A FEW NOTES: I JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT I HAVE NOT PREWRITTEN ANY OF THIS. THIS IS COMING OUT IN REAL TIME. one of those "did I eat today" kind of writing runs." So, idk if that helps you understand how wonderful your reviews make me feel. To all the readers out there, Enjoy.

And PS - snowstorm reviewer - there should be at least one if not two more chapters coming out in the next four or five hours, so stay tuned :)

THANKS


"Dad."

Henry heard the whisper far off, but couldn't place where it was coming from. He must've imagined it. He turned over in bed, pulling the pillow to just the right spot under his head when he heard it again, this time more persistent.

"Dad."

He opened his eyes and found the small sliver of light coming from the open bedroom door. He saw Emma's outline standing with the light coming in from the living room. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Are you ok?" He asked immediately.

"Yes."

The woman under the covers beside him stirred, and a muffled, "Henry, is everything…"

He quickly hushed her, assuring her that everything was fine. She mumbled something else about getting up, and he said he'd check out whatever it was. "Go back to sleep." He said as he slowly walked out into the living room, where he squinted from the light.

Closing the door behind him, he asked, "What's wrong, Em?"

Her eyes were wide, and she asked, "Can you take me somewhere?"

"Em, we talked about the shooting range…" He wasn't up for another argument.

She shook her head, "No. Somewhere else."

Less than thirty minutes later, he walked into the empty cathedral. He'd called up the Priest, begging forgiveness for the late hour, two in the morning, in fact. The Priest stood at the door, and motioned for them to come in.

"So this is the one we prayed for." The man said when he saw Emma. And then he said, "Young lady, your father sat here and prayed the night you were brought home. You're this cathedral's unknown miracle."

Emma just smiled, and Henry said, "Thank you, Father. I know it's an abnormal request at such a…"

"Sometimes, God waits here for those who seek him. He likes the latecomers." He politely excused himself, not before explaining that he'd lit some candles for them. And asking them to take as long as they wanted.

Henry again thanked him and turned to find Emma walking down the long cathedral, finally sliding into a pew a few rows from the front.

He quietly followed suit, sitting next to her after genuflecting at the end of the row. They sat for a while. Her hands folded in her lap. Her eyes focused on the altar at the center of the space. He'd felt bad calling the Priest, but when she'd asked him to take her to church – a request that none of his children had ever asked – he gladly did what he could.

Not that he was… devout. Or regularly practicing. But he tried.

Henry watched Emma out of the corner of his eye. Her face dimly lit by the flickering candlelight, the shadows dancing over her skin, like he imagined some of her nightmares did inside of her brain. Her breaths were steady but not rapid. Her feet were still. In fact, her body was still. Another miracle.

After the long minutes of silence, her voice wasn't startling. More angelic.

"I don't know if I believe in god." She said.

It wasn't a question. Henry just let the words float through the air, imagining the doubt sitting at the altar and waiting for hope. This wasn't the place for his answers. He could give those in their living room. Here, perhaps, Emma needed something more. Something still and soft.

"In Iran, it was five times a day. Prayer." She quietly recalled. "At first, I felt so separate from it. We weren't allowed because we weren't believing." Then a few seconds of silence. A quiet breath. "But after a while, there was something beautiful in the space. No matter where, prayer happened. From the fields to the house. We quietly stepped away, but it still happened around us."

The most he'd heard her talk about captivity.

"But I was…" her voice broke, "scared."

Then the talking stopped. And they were enveloped in heavy silence. A silence that perhaps came from a loud fight inside of her. Answering the fight from inside of her with silence was a burden.

Unsure what to do, Henry told a story. "The night they sent in a team to get you from Iran, I sat right over there." He pointed to the pew. He looked over to find Emma's eyes watching him. So he continued. "I was afraid. I was so scared." He remembered the overwhelming feelings that night. "I couldn't imagine losing you after we'd just found you again."

"Sometimes I still feel lost."

Confession. Two in the morning confessions.

In that moment, he wasn't talking to his traumatized little girl. For that moment, he was offering something holy to a scared questioner beside him.

"Can we be lost without hope?" He threw the question into the place where prayers clung to the walls all around them. "If we have never had somewhere to belong, can we lose that? Because we've experienced being known, we feel the void when that "being known" seems far away."

He closed his eyes, his questionings slowly taking the form of prayers. "That separation, that deep question of whether we'll ever find our way back home, just simply feeling the emptiness gives us hope that we will, perhaps, be found."

"Dad?" She whispered, her voice the outside manifestation of how broken she felt. Henry turned, seeing tears streaming down her face, "I'm tired of feeling scared."

Call it divine leading. Call it his heartstrings tearing. Call it a father's instinct. But he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling him to her. Her body shook as she quietly wept, and Henry rested his head in her hair, and gently rocked her back and forth.

But his eyes never left the cross at the front of the cathedral. And he prayed. Just as he had months before. Begging God to save his little girl. Begging Him to bring her back. Begging Him to heal her. Begging God for strength Henry didn't have.

When the cries subsided, he still held her. Continuing his prayers. And when he felt her breathing calm, he looked down and saw her eyes starting to drift closed. And he still sat there. When the priest came to check, and saw her sleeping there, the priest quietly quoted, "'Come to me, you who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'"

And it wasn't until the sun started streaming in the windows that Henry gently nudged Emma awake, and they quietly slipped out of the holy space.


"Can you open your eyes and then look straight up for me?"

Elizabeth stood to the side, watching as the makeup artist gently talked Emma through the process. "It's a bit different than when your sister does that, isn't it?"

"Yup." Emma replied, her voice tense from trying not to move. When the mascara was on, Emma said, "And, don't tell Allison, but it's a bit less yelling and calling me stupid for not turning the way she never told me to."

Elizabeth laughed. Looking around the living room of the Residence, it could be mistaken for a television set. Lights wrapped all around the living room couch, where Emma would sit. Well, at first, Elizabeth and Emma, and then just Emma for the last part of the interview. Crew worked everywhere, and mixed in there, Blake, Daisy, and as they now referred to him in the McCord household, "Mikey B" worked their magic.

But Elizabeth was concerned about making sure Emma felt comfortable. They'd spent the last two days preparing. Both Daisy and Mikey had spent hours helping Emma form her answers to the questions. Making sure they were the words Emma wanted to use, but safe and tolerable for America. When they'd prepped Elizabeth and Emma for their segment together, Elizabeth had been amazed at how poised and put together Emma's answers sounded.

"Did you let Allison pick out your outfit?" Elizabeth asked as the makeup artist moved aside and the hair stylist moved in.

"No. I picked it." She said, proudly.

Elizabeth had questioned Daisy about the outfit that had been on the docket. Not that she didn't want to support her daughter's decisions. But it just felt – outside of Emma's personality. But Daisy had said it looked great and would work well with the camera.

"I don't know why more people aren't interviewing me." Henry joked.

Elizabeth smiled as Henry's hand settled on her hip as he came up behind her. He kissed her cheek, and looked at Emma, "You look – so grown up, Em."

She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling.

Henry had told Elizabeth about the night before. She was glad they had that time together. "But no one wants to interview an old religion professor, do they?"

"There's only so many times people want to hear the old…"

Elizabeth could feel her husband jumping at the opportunity Emma teed up for him, "Thomas Aquinas walking…"

"Dr. McCord." Russell interrupted, "We've got a bit of a problem."

Elizabeth turned around, and in the bustle of the entire space, she could hear the growling coming from Emma's bedroom. Emma perked up, and she looked worried, "Mom, he's scared. All the people…"

Russell chimed in, "No, he's not scared." And held up his hand, where a large cat scratch lightly bled from his knuckle to his thumb. "Just an asshole."

"Dude, shut up. He's literally you in cat form, so no more about that." Emma shot Russell the look that Elizabeth made a mental note to try and mimic when she really wanted Russell to do just that. Shut up.

Henry volunteered, "Hey, I'll go sit with him, how about that?"

"I don't think…" Emma started, "I mean…"

"Hey, I'll tell him my joke." Henry said, before leaning down and giving her a hug. "You're going to do great. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Dad." She whispered as she placed a kiss on his cheek. "His catnip toy is under the bed if you think that'll help him calm down…"

"Got this." Henry gave a big thumbs up before he disappeared in the crowd of people.

"We've got five minutes until air." Came the call.

The hair stylist was done. She stepped away.

Daisy came over to Elizabeth and Emma. "Now a few things to remember. Smile." She directed this at Emma. Then she turned to Elizabeth, "Don't only turn your neck if you turn and look at Emma. Whole torso rotation." Elizabeth nodded. "And for both of you, remember. You know exactly what you're going to say. Most of the questions are exactly what we practiced."

Emma just nodded, and Elizabeth could see the pressure was starting to get to her. And Elizabeth took Daisy by the shoulders and said, "We're going to be in the kitchen for just a few minutes, ok?"

"Three-minute call."

And Elizabeth saw Mikey walking up. And she shoved Daisy lightly towards him and told her, "Stress out with him."

Then she gestured Emma into the kitchen, away from the noise and people.

She turned and pulled her daughter to face her. "I can't believe how grown up you look." And Elizabeth seriously couldn't believe it. The makeup brought out her deep blue eyes, her lips were a pale pink. Her hair, tightly coiled and perfectly placed fell past her shoulders. The champagne-colored dress hung to her knees, and a black suit jacket pulled the look together into something Elizabeth imagined Stevie would wear. And the jacket fell above her hand scar. And Emma explained she wasn't going to hide who she was. No, this Emma in front of her looked like a woman. Not her sixteen-year-old – well, soon to be seventeen-year-old. A small diamond pendant with matching earrings brought a sophistication without an overindulgent look.

"I want to tell you my secret to interviews, you ready?"

Emma nodded as she tried to take deep breaths, "Is it cocaine? Cause I'd take some of…"

"Don't even joke about that." Elizabeth scolded with a smile on her face. "No, the key to a good interview is to imagine that you're talking to someone you don't know but who really wants to understand you. Really wants to get to know you."

Emma took another deep breath, then looked up at her mom and said, "And, no matter what happens, I get to go to the farm tonight."

Elizabeth smiled, "You do. You earned it with all this prep and everything. And then tomorrow, we'll all get there and celebrate your birthday!"

"But tonight?" Emma asked for reassurance.

"Tonight, you get a night without people. After all this. Yes. But wait until you see the present we got for you!"

"If it's a joke book about Thomas Aquinas…" Emma rolled her eyes, making Elizabeth laugh as she leaned down and kissed Emma's forehead.

"No matter what happens, I'm proud of you, little girl." Elizabeth said, "Let's go."


"And right after this break, we'll be right back to continue our exclusive interview with First Daughter Emma McCord, and we'll ask her how her life has changed because of the tragedy she went through."

Elizabeth waited until the recording light flipped before she leaned over and pulled Emma close, "You did so good on the first segment."

Emma leaned against her, and said, "I'm glad you were here for that."

Daisy and Mikey ambushed them the minute they stopped for adjustments. "You both were brilliant!" Daisy said, "America is going to love you two."

Elizabeth felt Emma's hand squeezing her hand, and Emma whispered, "I'm nervous."

"Do you want me to stay here on the couch with you?" Elizabeth asked, searching Emma's face for any sign that Emma needed her. "If you need that, I'll just sit here. They can't pick me up and move me without getting tackled by a lot of security."

Emma smiled but said, "No." Her face fell serious. "I gotta do this on my own, Mom."

"You're going to do great." Elizabeth said with one last hug before she left Emma to sit on the couch, with the lights all around her.

Once she was out of the spotlight, Elizabeth walked to the hub, where Daisy, Mikey, Blake, Russell, and, now Henry, who had maybe given the cat an overdose of catnip so he could be out here. Happy when Henry wrapped his arms around hers, while they both watched Emma carry on some conversation with the interviewer before the break was over. "I'm nervous." Henry said.

"Me too."

And we're on in 5-4-3-"

Elizabeth counted out the 2 -1- in her head, and she heard the interviewer bring the viewers back into the room. A soft tone made Elizabeth calm a bit.

"Emma, again, I want to thank you for taking the time to talk with me today."

Elizabeth was proud of her daughter, sitting there, smiling, and graciously saying, "I'm glad that I have a chance to tell my story."

"Speaking of that story, we heard from your mother, President McCord, about how horrible it was for her, losing you. But can you tell us a bit about what you're comfortable talking about that happened from the time you were assumed dead to when you were reunited with your family?"

The open-ended question they'd been prepared for.

And Emma gave the sincerest sounding answer – as if she had just come up with it on the spot, when, they'd been practicing this one for a while.

"I was very young. It was very traumatic just being taken away from my family. I was in a country that I didn't know the culture or speak the language, I was imprisoned and held for ransom, and then made a manual laborer. With all of that, I felt I'd been lost forever. And that is a deep wound that takes time to heal."

Daisy whispered, "Perfection."

"I think it would be an injustice to overlook one of the scars that you've brought home with you from that terrible time in your life. Can you tell us about that and why you chose to be open about that particular scar?"

Just like they'd rehearsed. She looked down at her hand in her lap, and she said, "This injury is the result of the butt from an assault rifle smashing my hand against a concrete wall." And Emma paused, just like they'd rehearsed. "I hope that wasn't too graphic for …"

"I think it was too graphic for a twelve-year-old to go through." The interviewer quietly said.

"I decided that my hand injury is part of my story. I've lived with it for four years, and I can do a lot of things that people with two non-scarred hands can't. And when I was rescued and going through that time of not understanding how I fit into the world that had gone on without me for four years, at first, I did hide my hand. It was one more thing that made me stand out. But then I realized that my body was not the problem. What happened was. And to be ashamed of that would be a dishonor to what I'd gone through."

"That's beautiful" The interviewer said.

"Did we tell her that?" Mikey asked.

Elizabeth just smiled, "I think she really is just saying what she felt.

"It worked this time, but please help her stay on message." Daisy muttered.

"Can we skip forward a bit in time?" The interviewer pushed on.

Emma nodded.

"I want to go to the moment before you were rescued and contrast that with what you felt when you were rescued."

Daisy looked at Elizabeth, "Last question. And she has this in the bag. She can do this one in her sleep."

"Can't celebrate too early, but we did this thing." Mikey said, until Elizabeth gave him the shut-up look that she was trying from Emma. It worked.

"Well," Emma started, "Going from being away from home, forced to work, and convinced I'd never be rescued – and to knowing I was going home, I was almost incapable of more joy at that moment."

Elizabeth repeated that in her head. It sounded right. It did. Didn't it?

Daisy froze.

"What's wrong?" Henry asked.

"When you said, 'almost incapable of more joy," was there something else that could've made it better?"

Almost

"Where did that come from?" Daisy frantically whispered.

Mikey started to pace in a two-by-two space on the carpet. Which, if anyone had been looking, would have made him look like a glitch in an old Mario game.

Elizabeth tried to tell herself that Emma knew what she was talking about. She was just elaborating on her feelings like the question before. But this one.

Elizabeth had paid so much attention to this one. Because this was where Emma could get stuck. Where they could get a few seconds of static air.

But Emma didn't get stuck.

"I think the one thing that would have made it better would be seeing justice brought to the man who was holding me there."

Elizabeth couldn't believe alarm bells, sirens, and lights weren't going off in the room, because that's what felt like her entire being was going off. She grabbed Henry's arms and held them tight. "She can't say this… not on television."

"So waiting for that has to cause some tension in your life, doesn't it?"

"Don't say anything." Elizabeth whispered.

"Pass out." Mikey whispered.

Daisy was over at the director's camera, giving him the business about shutting it down while probably looking for the plugs for the cameras.

Emma nodded and took a breath. For someone misspeaking, she did it with such poise and polish. And she looked sincere.

"She looks like you when you stray from your teleprompter." Henry whispered.

But I look that way when I knowingly go off my teleprompter. This was just off the rails.

"Living in the White House, there can be days where it's hard to be around people who serve in roles that he also served in."

"Roles like?"

Now Elizabeth didn't know where this was coming from. Emma was just flying by the seat of her pants. And it wasn't looking like anything but a crash landing.

"Top ranking military."

Daisy finally got through to the director, who signaled the interviewer to cut it short.

"I can imagine that would be very difficult for you." And then, the best way she knew, "But I do want to thank you again for taking the time to sit with us and share your story."


The lights cut out.

And the lights were cleared out. And Elizabeth pushed Daisy and Mike out of the residence. Everyone except Henry and Russell. And Emma, who still sat on the couch.

"I said I was sorry – I didn't mean…" Emma said, "I couldn't find the answer, and then it just kept coming."

Elizabeth tried to keep her anger down, but "Do you know what this is going to cause?"

Emma nodded her head.

"Really?" Elizabeth asked, "What?"

"Well, you're going to have to explain that I simply misspoke, but it's going to breed mistrust in the military, the top-ranking officials, which then changes how Americans trust in you. And that stifles how you can pass legislature and make a difference in office." Then Emma asked, "Anything I missed?"

Russell jumped in, "How can you be that smart about THAT and make a mistake like you did on LIVE television?"

Emma's fingers disappeared in her cat's fur, Zazu now curled the length of her chest and rested his head on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I just…"

Elizabeth knew she should bite her tongue. She knew it had been a mistake Emma had made. In all reality, how had she convinced them to let her do a live interview? Her first interview?

Elizabeth turned to Henry and said, "I've gotta go deal with stuff. I'll try not to work too late."

She was halfway out the door before Emma called out to her, and she turned around to see Emma walking toward her. "I'm sorry. I really am."

"Oh, Em," Elizabeth said.

And Emma buried her head against Elizabeth's chest, holding tight. "I'm sorry." Emma mumbled. Then she looked up at Elizabeth, and with what felt like an overreaction, she said, "I love you. Please don't hate me. I love you, Mom."

"It's just the press." Elizabeth conceded. "Don't worry too much about it." Then she corrected herself as she smiled down at Emma, "You're not going to worry about it because you're headed to the farm for your free night." Then she added, "I'll probably be late tomorrow – cause of this whole thing."

Emma nodded pulling away. Elizabeth knew she should apologize. But this one just hurt a bit. And it would be good for both of them to deal with what they needed to deal with before they saw each other the next day.

"I love you mom." Emma said as Elizabeth walked out.

"Wear your helmet when you're riding!" Elizabeth called out as she headed down to what was sure to be a huge dumpster fire.