Henry McCord recognized that one of the great difficulties in dealing with teenage angst, was that it took a lot of time to work through it. The whole time he was talking with Ally, he could feel the steady tick of the clock. He had hoped that she would have things settled before her mother came home. It was one thing to understand the powerful and conflicting emotions brought on by sudden violence, but a totally different experience to witness it. The last thing Elizabeth needed was to hear her daughter express her anger - it would only bring more misplaced guilt. And the the last thing Allison needed was to see the hurt in her mother's eyes as she declared her anger.

He had gone to Allison's school after his 11:00 class had ended at noon, and by the time he'd met with the principal and found Ally, it was nearly 1:00. Although he had no expectation of Elizabeth coming home at 2:00 on the dot. He did expect her home before 3:00. He glanced up from Allison's hunched form. 2:45 p.m. Damn, he thought to himself.

"But that would be wrong, wouldn't it?" Allison asked him softly. "I can't be mad at Mom. It isn't her fault."

Her eyes had grown huge with tears when he had said, "But you are Ally. You are really angry at Mom." She had said nothing for the longest time - trying to process his words, or trying to think of a response that would effectively deny it. But now this soft question floated out between them. He turned from his reflection on the bad timing of his daughter's teenage crisis, and back to his daughter.

Her face was lifted up, gazing up at him, her dark eyes, clouded with confusion and pain. He wanted nothing more than to be able to pick her up, as he had when she was tiny and tuck her close against his heart. He felt his own unreasonable anger begin to boil over as he thought of the men - the strangers who had inflicted such pain on his family. He felt an animal rage wash over as he longed to reverse time, and prevent all the damage; keep his wife and his children safe.

He struggled, trying to stay in the moment with Allison, but fighting his own anger and his constant worry that Liz would step through the door at any moment. He fell back onto the comforting words of others, as he usually did under stress.

"'Anybody can become angry - that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way - that isn't within everybody's power and is not easy.'" He quoted to her.

"But . . . ." She began, accustomed to her father's use of the words of great philosophers.

He continued thoughtfully, almost as though speaking to himself, "'There are two things a person should never be angry at, what they can help and what they cannot.'" He turned back to look at Allison, his own heart slowing closer to a normal rhythm again. "That was Plato and before that Aristotle, but Ally, it isn't wrong you are mad. It is how you feel and how you feel is how you feel."

"But it wasn't her fault. I know that! And she almost . . ." Allison swallowed hard before continuing. "But I feel so angry. I feel like she could have done something - that she should have known. She's really smart, Dad! How could someone just sneak up on her like that?"

Allison hadn't heard the front door swing open and wasn't sitting at an angle to see her mother step into the house, a bright smile on her face, that immediately faded when she saw Allison tucked under her father's protective arm, a look of anguish on her face. Henry met her eyes briefly, and she stood where she was briefcase still in her hand, listening. He tried to comfort her, even from the great distance that separated them, winking at her, but her face was white with shock, sorrow and shame.

"It is hard to think that she isn't safe." He offered Allison softly. "Why do you think you are so mad?"

Allison puzzled over this a minute. "Sometimes," She began very softly. "Sometimes, I wish she'd just stay home and bake cookies and be quiet. Why does she have to talk so much? It makes people mad."

"This had nothing to do with her, Noodle, you know that."

"But it could just as well have!" Her voice rose in pitch. "She's always saying and doing stuff that people don't like! And why does she even have to take that stupid job! I miss my friends and my school! Nothing good has happened since we came here! Stevie and mom got in that big fight! And both her friends are dead! And then she almost gets . . . gets . . ."

This outburst from Allison surprised him. The list of losses since Elizabeth had taken office seemed far too long, especially to think they were carried on such small shoulders. He had heard the same litany from Liz, after she'd returned home from Joey's funeral - or more rightly when she'd returned home from not attending Joey's funeral. She'd wept just as bitterly over it, and said nearly the same words - worrying how all of it was impacting her children. He glanced up at her, wounded to see she still stood in the doorway, silently crying.

"'If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.'" He quoted, almost without thinking.

"I know, that!" Allison said angrily. "I know she's right! And I feel horrible! How can I be angry with her! There are thousands of little girls all over Yemen right now how long to have a stack of homework to do - I know that! I must be some terrible monster!" She covered her face with her hands.

"You aren't a monster." He said gently. "You are a human being. You are a little girl," He paused expecting a protest from her, but got none. "Who watched someone hurt your mother. And it terrified you because you know, just like I do, that it could happen at any time. She isn't safe, and there's nothing we can do about it. And it makes you really mad."

"And you?" She asked, looking up at him through tears.

"Allison Grace, I've never felt such rage." He answered through gritted teeth, feeling the power of the complete honesty of those words.

"'Love implies anger. The man who is angered by nothing cares about nothing.'" She said softly to him, a small smile on her face. "Edward Abbey." He smiled warmly at this, leaning forward and kissing her forehead.

"I love you, Noodle."

"That's a pretty dangerous thing." She told him.

"It is." He agreed. "The most dangerous risk of all."

"'To love at all is to be vulnerable.'" Elizabeth said stepping into the room. She smiled at their upturned faces, reaching out to run a hand over Allison's cheek. "C.S. Lewis."

"Mom!" Her eyes grew wide with surprise. She glanced at her father. "I didn't know you . . ."

"I just got home." Elizabeth explained. "I'm sorry, honey. I am really, really sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." Allison said, her arms reaching out to her mother. Henry shifted out of the way, one hand rubbing gentle circles on his wife's back. "I've been so mean to you."

"That's alright. I scared you. I'm sorry, baby. I really am." Elizabeth murmured against Allison's forehead. And suddenly completely exhausted, Henry rose, pausing only to kiss the side of Elizabeth's head before stepping away from the sobbing huddle of his wife and daughter. He knew from experience they would cry, and hug and talk at the same time - it could last forever. He wandered into the kitchen rubbing a hand over his face feeling a bizarre combination of exhaustion and adrenaline. He was torn between a glass of whisky and going for a run.

He opted for a run, switching into his shorts and t-shirt quickly. He penned a brief note, in case they unhuddled and came up for air, and found himself outside in the bracing winds that blew off the Potomac. The steady pounding of his feet against the pavement, matched the rhythm of his heart. He ran hard, as though pursued by something dark and menacing, and from time to time the same scene seemed to flash in front of his eyes - Elizabeth looking small and helpless flying through air - not blown apart by a bomb, but rather a bomb herself - blowing his heart into thousands of pieces.