AGAIN, PLEASE REVIEW. THIS CHAPTER IS ONE IM VERY PROUD OF - I TOLD A FRIEND IT MIGHT BE THE BEST I'VE WRITTEN BEFORE. PLEASE LET ME KNOW!
"… she's on her way to the Residence…" Henry knew by Blake's voice that something was wrong. Especially when he left the sentence hanging by a thread.
He felt the jet lag as he set down the paper beside his bowl of cereal on the table. Elizabeth had said he should sleep in that morning – "You deserve a little down time after all the jet lag from the last week" – and he wished his body would cooperate with sleeping. But ever since coming to the White House, he always felt like he should be doing something. Working on the new Veteran policies, arranging his schedule to best help Elizabeth with his appearances to further her own policies, and just being present in the children's lives.
The first week after they'd had all the things moved from the Brownstone into their new living quarters, Henry had unpacked the last box and huffed, "Never before have we been unpacked this fast."
Bess had laughed, and said, "Well that's because you can't sit still for any amount of time." Then she'd added apologetically, "I'm sorry I wasn't around more to help with all the unpacking… it's just with the whole Russia thing and…"
Henry had interrupted her, "Don't apologize." Then he looked around the room and said, "I think the legendary ghosts of President's past are haunting me with the never-ending fears that I'm not doing enough… sitting around doesn't seem like an option."
Those feelings had continued to this day, even after a fifteen stop trip all over the world. Which was why he'd woken up just a few minutes after Elizabeth left, got up like every day, and was sitting at the table eating breakfast when Blake called.
"Blake, what's wrong?" Henry asked, his mind going into overdrive about what could be enough for Elizabeth to have Blake call ahead and inform him of her arrival. Nuclear war? No, security would've been called into the residence to take them somewhere safe underground. Another mass shooting at the border? No, Henry knew his wife enough to know she'd be in control mode and would be right at the frontlines doing her job. He pulled the phone away from his ear just to make sure that none of the kids had tried to get ahold of him with some emergency. Nothing.
And Blake's stuttering on the other end didn't help Henry at all.
Henry looked up when he saw movement. And he saw Elizabeth leaning her back against the doorframe. Her arms were wrapped around her, as if to try and comfort herself. She'd kicked off her heels somewhere on the way up. But it was her face that signaled to Henry that something was very wrong. Her eyes were scrunched up, her lips pulled tight. She was trying not to cry. Not to break.
Blake's words, "well, I'm not sure she wants…" were drowned out as Henry set the phone on the table.
"Babe?"
She shook her head, as if commanding her body not to cry. Outside of the residence, Elizabeth maintained her firm, all business attitude. She said that people wouldn't take her seriously as President if she showed any emotional response to situations. But this.
Henry stood up right away, starting to walk to her. But her voice broke as she choked, "It's Emma…"
His brain could not process fast enough. "Wh…"
She swallowed, and looked up at the ceiling. "Oh, Henry, I don't know what to do."
Henry had watched her grieve before. Even while they were at the State department, she'd come home from work enough times, absolutely tortured about how she'd not done enough to save their daughter – how much she missed their little girl – or how much the pain of losing their youngest still rang true even after three years. Every year on the anniversary of Emma's death, there was a solemnity to his wife.
But this?
He reached out and touched her arm gently, "Babe, it's ok to feel it again." Normally he knew what set it off, but there were days and things that reminded her of Emma, and she'd have a rough day with grieving. He always wanted to be her safe place, where she didn't have to be the President, and could soften and feel her emotions.
But she shook her head again. And took a deep breath. "Henry…" And she turned towards him, "Someone just sent a ransom video."
Henry's mind began to stumble over the impossible. "What…"
And she began pacing. Pacing and talking out loud.
"Henry, I think it was her. Men had her."
Emma? "But it's been four years…"
"The girl looks so different. Looks to be about 18 or 19…." Her words rattled off as her brain began to process it. "And Emma would only be 16…"
Henry couldn't move. Instead he just stuttered, "And we both saw the other video…"
Bess nodded, "Yes. And that's impossible, right? It's impossible for her to…" He knew what she couldn't say. She never wanted to say that it was impossible for Emma to have survived that. He had seen it. There was too much blood. Much too much. "And that video was torn apart for any alterations. There's no way…"
She paced back and forth – and Henry stood there, watching.
"And now that I'm President, they've found someone who looks like her, and they're trying to get me to do what they want…"
But Henry could read her voice. He knew.
And then she turned, her blue eyes begging him to talk her out of it. "Henry, tell me."
He just stared at her.
She moved over and touched his arm as her eyes searched his, "You've got to tell me not to." Her eyes filled with unshed tears, "You've got to talk me out of the hope I can feel rising up… Henry…" she begged, "Please… I can't have them dashed yet again. It took me too long to move on… I wanted so long for her to still be alive… I can't… I can't hope again." And her voice caught, "Because I'll never survive the fall if it's not true."
He knew that to be true. He'd seen his wife broken before – the hard days with losing people in operations and her trauma in Iran. But Emma's abduction and murder had been something he hadn't been sure she'd come back from. It took them so long. And he knew she couldn't take another fall.
But he also knew one other thing.
"Honey." He said, taking her shoulders in his hands and returning her stare, "You know what you have to do."
She nodded, biting her lip.
He had to keep her strong. "You've got to be strong."
And she whispered, "I've got to see if it's real."
Henry nodded, urging her along, "You have to do your job." Keep it in the realm of the job. Keep her emotions from getting attached. "You have to treat it like…"
And he felt her body growing stronger in his arms as her mind wrapped around what he was saying. And she began talking herself out of her emotions. "Treat it like any other ransom case. Because that girl is being used. Whether she's a plant or…"
And Henry stopped her mind from going there, "Or something else…" And he firmly said, "Your job would be no different."
"Identify the senders, send in a rescue team, and bring the American home." She sounded strong. And she stepped back, "Cold. Hard. And unwavering." She chanted to herself.
Henry nodded, watching as she stepped away and pulled her heels on, one at a time.
She looked at him once more as she exhaled deeply. "Just do my job."
He agreed.
She was halfway out the door before she turned, and quietly asked, "Can you take a…"
Henry knew what she was asking him. And he agreed, "Have General Hill send it to my assistant. I'll take a look at it."
She smiled, but her smile never met her eyes. She could feel nothing, and he knew it. Because if she did, the emotional disaster could be too much.
It wasn't until she was gone that Henry fell backwards into the chair, trying to breathe deeply. His emotions hit him as he began to break.
And he was glad she hadn't turned around.
Because if she had, she would've seen him sitting there, face in his hands, body shaking as he sobbed. As his hope grew – and his knowledge that the hope might shatter and break them all.
