It's nearly 5pm on a Monday night when Josh sees the news alert on CNN that the Capitol is on lockdown.

Some kind of news network always seems to be running in the background of the Moss-Lyman home and his eyes are drawn to the report immediately, his heart starting to pound and his stomach dropping to his feet. It's breaking news so he hasn't had a chance to hear it anywhere else first, no one has had a chance to call him, and he feels blindsided by the image and the ticker on the news giving him such important information.

He remembers this feeling all too well: fear, dread, panic, anxiety and the tiny sense of hope that maybe it will be okay trying to rise above all the others.

His six-year-old daughter is happily playing and laughing and singing and it takes all he has in him not to tell her to sit still and quiet down because he can't focus on anything right now except the thoughts swirling around in his head, and that her happiness is now extremely misplaced.

He mutes the TV instantly, knows all three of his girls know exactly where their mother works, they know that she's there tonight, and they all know what a lockdown is thanks to the state of this country and how they often practice the drills at school. Audrey is none the wiser to the news that has just thrown his whole brain into chaos and continues to play on the floor just beneath the now silent TV.

He wants to pick up the phone and text his wife, but he's afraid to. What if her phone isn't on silent? What if the alert his text message sends puts her in danger? So instead, he sits idly by with no way to contact her and it's entirely all too reminiscent of a fourteen-hour flight to Germany over a decade ago. He grabs his own phone, checks for messages and missed calls, checks the ringer, and keeps it clutched in his hands in case she calls, in case anyone calls with information.

Leah steps into view then, hovering at the doorway. He looks up and locks eyes with her and he knows instantly that she knows and understands what's going on, especially when he sees the questioning look on her face as she looks to her father for something. He knows she's probably looking to him for reassurance that everything is okay, and unfortunately, he knows that's not what he's giving back to her right now. Leah looks at Josh for a moment with concerned eyes, then her eyes flit to her youngest sister, in question. Josh understands that his eleven-year-old daughter is mature and responsible and protective enough of her sister to not want to say anything that might alert her to what's going on and scare her.

The look of concern and worry on Leah's face right now reminds him completely of Donna.

His phone dings then, and he feels instant relief because he knows it's Donna by the text tone (Donna had chosen the one that he found most annoying for herself years ago- but now he finds he likes the sound because it reminds him of her. Right now, he loves that tone).

Leah knows it's her mother's tone, too, and she looks at him with wide eyes, biting her lip.

Josh knows it has to be good news – or, is it? What if someone else found her phone and is contacting him because she's hurt, and he's going to have to explain that to Leah right now without any time to process it himself.

Nervously, he clears his throat (why, he's not sure) and glances down at the screen with a deep breath.

The text message is short. I'm okay.

Relief floods his body and he lets out a breath.

He wishes there was more to it but he supposes, of course, in whatever situation she's in she doesn't have time to text him a novel so he takes this as assurance that she truly is okay, that at least he knows she's alive and breathing as of 5:07pm, according to the timestamp.

Another text comes, two emojis: the one they send as code for "can't talk now" and the one they use as code for "I love you" and it feels him with relief to know she's okay enough to use their secret language.

Josh looks up at Leah and nods and Leah heaves a sigh of relief. She pushes off the doorframe and moves into the living room to sit down gingerly on the couch tucking a leg beneath her, not saying or doing anything to alert Audrey to the fact something is still slightly amiss.

Josh sits down next to her and squeezes her shoulder. She still looks anxious, so he hands her his phone so she can see the message for herself and she smiles.

"You two and your strange emoji language," Leah says, trying to sound annoyed but just sounding relieved.

"Let's go start dinner," Josh says and Leah just nods, shutting off the TV.

Donna arrives home less than an hour later. He's sitting at the kitchen table with Noa, trying to help her with her math homework (while checking his phone constantly for more information on what happened at the Capitol and responding to messages from Donna once the lockdown is over), when he hears the door open. He can hear Leah's door open from upstairs as she's clearly heard her mother's arrival, as well.

Noa bounds from the table (any excuse, really, to get away from her homework) and runs into the living room to greet her mother, runs up to her and hugs her. Donna kisses her on the head as Noa starts chattering to her about her day at school, still completely clueless. Josh steps into the room and Donna locks eyes with him instantly, giving him a soft smile.

When Noa takes off to her room, Donna heads straight to Josh who opens his arms and envelopes her in a hug. He doesn't let go for a long time, breathing in the scent of her hair, holding her tightly and rubbing her back gently before kissing her on the forehead.

He'd almost lost her once, so many years ago, and every day he lives on the edge never wanting to feel those feelings again.

"I love you," he says.

"I love you too," she returns. "I'm fine."

Though she tells him she's fine, they both know how big these things can feel. They've experienced too much together to ever be able to brush off anything like this as less than.

She pulls back a bit to smile at him and then returns to his embrace. Leah comes into the room and takes in the scene before her. Donna pulls away reluctantly and looks to Josh who nods, letting Donna understand that Leah knows what happened and she opens her arms to her daughter who also steps in for a hug.

"Hi Mom," she says, returning the hug and lingering for longer than usually before pulling away. "I'm glad you're home."

Donna smiles and kisses Leah on the head. "I'm glad to be home, too," she tells her. She looks Leah in the eyes momentarily and adds, "I'm fine, Honey, okay?"

Leah nods, but her eyes still show a little bit of fear. "There was a dangerous person?" she asks.

"Just someone acting strange," Donna says. "But he never got inside. They weren't sure if he had a weapon. The lockdown was just a precaution."

Leah nods, understanding. "We're making spaghetti for dinner."

Donna grins. "Sounds good."

"I'm going to go check on the garlic bread," she decides, heading back towards the kitchen.

"Be careful with the oven!" Josh calls after her. "Leah!"

"I know!" she returns, disappearing from view. As soon as Leah's gone, Josh pulls Donna to him again.

"Really, it was more precaution than anything, Josh," Donna assures him, though he notices she melts right into the embrace.

"I know," he kisses her head. "I still hated every minute of it."

She sways gently in his arms. "I know."

"Dinner?"

She grins. "I'm starving."

"You know it never gets easier. Worrying about you."

She gives him a soft smile at his genuine vulnerability. "I know," she agrees as Josh sighs and wraps an arm around her, escorting her into the kitchen.