HEY EVERYONE! LOOK FOR MORE TO COME - IM SORRY IF I DIDN'T GET THE WHOLE PLANE AESTHETIC RIGHT - I JUST WANTED TO GET HER HOME AS MUCH AS YOU DID. L ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK - MORE TO COME!
The plane shuddered a bit, enough to jostle Isabelle against the back of her seat. She wished she could close her eyes for just a second to ward off the pounding headache she knew would turn into a migraine the second they landed. It had been so long since she'd been on a military transport plane, and for the time being she missed her quiet little office space settled nicely in CIA headquarters. While the lunchroom sometimes smelled of microwaved fish, there, she didn't have to contend with her stomach twisting and turning with each quick drop of the plane, the jostling that made it extremely hard to keep her neck from stiffening up, and the hard seat the made her lose feeling in her backside hours ago.
But while she would love to curl up on one of the cots and shut out the misery that was this whole ride, one look at the girl sitting across the plane from her – and Isabelle knew she'd never be able to sleep watching Emma.
She sat with her back to the wall, her feet pulled close to her body, hugging her knees. Her eyes, wide, stared off into nothing – but her eyes never closed. The piercing blue eyes that Isabelle remembered seeing from a small toddler always running around getting into trouble – but now it was different.
As the plane tossed again, Isabelle watched Emma grimace and readjust her feet. Emma's eyes closed just a bit – and Isabelle knew she was in pain. From years of working in the CIA, she was an expert at all the signs of pain.
"Emma." Isabelle called out, trying to get the girl's attention. But the engines from the plane made talking from a distance harder. Isabelle herself grimaced as she stood up, feeling yet another reason why she no longer worked in the field – the harrowing escape and running and jumping – all the things that come with missions – had worn her out. But Isabelle grabbed the netting hanging above her for support and slowly walked across to sit next to Emma. She reached over and touched the girl's arm, "Emma, are you hurt?"
Isabelle could feel Emma's muscles tighten up – and she pulled away from Isabelle, shaking her head. No words. No eye contact.
Still sitting next to Emma, Isabelle laid her head back against the wall, thinking through all the ways that Emma could be hurt but not telling her. The girl had refused to let anyone touch her after the helicopter landing while the military transport was being set up. Medics had tried – as they always did on those short stops – to check for anything that could be life threatening – or make the 13-hour plane ride horrific for the passenger. But Emma had just pulled away – even shrieked when someone touched her – and Isabelle had stepped in, knowing that it would be better to just get the girl home – since she hadn't seen any blood or limbs hanging off.
From the headphones Isabelle wore to connect her to the airmen up front – she heard Jackson, the pilot – say, "How's she doing?" Isabelle's trying to communicate with Emma, who didn't have a headset, had concerned them. And, Isabelle thought, it should – since they were transporting the President's daughter back home.
Moving back to her own seat, Isabelle felt comfortable talking where Emma couldn't hear her. "I think she's in pain. Assessing from a distance, I don't think it's life threatening – but the sooner we get her home, the better."
The radio was silent for a second before the pilot responded, "We're about 15 minutes out. Let her know – prepare her for the landing? Air traffic control says they have a medical team standing by."
Isabelle stepped over to Emma and said, "15 minutes until landing. You might want to…" She realized that Emma hadn't unbuckled. Or really moved. Since they'd taken off. "Well, from experience, these landings aren't the most fun. Holding onto the seat sometimes helps."
Emma just nodded. And sat up – again grimacing. Isabelle went back to her own seat, strapped herself in, and returned to work mode. Over the radio, she asked the pilot, "Can you connect me with ATC?"
"10-4."
"Air Traffic Control here."
"Special Agent Barnes here." She stated professionally, despite the fact that her stomach dropped as the plane began descending. "I need to speak with the agent on the ground."
Only a few seconds elapsed between her request and, "Agent Holmes here."
"Grant, I've got a girl here who is exhibiting signs of PTSD, combative towards medics, and in obvious pain. Pulls away to the touch. Pain seeming to stem from her abdomen, left forearm both concealed in clothing." She laid it all out. "I'm authorizing a medical team to use sedatives before debriefing." She knew it wasn't protocol to allow persons from captivity to be put under before a debriefing had happened – just in case they'd lose information. But Emma most certainly was too fragile for the intense questioning that came – especially before receiving medical treatment.
"10-4." Came the response. "At the landing, minimal personnel on the Tarmac?"
"Yes." She said, her entire body beginning to move with the jostling of the plane. "Grant, please get word to the President. Give her this message: Baghdad triage."
"10-4. Over and Out."
The radio then became the hotbed for all the landing codes and instructions. Isabelle tuned them out – again focusing on Emma.
Who through the whole process of the plane's terrifying landing (from Isabelle's point of view) barely flinched. She did hold her stomach, but nothing else. Isabelle had tried to get Emma to change – get her out of the long black dress – one, because then she'd be able to see the injuries on the girl. The second because she knew that the dress would symbolize captivity and subjugation for Bess when she saw her daughter.
But, as with everything, Emma had refused before getting on the plane – not letting anyone touch her.
It wasn't until the plane came to a complete stop that something changed in Emma's face. Instead of just looking exhausted and hurt, now she seemed scared. Her fingernails began to weave in and out of the fabric of the dress – nervousness taking over. She bit her bottom lip – and stared down at her hands. The doors to the cargo opened
"Safe to depart ." Came from the pilot over the headset.
And Isabelle unbuckled and stepped over. Emma just stared ahead. Unmoving.
"Emma, it's ok to be scared." She tried to comfort.
And Emma looked up into Isabelle's eyes – and the quiet words barely touched the air, "What if they don't want me anymore?"
So vulnerable. From a child who'd grown up in captivity – her whole life had completely changed – and now she was expected to walk back into the family that loved her – but had also changed.
And Isabelle put her hand on Emma's covered knee, and whispered back, "I know it's scary. But I've known your mother since before you were born." All the pictures of Bess pregnant with this little girl – visiting Bess on the farm to see Emma toddling out in the field – "And I know that things are going to be different but…" She made sure Emma heard, "But I know that more than anything in the world, your Mom and Dad want you. More than anything."
Emma nodded, blinking tears away from her eyes. And she unbuckled her seatbelt. Took a deep breath. And said, "Will you go first. I just need a minute…"
Isabelle nodded. "I'll wait right on the stairs for you." Emma granted Isabelle a small smile.
