(Warning: brief mention of suicide.)

Chapter 7:

Stevie

The looks thrown her way as Stevie navigated her way through the halls of the White House were full of nothing but pity. There were times where, as an intern, she was grateful that news traveled fast. Times like this though, she absolutely despised it. It seemed like everywhere she went someone knew. And those eyes that burned into her screamed one thing: pity.

As she peeked into office spaces and conference rooms, Stevie found herself asking a single question: how can your heart feel like it is halfway up your throat but flopping around in your stomach at the same time? Because that's how she felt as she tried to find Jason, as she mulled over the fact that their mom, her mom, was being held hostage, and-

She had to remind herself to breathe; running through the list of what could go wrong would do nothing but make the situation unbearable. A snort rose up in her throat - more. More unbearable.

Her body was unnaturally warm, the beating of her heart now palpable in her hands and forearms as she gripped the sleeves of her sweater. The th-thump only slowed down a fraction when she spotted Jason secluded in an unpopulated corridor, his head resting on his knees.

"Jase…" She approached him cautiously, sitting down close enough that their arms could brush, but far enough away that he could easily pull away if he became overwhelmed.

He glanced up at her before promptly letting his head fall back into its previous position. That glance was enough for her to notice that the anger he had shown in Russell's office was now completely replaced with pure anxiety and trepidation.

The soft hand on his shoulder prompted him into speaking, his voice unwavering yet soft, "I-"

He let out a small chuckle, "Part of me wants to be angry. A small part of me is. She… she exchanged herself." He looked up and over at Stevie.

"Exchanged like she's expendable." Anger flashed in his eyes, disappearing just as fast as it had shown, "But I can't be mad, not at mom." He flashed her a small smile, "I can practically hear her saying that she was just doing her job, but… she was simply just being herself. How can I be angry at her for that?"

His gaze shifted to the floor, staring at a coffee stain as he continued, "I don't want to be mad at her. Part of me just can't fathom how she put herself into the middle of this. What would happen to her? What about us? What about-" He slammed his eyes shut and fought against the wave of emotions that crashed down on him.

Stevie inhaled deeply as she put an arm snugly behind his back and rested her head on his shoulder. "I get it."

She let a small laugh escape, "It… it feels selfish to walk these halls and think about what would happen to me, to us, if anything were to happen to her. Because as much as her actions affect her, they affect us - and she's always taken that into account, for as long as I remember, she always has. I think either way I'd be angry. Anger makes sense. I know part of me would never understand if she chose not to trade herself; they are all innocent, they don't deserve this, they don't deserve to die. They have families too... " Jason shifted around her and she fought to blink tears away.

"Either way there would be resentment, whether or not it's a lot, I can't imagine any situation where some part of me just couldn't-" She shook her head, "-just couldn't…"

They sat there; leaning on each other for support, silent yet telling each other so much. Different, yet so alike. The pair didn't need to speak the words they were feeling; they were both feeling it, in different forms, but felt it nonetheless.

Sometimes you can't put how you feel into words. Sometimes words can't describe that feeling that seems to wrap around you, weighing you down, smothering you.

Elizabeth

The sting that ran across Elizabeth's cheekbone slowly faded, and was soon replaced by the throb of a headache. She could almost laugh at her luck - what a great time to get a headache. It isn't a surprise, though. This whole night is a headache. And a big one at that.

Mustard hadn't moved, and the man across from her sat inhumanly still.

"My father's dead. And you are the reason why."

His words clashed around her head. He hadn't given any more information after that, just went back to staring at her; one leg crossed over the other, his facade giving away little-to-nothing. Part of her is glad he hadn't said more, it certainly gave her time to think, but he had yet to give her a lot to actually work with.

Blake and Matt looked like they paled even further, which, had the situation been any different, would have had her worried to death. She was, but she figured it didn't warrant a comment - they seemed to have a hard time wrapping that piece of information around their heads. Kat looked like Kat, silently giving Elizabeth the support and understanding she needed - even if she didn't understand completely. Jay looked, to put it bluntly, downright awful. His face gave nothing away, but his eyes and body language screamed everything his mask hid: the kid was terrified. He took this piece of information to heart - probably, and understandably so, terrified that now they have a smaller chance of getting out, getting back to their families.

A sliver of her felt that way, but she pushed it down as far as it could go and held it there. She doesn't have the freedom to feel that way, not right now.

She observed the man in front of her, digging up any piece of information that may or may not be relevant. McKinley. His father? McKinley... McK- And then it clicked.

"Elijah McKinley, son of Raymond and Freya McKinley."

Emotion flickered in his eyes as he gave her a small nod.

She weighed her options, she could do one of two things: one, she co- "I'm sorry for your loss."

Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Matt recoil; Blake's eyes widen as he registered her words - as he understood the risk that one sentence is, Jay, look at her like she grew a second head and the ghost of a smirk on Kat. Then all she could see was the man in front of her. His mask slid out of place, ever so slightly. She struck a nerve - that was written in every crevice of his face, but he remained surprisingly calm.

"Thank you." He said as he leaned forward in his chair, his forearms resting on his thighs, hands clasped together.

The atmosphere thickened, like the room itself was holding its breath.

"When did he pass?"

"Three weeks ago. Suicide."

She could only manage a nod. Every response she thought of didn't seem appropriate.

Alison

Alison sat on the chair, curled into her dad. Her eyes burned, but she did not cry. She did not fall to the ground, unable to stand. She did not scream or send things flying across the room. She simply sat, burning a hole into the wall, and pretended it was the man who had her mother. The man who decided to play '52 card pick-up' with their lives. The man who may take her mom away.

As they sat there, breathing was the only sound that filled the office. Her dad's breath rustled the few strands hanging loosely in her ponytail; that flutter of hair and the beating in his chest was one of the only things keeping the tears from falling - the weight of his arm around her shoulder enough to keep her heart from beating any faster than it already was.

When her vision blurred, she merely blinked in rapid succession and went back to hoping that sheer will was enough to bring her mom home. But, if pure will was enough, then there would be no need to burn a hole in the wall, in hopes that the man she envisioned could feel what she felt too.

DS Agent Matt

On the first day of the academy, they were told a rule that would follow them throughout their careers. It was simple, one many said was easy. Matt once thought it was easy, at least he did until he met the McCords. "Don't get too close, never get attached." As a senior agent, he had worked with many different people - but they could never be compared to the McCord family. (Then again, not a lot could.)

When he first learned of his new assignment, he never once thought he would feel this way. It was easy to think that Elizabeth McCord wouldn't last 2 months on the job. It was easy to think that getting "too close" was never going to happen. And then he met them.

As he thinks about it, it makes sense that the Secretary was the first to make him come around. Strong, reliable, stalwart - everything the world needs. Kind yet not naive; caring yet not blind, strong yet soft. A light. The exact opposite of weak. Oh, how wrong he was.

Then he met Henry, a kind soul. Just as strong, just as reliable. Funny and comfortable to be around. Does he even need to mention considerate? A fighter. The man beside the woman. Not soon after, he met the kids. Bright, funny, polite souls. Alison was also there to provide nice words, Jason a joke to break the tension, and Stevie to blind you with her brilliant smile.

Everything about them was the complete opposite of previous politicians and the families he worked with. How could he not get too close when he was constantly being pulled in?

The possibility of stepping in front of a bullet for someone was clear since day one. But with the McCords? He did not doubt that he would make that decision whether it was his duty or not.

Conrad

Years in the CIA and a governor-turned-president was the only thing that stopped Conrad from losing his cool.

The beating of Elizabeth's heart as it drifted through the speaker was almost therapeutic. Almost. As he thinks about it, Conrad thinks it would be, if you took "being held hostage" out of the equation. He couldn't hear anything other than the th-thump he had grown so accustomed to so soon after he sat in the very chair he had yet to leave. It would be a lie to say he could understand the words being spoken around him; they simply drifted around him, not strong enough to break through his haze.

It was hard, sitting and listening to everything through a speaker someone found out of pure luck. Everything so far felt like luck. This wasn't his first time sitting on the, say, sidelines - and it certainly wouldn't be his last. Yet, the friend in him yearned to do something, anything to right these wrongs.

Elizabeth will always be "Bes" to him, no matter what, and he can't sit there and think objectively. Not when her breath floats through the line, accompanying that beat. Not when her voice breaks through the chaos around him. He is the President and she is the Secretary of State, yet above it all, she is his friend.

Operation after operation never prepared him for this moment. The only other time he felt this hopeless was Iran. And saying that he felt helpless both then and now wasn't enough. One look at Russell confirmed that he felt the same way too.

Henry

Talks of threats in another country happened frequently; threats abroad mentioned before every trip - as it was in the works, mere hours before it was made, and sprinkled in between. Threats in-country were always there, nearby yet ever so far. They were brought up, yet seemed to pale in comparison to that of attacks happening halfway around the world.

Henry knew it was a possibility. Knew that there may be an opportunity if someone tried hard enough, thought long enough, and planned good enough. Perhaps he was lulled into false security by the presence of Diplomatic Security; perhaps they became too comfortable - oblivious to a threat that could easily blow up in their faces out of nowhere when they least expected it.

Those thoughts easily became overwhelming, threatening to pull him under waves he would undoubtedly drown in. Pulling out of his own head was hard. Hard as he sat there holding Alison in his arms. Hard as he stared at the door waiting for Stevie and Jason to re-enter the room. Hard as he thought about what that man was doing to his wife; his best friend, the love of his life, his center of gravity.

Hard.

He prided himself on the fact that he was a man of words. Words, when needed, came easily to him. Transferable to paper; flowing out of him, through the pen, and straight onto the paper. When words failed him, he had quotes. This, he wasn't ashamed of. Words were always important to him. But now? Words were not enough, and neither were quotes.

Sitting there, nothing came to mind. Nothing could cut through the indescribable thoughts that plagued the back of his mind, threatening to overflow. When he thought hard enough, when he could push through the muck in his brain, he could think of a quote by Gandhi. It says, "In a gentle way, you can shake the world."

From day one, Henry knew that Elizabeth was going to shake the world. From day one, she shook his world, and every day from then on, she continued. She shook his world while simultaneously being his center of gravity, his focus point. The only thing that kept his feet connected to the ground. Yet, for both his world, and the world around him, this was neither gently, nor the shake that is needed.

No, hard didn't cut it. But it fit the situation. Sure, it was an oversimplification, but finding the right words could wait. Just until his world shifts back into place. Then he can find a replacement for a word that did this situation no justice.

*Notes:

Never fear, chapter 7 is here!

Never fear, I will never say that again.

Thank you all! A long-winded explanation will come out with chapter 8! I promise it won't take as long as this did...