Unknown Location, Iraq – September 2004

It's been hell. For the months since she tried to run, she's been in hell. Maybe she is dead. Sometimes she feels she is. Maybe this place is her eternal punishment for anything she's ever done wrong in her life. It would not be a surprise to her if that were true. She has plenty to be punished for.

She could still be at the house with her family. She could be sleeping in her bed. She could end it all. She could die by her own hand in this room if she wanted to. But she doesn't do that. Subconsciously she must still have a little fight left in her. Even though she feels she should give up, she can't seem to bring herself to do so.

She knows it's been months. She can't figure out why. She should've been saved by now. Maybe she hasn't been saved at all. Maybe the government never planned on saving her. Maybe she's just here to rot for the rest of her life. She doesn't know why that thought is so prevalent in her mind. No man left behind. That's supposed to be the rule. But she knows better than anyone that the world of geopolitics is more complicated than that. The people involved have other interests. Maybe she's just another victim of the war on terror.

Not that the man who's holding her is a terrorist. At least he doesn't act like one. He's never droned on about political or religious ideologies. He's never even discussed them. She's unsure where he's from; his accent mixes South American and English. He could be from any number of countries. He speaks fluent English, Spanish, and Arabic, although both his English and Arabic are accented. But she does know that he's not a Muslim. He wears a silver cross on a silver chain around his neck. She combines the contexts and knows he must be a South American Catholic. So what is he doing here? What does he want from her? (Well, other than the things he's taking.) How did he know where to find her? Did he know her before? How did she end up in the crosshairs of a sociopathic rapist? Maybe she's not meant to know. Maybe that's why she's supposed to fight. So she can find the answers.

But she can't fight. Her body is weak. Her spirit is even weaker. He doesn't have to do much to keep her under his control anymore. She's learned how not to get hit. She's learned not to struggle too much. She's learned not to cry. She's learned to take it and keep herself from reacting to it.

But she doesn't know how much longer she can do that. She needs a plan. A real plan. She figures she's on her own. She is her only hope to get out and home to her family. The only thing that makes her feel alive is the desire to see them again. She tries not to think about how much they must miss her. How much they must hate her for being gone. She wants to hold her babies so severely. The best word she can use. Severe. More than intense. She'll do anything to get back to them. She stays alive for them. She knows that.

But there are no more options for her. Her only chance is to keep observing. And eventually, she'll be able to plan and hopefully execute. Maybe she can outmaneuver him if she can figure out what he's up to. But she can't do that unless she can start moving. She's so weak from lack of nutrition and sleep that her body is like lead. Step one: get food.

Pittsburgh, PA – September 2004

Henry has to go home. He can't be here anymore. He sees her everywhere. Virginia was Elizabeth's home. It was her place. She was born and raised Virginian. She lived and breathed this state. Her favorite places were the Blue Ridge Mountains, Washington, and Charlottesville. His daily existence reminds him of her. It's not good for him or his children. He wants to go home. He needs to be surrounded by his family. His parents and siblings. People who can help him. People who are his in a place that is his. A place that was never hers. He can't stay here. He can't sleep here. He can't breathe here. It's too painful, and he can't inflict his unhappiness on his children.

He sent them ahead to Pittsburgh with his mother. He's going to be behind them by a week. He needs to pack up his house (their house) alone. He needs to place their marriage in boxes, figuratively and literally. He can't face doing this with them there. He takes his time. He runs his hands over her clothes that still hang in their closet. He selects a few of her fancier dresses to keep for the girls. Her favorite ones. A blue floor-length gown that had brought out the color of her eyes better than anything she's ever worn. And the little white sundress she had married him in. She had been so beautiful in that dress. He wants those things for his children. She was always so good to his kids. He knows (not from experience) but knows nonetheless that their daughters will want to have the wedding dress—something about mothers and daughters, he guesses. He also keeps a few Frampton t-shirts, one for each of them. But he packs up the rest to donate.

Then her jewelry. She was buried with her wedding band, but he has her engagement ring. She had been afraid to take it to Iraq with her. He puts it in the single box he's dedicated to her. The only box he's bringing with him of her things, besides the pictures. The other things— most of her books, all of her shoes, and the fancy china he never cared about, but she did—he's leaving in Virginia. He'll take them to thrift stores so they can find a second life with people who can love them the way she did. He keeps a few books (only ones she's annotated) and all her notebooks—the ones filled with her ideas, her plans to save the world. He keeps their love letters. There are a lot of them. She had been the keeper of them. For their tenth anniversary, she had a special box made by an Amish man in Ohio to hold them. He places the box into the box designated for her things.

Her music is the hardest thing to part with. He doesn't want to move with years worth of vinyl and CDs. He keeps her copies of Frampton Comes Alive. To her, the best album to have ever been recorded and pressed. She owns... owned it on vinyl, cassette, and CD. He keeps every format. Not that he listens to them. Baby, I Love Your Way makes him sob like a baby. He keeps waiting to hear her sing to him quietly, tone deaf, as they hold each other close and dance in their kitchen late at night. She had told him once that he was what she had waited for. All she wanted to find was a man who made the lyrics of that song make sense. A man she could love with her whole being. A man whom she truly loved their way. It had made him cry then. And it makes him cry now. He packs the vinyl with the few of her records he can't live without (her copy of the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, which she unironically loved—How Deep Is Your Love is on it, after all).

…X…X…X…

He makes the drive from DC to Pittsburgh by himself. The last time he had been on this route alone, he was driving in the other direction. He was going to her. To apologize and then propose. He was going home to her. She had been home. He feels so aimless without her. He has no sense of direction anymore. He doesn't know where to turn or where to go. So he goes to his parent's house. For a week. He has already bought a house in Pittsburgh, but it's not move-in ready. So for a week, he stays with his family in the home where he grew up.

He's not sleeping well, but he rarely sleeps well anymore. He wasn't expecting his childhood bedroom to be tainted with her too. But it is. Every time he closes his eyes, she is there. Trying not to cry after Maureen made some fucked up comment. Or missing her parents on Christmas Eve. The time they had a quickie against the door before they were married. Or watching TV, her victory smile when the Nationals beat the Pirates, and his dad had told her to wipe it off her face, and she told him to fuck off. That was the closest she came to being accepted by him. He had looked at her, taken aback but slightly proud. He can't wait to get into his new house. Just him and the kids. A new start. He needs it.

…X…X…X…

Picking out bedroom decorations with his kids was the most fun he'd had since she died. Just him and the kids. And maybe it was their childish glee at acquiring new stuff. But for the first time, she wasn't missed. Her absence was not heavy among them. Their new family unit is becoming solidified. They're not just surviving anymore, but instead putting the training wheels on and remembering how to live. It's good, he thinks, especially for the kids. Life will be hard enough for them without their mother. They don't need the weight of her absence to add to their burdens. So he does what he can to help them and make them remember how to be happy without her.

His dad, Shane, and Will help him get the house painted and the minor repairs needed. Will, surprisingly, is good at it. Henry does feel bad about moving away from Will's home base. Will has not been in the US a lot since Elizabeth died, but DC is where he is when he is Stateside. Henry has been making sure to keep a close eye on him. He had promised Elizabeth a long time ago (before her first mission) that he would care for Will if something were to happen to her. He finds it strange that there are only two years between the Adam's siblings. Will always seems so much younger than Elizabeth. Henry always figured its because of their ages when their parents died. There is no difference between thirty-six and thirty-four, but the age difference between fifteen and thirteen is as vast as the grand canyon. And Elizabeth, well, she grew up fast, so Will didn't have to. So he hopes both Elizabeth and Will understand his need to be here.

…X…X…X…

He sleeps on the first night in the new house. He sleeps deep and hard. No dreams. He doesn't remember sleeping so well since the last time he slept with her beside him. It's still strange waking up alone. The sun is bright, shining into the bedroom. He still subconsciously reaches for her. His body does it naturally. That's what he did on Saturday mornings. She would be lying next to him, snuggled into his chest, waiting for him to wake up so they could spend the morning pocket of time they had before the kids woke up to be together. He hadn't thought it would ever stop. It feels like a lifetime has passed since that last no-rules Saturday.

He misses more than just her at this point. He misses any physical contact. He misses being touched. He hates that he misses it. It feels like a betrayal to Elizabeth, which is why he hasn't acted on it. But, God forgive him; he misses sex. It is a basic need of a human being. He still thinks about her every time he takes care of himself. But he doesn't want to take care of himself forever. He does this morning, with Elizabeth on his mind. It feels unfair to her memory to cum to images of his dead wife. But that's all he has. Until he's ready (which he feels might be soon). For now, he has to be satisfied with his hand. He needs to start living his life. And it will take more effort than he's been giving it.