily rising in hopes of getting their point across. A headache started to bloom; under her eyes, touching her sinuses and across the expanse of her forehead. There was a stubborn crick in her neck, accompanying the stiffness of both it and her back that began to make its presence known around the time the argument started up.
The flow of blood throughout her body was warm and heavy. It flowed from her heart, down to her legs that are seconds away from falling asleep, and up, then down, and to her hands. She could feel the steady pulse and thrumming of her heartbeat throughout her temple.
Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump.
A delicate sniff sounded in the direction of Daisy before she whispered something in a hushed tone, much lower than before. There was a snort in response before someone hissed something back.
It took a lot of will-power for Elizabeth to hold back a sigh before she stopped the evolving argument, "The next person to bring up Matt's 'not-so-good-and-undamaged-brian' will be forced to sit through the talks between the Russians, Chinese, and the US."
Th-thump, th-thump.
"Sit there just to sit there?" Came the hesitant voice of Matt.
Elizabeth gave a nod, "Sit there in silence, without saying a word, and listening to argument after argument." She tilted her head to the side as if in thought, eyes still loosely resting shut, "Oh, and will be ordered to do nothing. Absolutely nothing."
Th-thump.
"Fun," Drawled Daisy, "We'll stop ma'am."
"Thank you, Daisy. Much appreciated."
Th-thump, th-thump.
"It's just- how can you- Daisy!"
With a short huff, Elizabeth drew her heavy eyes open, "Matt, tell me. Do you like to be able to feel your legs? How about your bottom?"
"My… 'bottom', ma'am?" He ventured.
She met his gaze and gave him an amused look, "Mmm, yes. Your bottom, Matt."
His eyebrows drew together in confusion, "I uh… do?"
"You do, what?"
"Like to feel my bottom…"
"Good. If you and Daisy are so concerned, we can all scurry on over and get your worrisome head checked out so this can be settled. But now isn't the time for this argument."
"Yes, ma'am," Was the automatic reply.
Elizabeth let her eyes close with a soft, "Thank you."
Conrad
Slowly, chairs began to line the walls of the situation room. Both interns and their superiors sat, clutching any item possible; cups of coffee, binders or stacks of paper, outer suit-coats or sweaters, and anything else one could fit in the tiny square in their vicinity.
Conversations dwindled to the occasional whisper as they sat there and waited for any information. Conrad could hear a few snorts of amusement as they listened to the argument flowing in one side of the speaker and out the other. Though still tense, the atmosphere had become distinctly brighter, though not lighter. (He could almost let out an incredulous snort at that thought, honestly.)
As he eyed the lining chairs warily, he couldn't help but wonder how many staffers were truly needed in the room. Arguably, no one would - normally - cross him - the title of 'President of the United States' does so happen to carry some weight. He doesn't doubt that people, namely his staff and administration, would never sit in those chairs to entertain themselves. But an echo of him, a tiny part of him feels sick at the thought. Because what if they are?
Worry, though masked almost imperceptibly, can be spotted by the trained eye - can be seen through most of the toughest of masks.
On Ellen, he can see it in the slight furrow of her brow, as if drawn down in concentration or confusion as she gazed - almost a full-scale gare - at the speaker in the middle of the room. Every so often she would worry at her lip, only stopping after the reassuring inhales and exhales following the th-thump, th-thump, th-thump.
It is hidden better on the DS Director and his two men, sitting furthest down the table and out of the way. Every so often, Matt, his name is, would tap his left ring finger on the tabletop, twice in succession. Then he would reach as if to fix his tie before aborting the motion and resting his hands in front of him again. Frank would reach up and flick at his ear as if it itches - a tell most wouldn't assume was actually a tell in the first place.
Russel was another story. There was no mask, no attempt to cover his frustration, anger, and fear as he paced back and forth across the length of the floor behind Conrad's chair. Every so often he would pause and clench his fists as if reminding himself that this is really happening. That this is real.
Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump.
With a tap of his finger-tips against the table, Conrad turned his chair slightly to get a better look at Russel. "Why don't you go give them an update?"
Russel's head flew up, almost as if he forgot he was not alone in the room. He gave a short nod, more of a jerk of the head than anything, "Yeah. Yes, I'll go do that."
And then he was gone, and even the whispered conversations seemed to come to an end.
Th-thump.
Flick.
Tap-tap.
Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump.
Th-thump.
Tap-tap.
Flick.
Th-thump, th-thump.
Henry
With each passing moment, Henry's eyes grew heavier and heavier. It is an illusion: his body, his mind, is exhausted. It's as simple as that. But even if he tried to rest his eyes, he knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep. None of them would.
Those remedies of warm milk and counting sheep would not work here. If someone were to fall asleep, it would be far from dreamless and nothing but restless. A remedy? The only remedy here would be having Elizabeth back in one piece.
Henry trained his eyes on the kids at the center of the room. Stevie had occupied herself with putting together another binder with the help of Alison, who was sorting the papers by number and passing them off to Stevie. Jason simply stared into the middle, eyes latching on to the stack of papers that passed every few seconds.
No one spoke. They hadn't since Stevie and Jason re-entered the room. It had been a while since the last time they had gotten an update, the only person entering the room having been an intern who, bless their heart, brought the kids some warm hot chocolate and himself a fresh cup of coffee.
Every so often a pair of heavy, quick footsteps could be heard from the hall and in the outer office behind the closed door. They never crossed the threshold, and never came relatively close to opening the door. He had long abandoned looking up each time they filtered into the room, though his patience was being tested.
His eyes tracked the passing of a, surprisingly, small stack of papers. Footsteps sounded outside of the door, not languid but not swift. They drew closer and closer before the door opened - surprisingly soft, compared to the last few times Henry has heard Russel open (and close) doors.
Russel let the door close with another soft click before pausing in front of the door.
"Russel," Henry greeted, fully attracting the attention of the kids.
"How is mom?"
"Are you here for an update?"
"Is she out?"
With a hand held up to put a halt to the questions, Russel let out a sigh and slipped his phone back into his pocket. "Bess if fine, nothing has changed. We are still working on getting more information."
Jason let out an irritated noise.
"Have you found out who is doing this?" Henry quickly asked, cutting off the irate response of his son.
"We know the identity of one person. I'm afraid we don't know much, but we have people working on it."
Alison fiddled with her now-empty cup, "They haven't hurt anyone have they? Has anyone gotten out?"
Russel let out a gust of breath, "Your mom helped get Daisy and another worker out, but since then no one has been released. No one has been injured.
In turn, Alison gave a nod and went back to fiddling with the styrofoam cup in her hands. A quick flick of the wrist had Russel looking back at his watch before he pulled his phone back out of his pocket. "I'm afraid I have to get back. We've got some more information."
He pulled open the door and glanced back over his shoulder at the occupants, "If I don't come back with an update, someone will. We'll get her."
*Notes:
Okay… here we go again!
Thank you all for your love! Reviews truly do mean the world to me, and they are the best part of my day.
Chapters one through seven have been edited and updated!
Updates should start coming more frequently, though they will be unpredictable.
It was never my intention to go so long without updating. To be honest, I was planning on having chapter 7 out in a day or two, and chapter 8 not long after that. I have been drowning in homework since school started. (Seriously. On average my French has a minimum of 8 hours a week.)
Long story short, life swept me off my feet. Two of my relatives passed away and another was admitted to the hospital (she is much better and back on her feet!) After that, school came and swept me off my feet. It's been… hard.
I thank you for your patience, and I hope this chapter is up to par… I didn't want to post this if it wasn't the best I had to give, and it took many revisions, but at the moment this is that.
Happy Holidays! Take care!
All my love! :)