HELLO! I've missed everyone! I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while. But I reread the story again, and then - this just came out - within 45 minutes I'd written this. I do apologize - I don't claim to have any mastery over Arabic. But google translate did help. Anyway. I do hope you'll leave a review. And if you feel so inclined, send me a PM - let me know what you think! Let me know if you have any questions! I love hearing from my readers. I hope you enjoy it!


Her heels clicked along the hospital hallway. She should be used to them by now. The sound almost always overshadowed any other sounds when no one was speaking. Sometimes even then. Because even now, despite the five or six agents in the hallway with her, each listening into their earpiece, someone speaking into their own microphone – even Henry walking right beside her, she could still hear the tapping with each footstep. Everything around her could be chaotic. Everything surrounding her could be falling apart.

And yet. She was heard. She was focused upon. She was the center of it.

Is that what led to this? She asked herself, watching as nurses stepped out of the patient's rooms that they passed, just to catch a glimpse of her. Normally, she would smile and nod, acknowledging them, wanting to make them feel as if she saw them. And, under normal circumstances, she did notice them. She tried to memorize each face as she walked by them in a crowd, each of the reporters, each small child standing there on the curb waving a flag. Because she firmly believed that she had been elected to serve these people. She often refused to relegate the American people to an electorate. She attempted to memorize each smile, each set of eyes looking at her. And when she sat behind her desk, with cameras snapping memorable moments of history, as she poised her pen above an official document, she could see those people. She could see that child, that desperate reporter, that human being who depended on what she did each day.

But had that led to her walking down this sterile hallway? Her presence would never go unacknowledged. In a room. In a store. In the world. Her presence on the world stage had brought her daughter to the forefront. Had she stayed on that farm – would this ever have happened?

As the front two Secret Service agents stopped in front of a door – she felt Henry's fingers close around her hand – pulling her out of the thoughts that ceaselessly screamed her guilt. She barely met his eyes, but in that look, she tried to find some kind of strength from him. A shred of something to hold her up when even the thoughts inside seemed to tear away at everything she was.

Taking a deep breath, she walked in.

And gripped Henry's hand as hard as she could when she saw their little girl.

Or the person who resembled their daughter.

There in the hospital bed, Bess could find pieces of her little girl. The blond curls that always used to bounce around as Emma would gallop through the pasture hung longer than they ever had. Her forehead, the one that Bess remembered brushing with her lips as she hurried Emma out the door for school – now held more lines – even a few scars and fresh wounds. The girl in front of her took up so much more room in the bed than the twelve-year-old ever would have – and yet still seemed to swim in the hospital bed, her emaciated body covered in white blankets. From one hand came an IV, and the other curled around, held close to Emma's chest.

As Bess took a step towards the bed, Emma's eyelids fluttered open, just like they'd done when Emma used to fall asleep on the couch during family movie night. But instead of looking up at her as the child before had with a peaceful aura of utter dependence on those around her, waiting to be carried up to her bed – Bess could see the uncomfortable, unstable, and fearful look from the girl in the hospital bed.

"Hey…" Bess whispered quietly, moving slowly towards Emma.

Emma appeared to attempt a smile, but that quickly turned into a wince.

Bess pulled a chair close to the bedside, "Shhhh… don't move, baby, if it hurts." Henry stepped behind the chair, resting his hand on Bess' shoulder.

Bess could tell that Emma even drawing in breath was painful. Without thought, Bess reached her hand out, trying to comfort her daughter there – who was obviously in pain. Her hand wrapped around Emma's hand, but that was immediately pulled away, as if Bess' touch was a hot burner. Bess felt her heart against her chest, and she immediately apologized, "Em, I'm sorry. I didn't…" She didn't think. And she should've known.

Emma just shook her head a bit, as if brushing it off. Then her creacked lips opened. And she whispered, "Water?"

Before Bess could even look around, she felt Henry scrambling behind her.

Leaning over the bed, he presented her with a glass of water that had been sitting on the side table, straw all ready right there. "Here you go…"

Emma grimaced as she leaned up just a bit, but as Henry placed the straw in her mouth, the relief was evident on her face as she drank. She nodded when she was done, and whispered at bit stronger, "Thank you."

"Of course." Henry said, then asked, "Are you in a lot of pain?"

And Bess chimed in, moving to the edge of her seat. "Do you want me to get the nurse? See if they can get you some medication?" She'd run down the hallway herself and get whatever her little girl needed.

Emma shook her head, settling back against the pillow. "It's ok. I don't like how it makes me feel anyway."

"Your mother is the same way." Henry said with a smile on his face, "I've been tempted to slip a pill into her doughnut some mornings… just to help me get through."

Bess playfully slapped Henry's arm. "Excuse me!"

The smile that came to Emma's face was everything but genuine.

Bess had never thought it would be this… difficult… to talk to her daughter. The reunion at the airport had been anything but intimate. And had ended with everything but what Bess wanted.

But this. Bess didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to interact. Didn't want to reach out and touch her and hurt the child. But she also wanted to feel for herself that Emma was here. That her little girl was right there. Wanted to hold her, afraid that maybe this girl would evaporate away from her – as if in a dream.

So she did the next best thing. She stood up and started looking through the cabinets. "Let's see if we can't get you another pillow. You need more… keep your head up…" Movement felt right.

She could still hear her heels click as she moved.

"Uh oh." Henry playfully moaned.

Bess leaned out the door and called out, "Nurse! We need some more pillows!"

"No." Emma quietly resisted. "I'm really ok…"

Bess argued, "Oh, honey. Your neck is going to hurt if you lay like that too much!"

When the nurse handed her a pillow within a few seconds, she knew that they were right there, waiting for whatever she would ask for.

But as Bess moved over to the bed, Emma's refusal became more insistent, "No, I really don't want any more." Then there was a pause as Emma took in another breath, "But there is something I need to talk to you about.

"Of course. Anything." Bess got the message, and set the pillows on the edge of the bed. Then she sat down next to Henry.

Emma stared up at the ceiling. "I need to go back."

Bess' entire body tightened. And immediately her brain began down the rabbit trails that could be where Emma was going. Why would she want to go back there? Back to that hellhole? The place that Isabelle had described? Throwing a worried glance over to Henry, she said, "Emma, there's no…"

Now the tone had moved beyond insistent. And to matter of fact statements. Stronger. "I have to go back. There's someone there we have to get."

With what Isabelle had told Bess, absolute terror gripped her. "Who?"

"There's a friend. She has to get out. She's really sick. She's not going to make it if we don't go back and get her!" Emma's eyes weren't pleading. Weren't begging. No. They were resolved. As if her insistence of returning to a place where she'd been so desperately hurt was a normal reaction. "She's an American. A journalist. Lea Naples."

Bess knew the name sounded familiar. Something from State.

But the mother inside Bess refused to allow Emma to even consider that. "I will have someone look into that, Em." Then she leaned closer to the girl, "But right now, we've got to focus on getting you better."

Emma shook her head, and defiance met Bess' gaze. "No." She said through pierced lips. "You have to send someone now. She's going to die if I'm not there to help her."

Bess felt horror shoot through her body as she watched Emma reach over and pull away the blankets away from her body – and Emma groaned as she tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed, "I have to show them how to get there! She needs me!"

And without thought, Bess jumped to her feet. Heels snapping against the floor. "No!" Bess shot out. "You are not going back there."

And where Bess thought Emma might be a little bit taken off guard, Emma actually sat there, on the bed, holding her stomach from the pain – but stared and met Bess' gaze. And she said, "What about her parents? Don't they deserve to have the same thing you have right now? They're never going to know what happened to her if we don't get her out!" As Emma now was sitting in the bed, the machines began to sound alarms all around them.

And in rushed the nurses. And doctors.

One ran over to Emma's side, "You need to lay back down."

"I have to go." Emma said, trying to pull away from the nurse trying to get Emma's legs back in bed."

Another nurse ran to the machine. "Blood pressure going up."

And the doctor stood in the door and said, "You just got out of abdominal surgery. You need to rest."

And an almost manic Emma ripped her hand away from the nurse, "I can't rest right now!" With her voice escalation, she began to push herself to her feet. "She needs me!"

"Oxygen levels dropping." Another nurse called out.

The whole scene began playing out in front of Bess. And she tried to urge Emma, "Just get back in bed, put your head down, and I'll put the best team on it." Instinctually, she reached down, and rested her hand heavily on Emma's shoulder, keeping her in the bed. "You need to rest…"

With the speed of something that Bess had never seen coming, Emma grabbed Bess' wrist, and squeezed hard. And through clenched teeth, she snarled, "Just like you came to find me?! Another four years?!"

The doctor moved behind to the IV stand and pulled something out of his pocket.

But Bess focused on her daughter, who now had her wrist in a vice grip. "Emma, we're…"

Tighter now. "She can't make it that long!" Emma yelled out. "!"

Bess tried to pull her wrist away from Emma, but the girl dug her nails down into Bess' skin. And the fire in Emma's eyes scared Bess. Something that she'd never seen before. Like an animal on the hunt. Ready to attack. And with the other hand that had been circled around her stomach, Emma clawed out and grabbed Bess' shirt, pulling Bess closer. "I HAVE TO GET HER!" Emma now screamed.

"Let go, Emma." She tried to reason. But inside, Bess was terrified. Because this wasn't… wasn't her Emma. This wasn't what Emma would ever…

Then.

"Tarakatni wahidana!" The Arabic came. "'iinah khutuk!"

Then Bess saw the anger and madness change in Emma's eyes – change from anger to fear. And her grip didn't release, but relaxed, and the nurses pulled her back to the bed.

Bess saw whatever drugs that the doctor had injected into the IV now beganto take their effect. But still Emma held on, even as her eyelids began to close. And her voice quieted. But she whispered, "Tarakatni wahidana!" and then again as her hands released Bess' hands, Bess could barely hear the last "Tarakatni wahidana" before the girl fell into a drug induced sleep.

Bess' entire body shook from the shock – and she stepped back away from the scene, walking to the corner of the room, wrapping her arms around her waist. She heard the doctor explain to Henry about the drugs that he'd given Emma. That right now she was probably going to respond irrationally – sometimes even the anesthetic caused reactions like this. But that they would keep her on that for a while, to ensure that in a manic episode like the one that had just happened, that Emma didn't injure herself any further until she'd healed from her surgery.

But Bess refused to turn around – she knew if she looked at her daughter's face, her body there – the wounds and differences in her body – that Bess would crumble.

And right now she needed time. Bess needed time for the words to sink in. She needed time for her mind to interrogate her. Needed that absolute pain. Needed to let the guilt scream at her in her mind. Needed to feel the pain that she should've felt before.

Bess just struggled to breathe, to keep her composure despite the tears that flew down her face. She wouldn't sob. The doctor and the nurses soon left the room after they ensured that Emma was secured in her bed.

Then she felt Henry behind her. She shook her head. "Please, Henry."

He would tell her that it wasn't her fault. That things would get better. That Emma was just a bit loopy from the drugs. He would try and make her feel better.

And right then, she craved the feeling of absolute internal destruction.

He just quietly asked, "What did she say?"

Bess bit her lip. And she tried to speak. Without it cracking. She knew she couldn't lie to him. He knew she was fluent in Arabic. He knew she understood.

"Elizabeth?" His voice, so caring. So ready to bring her in and whisper to her that she would be ok. That it wasn't her fault. All she had to do was turn around, and he'd bring her in, holding her close.

Instead of turning, she looked down at her wrist, covered in fingernail marks with blood filling the lines of hatred from her daughter that Bess could now feel in her body. "'Tarakatni wahidana' means 'you left me alone.'" Bess shifted on her feet, the tiny two clicks of her heels like knives to her ears. And Bess could barely breathe out the words, "' 'iinah khutuk' means… 'It's your fault.'"