AN: We're slowly, but surely getting through this. I remind everyone that this was originally a one shot, so I (yes, still) am trying to figure out where this going.
The room was hot— the collar of his button-down was stuck to the back of his neck by the sweat on his skin.
There were too many bodies… too many voices… too many conversations happening at once.
He could barely think.
His vision blurred around the edges as he leaned back in his chair.
He'd selfishly recruited her on UVA's campus, playing at her sense of duty. Her name had been sent in by a professor— she fit the profile. She had little family, few friends, and a brain that, arguably, rivaled even those of the top brass.
"The honor twins."
He'd heard the name a time or two over the years.
She had challenged his way of thinking from day one.
"Excuse me." She'd raised her hand. "I may be speaking out of turn, but…" He knew she would be trouble ever since she'd interrupted that first briefing between the summer interns and the analysts.
She never held her tongue.
He'd caught her eye… she'd never lost it.
He'd plucked her from the horse farm that she swore she was happy to be living on, but… "Of course, I'll do it." She'd called before they merged onto the interstate.
They'd had their ups and downs, both professionally and personally. He'd seen her through some of her happiest days to days where she needed a friend, instead of the boss he was. He'd watched her marriage zig zag. From, "I've met a guy. His name is Henry." to "It's either him or this job," she cried. "I have my kids to think about now, Conrad." He'd watched them grow.
He'd seen fear in her eyes plenty of times…
"The school nurse called. Stevie's running a temperature." and "I lost all contact with George half an hour ago."
…But he'd never seen her look so hopeless as when Vadim's hands had slid down her shoulders.
She'd encountered men who'd held grudges before. Two days unaccounted for in Baghdad left her with a lot of scars. But being at the hands of a terrorist group who got off on watching hundreds of people die buried beneath rubble? Being at the hands of a man who craved vengeance for the mistreatment of his older brother? They were past an average Iraqi man who held anger for being dupped by a pretty woman. They were past small scars and sprained ankles… She was staring death in the eye.
"Mr. President."
He arched an eyebrow as he leaned forward.
A tablet was flipped around. "The video of Secretary McCord's abduction outside of the St. Regis," Oliver Shaw said.
He tapped the top of the screen, and the video jumped to life. He watched as she and Jay Whitman were hauled into the back of a van.
He shook his head.
Maybe today would be the day America began negotiating with terrorists.
"Find Russell," he said to the room.