She'd never felt more exposed in her life. She stood before him in little more than a yard's length of fabric and the most he'd lost was his jacket and tie. She stepped backwards out of the circle of her dress, head bowed and hands clasped in front of her. She was afraid; afraid to look up, for fear he would be laughing at her. She knew she wasn't pretty; she never really had been, or, at least, that's what she'd been told.

She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears in. There was no way she could let Sam see her cry, not now. She knew she could hold it in; she had to. There was just no other way right now. She refused to let him see her cry, even though she had every reason to. The last time she'd been this exposed was when she'd been raped, and there was nothing she could do to stop the fear from coming back, even though she knew Sam would never hurt her. He apologized if he thought he'd squeezed her hand too hard.

He knew there was something wrong. He could feel her fear and sadness from where he stood and knew he had to even things up to help her feel more comfortable. He divested himself of the rest of his clothes, save his boxers, faster than he ever had in his life. Stepping over her dress, he crossed the room and stood before her.

"Beth," he whispered, but she didn't move. He laid one hand on hers and brought the other around her and pulled her close. The initial skin-to-skin contact startled both of them; she by his gentle heat, him by her soft, cool warmth. He gently began to caress her back very lightly, almost as a gentle reassurance that nothing would hurt her. He felt her unclasp her hands and very slowly put her arms around him. As she rested her head against his heart, he knew what had caused her to close off.

She was still scared. She could be as brave, sometimes even braver, than some of the agents on the President's detail, but when she was frightened, it paralyzed her. She'd try to fight her way through it, and sometimes she'd succeed only to have the fear resurface and send her even further back than where she'd started from. He knew that's what she was going through.

"Did you ever talk to anyone about this, little one, besides me?" He kept his voice quiet, neutral. She needed love and support right now, and it wouldn't help her at all if she thought she was being judged or accused. He had a bad feeling about her answer, and it was confirmed when he felt her shake her head against him. He forced his anger at Leo and Jenny back deep inside where it couldn't hurt Kate and made himself concentrate on how much he loved her and wanted to help her through this.

"I want you to listen to me, sweetie. I'm going to go inside and hang my stuff over one of the chairs so it doesn't get too wrinkled. While I'm doing that, I want you to change into whatever sleep stuff you normally wear and get into bed. When I'm done, I'll join you and we'll snuggle up and get some sleep." He felt her stiffen and try to step away from him, but he kept his arm around her.

Looking into her eyes, he knew that he'd been right. He could see her anguish and fear so close to the surface, as well as the tears she was fighting back. She started to open her mouth to say something, but he pressed a finger to her lips to quiet her.

"I know, precious. Believe me, it's not that I don't want this, that I don't want you, but your pain is still too fresh, even after all these years. Beth, if you knew how many nights I fought against myself as I held you while you slept, you'd know that my doing this isn't from a lack of desire. You are so amazingly beautiful right now that I…I don't even know how to describe it. The thing is, pretty wrapping can only do so much. It doesn't mean a lot if a box is wrapped up with the most beautiful trappings in the world if it's empty. Let me help you heal your heart and your spirit, and then we can take a look at what else is under that pretty paper, OK?"

She nodded, and he gave her a little squeeze and a kiss on the top of her head before he let her go. When he got back to his things, he turned to look at her, but she was facing the wall as she went through one of her drawers to get something to sleep in. Picking up his things, he looked toward her again and said quietly, "I love you." When she didn't respond as she always did, he knew that it was bad.

Pulling off her bra and stockings, she quickly threw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to sleep in. She scrambled into bed, leaving the candle lit so that he could find his way back. She turned on her side so that she was facing the wall with her back towards the room. Even though she knew he loved her, and had seen her in tears before, she was still afraid to let him see her cry. She hated the fact that she felt so small and weak, like a child. She was supposed to be an adult now, not easily driven to tears and emotion like this. She was upset and angry and scared and didn't know how to process any of it or in what order.

Coming back into the room, he saw how she was lying on the bed and closed his eyes for a moment. It was going to be a long night. She was trying to close herself off so that she wouldn't feel any of the torturous emotions and to stop herself from hurting. After checking the candle to make sure that it was safe to burn where it was, he climbed into bed next to her. He touched her trembling shoulder but got no response. Knowing that she'd eventually explode from all of the feelings running through her, he knew he had to keep trying to get her to open up.

"I know that you're trying not to cry, baby girl. Don't fight it. I've never thought any less of you for crying and for feeling things as deeply as you do. It's one of the reasons I love you so much. You're not alone anymore, Katie; you don't have to wait until everyone's asleep before you let everything out. Please, honey, let me help you."

She said something in response, but her voice was so soft that he had to strain to hear her. Even doing that, he couldn't make out what she said.

"I'm sorry, sweetie, I couldn't hear you. Tell me again."

She began to turn onto her back, and he steeled himself for what he might see. Even in the candlelight, he could see that her eyes were now a dark brown and filled with tears.

"Then why do I feel like such a baby for wanting to cry? Why do I feel so alone? I'm scared, Sam. I-I'm s-s-so sc-scared." Her voice broke as she talked and the tears began to make their way gently down her face. He traced their paths with his finger as he tried to figure out what to say to her when she spoke again.

"I only wanted someone to care, that's all. Just someone to hold me and tell me that it would be all right, that I wasn't a bad girl because of what happened. Why didn't anybody care about me, Sam? Didn't they know I was hurt inside? Did I do something bad that made them not care? I can fix it, I know I can. Please, tell me what I did wrong. I-I just want…" She had such a sad expression on her face that he could feel his heart breaking for her and the girl that'd she'd been.

"Shhhh. Hush, little angel. Tell me what hurts so I can make it all better. You've never been anything but a very good girl; you didn't do anything wrong, sweetheart, you never have. Tell me what hurts, baby, tell me."

She brought her hand up and laid it in the center of her chest. "Here."

This was dangerous territory and he knew it, but he couldn't not try to make some kind of gesture to help her feel better. Touching her face lightly, he bent his head and laid a gentle kiss on the spot her fingers pointed to. Slowly, carefully, he laid his hand over hers, all the while searching her face for any sign of fear. "Here?"

She slipped her hand out from beneath his as she nodded, the tears coming a little faster now. His hand now rested flat in the center of her chest, and he was amazed by what he could feel.

It was as if he could feel the jagged shards of her heart beneath his fingertips. He could feel every sharp edge, every point on each individual piece. He honestly believed that if he pulled his hand away, it would be sliced up and bleeding from all of the edges he felt. Knowing he needed to do something, he began to make slow, tentative circles, all the while leaving his hand flat where it was.