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Standing there, the cold wind blowing around Elizabeth's hollow body, she couldn't take her eyes from the casket. A casket that she somehow had picked out. A casket that was empty. Because her daughter's body had never been recovered. Because they still didn't know where her little girl's body was.

Buried in some unmarked grave.

And this hollow, pointless hole in the ground. There was no reason for it. She'd argued with Henry about it. Emma's body wasn't here. Her little girl, the one with the wild hair and matching eyes, the one who'd just about grown out of her school uniform – she wasn't here.

That was the problem.

She wasn't here.

Henry said this would help. Her therapist said that this would help. Said – it would "facilitate healing" or some bullshit like that.

But as she stood there, listening to some priest say something about death and life, Elizabeth just stared at the coffin.

A holding place for a body. A placeholder.

The same would come from the headstone that would be placed over the emptiness.

Empty.

Like her heart.

Hadn't it just been yesterday when she'd woken up to find her daughter quietly shaking her awake, whimpering about a bad dream? She'd sleepily moved over, making room beside her in bed where Emma had soon filled, curling up beside Elizabeth. Nestling her head against her chest while she slowly fell back asleep?

Hadn't she just been gently combing out the tangles from Emma's hair?

Hadn't she just sat at the dining room table, explaining the math homework to her twelve-year-old?

Hadn't she just held Emma's hand when they walked into the new school, encouraging her to be brave?

Brave? What was that now?

She stood there while people came and said goodbye, offering their condolences. Faces weren't able to push through her mind. She just nodded.

After what felt like an eternity, Henry's voice made it through the protective barriers she'd put up.

"Babe, we need to go."

She looked around, and realized it was just her and Henry there with a few men standing around.

"The kids…" She started to ask. That meant something different now.

"Will took them home." Henry said, running his hand over her shoulder, "They've got food there waiting for us."

She shook her head. "I don't want to leave…"

Henry kissed her head, and said, "They've got to put the casket down."

"Ok." She whispered, "I want to stay."

The funeral director stepped forward, "Ma'am, we find that watching the casket lowered is extremely painful for the family."

"We should go." Henry tried to be assuring.

But she shook her head. "I want to stay."

She had to.

"Ma'am…"

"It's not like she's really here." Elizabeth bit out. "I know she's not here. So I'm staying."

She must've won. If this was really winning.

Soon she watched. Watched as they pulled the supports out from the small casket. And four men gently lowered it. Down. Into the ground. Past where she could see. Past where she would ever see.

An empty box.

Elizabeth stepped forward, ignoring Henry's pull on her arm. And she stared down. Down into the emptiness that matched her entire being. Then she knelt down, her black dress pressing into the soft ground beneath her. And she reached beside her, grasping the cold dirt in her hand. Dirt. Dark. Gritty.

And she tossed it gently down, as tears streamed down her face.

She needed to see the dirt. She needed it to be dirt.

She needed to see the dark covering over the empty box.

Because, for one second, she could see the dirt and not the overwhelming fear of her daughter being buried with sand around her. Somewhere Elizabeth would never be.

As she watched the casket be covered with dirt from the shovels, she simply wanted to crawl there, let them bury someone. Someone who was just as empty as that casket. Someone. Fill the grave in with a body. Because now – without her little girl, she was empty. Nothing.

Then she felt Henry's hands on her shoulder, pulling her to her feet. And she buried her head in his shoulder, clinging to him with dirt still in her hand. And she shook with grief, emptiness that would never be filled until she was buried in the dirt.


Elizabeth stood up from the desk, her joints aching from sitting in the same position for hours. She stretched her neck from one side, then to the other, then she checked her watch. 7:20.

She stepped outside her office, and Blake looked up from the desk before standing up. "Sit down, Blake." She said softly. "I know I've got appointments today, but…"

"Ma'am" he gently interrupted, "her plane landed just a few minutes ago."

"Thank you." She said. "I'm going to go change, get ready for the day." She needed to talk to Henry. Needed to smooth things over from last night. And. Inform him.

Blake nodded.

As she stepped out into the hallway, she leaned back in, her hand on the doorframe as she asked, "Can you please have Isabelle come to my office immediately?" When Blake agreed, she said, "Then send someone down to meet my daughter and have her come to see me as well?"

"Of course." He said, "How long do you think…"

He was fishing, of course. But she just said, "Push all my other appointments until ten." Ten. That should give her enough time.

Enough time to explain to Henry. And do what she had to do.

On her way to the Residence, Elizabeth tried to steel herself for what she would meet. She knew she'd pissed Henry off last night. She'd known she shouldn't have ignored him. That he was just wanting to talk. And make sure she was alright. And figure out what they would do.

And she needed to apologize. They'd never operated like that in their relationship. And after the day before, how she'd gotten in his face in the office, she knew she should be preparing to eat crow.

As she walked in, she saw him standing at the kitchen island. Sipping coffee and flipping through the newspaper. Like any other morning.

"I will give you one hundred dollars for that cup of coffee." She joked, walking up behind him.

She could see that she startled him, and he turned around, surprise on his face. Then he held the cup out to her, "I'll take that offer."

She took a sip without taking her eyes off him. The way he looked at her, trying to read her. And she knew he could.

And she sheepishly said, "I'm sorry about last night."

He looked away, looking down at the newspaper that she knew he wasn't reading at that moment. And he said, "I just didn't think we operated like that, Babe." The edge in his voice hit Elizabeth just like she'd planned.

"I know." She said, reaching out and touching his arm. When he looked at her, she said, "I really am sorry, Henry. I didn't know how to talk about it and…"

He nodded. "You needed processing time." Understanding but still irritated. "I'm just used to us doing that together."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, "I know. I'm sorry."

He kissed the top of her head, then moved toward the cabinet, "How about your own cup?"

She gave him a strained smile. And nodded. As he moved around the kitchen, she bit the inside of her cheek, unsure of what to say. But knowing keeping quiet wasn't healthy. So she asked, "So Blake filled you in?"

He nodded without turning towards her as he poured her coffee.

"I should've done that." She said, with a real guilt pulling at her. "It was horrible, Henry."

He set the coffee in front of her, standing away from her across the island. "I can't believe Isabelle never told us."

"I know." She said loudly, the anger at her friend bubbling up. She took a sip of the hot coffee.

Henry looked down at his hands on the counter, his disbelief showing through his face. "I mean, what was she thinking, recruiting our daughter into the CIA and not telling us?"

"I don't think she was." Elizabeth said, reaching over and grabbing a muffin from the plate on the counter. "And it's not like she couldn't have told me – I have the highest security clearance of anyone in the whole government."

The blueberry muffin tasted heavenly. She moaned a bit, realizing how long it had been since she'd had food. Leaning one hand against the counter for balance, she used the other to pull first one, then the other shoe off.

"And then sending her to Baghdad." Henry said, "How is any of that responsible? Especially from the Director?"

"Right?" Elizabeth agreed, and she walked into her room, pulling her shirt off. Talking louder so Henry could hear her, she said, "And not ONLY did she place our daughter in the field, she did it…" She stepped out of her skirt, only her slip still on as she rummaged through her closet, "… where a dirty bomb went off."

Henry had followed her into the room, leaning against the doorframe. "Well, I mean, to be fair, that wasn't really something Isabelle could've predicted."

Elizabeth stuck her head out of the closet, and looked at him, "Don't tell me you're defending Isabelle."

"I'm not." He said quickly, "But, to be fair, that was a development that she couldn't have foreseen."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes as she grabbed another shirt off the hanger. "We're taught to think worst case scenario in every situation." She wanted something dark. Something that would give her authority. To match her actual authority. Pulling a long-sleeved navy shirt over her head, she mumbled, "It's obvious she was keeping it from me, Henry."

She heard Henry chuckle. "Well, what would you have said if she'd told you?"

She grabbed a skirt from the hanger, stepping out of the closet as she pulled it on. "I would've told her she was crazy."

As she tucked her shirt into the skirt, she stepped in front of the mirror, watching Henry in the reflection. And she started to broach the subject, "You know Emma can't continue working there, right?"

She watched Henry take a deep breath.

"I mean," She couldn't wait for him to formulate his response this morning. "It's obvious that she was in danger."

"Obviously." He agreed.

She moved from the mirror to the bathroom, reaching for her toothbrush. "And it's insane to have the President's daughter working in a space where she's in danger, right?"

From the other room, Henry called out, "Stop with the leading questions."

She chuckled, "You're right." Then she started brushing her teeth.

Henry now walked into the bathroom, watching her through the mirror's reflection. "I think you have to be careful."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, staring at him, but she knew she didn't have to ask – he could read her even with her mouth full of toothpaste.

He continued, "Emma's so independent. And if you just tell her she can't continue…" He shook his head, "You two have the same stubborn streak. She's not going to take that well."

Elizabeth spat out the toothpaste, and said, "Does it matter how she takes it?" Grabbing for the towel, she didn't take her eyes off his reflection. "I'm not going to put her in a place where she can get hurt." She didn't add the word again, but she knew Henry understood that.

Henry shook his head, "She's an adult. And while you can try and prevent it, you can't…"

Elizabeth turned around, setting the towel down and putting both hands to balance her behind her on the counter. And she took a deep breath, "I can protect her, Henry." That was obvious. "I can make sure that she's not put in a place where she can get hurt."

"Elizabeth…" Henry responded to her raised voice with his normal, calming tone.

But she was having none of it. She shook her head and firmly said, "I can. I can protect her."

"You can try." Henry said.

Tired of people telling her she couldn't do something, she pushed past him. "What else am I supposed to do?"

Henry followed her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. "You can't keep bad things from happening."

Elizabeth laughed as she pulled on her heels, "Sure." Then sarcasm took over, "I think I've learned that one, Henry."

Both feet on the floor, she stood eye to eye with her husband. And she felt the cold, hard truth ready to shoot out. And she said, "I'm done watching her almost die. I don't care what it takes, but I will NOT watch that again."

Henry backed up, and his words were retreating, "Elizabeth, I don't want that anymore than you do. And you know that."

She turned away, towards the door. "Then support me in this."

"In what?" He called out.

And as she walked out of the Residence, she called back, "Why don't you come and see?"