AN: Hi all! Where are all my fellow writers! We need more fics! Come on guys - you can do it!

Thanks for ALL your reviews - did I mention how much I LOVE reading them?

Hope you all like this chapter too; most of it is again in Henry's POV. Probably only 1-2 more chapters on this. I've really enjoyed writing this one, I'm sad to see it be almost ending :(

Baghdad.

Henry hated that place. He hated everything about it. He hated what went on there. He hated the sound of the name when it hit his ears.

If he was honest with himself he would have said it was her breaking point; and she'd been slowly losing herself to that place ever since. It had been 2 long years.

Shortly after the miscarriage they found out they were expecting again. This time a baby boy. Henry couldn't have been happier; the son he'd been secretly hoping for. Elizabeth had been thrilled too; so happy Henry would have a son.

The new baby seemed to take away the sorrow in their hearts from the miscarriage. Not that they would ever forget, or stop wondering, but it was something positive to look forward to in 2002. They could put 2011 and the pain it caused personally and on a national level far behind them. Or so he thought.

Elizabeth had been extra diligent about protecting their son; trying her best to avoid another miscarriage, a part of her still believing it could have been prevented. She ate properly; got plenty of rest and demanded to be put on a different assignment at work to ease with the stress and long hours. She refused to do any traveling as well.

Conrad of course had abided by her wishes and assigned her track in individual they'd identified in several bombings and attacks on civilians in Iraq. It was a lesser assignment; but still an important one, and one that would allow her to feel as though she was helping in the war on terror without directly having to work on the larger Al Qaeda operations.

Despite all of that; she had gone into labor at 30 weeks. Luckily they were able to stop it and she was confined to bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy.

Henry knew she wasn't a bed rest type person; and her definition of bed red was working from her laptop in bed. She'd gone into labor again at 33 weeks; and this time they couldn't stop it.

He'd never seen her feel as guilty or terrified as when Jason was born and she didn't hear a cry from him. The cord had been wrapped around his neck and he'd quickly been whisked away to the NICU without either of them getting to hold him. Even though the doctor assured her it wasn't her fault about the cord; and that Jason was doing fine and was just placed there as a precaution - all preemies were she couldn't stop feeling as though she'd hurt him in some way.

Jason spent 3 weeks in the hospital before he was allowed to go home. Dr. Miller had assured her Jason wasn't early because she worked from home, again 'sometimes it just happens' he said, and he told their son was progressing as well as expected for a baby his size; just 3.5 pounds. But she stayed with him as long as possible everyday; reading to him as she held him in her arms, rocking him all day. Henry spent much time in the hospital holding his son and he brought the girls to visit their brother almost everyday. He remembered holding him and looking into Elizabeth's sad eyes saying. "Honey, he's strong, he's the son of a Marine. A fighter." Anything he could say to reduce her sadness. He loved his tiny son and didn't blame Elizabeth at all. He was as healthy as he could be and that was *because* of his wife. She'd taken great care of him for 33 weeks, he was the strong husband and father he needed to be, and saw his family through the 3 weeks in the hospital

The sadness didn't leave her beautiful blue eyes; the same eyes Jason had until he was released to go home; when he'd reached 6 pounds and was just as big as Allison & Stephanie when they were brought home.

Henry noticed her, his Elizabeth, the real Elizabeth, returning when she was home again with the kids during her maternity leave. Her anger at the war seemed to be lessening. It had. Until she went back to work and learned that Safir had set off more bombs and she was more determined than ever to get him. The anger clouded her eyes once again almost immediately. He hated it.

In 2003, when Jason was just 6 months old she told Henry she'd finally located him, they'd captured him. They wanted her to interrogate him. Her blood was boiling and she had to do it.

After the two week trip; where Henry had lied to Stevie about her whereabouts, she returned home, but not without doubt filling her mind. He thought for sure she'd feel better after getting her target and start returning to her old self again. But she didn't.

That night as she lay in his arms, she quietly cried. "Henry, I'm a torturer."

"No honey." he assured her, looking deep into her eyes.

"Yes. It's my fault. I couldn't break him. Maybe I was too emotionally involved, maybe it was the hormones. I don't know. But I failed at my job. And they had to torture him. I authorized it, it's all on me."

"It's not honey. He killed dozens of people. Children - you said it yourself- kids Ally and Jason's age. Innocent people. He got what he deserved." Henry argued

"I know. But does that mean it's okay for us to torture people? How does that make us any better?"

"Babe…"

"Henry, I'm serious!"

"I know you are. Babe, I was a Marine, I killed people. I understand the mental struggle with that. We're in a war. This is the landscape. It's not easy. It's not black and white" he told her.

When she didn't respond he asked, "Am I terrible person for killing people when I was flew those fighter jets?"

"Of course not!" she said immediately.

"Then why does this make you a terrible person?" he asked, hoping his context helped her.

She looked at him, her eyes were clouded with pain, confusion. She wasn't able to answer. She didn't know.

"Look, don't you agree that he did terrible things and has to pay for them? If he was an American, and set off a bomb at some park in America, he would probably get the death penalty." he tried another justification

"I suppose." she agreed.

"So he has to pay for what he did, he got tortured and he died. That's justice."

"Maybe so, but it didn't help the war. Don't you think prisoners deserve to be treated humanely for war crimes; murderers are treated kindly in prisons here."

Henry looked at her. Maybe they were. Maybe they weren't. War changed the landscape. It always did. He'd learned and accepted this is in the Marines.

"Honey, if you don't agree with it; then do something about it. Take action." he finally said, knowing she wouldn't let it rest until she could do something to make up for it in her mind

"So you don't agree with me?" she raised her voice, shocked.

"I don't know babe. I see both sides." He pulled her closer, holding her tight, kissing her gently on her forehead, giving his best attempt to console her confused heart.

She took his advice and took action, spending the nearly next two years writing her 500 page Baghdad station report; pushing for the humane treatment of prisoners of war. One of her arguments was "how can we expect American prisoners of war be treated humanely, if the US doesn't exhibit similar procedure with opposition prisoners. She'd cited the Geneva convention.

She genuinely believed that Safir was not a terrible person. He only set off those bombs because his government made him. Just as she'd let him be tortured; her government almost demanded the action from her. Did that make her a terrible person? No. Henry agreed with her there. Because he killed people in combat as a Marine, it didn't make him a terrible person. He helped her illustrate a section with some of the points and research on the 'just war' concept he often taught about in his Military Ethics class.

She also furiously researched other incidents similar to the one she participated in; where the target hadn't confessed or given up co-conspirators and they'd ended up killing them before they revealed any information. It was squandering resources, not preventing any bombings; other bombers would always take the place of captured soldiers. It was the way their army worked; those soldiers were trained to sacrifice their lives before they would reveal secrets to the opposition.

For a while writing that report had brought her peace; she was taking action, coming to terms with her part in the Baghdad trip. She wasn't actively spying on anything; just dedicated to her report.

She said on numerous occasions that she was sure she'd get fired when Conrad saw it. Going completely against the government in which you work for wasn't exactly the best way to impress your boss.

Henry had secretly hoped she would get fired; more than once. He wanted her to back off the CIA and have a regular job, with regular hours, that didn't involve lying about her whereabouts to her kids. But most importantly, one that made her happy. Like the CIA used to.

He'd been more shocked than ever when she came home that Wednesday and told him Conrad loved her report; so confident in it, in her, that he'd shown it to the Secretary of State and Defense and wanted to promote her to Baghdad Station Chief so she could implement it herself.

Of course he was thrilled for her; but so disappointed she'd considered going. How could she just leave her almost two year old son. Then he screamed at her in frustration for two days, the worst fight they'd ever had; one of the only fights they'd ever had. He shouldn't have yelled. They should have had a calm and rational discussion. Even though he was angry, he had no right to treat her that way. It was entirely his fault. He had to apologize and make it right, even it meant supporting her if she wanted to go to Baghdad.

*****Promises*****

Elizabeth had never written a letter like this before. But her mind was made up. She hit print on her computer and scribbled her signature on the bottom of the page before she talked herself out of delaying it.

On her way out for the day she stopped by Conrad's office. "Bess."

"Conrad, I finished the revisions to the station report." she said quietly, setting the document on his desk.

"Great. Sit down." he said, motioning to a chair in front of his desk. "I wanted to talk with you about that. Ideally, I'd like you to leave in three weeks."

"About that sir...I" she paused, taking a deep breath and setting the single sheet of paper down on top of the report. "I really can't leave in 3 weeks. I'm. I'm - resigning."

Conrad took the letter and looked at it, then looked to her. She was dead serious.

"Conrad, I'm flattered- honored- that you want me to go to Baghdad, but I just can't leave my family for that long." It wasn't her most eloquent speech; but it was the honest truth.

He smiled, reaching to crumble up her letter. "Bess, then why didn't you just say so. I can send someone else if you are really against going. Don't quit. You're my best analyst. I need you."

"Sir, again. It's very nice of you to offer." she said firmly, reaching for his hand, preventing him from crumpling the letter. "Believe me, I have loved working here. I just. I'm burning out...and I...I miss my kids." she felt terrible. She loved her job, it was the only job she'd ever had. She never imagined quitting like this. But her love for her husband and her children were the only things she loved more than her job and her country. She'd been very disappointed in her country lately.

"How about a nice long vacation?"

"Sir…."

"There's nothing I can say to change your mind?"

She shook her head.

He smiled a sad smile. when he realized there wasn't. He figured this day would come eventually since the day she ran out to visit Henry at Landstuhl. He couldn't say he blamed her. Lydia had been on him for years about missing out on Harrison's life. But he knew she'd be back. He knew she couldn't stay away forever. "Okay Bess. I understand. But anytime you want to come back, or get bored and want to do some side consulting work - you let me know. My door is always open for you. This place won't be the same without you."

"Thank you, Conrad." she said with unshed tears in her eyes before she left for the day. As she walked out of the building she felt lighter than she had in years; finally feeling as though the weight and pressure of the war had been lifted from her shoulders.