OK GUYS. ANOTHER CHAPTER. HOPE YOU ENJOY. REVIEWS WELCOME.


Henry wished for the days where they would walk down the stairs together on their way to their respective offices. The quick breakfast grabs and morning coffee sips before they'd reluctantly decide it was time to head down to work. The quick peck on the lips before Elizabeth would head to the Oval and he would head to his office to find out what was one his schedule for the day.

As he sipped his coffee at the kitchen island, he could hear Elizabeth's heels clicking as she walked down the stairs alone. They lived in the same space. Worked in the same space. But. They were disconnected.

The fights had slowly died down. After Emma had walked out, Henry had ranted and raved at Elizabeth, who simply stood there until he finished. Then she'd screamed at him for not having her back – not taking her side. Then he'd quieted down, and stoically questioned her. And she'd just thrown the insults back at him in the icy manner that now was normal.

They still slept in the same bed. But the divide between them was still obvious.

The quiet felt worse than the screaming.

At least the screaming meant they felt something.

Will's comment still stuck in his head. Just be there.

Now he felt that was the only thing he could do.

As he walked down the stairs alone, he wished the knot in his stomach would go away. A knot of stress and fear where Emma had been before. Will had let him know Emma had stopped by a few weeks before. Henry had asked all the questions that had been floating around his head.

How is she?

Was she ok?

Did she say anything?

Two and a half months.

He counted constantly. Hating the divide that he had from their daughter because of Elizabeth's stubbornness. Because of Emma's independent streak. Because…

Was there really a reason?

If only the two of them could see how similar they were.

He got to his office, and his assistant handed him the schedule for the day – a Veteran's affair luncheon at the local VA was the main thing on the agenda. Other tiny things littered his afternoon, nothing of real merit. No more campaign meetings, thank goodness. Only two and a half more years. Until this was over. Until they moved back to the farm and would see if they could live together when they couldn't fill their days with things that kept them apart.

He sat down to his computer, pulling his email up. An electronic version of his schedule from his assistant. A catch-up email from Jose.

Then he saw it.

Sender: Emma McCord.

Involuntarily, Henry moved to the edge of his chair, the email loading taking what felt like forever, but was, more realistically, less than a second.

And he saw it.

dad, can you meet today? the park bench in the park? ten? -e

Henry's fingers shook. But he wrote out the reply in seconds.

Emma, of course. I can't wait to see you. -Love, Dad.

He sat back in his chair after sending the reply. All the questions ran through his head. But this time, they weren't followed by an endless waiting point. He'd find out how she was. He'd see for himself that she was ok. He would be able to ask how long this separation would go on. And he'd be able to tell her that he loved her. Give her a hug.

He looked at the clock.

8:14.

It was too early to leave, right?

Yes – he answered himself.

Now, what on earth did he have to do that could possibly fill up the time. He mentally calculated the time it would take to get to the park, the bench where they used to go walking and sit. When Emma needed to get out of the White House – when Emma had a break between classes – and just for hanging out. A place where they weren't surrounded by the overwhelming presence that the White House came with.

The next hour went by so slowly. He messed around editing a speech he was supposed to give at a college convention – rearranged and then re-rearranged his bookcase. Finally, at a quarter past nine, he decided that it was time to go.

Before – he would've let his secretary know that if Elizabeth asked, he was out. But that she could call him if she needed anything. Or, he would've asked if Elizabeth wanted to surprise Emma there together, something that happened a few times during Emma's classes at Georgetown.

Not today. He didn't worry if Elizabeth would ask about him. She just didn't anymore.

The drive and walk took about six minutes.

Six minutes.

And he sat on the bench. Looking out at the water, watching people walk by, some gawking at him, recognizing who he was, most just continuing on their stroll through the park. The bench was a bit away from the walkway, which helped with the onlookers.

But as he sat there, the spring morning air brisk but energizing, he thought back.

"I just don't understand what the deal is with this stupid ethics class, Dad."

This was the talk that Henry got to have with each of his children. A rite of passage, to be specific.

"Ok," He began, "What's the struggling point?"

Emma sat next to him, her backpack propped against the pole of the bench, her eyes rolling back in her head as she said, "Well, like, don't different cultures have different ethics? So like, they're teaching us that this is always right – but, we do things different than they do in other countries. And for different reasons. So how is it always right?"

And he'd sat there, a smile on his face while he listened. And once she'd worn herself out with the endless questions, he said, "Yes. Different cultures have different applications that ethics covers…" And they'd sat there for an hour, as he walked her through a brief survey of the correlations and contradictions that she was stuck on.

"So, we all believe in some moral sense?" Emma tried to summarize.

He hesitated, "I think deep down we all have a moral compass – the thing we call a conscience. And how we're raised or where we're raised or the circumstances that are around us through development determine how much we listen to that."

He was met with quiet. And then. "Ok. I kinda get it."

"That's about it, then." He smiled, but pointed to her textbook, "But, unfortunately, for your test, you're probably gonna have to know more."

"Ethics professors are the worst." And she'd smiled up at him – eyes that Henry missed seeing.

"Dad?"

Henry stirred out of his memory, standing quickly to his feet with excitement. "Emma!"

He pulled her in for a hug, and then he felt how different she was. Smaller. More fragile.

But she hugged him back, letting her head rest on his shoulder for a few seconds before she was done.

She stepped back, and he looked at her, willing his face to stay calm and straight despite the difference he saw. Her eyes were sunk back in her head, deep dark circles under her eyes, her face had scabs on it, all along her cheekbones. Her skin was almost translucent. The sweatshirt hung from her like she was nothing more than bones. Her hair hung in strings around her face, oily and unkempt.

"It's so good to see you." He said, gesturing to the bench for her to sit down.

She sat down, pulling one foot up onto the seat and wrapping her arms around it, the other one hanging loose. The leggings she wore looked so small around her legs.

His heart was breaking seeing her like this. He sat down, angling himself to be able to look at her.

She bit her bottom lip, and Henry could see her lips were chapped. Tucking her hair behind her ear to get it out of her face, she said, "I didn't think you'd come."

"What?" He asked, "What would make you think that?" Was it something he'd said? Something he didn't say? Or do?

She shrugged, "I don't know. I guess, I thought maybe you wouldn't talk to me until I talked to Mom."

"Em." He didn't know how to respond to that one. Because, normally, the two of them were a pair. No matter what, they had each other's backs. They had a big thing about the kids not trying to work one parent over the other. But. Things were different now. He found the words, "I'm just glad to hear from you. And… I…"

"You didn't tell her, did you?"

The question was rapid fire, like there was anxiety wrapped up in Emma's worries.

He couldn't answer. So he just shook his head.

She nodded.

They sat for a second, and Henry asked, "How are you doing?" He ignored the reality in front of him and just wanted to hear from his daughter.

"Well…" Emma said, looking down at her feet, "It was rough going for a while." Well, at least she saw that. "I had a really hard time getting out of bed. I just felt… empty."

Empty. Something Henry had really felt here lately.

He just listened.

"I just couldn't imagine going to work anywhere but the CIA." She said, looking at him. "I couldn't figure out how to work the whole 'my mom's the President' with like, needing a job."

"Fair." He agreed. "Too bad there's not a support group."

She smiled, "Funny, I guess Harrison's the other kid who would get it, but…"

"Yeah."

"Complicated." She chuckled. Then she took a breath. "So I got behind on things, thankfully Charlotte's been really helpful."

"Oh." Henry said, "I didn't reach out to her, with like, everything between your mother and her…"

Emma nodded. "Yeah, she's been helping with the bills and stuff."

Henry felt a bit relieved. Maybe he was just worried over nothing. It wasn't like this hadn't been hard on all of them. He was sure he looked different to Emma than the last time she'd seen him. Maybe he was just overreacting.

"So, what's your plan?" He asked. "Grad school? Working?"

She bit her lip again, then looked at him, "Well, I think it's kind of gotta work before I can go back to grad school. Then the whole job thing hits hard."

It wasn't like she could just go find a job at a coffee shop somewhere. He was sure she already felt she had to hide enough as it was.

"If you went back to grad school, what would you study?" He asked. He just wanted to hear her voice. Just wanted to make the visit last longer. Just to be with her.

She smiled at him. "See, I've got this really cool idea for a thesis paper." She adjusted so she was sitting cross-legged on the bench, facing him. "I would love to research and write about the American experience and power compared to other cultures idea of power." She held up her hand, "Now, I know that's not like revolutionary, but I want to focus on refugees. Like how that American experience and the idea of power combine and contrast with that of a refugee's own culture and idea of power."

Henry sat up straight, his brain following where she was going, "Ok, Em, that could be really good."

She nodded, excitement filling her face. "So, like, I would love to interview refugees in different stages of their assimilation process, from different countries and backgrounds. Compile that, contrasting that with like, Americans from the same age group and their ideas."

He smiled. "That's really good, Em."

"Thanks." She said. "I submitted my application to Georgetown, and I got accepted." Then her voice fell, "So, you know of any very, very private work for someone with no reference-able job skills that pays enough for me to go to grad school?"

"Not unless you want to come work at the White House." He said, knowing already the answer to that one.

"No chance." She said, defeat filling her voice. Then she seemed to brush it off, "Well, there's always next year."

Three months before, there would be no question. The words he said would never have come out of his mouth. There was no way he'd do that without talking with Elizabeth.

But things were different now.

They didn't talk much.

And he could see the excitement and drive that Emma had for this project. A path forward. But, because of her circumstances with Elizabeth, and being Elizabeth's daughter, a path that needed some assistance.

And he said it. Maybe as his first jab back at Elizabeth's unilateral decision to allow Emma to leave. To cut Emma off from them.

But he said, "Look, if you're serious about this…"

Emma shook her head in protest, "Dad, you know I'm not coming to you for a handout. That's not…"

"I know that." He interrupted, "But this is something that I can see is important. And… "He searched for the words, "This is, well, a way that … we, I mean, I can help you with."

He expected Emma to notice the slip up. Expected her to balk away from taking anything from Elizabeth. Stand up and walk away.

But she didn't. Instead she just said, "But the deadline for the summer session, with two independent study classes – the deadline is tomorrow. And I couldn't…"

"So." Henry said, "How much for the summer session?"

Emma just looked at him. Her eyes wide. "Are you sure?" Quiet. Unexpecting.

He nodded. "Yes."

"It's a lot."

"I used to be a college professor. I know that it's expensive."

Then she paused. And looked at her feet. "The two classes are five credits each. And each credit is about twelve hundred." Then, as Henry did the math, Emma started talking quickly, "But I can take the summer off. Get prepared for the fall semester, dad. It's so much money. I can try and save up money doing…. I don't know, stand up maybe?"

Henry chuckled. Then he said, "So how about I write you a check?"

"I don't know what to say."

He leaned over, looking at her. "How about you just say you'll agree to talk with me all about the classes, ok?"

"Ok." She agreed, with a smile on her face. As Henry pulled out his checkbook, she said, "Are you sure you don't want to drop that money off at the admissions office?"

"Isn't the payment stuff still connected from your application submission?"

"Yeah." She said, "You sound like you've done this a time or two before."

"Well, I did used to teach graduate classes. And, honestly, after putting four kids through university, I'm kind of up to date about the whole thing." He pulled out his checkbook from his wallet. He scribbled down his signature, put it down Emma's name, and then wrote out the total.

Then he ripped it out and handed it to Emma. "Now. Go spend that all in one place – Georgetown."

"Dad" Emma whispered, "I can't believe…"

He reached over, pulled her in for a hug. "I just want you to be ok, Em."

"You wrote it for fifteen."

He kissed the top of her head and then sat back as he winked at her, "Well, that allows for just a little partying but not enough that my tuition goes to waste."

"Thanks. So much."

He could tell she was getting antsy. And, despite not wanting to let her go, not wanting to say goodbye, he was glad she was excited to go get stuff started for her classes. And he said, "Do you want to meet again?"

"Of course." Emma said. "What about Friday?" Then she stood up, fidgeting with the check in her hand. "Oh, I can't believe it."

He stood up, pulled her tight again in a hug. Unwilling to let her go. But hopeful. More than he'd been in months. "I love you, Em."

"I love you too, Dad." Then she stepped back. "Friday, same time?"

"I wouldn't miss it."

Then she was gone.

And Henry walked back to the motorcade. And he considered what he'd done. He knew he should've talked to Elizabeth. Knew he should've sat and thought about it for a bit. But.

But she hadn't thought about it or included him in the discussion when she'd turned Emma against them. Elizabeth hadn't thought twice about putting him on Elizabeth's side without talking about it. And it wasn't like it was just handing her cash. It was for Emma's future – one she sounded so excited about. Something to keep her focused and on track – especially when Elizabeth had taken away what Emma thought would be her future. This was good.

He didn't tell Elizabeth. Thought he'd wait. Also – she didn't ask. So he didn't tell. She'd ask soon enough. Or maybe she wouldn't.

But he felt good about his decision.

Especially when he saw that Emma had deposited the check.

He felt a little uneasy when ten am Friday came and went with no sign of Emma.