HEY! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR STICKING THROUGH THIS STORY WITH ME! THE REVIEWS HAVE BEEN SO ENCOURAGING. WHILE I STARTED THIS STORY WITH ONE ENDING IN MIND, THAT DOES KEEP CHANGING AS I GET FARTHER INTO IT. I THINK WE HAVE A WHILE TO GO - FOR THOSE WHO THINK IT'S ENDING SOON.

QUICK NOTE - I DID MISSPELL MIKE'S NAME. LAST NAME SHOULD BE HIRST. THANKS FOR CATCHING THAT :)

PLEASE REVIEW. THIS IS GOING PLACES.


When her phone call went immediately to voicemail, Elizabeth hung up and set the phone down on her desk harder than she should've. Frustration itched at Elizabeth's neck, and she started to fidget with her earring. It was 10:45. Which was over 18 hours since Emma had left her apartment.

What on earth was going on? Her brain tried to put the pieces together. Without allowing herself to think worst case scenarios. Despite that it was her job to think in worst case scenarios. That's what she'd been taught since CIA training.

A sharp knock on her office door drew her attention to where Henry was walking in.

He held his phone in his hand, and he said, "She said not to worry. She's fine."

Anxious to hear more, Elizabeth stood up, "What did she say?"

He just shrugged his shoulders, "She said she was working and to tell you to not go postal."

She threw her hands up in frustration, "But we've worked out the fact that she's not working, Henry." She slammed her fist down on the file in front of her, "She lied to us last night. She won't talk to us."

"Elizabeth, she is an adult." Henry said, and the calming part of his voice dug into Elizabeth's nerves.

Elizabeth drew in a deep breath and looked at him. The one person who could know her fears. The one who had never abandoned her in the midst of her deep thinking. And she tossed her glasses onto her desk, needing to look into his eyes. Begging him to see her fears and to not brush them off. And she said, "I think we're missing something." She knew there had to be something. "I don't think it's a coincidence that she's gone missing less than twenty-four hours after the funeral for her friend who committed suicide."

There. She'd said it. She'd finally put it out into the atmosphere.

Henry shook his head, "Babe, I think you're reading too much into it all." He reached out to touch her arm, but she pulled away.

"Don't tell me I'm overreacting." She bit out. "I'm not some overly emotional woman."

She could see the hurt on his face as he pulled away. "That's not…"

She turned away, reaching for her glasses to have something to nervously run her fingers over. "I was a CIA analyst. And I learned to trust my gut. There's something wrong."

"You were a CIA analyst." Henry said. "But that's dealing with matters of state. This is about your daughter. It's not the same thing." His voice was annoyingly rational and logical.

Her spine stiffened at his rebuttal. She turned to face him, "She lied to us. Said she had to go to work. She wasn't at work." She grabbed the file and held it up. "In fact, her name is NOWHERE on these reports. From the last few months."

Henry opened his mouth, but Elizabeth continued, "She's just lost her dearest friend – the only person who has been through what she has. And she's not anywhere to be found?" Elizabeth shook her head, "There's something…"

"…going on" Henry interrupted, "I know, so you've said." Then he stepped closer to her, "But she's always been reclusive. She pulls away and deals with things herself."

Elizabeth crossed her arms in front of her.

Henry took a breath, "She texted us. Told us not to worry. We have to trust her."

She looked at him. Looking for some sign of uncertainty she could prey on. Some sign that he was doubting himself at all. But his caring eyes held his ground.

How could she let the feeling in her gut go? What if something happened? She shifted on her feet as she played through the horrible scenarios about what could be wrong.

"Elizabeth." Henry said, his voice calling her out of her head. He'd stepped close to her. And he looked down at her. His eyes understanding.

She bit her bottom lip, trying to stay strong. And she said, "I want to run a trace on her phone."

Henry rolled his eyes, and shook his head, "You can't just run traces or send secret service agents out whenever you have a funny feeling."

"Excuse me?" She asked, pulling away. "I can do whatever I want when it comes to protecting my children." Indignation dripping from every word.

Henry stepped back, turning away from her while running his hands through his hair, "This isn't about protecting your children. This is about you needing control."

Rage now tore at her. She clenched her fists as she said, "It is not about control."

He whipped around and faced her, "Really? Cause do you remember the regret you had when you read her interrogation file?"

Embarrassment flew to her face, warming her cheeks while the anger fueled her core. "That's uncalled for."

"Really?" He said, raising his voice, "You pulled your rank as president and, let's call it what it actually was – you invaded our daughter's privacy. And now…" He held his hands up in the air with frustration. "You have almost no cause to do so, and you're going to do it again."

"I do have cause." She spit back. "She's not answer…"

He shook his head, "You have a funny feeling. That's not the same thing."

"Why can't you just take my side?" She yelled, the uncertainty and fear taking hold of the anger inside, "Why can't you see I'm just trying to protect her?"

"Protect her or make yourself feel better?" He yelled back. "She's an adult, Elizabeth. She's not a kid anymore. You can't take the nuclear option when your daughter tells a lie every once in a while."

The comment about the nuclear option in regards to the day she was having sent her over the edge. She was done. She just waved her hand towards the door before turning back to her desk. "Just leave. I have things to do."

"Fine." He spat back. She could hear him walking towards the door. But before she heard the door close behind him, he called back to her, "Just think about it before you do it."

She wanted to scream back at him. Wanted to say there was nothing she did in her life without thinking about it. Wanted to list the thousands of things she'd had to think through since six that morning. Wanted to scream and yell for him to please just support her.

But she let the door close. And then reached down, hitting the intercom to Blake's desk, her voice more biting than normal. "Can you please get me Charlotte on the phone as soon as possible?"

Blake must've hit the reply button, but she heard Henry's sarcastic tone in the background, "Way to think about it, babe."

Then Blake said, "Yes Ma'am."


Emma stood outside of the room where she'd be questioning Amira. She tried to push her nerves away. Tried to not think about how this was the first official interrogation she'd ever conducted. Training had been one thing – this was different. There were real world consequences if she screwed this up. There wasn't a professor on the other side of some mirrored wall. Grades weren't the only thing at stake. This was real.

"I know they sent you specifically," Mike said, "but let's just go over the basics here." He handed her an earpiece. "This will feed directly to me and, after the translator, to the supervisor at Langley. Any questions we want you to pursue, we'll ask you through that."

She nodded, securing it into her right ear and threading it down behind her neck.

"We also have a live video feed that also shows here as well as back to headquarters." He explained. "While you are the lead interrogator, there may be lines we want you to pursue. Follow those instructions, ok?"

"Ok." She said simply. She pulled her black scarf around her head, securing a pin in front of her left ear to keep it in place.

He pointed at the video feed, so she could see the room where she'd be working. Concrete walls and floors made it feel desperately cold and hard. A metal table sat in the middle of the room, two chairs on either side of that. She could see where her back would be towards the camera that was facing where Amira sat. Lights came from behind the camera as well as in the corner on the opposite side of the room. One window, with blinds, took up one side of the far wall, but the darkness outside created the need for the lights.

Mike continued, "A few agents have tried to get her to talk, but other than a few questions about her name and how old she is, there was nothing more."

She was still watching the room. Willing her hands to stop shaking. Hoping she wouldn't be as nervous once she got in the room. Or that she'd at least be able to hide it.

"Here's the files." He said, handing her a stack of paperwork. "In case you want to check our facts out against what she's saying. Remember, we're looking for any information regarding terrorist activity Milad has either committed or is planning."

Emma swallowed and shook her head, turning towards him. "I don't want the paperwork." She knew what she needed to do. She didn't need to seem like yet another agent.

"Suit yourself, rookie." Then he said, "You sure you're ready for this?"

She could see the doubt in his eyes. She could read his mind – wondering what the hell she, a mere one year recruit who worked at a desk, could do that seasoned agents hadn't been able to do. She was a skinny, runty girl who looked about as intimidating as a squirrel did.

But she was also a good actress.

And she smiled at him while nodding, "I guess we'll see, huh?"

Turning the handle to step into the room, she took one deep breath.

And she stepped in, the fear fell away. No longer was she the small agent who probably didn't belong there. She wasn't the inexperienced girl who was unsure of herself. Nor was she the girl avoiding her mother's phone call.

She was herself. She was in the position to finally do what she'd been working towards. The theory of interrogation suddenly became the reality.

And, as she greeted the girl, with each syllable of a language she'd lived with for years, she felt the pressure slip away. She was here to connect with this girl.

English fell away. Out of her mind. Shipped off to another part of her brain. Arabic flew from her lips, from a place in her heart not many got to see.

"Hi, Amira, my name is Emma." She said, closing the door behind her and walking to her chair.

Her analytical skills kicked in. The sudden movement of the girl looking up at her as Amira's body tensed. Her shoulders raised, her fingers clenched into her palms, and her eyes watched every movement Emma made.

Emma sat down in the chair. She could see the girl's breathing increase just a bit as her body shifted away from Emma.

The first goal was to establish some sort of trust between the two of them.

But trust was one thing that Emma knew would be the hardest.

She reached into her pocket while watching Amira brace herself. And Emma said, "It's ok. I just had something for you." And she set the palm-sized tin of candy on the table. And saw the recognition come to the girl's eyes. Emma said, "This was one of my favorite sweets. Would you like some?" She slid the tin across the metal table towards Amira. The sweets were something that Emma enjoyed once in a while, but she hoped she'd at least build some credence with the girl with the offer.

The girl shook her head.

Knowingly, Emma said, "I promise it's not poisoned."

Amira looked at her, shaking her head. Her dark eyes showing unbelief.

Shrugging her shoulders, Emma reached over and picked up a piece of the sugared candy. "Look, I'll have a piece. So you know it's clean."

Emma took a bite, raising her eyebrows. "Pretty good. You sure you don't want some?"

Amira looked around the room, then back at Emma, watching and waiting.

Emma swallowed and said, "See, no poison." Then she winked at the girl. "You don't have to have any. I just thought…"

Amira reached over and took a piece, and a small smile came to the girl's face as the treat dissolved on her tongue.

Emma sat for a second, becoming accustomed to the quiet. Nothing wrong with quiet.

As Amira reached for another piece, Emma quietly said, "I love your name." Questioning eyes met Emma's gaze. "The meaning is beautiful. 'Princess' is gorgeous."

Amira just bent her chin to her chest, looking at her hands that were now placed in her lap.

"Much better than my name." Emma said, chuckling. "In English, my name means 'whole.' Princess has a much better meaning."

A tiny smile came to the girl's face. And then Emma heard the first words the girl said.

Sheepish. Quiet. Barely discernable.

"Where did you learn to speak Arabic?" She asked, meeting Emma's eyes.

Emma said, "Well…" What a loaded question. Not one that she was unprepared for. Honesty was the best policy. "I lived in Iran for four years."

The girl looked to be considering it. Then asked, "Like, in a place like this?" Then, answering her own question, Amira said, "No, you speak like I do."

Emma nodded. "You're smart." Hoping to give Amira a reason to trust her, Emma explained, "When I was twelve, I was taken from my home in America and brought to Iran, where I was kept away from my family for four years."

She watched the shock settle on the girl's face. Amira stared at her, the abruptness of Emma's answer registering for a second.

Then Amira said, "I don't believe you."

Emma shrugged. "You don't have to." She waited a second, wanting to casually let the girl know that Emma didn't need her to believe the story. Then she brought her left hand out of her lap. "I mean, I have plenty of scars and injuries that prove it did happen."

Amira's eyes settled on the scarred hand now on the table.

"But whether you believe me or not, that's why my Arabic is good." Emma wanted her to know it wasn't important. Emma wasn't trying to sell a backstory. She tried to be sincere.

It was quiet for a second.

Then Amira, looking at Emma's hand, whispered, "I've seen injuries like that." Amira's eyes then met Emma's. "A gun and a wall."

Emma nodded. And she punctuated that realization with silence. Giving it time to sit in the air before she said, "Not many people figure that out." Then Emma pressed into it a bit more, praying it wasn't too early. "Maybe you and I have more in common than most people."

The silence was deafening. From Emma's perspective, she'd done one of two things. She'd either drawn the correlation too fast, making Amira think Emma was putting on an act to get information. Or…

"Maybe we do."

She'd gotten in.