ENJOY - THANKS FOR REVIEWING. THIS ONE IS A BIT DEEPER. AND HOPEFULLY ANSWERS AND CREATES QUESTIONS.


"… with the foreign dignitaries here for the State dinner on Friday…"

Elizabeth took her job seriously. Who would just shrug off the duties of President when sitting in the Oval Office, the Resolute desk holding important information, the seal of the President under foot? Each morning, she attempted to come into the office with a singular focus: preserving the dignity and honor of America. From meeting with heads of state, to conferences on human rights, Elizabeth felt the weight of her office each time she stepped into the office.

But sometimes – more lately, but sometimes – she was a bit distracted.

Today was one of those days.

She was trying to listen to Russell's agenda for the day, with Daisy interjecting about PR moves and Jay indicating his own opinions in there as well.

But her mind was elsewhere.

So much so that when Blake even minutely opened the door, she at up and waited for him to say what she'd been passing the morning for.

"Ma'am, you wanted me to let you know when the…"

She shut the folder of something she couldn't remember on her desk, and stood up. "Will you guys just excuse me for a moment?"

Daisy objected, "Ma'am, we do need to discuss the optics for the …"

Elizabeth held up her hand, and assured her Press Secretary, "I promise I'll just be right back. There's just something I have to do."

For once, she was thankful she'd told Russell of her plans, because she couldn't put up with arguments this morning. Rushing out the door, she met Henry in the corridor.

As they walked to the carport entrance at the Residence, Elizabeth reached for his hand. Instinctually. She needed some of his assurance.

And he just squeezed a bit, and she could feel the nervousness in his own touch – she recognized it from her own.

"Henry, are we sure this is what we should've done?" She asked, suddenly aware of how fast they were walking.

Henry's voice was both sure and hesitant. "Saying 'no' would've been the wrong decision."

"So we're sure that saying 'yes' was the right decision?"

They reached the foyer, and he grabbed her other hand, making her look at him. And as his eyes found hers, she gobbled up the bit of certainty he had. "Babe, we both told her if this was something she wanted to do, we would support her."

And as she gazed into the eyes of the most forgiving and gentle man she'd ever known, she asked, "And, Henry, are we ok?"

He leaned forward and placed a comforting kiss on her lips, then he whispered, "I'm not going anywhere."

She leaned her head against his, reveling the scent of his cologne, and the solid nature of his confidence.

Then she stepped back, took a deep breath, and said, "Then let's go."

They opened the door to the waiting area where the cars would pick them up. On one of the benches, Emma sat, mindlessly playing with what they both had become accustomed to calling their daughter's shadow – the cat. Unlike her normal long-sleeved shirt, overalls, and converse shoes, today Emma wore a long sleeved dress, light flower print, that came to her knees, where gray tights and ballerina flats finished the look. Elizabeth wouldn't have noticed it except for where Emma was going – apparently she wanted to look different than she normally would.

Elizabeth tried to brush off that knowledge.

Henry spoke first, "Bringing Zazu with you?"

Emma looked up, pushing her curls away from her eyes to look at them. Then she smiled.

She smiled just a bit. Which, since it wasn't the one-hour Monday night cease-fire they'd agreed upon, made Elizabeth smile. At least she wasn't about to get yelled at by her daughter. At least not right then.

"I couldn't just leave him here alone." Emma said, playfully wiggling her fingers in front of the calm-as-could-be cat. "Plus he's kind of a son of a bitch when I'm gone."

With any of the other kids, Elizabeth would've balked at the language usage. But today, she was just glad the b word wasn't directed at her.

Then, Emma, sensing the situation, said, "You didn't have to come and see me off. I know it's…"

Elizabeth interrupted, "I just wanted to tell you…" she stepped forward towards Emma, glad when her daughter didn't recoil, "… that I'm so proud of you."

Emma stood up, her face showing her surprise. "What? Really?"

Elizabeth laughed and walked closer. "You're so brave. And I wanted you to know that."

"Thanks, Mom." Emma said. Then Emma stepped closer, and reached out for a hug.

Elizabeth moved faster than she thought possible for humans, wrapping her arms around her daughter. Emma nestled her head under Elizabeth's neck, and Elizabeth tried to hold onto the feeling of her daughter in her arms. She could feel Emma's body slightly shaking underneath her. But she still held on. And it wasn't until Emma's grip loosened that Elizabeth regretfully relaxed her hug on her. Not before whispering, "I love you."

"I love you too, Mom." Emma said, smiling up at her.

Elizabeth was so overcome with gladness at her daughter's welcome embrace that she didn't notice Emma go up to Henry and give him a hug as well.

But she did hear the words from her youngest daughter. "You know I just have to do this, right, Dad?"

Henry looked at Elizabeth, the look on his face not matching the words he spoke. He looked pained and regretful. But his words sounded supportive and loving. "Of course I do, Em."

When she stepped away, Emma looked between the two of them, and said, "Ground rules are still a thing."

"Of course." Elizabeth said, "Today was just…"

Emma nodded, "I needed to break some rules today." Then, as the security detail pulled the car up, Emma said, "I think that's me."

Elizabeth resisted the urge to call off the car and say no to the whole thing. They wouldn't blame her. It was too soon. There was still too much to work through. This was not the next step. It couldn't be. Not now. Not when things were good. And if it hadn't have been for Henry's hand on her shoulder, she would have.

But instead, she said, "We'll be here when you get home, ok?"

She said the "ok?" part to make sure Emma knew. That they were here. And would always be here. She wondered if Emma could sense that her parents needed her to come home.

Emma nodded. Then got into the car, the cat joyfully following behind. Then the security agent closed the car door. And Elizabeth grasped for Henry's hand on her shoulder, begging herself to be strong.

Then the window rolled down, and Emma said, "Bye!"

They both waved until the car was out of sight. Smiles plastered on their faces until they were sure she couldn't see them anymore.

And then Elizabeth let one tear after the other fall. And she turned to Henry, shaking her head, and said, "There is no way this was the right decision."

Henry held her, and she could feel the tension in his body that matched hers. And he said, "She'll be back tonight. We'll be ok."

"Will she?" Elizabeth breathlessly asked.


"If you think a sixteen-year-old girl wants to hear your acoustic guitar songs for children, you're mistaken."

Conrad should've taken the slamming cabinet doors and clanking dishes as the sign he'd been waiting for. Setting the guitar aside, he walked into the kitchen, where his wife was furiously moving from one cabinet to the other, pulling things out and putting things back over and over again.

"Lydia…" He tried to calm her.

"Don't 'Lydia' me." She snapped back.

He made a mental note not to use his wife's name for the foreseeable future, then he tried again, "Is there anything I can help you with?"

She wouldn't turn towards him. "How about not invite your love child over for …" Then she turned and held up a box of cookies and a box of tea and then pointed to the juice on the counter, "I don't even know what for? Cookies and milk? Juice? Tea? What exactly is this?"

"It wasn't my idea." Conrad said.

She glared at him, "What wasn't your idea? Inviting her over or fucking her mother?"

"I thought we'd worked through this, Lydia." He argued, "It's been four years since you found out. Russell contacted me and said that she wanted to set up a time to meet me. I asked you. You said that it would be fine."

She turned away from him. "Fine. It's fine."

Frustration tore at him. "I'm nervous too, Lydia. I haven't met this kid, I mean, I've met her, but not under the umbrella of meeting my daughter."

"I also don't understand why I have to be here." His wife said, placing cookies roughly onto the plate. "It's not like I had anything to do with this anyway."

He struggled to know what to say. Perhaps like the day it had hit the news. What else was there to say? An apology had been said, but was it really being sorry when he'd just gotten caught? They'd worked through things the way they did. They just didn't talk about it. Ever. They'd developed separate lives. But today, they had to acknowledge things and it wasn't easy.

"Well, maybe if you…"

His wife interrupted him, slamming a cookie down onto the plate, "And, by the way, what exactly does she want from this whole thing?" She turned around, her eyes fiery with anger, "Does she want to come in here and have a reunion and us realize that we're all one big happy family that can just get over what happened and she'll spend every other weekend with us here?" She stopped and took a breath. Then said, "I just don't want to do this."

He understood that completely. He'd contemplated calling Russell and cancelling the whole thing since he'd agreed. Not only for Lydia, but for him. It wasn't like he was the good guy in the situation.

He tried to calm his voice, "I don't know what she's wanting. But it's the first I've heard from her since she was rescued, and I think I at least owe her the courtesy of hearing her out once."

They stared at each other for a few seconds.

Then she nodded, and said, "I'm not playing the part of step-mom here. She's here to talk to you. And, sure, I'll be there, but I'm not about to hide my feelings on the issue."

He knew what she meant. She wasn't going to bite her tongue. And, as the doorbell rang, he just asked, "Just be nice. Please?"

She didn't acknowledge him, so he walked down the long hallway and stood in front of the door. He took a deep breath, reminding himself to calm down and not think too much about it. Then he opened the door.

And there she was.

Standing there was not what he expected. Somehow, the last thing he'd seen of her was getting off the plane, being medically rushed from the tarmac. And before that, she was just a small, bright eyed child that brought fear of discovery every time he saw her.

But here, she looked so grown up. Knee-length dress. Hair tucked perfectly behind her ears. Light lipstick on.

He found his voice and said, "Emma, come in."

He stepped aside, holding the door open for her, and just about closed it until what looked to be a cat came wandering in behind her.

Startled, he looked at Emma, who, seeing his reaction, simply said, "He comes with me everywhere."

"Well, that works." He could hear how stupid it sounded. Then he wiped his hands on his jeans before extending it, "It's nice to…"

"I'm not going to shake your hand." She said plainly. "We both know this is weird. Shaking hands makes it feel like a business deal. Which. Yeah."

His mouth dropped open, and then he snapped it closed. "Your wit reminds me of your Mom."

"Weird." She said, then turned to look at the space around her. And Conrad wished he could slap himself. He wanted to calm down and be a good host – but then, host wasn't exactly the persona that this interaction deserved.

Trying to find neutral ground, he gestured into the living room, and then asked, "So, what's the cat's name?"

"Zazu." She said, then smiled as the cat jumped up on the couch. She went to sit next to him, and then explained, "Jason and I were watching the Lion King..."

Wanting to show he knew something, he said, "That's the movie that's based on Hamlet, right?"

"Probably." She said, then continued, "And the bird that was the king's helper and who constantly bugged Simba – his name was Zazu. And he reminded us of Russell. So when Russell gave me the kitten, that was his name."

"Russell?" Conrad incredulously asked as he sat down on the chair across from Emma. "Russell gave you that cat?"

Emma nodded. "He did."

She sat on the couch, the cat curled up next to her. Her feet flat on the ground, her hands folded in her lap. And Conrad noticed the way she folded her right hand over her left.

"Dad told me you saw the video." She said as she held up her gnarled hand. And Conrad remembered the first sign of life video they'd gotten. And he nodded, unsure of whether to look at it or at her face. He ended up going back and forth between the two.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and Lydia walked out. Emma quickly put her hand back on her lap, quietly covering her hand in the folds of her dress.

Conrad jumped up to help Lydia with the tray, that was full of cookies and crumbs, some glasses of milk, and a pot of what smelled like coffee.

"Thank you." She said, handing the tray to him, and as he set it down on the coffee table, she smiled at Emma. "It's nice to see you again, Emma."

Better than what he'd thought she would say right away.

And Emma politely said, "Nice to see you again as well."

Then Lydia noticed the cat, and her wide eyes met Conrad's, before she said, "I see you brought your own entertainment?"

Emma's smile didn't move. "He's part of my security team." Then she chuckled. "He's really good at protecting me from bad fish."

"I see." Lydia said, her face still plastered with the smile. It was better than the snide remarks Conrad was sure were bubbling under the surface.

Trying to pull the conversation away from the cat, he asked, "Emma, would you like milk or coffee?"

"I'm good, thank you." She said, forced politeness on her face.

He wondered if it was her removal from American society that made her interactions feel socially awkward, or if it was simply the situation they were all in. But he said, "Ok, well if you change your mind."

She nodded.

And then they were all three sitting in their living room. And it was silent for a bit. Lydia played with the embroidery on the arms of her chair. Conrad found himself interested in the way his shoes were tied. What was he supposed to say? How was he…

"So I know this is weird…" Emma started. He looked at her and saw she was focused on him. "And I know I'm not exactly the person you would want to see."

He looked. He looked hard. Trying to find something in her face that resembled him. From the way her eyebrows moved when she blinked to the turn of her nose – anything. But he couldn't see it. Maybe give it time.

Lydia sat still.

"I think this was bound to be an uncomfortable situation, regardless of when we had this talk." He agreed. "But I am glad you reached out."

Emma lightly bit her lip, and Conrad watched as she absentmindedly ran her right hand over the cat's fur, and how quickly she tucked her left hand under her dress.

Assuming the responsibility, Conrad said, "I'm sure you have questions for me. I just want you to know I'm open to whatever you want to know."

She nodded. Then, like she'd rehearsed it, she said, "I just have two questions." Then she swallowed and, in a stoic, passionless voice, asked, "Do you regret anything about me?"

Conrad had expected hard questions. But not this.

And he looked over at Lydia to maybe find some support, but she'd raised her eyebrows, enjoying watching him sweat. And he took a deep breath and turned again to Emma. "I do." He said.

While he was pausing to think, Emma just jumped in, "What?"

"Well," He started, "I regret not having a security detail on you that day." When no follow up questions came, he tried to clarify, wishing he'd not asked Lydia to be there. "If I had done that, things wouldn't have happened."

Emma looked at him, and questioned, "That's what you regret?"

"And not having you as part of my life." He added, feeling like the jackass he sounded like. "I was afraid of what people would think, and I didn't think about what it would mean to you."

She seemed almost satisfied with the answer. An answer that if someone gave it to Conrad, he would be waiting for more. But she nodded, as if signaling that was enough.

"How are you getting accustomed to life back in America?" The question came from Lydia, and Conrad was happy that it wasn't a rude question.

Emma looked up, a forced smile on her face, "I mean, if you can call the White House a good representation of American life, then, it's rather mediocre."

Conrad chuckled, "Harrison would agree with you."

"Your son." She stated, more as a question than the statement.

Happy to have something to talk about other than his failures, he said, "Yes. Actually his picture is right on the table beside you." He pointed the picture out, one of Harrison and his girlfriend. Emma turned and looked at it. "That's Alex, his girlfriend. And they're pregnant. We're expecting our first grandchild."

Emma looked at the picture, but Conrad could see her eyebrows raise when he talked about grandchildren.

They Lydia said, "I guess that would make the baby your step-niece or nephew? Right?"

"No, I wouldn't call it that." Emma said plainly. "I don't think we're there."

"I guess that brings up a good question." Lydia started, and when Conrad started to interrupt her to calm the situation down, she ignored him, "What exactly do you want from this whole thing? Like, are you looking for a second family? Maybe a silent donor to a college fund? Or… just something to hold over his head? What is it?"

Despite Lydia's voice getting louder and more hostile, Emma waited for her to finish, and then broke out it short laughter. Then she shook her head in amazement, and, with a haunting smile, she said, "What makes you think I want anything? I don't really care about you and your family."

Even Conrad, who wanted to make this a calm situation, tried not to take offense. But that was hard, and he asked, "What do you mean? You are the one who asked for this meeting?"

Emma tucked her hair behind her left ear before she answered. Taking her time. Planned. "I just needed to see for myself." She paused, watching Conrad's face. Then she continued, "Since I found about you and my mom, I had two questions. And I knew if I didn't ask those questions, the 'what ifs' would've been suffocating. That's all I wanted."

"So you're not going to call us up in ten years when you're low on money? Or when you decide you want to write a tell-all and invent us to be something we aren't?" Lydia asked.

Emma turned her eyes to Lydia, and she narrowed them. And said, "I don't care enough about you to even know your number. How will I call you up?"

Lydia pursed her lips, and then stood up. Looking at Conrad, she said, "I'll be upstairs. Let me know when you're done."

Then she was gone.

And Emma sat there. Not shaken or anything.

And Conrad, trying again, said, "Are you sure you don't want a cookie? They're peanut butter."

She shook her head. "I'm really good, thank you."

He sat back, wanting this to be over as much as Lydia did.

"I did have one other question." She said.

"Please." He urged, welcoming even a horribly weird question compared to the silence. "Ask anything."

She took a breath, and asked, "What changed about your life when they published the story about you and my mom?"

Maybe it was living in captivity for so long. Or maybe it was just a precocious teenager. Whatever it was, Conrad really wished she knew a more tactful way to ask things. But, he figured, once he got this over with, there could be sometime between when they would have to talk again.

"Well, I hadn't told Lydia about it. So that was one of the first things it affected." He remembered. "She was so embarrassed. Humiliated even. She didn't get out of bed for weeks."

Emma listened intently.

"And of course, my approval ratings sunk. Which made my ability to do my job, to get anything legislative passed practically impossible."

Still she just sat there.

So he continued. "And then, of course, your mother resigned. Which left me trying to find someone to replace her."

It looked like she was waiting for something. He searched for another answer. Something that was connected to her in some way. "My son wouldn't speak to me for a few weeks. So I had to work on that, on my marriage, and keeping my presidency going."

He couldn't think of anything else. And he sat there.

"But there is one thing I want to say, Emma." He started, the words coming faster and faster. "While I may not have been a part of your life, I want you to know that I always considered you my child." She didn't move. "I knew it would be better for you to grow up with your Mom and Henry. There was no better family for you than that one. But I thought of you often."

She stared at him, her blue eyes piercing him, pushing him to finish what he was saying, "And when you were kidnapped, Emma, I fell apart. It might not have looked like it, because of course, to the world you were just the Secretary of State's daughter. And I couldn't let on that it was anything else. And when we thought you were dead, Emma, it wrecked me."

"It did?" Her question seemed genuine.

"Yes." He said, begging her to believe him. "And no one knew yet. So I was just absolutely suffering alone, because while you weren't in my life, you were my child."

Her eyes opened a bit wider.

"And, you asked about regrets earlier, Emma I regret not having you in my life. When I thought you were dead, I regretted not having a relationship. And even when you were rescued, I knew that us having some sort of relationship would be so hard. And I regretted not having security on you. That was…"

And he broke down. Guilt. Guilt. "I live with guilt every day."

Emma's face didn't move. No grief. No sympathy.

But sarcasm laced every word she said, "I'm not sure if you want me to feel sorry for you, but I don't."

His hands were shaking, tears were coming from his eyes, but he looked up. And she continued, "You live with guilt. Your guilt compares nothing to what I struggle with on a daily basis."

"I know." He said quietly. And he tried to compose himself. Unsure of why he'd broken apart so easily.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I didn't mean to make this about me."

"I think I'm ready to go." She said quietly.

Startled by the suddenness, he stood up and said, "Of course."

The cat followed her, and he didn't know why that made him uncomfortable. But it did. It wasn't cute.

He walked her to the door, and said, "I don't know what I expected from this, but… I did expect you to be a bit angrier than you were. I really screwed things up, so if you are angry, you're completely in the right to be that way."

She opened the door and looked over her shoulder, "You don't mean enough to me to make me angry. Being angry means I care. I don't care about a coward like you."

And she shut the door. Leaving him alone and speechless.