AN: The italics are a flashback from the previous morning.
The tingles in his shoulder, the slight numbness from his limb being trapped beneath the rest of his body, was what had woken him. His eyes blinked open, and he squinted, expecting to be met with light, but the room had fallen dark. He twisted up, sitting back into the corner of the uncomfortable sofa. His head spun as he looked to the windows— the curtains hadn't been pulled. He lifted his wrist. It was just past one in the morning.
He'd first seen the cell phone recording of Carl taking a bullet to the head yesterday morning. The footage of his wife being thrown into the back of a van came hours later.
He leaned forward pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.
He stood in front of the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee as the kids worked around him, scrambling for breakfast before they all had to head off for school.
Alison needed to leave early. There had been something mentioned about a group of girls in her grade in need of a peer mediator. He had tuned out most of the conversation from two nights prior, but Elizabeth had been tucked against his side as Ali had rambled about Jenny and Sophie fighting over a guy, Todd or maybe Thomas, from Anatomy and Physiology.
It was a quarter after seven and Stevie should have already been out the door for her eight a.m. He had an early lecture this morning at the War College as well.
"It's hypocrisy. That's what it is."
He couldn't help his lips from tugging up at the corners. He couldn't be sure if his son had been speaking about them, him and Elizabeth, or something that had happened with his teachers at school. Either was a feasible possibility.
He stirred in a bit of Half and Half into his coffee before tossing the spoon into the sink. "What's that Jace?"
There was a huff, and then— "Mom."
He smiled. Elizabeth then. Now the question became whether the criticism was pointed towards her parenting or her work at the State Department.
"She stays up all hours of the night on her phone, yet she feels the need to take mine at ten-thirty?"
He picked his mug up from the counter and turned towards the table. "Well for one, you're fifteen. Your mother is an adult who holds a job that often extends past normal Eastern Standard Time." He lifted his cup to his lips and sipped. "And it wasn't Mom's decision. It was mine." He'd slept through his alarm one too many times after a night of Snapchatting his friends.
Jason's eyes fell to his plate as he nudged his fork through his pile of eggs.
"He's just mad he forgot to clear his search history the night before Mom left, and now he's in for one of her talks when she gets back," Ali explained as she crossed to the island, picking up the remote to the television.
He bit his tongue. He thought he'd better not bring up some of the things they'd read while her phone was still somehow tied in with his iPad.
"Dude, haven't you learned already?" Stevie asked as she shoveled a spoonful of cereal into her mouth.
He shook his head as he turned back to the counter, pulling down a travel mug from the top shelf. "As much as I'm enjoying this family time, we—"
Plastic clattered against granite. "Dad," Alison whispered.
His eyebrows pulled. "Noodle I—"
There was a screech of the legs of a chair against the hardwood.
"Dad." It was Stevie's voice this time.
"What is it?" He spun around, first looking towards the table, but his eyes followed the stare of his eldest to the television.
'Shooting in Moscow believed to involve Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord' ran across the bottom banner of the screen.
"I'm sure everything's fine," he mumbled as he fixated on the grainy video. He couldn't make out a thing until a man, Carl, the person always to the left of his wife stumbled before falling back to the ground.
Alison startled, stepping back into his chest. His hands found her shoulders as his eyes stayed on the screen.
He would've gotten a call by now if things weren't okay, right?
His hand ran down his daughter's arm before he sidestepped her, snatching up the home phone before he headed towards the front door to have a word with the agents posted out front.
His hands fell away from his eyes, finding the edge of the couch instead. His fingers dug into the fabric as thoughts of his wife, long ago memories of her that made him smile, again came to the forefront of his mind. He'd dreamed of her dancing, though she hadn't been very good at it, still wasn't, around the fifty square foot kitchen of their first apartment.
She was a breakfast for dinner type of gal. She argued that it was because of the carbs, but he believed it was because breakfast food was the only thing she half knew how to cook.
One winter he'd come home from class finding her in the midst of a floury mess that littered the counters, the handle of the fridge, and her cheeks. She stood barefooted, apron and all with a blush across her face and an apologetic smile on her lips. Back then he welcomed the chaos she brought. It made life interesting… He never thought that one day he would be trying to ward off the kind of turmoil that followed her now, lurking behind the corners in the dark.
His eyes snapped to the far wall when the wedge of light streaming in from the hall widened when the door was pushed open, and kept open, lighting the room.
"You're awake," Russell breathed as he crossed to the credenza on his left.
He scrubbed a hand over his chin. "Any updates?" His voice came out scratchy.
"She's alive." Russell tipped the pot of coffee up, refilling his cup.
He nodded. He knew she had to be. If their intention was to execute her and sing death to America, they would have done so much sooner.
"What do they want?"
He shook his head. "You know I can't talk about that."
He frowned. "Oh, come off it Russell." He used his palms to push up from the couch. "That's my wife we're talking about."
He turned away from the wall, mug in hand. "Go home to your kids."
He sighed. His kids— half him, and half her.
He crossed his arms over his chest as he took a step forward. "After you show me the recording." If they knew she was alive that meant they had proof, most likely video.
"Henry." Russell's voice was soft. "You don't want to see that."
He nodded. "I need to see her." He needed to know that she okay.