Here's another chapter! I PROMISE there will be less heavy chapters - I promise. I wanted to get this one out of the way - but there's a long way to go. Thanks so much for all you who read and review! Let me know what you think!


Elizabeth could feel the tension from the moment that Henry walked in the door to the Oval.

"I know it's late…" She protested, quickly covering the files on her desk. The files with pictures and names. Pictures from the compound – reconnaissance from the team they'd sent in to investigate. "Work just kept me late," she lied, hating herself the minute she did.

Henry stood against the doorframe, looking at her with knowledge of her that even she couldn't understand. His arms crossed over his chest, glasses in hand, just watching her.

She leaned back in her chair, shifting her eyes from her husband to the wall next to him.

And there they stayed.

Elizabeth tried to get the pictures out of her head. Of bodies. A little boy, no older than three, contorted on floor of the compound, a bullet through his forehead. Two girls, roughly the same age – only toddlers – huddled together in the corner, the pool of blood surrounding them bigger than their bodies.

Those stuck with her more than the others, but they were close. Seven or eight adults, mostly women clutching their own children, slaughtered. Execution style. Gone.

She tried to speak, but couldn't. Her mouth moved, but nothing came.

Henry spoke first, "She's sleeping right now."

Elizabeth nodded.

She could hear the uncomfortable tone in his voice, "She asked about you."

Her breath caught in her chest, and she willed away the flood of emotion that was building. And succeeded in pressing it down for a moment. And presidential nature came to her with surprising ease, "I've been dealing with so much here, with the investigation into the election fraud and the ESI bill's pushback…"

She still couldn't meet his eyes as she heard him walk over to the chair next to her desk.

"I'm not using it as an excuse, Henry, it's not like I have the easiest job in the world…" She argued, although she didn't know against whom. "Senator Hanson's out for blood, and after what I had to do with Daisy, I just feel that I'm needed…"

She stopped the minute his hand reached across at touched hers. His calming, present touch – one she recognized part the nerve endings. One she felt in her soul.

By the time she could look up, the flood was threatening her yet again. She swallowed hard, finally meeting his gaze.

In his eyes, she saw his deep understanding. His pushing through her bullshit answers.

And she bit her lips together to keep the flood away, like a dam that she was sure would hold it back. Keep her from falling apart – she'd done it all day – what was another hour or so?

And he simply whispered, "Elizabeth, Ellen showed me the pictures too."

"What?" She breathlessly asked, "But those are classified… how…"

"Excuse me," He said jokingly, "I was read in on this thing from the beginning."

Something welled up – but it wasn't tears. It was anger. And it came out in her tone as she pulled her hand away, "This was intel from an extremely classified mission, Henry." She stiffened her back, "Ellen had no business going outside of her jurisdiction to…"

"Wait a minute" Henry interrupted, "She delivered them to me in person. It's not like I'm just some uninvolved party in the whole thing."

Something coursed through her entire body, and she couldn't sit any longer. She pushed away from the desk and turned to look out the glorious window. "I'm sorry, but we're dealing here with absolutely sensitive information – information" her voice escalated, frustration flying from her mouth, "that keeps falling into the wrong hands. We can't get one step ahead of these people. Whoever they are." And she turned back again to her husband, "I don't know where this is coming from – all our leads are dead. We seem to get to witnesses or information just a few hours behind whoever did this."

Henry snapped back at her, "You're mad because I have the same information that you have?"

"Information that keeps getting into the wrong hands!" She said loudly.

"And you've come to the conclusion that I'm the leak?"

"No, of course not! But if people give out this information willy-nilly…"

"She's MY DAUGHTER!" He yelled.

Elizabeth took pause. Because they shouldn't have thought anything other than he was right. Having read him into the entire situation, having information about the case, knowing his expertise in the field… Ellen hadn't been wrong to show him.

But then the whole paternity thing just seemed to cloud everything. Because in her heart, she knew Henry really was Emma's father – growing up with him as her father – he loved her like a father – there was nothing he wouldn't do for her – Elizabeth never doubted that.

"So, since you didn't know that I had the pictures of the compound, how long until you were going to tell me." He snapped.

Now she turned away from him. The minute she did, she knew it conveyed guilt. "I don't know." She bit back.

Henry stood up, and Elizabeth could tell from his quick words that he was angry. "We've got a girl in there who is barely making it through! I know you're trying to run the whole country, damn even the whole world, and I know you've got things on your mind…" He took a breath, "But we can't do this, Elizabeth. You can't keep things from me that you don't have to. Especially when it comes to Emma. She needs everything from us, and I know that you're trying to do both and that's ok. But…" he ran out of breath again, and he quieted down, "She needs us both, and I can cover for you for when necessary, but you can't avoid her…" And he said, "Her first two days here in the White House and she hasn't even seen you…"

And with the only person who could take it – with the only one in her life who she could convey this to, Elizabeth finally came clean. And she whirled around, her guilt driving the mad anger that coursed through each word, "How in the fucking hell am I supposed to go and comfort our daughter when I've seen these, Henry?" She held up the pictures. "How the fuck can I be there for her when I know that she was probably with these children? That she probably knows their names?" The flood began to leak just a bit, "How can I go and hold her knowing that I have no idea who took her from me in the first place?" Her voice quieted just a bit as she tried to keep from crying. Her body turned on itself, and she hugged her arms around her chest, "How, Henry, do I go in there and help her through something when I have nothing to give her? No justice. No retribution. Nothing. Just bodies of children and people she probably knew. All dead before we got there."

And her shoulders began to shake, and she bit her lip trying to stay strong. But the minute Henry's arms were around her, she buried her head into his shoulder, and the strength she'd mustered fell away. Shrinking away – having broken – shattered.

And she just shook her head against him and said, "I couldn't protect her – and I can't now…"

Henry held her while she cried, his breathing unsteady and jumpy as hers – and she wondered if she stopped crying if she would hear his own quiet tears.

"I want to see."

Elizabeth jumped, and felt Henry as well as they both turned to look at the door.

Emma stood there – still so different from the Emma that Elizabeth remembered. She wore sweatpants and a T-shirt she'd borrowed from either Stevie or Allison – and even they swallowed up Emma's emaciated frame. Her hair hung loose down over her shoulders. But Emma's piercing blue eyes drilled into Elizabeth.

And Emma repeated, "Let me see."

Elizabeth shook her head, but her voice wouldn't work. She tried to say no, that this wasn't the right time. But nothing came out. Nothing.

Henry's voice cleared through Elizabeth's tunnel vision. "Emma, it's late – we can talk about it tomorrow…"

But this tall, beautiful girl standing there seemed a statue. Unmoving. And she shook her head. "No. I want to see them."

"Emma, b…" Elizabeth caught herself before saying 'baby,' "They're classified, and…"

"Did you kill them?" Emma's words flew across the room as she took steps closer to Elizabeth and Henry. In the moment that Elizabeth tried to get the words out, Emma continued, "Did you do it?" Elizabeth shook her head through the tears, "Did you have them killed because you thought that…"

"Emma, your mother sent SEALS in there to get information…"

"But did you order that they be killed?"

Elizabeth shook her head, "No, I sent a team in to get information – and find the journalist that…"

Elizabeth was just trying to recover – to assure her daughter that she had nothing to do with these senseless murders. And she was just trying to convince Emma – so much so that she didn't recognize the distraction tactic Emma was using. Making Elizabeth feel defensive, making Elizabeth step away from her desk.

Because before Elizabeth knew it, Emma made a grab for the photographs on her desk. Her fingers grabbed the stack of photos.

"Emma, NO!" Henry yelled out, reaching over to grab Emma's arm, but he missed.

And Elizabeth jumped too, in terror reaching out and grasping Emma's tshirt, "Emma, NO! Those aren't…."

Emma whirled around, and would've sent an elbow into her jaw if Elizabeth hadn't been CIA trained. "Let…" Emma wrestled against Elizabeth's grasp, pushing her hand into Elizabeth's chest, "Me go!" She grunted out.

Elizabeth reached for the photographs in Emma's hand, and Emma tossed them away. But Emma continued to struggle with her, grabbing her wrist and squeezing, balling her fist up.

Instinctually, Elizabeth began to descalate, turning Emma to face away from her, despite the furious movements and punches that Emma began to throw her way. With Emma's back to Elizabeth's chest, she wrapped her arms to link around Emma's chest, holding a now seizing child still screaming, "Let me go! Let me go!"

And then it stopped.

Emma stopped struggling.

Both of them were breathing hard. Out of breath.

Elizabeth felt Emma's body seem to go limp, and she sheltered Emma, still in her grasp, to the ground, holding Emma against her chest.

Then Elizabeth saw the photos, strewn about the floor by Emma's feet.

And the body in her arms began to shake. Elizabeth could feel her daughter breaking in her arms. Wrapped in her arms where it should be safe – a mother should be a safe place. Instead, Elizabeth held her daughter in a hold, like in combat, while her daughter looked at pictures of bloody corpses.

And the cry that came from Emma was one that felt familiar. Elizabeth knew the cry of utter grief, the wrenching cry that seemed to start in the pit of hell where only atrocities like this must have began.

Knowing that struggling was pointless now, she let Emma go – and watched as her daughter sat on her knees, her fingers feeling over each picture like she could still feel the children's hands in her own. Each picture.

Emma's body began to rock back and forth, tears of agony falling down her face onto the pictures – onto her fingers.

Out of breath, Elizabeth sat there on her knees behind Emma. Watching yet another injury that she'd caused on her daughter break her yet again.

Names. Things that Elizabeth didn't have when looking at the faces.

Names began to flow from Emma with each picture. Each adult picture – names – quietly.

The little boy, "Danush." Emma touched two of her fingers to her lips, and touched the face of the little boy, "Allah yarhamo"

May God have mercy on him. The grief in front of Elizabeth tore at her.

Elizabeth looked at Henry, who looked as stunned and broken as she felt.

"Azizah." She touched the picture of the twins, "Afra."

"allah yarhamuhum"

May God have mercy on them.

To hear her daughter grieve and give blessings in Arabic was enough to break Elizabeth.

And then Elizabeth heard the words. Said over deep tears – quietly – broken.

"'atamanaa 'an tarqud bisalam, 'ayuha alhulu."

May you rest in peace, sweet ones.