AN: This kind of snowballed here at the beginning… I have a whole arsenal of dark Elizabeth while working for the CIA. It kind of popped up here… Oops.

She had fought her way through her college courses, oftentimes being discouraged by her male classmates. It didn't help that her math-intensive major was composed of male faculty who still lived by a misogynist attitude. She stood her ground while presenting dissenting opinions to the dominantly male NSC. She refused to hold her tongue when approached by men who assumed she owed them something for simply being born with female genitalia.

Throughout her time with the CIA her body had become a tool, a tactic used during the few operations she'd been reluctantly inserted into. You express too much knowledge, too much potential for me not to send you over there. No one could resist a blonde with curves and long legs.

It was unethical, but it got the job done, though, she never went as far as Jackson, her handler, had pushed for. Against his guidance, sleeping with a suspected terrorist in hopes of turning him into an asset wasn't in her book of plays. Though there were a few occasions that she'd come close— it wavered the line of her personal definition of sex, and probably crossed over into the realm of others'. She didn't like to admit that some had seen her in less than the stylist on the seventh floor.

Isabelle had grabbed her arm the afternoon before she was scheduled to depart for Baghdad, this being her sixth or so trip to the Middle East now, and whispered, "You don't have to do this." Her eyes had narrowed, studying her. "Sacrificing your integrity for some intel about Safeer Al-Jamil?"

She had shaken off her concern, arguing that she held the power, not them. Isabelle had reminded her just how quickly that power could shift.

She never once told Henry about the situations she'd found herself in. Instead, she spent time praying to the God she still held uncertainties about for forgiveness.

She's had diplomats steal a glance down her blouse as she's pushed up from her chair. Some are bolder, unashamedly ogling at her breasts, sometimes going as far as making a comment on their fullness. She had smiled then, laughing with the ambassador as she beckoned one of her male staff members to her side.

Her ass was grabbed in a hallway while on the way to the bathroom during a dinner. She'd given him a tongue lashing, and a shove to the shoulders before having the staff member of the Danes escorted from the building.

Her body was hers.

There would be sneers, insults, comments from men and even some women if they knew her full part in the operations under the Agency. She'd given her body for her country then, but she refused to now.

"We should eat." They hadn't since lunch yesterday.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and leaned forward. It was hard to ignore the pull in her side as she reached for the tray, dragging it back towards them.

"So, I'm the only one thinking we shouldn't eat the food then?"

She tore off a piece of the bread, handing it over to him. "When they kill us, it won't be in a backroom, it'll be in front of cameras."

Her eyes lifted from the ground to his face. She could almost visibly see his complexion pale. "What are you thinking?" She asked as she chewed over a piece of bread.

He was picking at his. "Chloe," he breathed. "I'm thinking about Chloe."

She nodded, thoughts drifting to her own babies. Ali had to be a puddle by now, Stevie a brave face for her siblings and father, and Jason would be taking it the hardest.

She could feel the tears building behind her eyes again, but she shook them away, grabbing Jay's hand instead.

"When we get back—" Because they would get back, right? "—we should both take a month off and spend time with our kids."

He squeezed her hand as he used his other to pop the piece of bread into his mouth.

"This wasn't what I was expecting when I told Conrad I'd take this job." She dropped his hand, leaning forward again. This time she smeared jam onto the chunk of bread.

"DC really skimps out on the job descriptions."

She attempted a laugh, but the muscles in her cheek throbbed. Her half smile fell away, and— "I was kidnapped once while I worked for the Company." Her voice was low as she sat back against the wall.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she whispered.

"Was it anything like this?" She could hear his hesitancy.

She stared down at her lap, pondering his question. "Yes and no," she finally decided. The aches in her bones felt the same, but the men were different. "I had basically slept with the guy already, so he wasn't after that part of me."

She interpreted his silence as surprise. She'd never divulged that part of her life, part of her work to anyone other than the two colleagues who had already been read in.

"He found out who I was, who I worked for, and what I was after. I was held for two days." She curled into herself, tucking her feet underneath her. "A lot can happen in two days."

"I can imagine."

She swallowed. "I'm sorry for falling apart earlier." She felt weak having to lean on him, rely on him the way she did. "I'm not as strong as I used to be." Years ago, she wouldn't have batted an eye. She wasn't the same person as she was back then.

"I don't know about that." Her lips tugged at the corners. It was sweet of him. "And I think you have every right to fall apart."

She looked to him. "You do too." She wasn't the only one being held here.

He extended an arm, motioning with his hand, and she leaned into him. He grabbed his suit jacket from the ground, and pulled it up, covering her legs again. "Walk me through what's happening in the Situation Room right now."

Her lips parted. "Madness," she breathed.