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As Bess scoured through the news article after news article about her daughter – the "American Princess" – suddenly returned, she felt panic begin to rise throughout her entire body. It was as if tension began taking over her limbs, and she could see the screen shaking in her hand as she scrolled.

"Who leaked this…" She asked, looking over the edge of her glasses to find her chief of staff looking into Emma's room.

"Bess…" He said, "I think you may…"

Turning, Bess looked into the room to see Henry sitting in his chair, looking like he was on a roller coaster that was about to plunge over a cliff with no end in sight. His hands dug into the metal arms of the chair. His eyes darted between the television and Emma.

Emma simply sat there, watching the TV as if she were watching simply something entertaining. And, if Bess had first seen her daughter, she never would've dreamed that something was wrong.

But Henry caught her eye through the glass, and motioned his head for her to come in.

Pulling her glasses off her face, Bess slowly turned the handle and heard the newscaster in the background.

"… McCord's motorcade has been seen outside Walter Reid Hospital. No statement has been released from the President's office as of right now, but we are sure that is forthcoming…"

Bess shifted her gaze from Emma to Henry. Henry still hadn't spoken.

But Emma simply said, "Look, we're on the news."

Bess tried to keep her voice from shaking, but she knew the words came out with as little weight as they could, "Emma, could we turn that off so we can talk?"

Emma shook her head, never removing her eyes from the screen, "This is good stuff."

Confusion latched onto every fiber of Bess' understanding. And she turned to Henry, who shrugged his shoulders.

"Em, I really need to talk…"

The interruption from her daughter was both nonchalant and insistent. "We can talk when this is over." Then she laughed, "It's not every day that I get to see my young face plastered all over every news channel."

Bess wondered where the popcorn was, because the way that her daughter was handling this was like a young teenager sitting in a movie theatre, irritated that her mother was making noise and interrupting the movie.

But Bess was not one to be put off in such a manner. "Emma, turn it off."

Emma didn't move her head, but she moved her eyes to connect with Bess'. And there, in that moment, Bess saw something she recognized quite well. Something she'd been trained to look for. Something that all agents had drilled into them.

The look of power.

She'd been trained to see it in operatives. In the interrogation room. In the field looking over the remains of bodies to find the onlooker who really was responsible.

But to see it in her own daughter. It shook Bess down to her core.

Because in the split second since she'd read the articles and seen the headlines, Bess had known she would again take an apologetic role. She would have to apologize to her daughter for their misleading – or rather, and Emma would surely classify it – their lies. She would have to answer questions about her infidelity. About her relationship with Conrad after the fact. About Henry's reaction to it. She'd be accused of being a loose woman. She was prepared to be humbled.

But she wasn't prepared for a power struggle.

It wasn't until she heard Emma start to whine that Bess was pulled out of her reverie. Henry must've used the bit distraction to grab the remote. And switched it off.

"HEY!" Emma protested, "I was watching…"

"Your mother wants to talk to you." He said simply. Then he pulled the remote attached to the hospital bed and unplugged it. He took a deep breath, "There. Now we all can have a conversation."

Emma just stared ahead at the blank screen. She bit the bottom of her lip.

Bess swallowed, amazed that her mouth could be so dry in such a short time. And she said, "Emma, I'm sorry that you had to see that before I could talk with you…" Whatever had just happened, Bess wanted to come at the situation with care and grace. Walking over, she sat down on the bed carefully, understanding how Emma kept her eyes trained away from her. "But as you heard, there's…"

Emma's voice interrupted her, a voice no longer of a child. Her voice held gravity. Weight. And without making eye contact with Bess, Emma said, "I was the most important captive. Those men did everything they could to ensure I was degraded."

Bess' lips began to quiver. She knew what Isabelle told her. Her stomach turned in revulsion. Her hand against the bed clenched into a fist.

"I was nothing more than a political pawn in a power struggle." Emma said, with absolutely no emotion behind her. As if she didn't understand that she was absolutely destroying Bess with each word. "So of course this was thrown at me immediately."

Bess found some words. The only thing she could muster. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry."

Now Emma held her gaze. Captivated it. And what Bess saw scared her more than the guilt that tore at her. Bess saw the emotionless depth behind this person's eyes. And with a clipped tone, Emma said, "I'm not your baby anymore."

It might've been easier if Emma had slapped her. Bess recoiled inside as if she had.

"And while I know that you only lied to me my whole life to protect me, I still sat there in that cell as they paraded headline after headline from America in front of me – taunting me with my political and scandalous birth. And…" Emma held Bess' gaze. "There's nothing like the power they had over me, gladly taking me as the spoils in a war against their political rival."

Bess couldn't hold her gaze any longer, and she closed her eyes, wincing at the horrific pictures that came to her mind.

She felt Henry's hand on her knee, but she couldn't open her eyes. She couldn't face her daughter.

"I've lived through hell." Emma continued, "And I don't want to be treated like a child."

Then it was silence. So thick Bess wondered if that was why she was having trouble breathing. She didn't know what to say even if she could speak. She couldn't apologize. She couldn't appease her guilt. She couldn't attempt to comfort her daughter. She couldn't speak. Instead she looked up at Henry. She begged him to give her the strength. To confront what her actions and choices had cost her innocent daughter. She searched for any words. She pled with him for anything.

And he tried to find them. She could tell his hesitation. As the words came softly. "Emma, your mother and I know that things have changed." Then he backtracked, "I mean, I don't even think 'change' is enough of a word to describe it." Bess glanced at Emma, who had turned her head away from both of them. "And we know that this isn't going to be easy. But we're going to…"

"When can I meet him?" Emma asked, but it really was more of a statement. "Conrad?"

Bess jumped in her seat. And panic grabbed at her. And Henry recoiled just a bit.

And Emma just let that sit in the room. "I'm not trying to be mean." Emma softened. And Bess immediately seized on the bit of a sweet child she might recognize. "I am not going to talk about what happened. I lived it. And it's over."

Bess understood, at least a tiny bit. After Iran, she knew that feeling of needing to keep going, not to acknowledge the trauma. It felt too powerful. "Emma, I know it's going to take time. And I can't imagine what you've been through. And I don't ever want you to feel you have to tell us everything… But we want to help you…"

But now Emma just stared ahead. For minutes that ticked by.

Henry exchanged concern with Bess, and piped up, "Emma, we want what's best for you."

Continuing to stare ahead, Emma simply said, "I don't want to talk anymore." Emma painfully turned over in her bed, with her back to both of them.

The conversation was just over. Bess opened her mouth to urge Emma to continue. Or to assure Emma that they were there when she needed to talk. Or to assuage her own conscience.

But Henry touched her knee, and shook his head.

"I'd like to be alone." Emma stated.