Something in the Blue
AN: I highly recommend reading "First Time" before this piece.
Once she pulled on her heels, Elizabeth started to sort through the stacks of manilla folders that had taken over the top of her desk. Early this morning, Blake had texted over a list of the reports that she needed to return to the office. Taking quick sips of her coffee, she shoved them into the main pocket of her briefcase.
"I'm so going to be late," she mumbled after glancing at her watch.
Grabbing her to-go mug, Elizabeth headed for the door.
When she stepped outside, an agent greeted her. As she flashed the men a smile, she plucked her glasses from the waistband of her skirt and slipped them onto her face. Juggling her bags, she patted her right hip, checking for her phone in the small pocket of her pencil skirt.
"It's a beautiful day," Kevin said.
Still standing on the front stoop, Elizabeth took a single step forward before she tilted her head up toward the sky. Today, it was the brightest of blues. Without a cloud in sight, it was the perfect condition for flying.
"Let's hope the humidity stays this low for the rest of the month." In September, the heat was always a hit or miss on the East Coast. "Wow," she breathed. Her smile slowly melted away as she stared up at the sky.
Years ago, she remembered spotting three sailboats against a backdrop of blue gliding across the Potomac River.
Shaking her head to herself, Elizabeth crossed the sidewalk to the SUV in the middle. Before she'd approached, Matt had opened the car door, but her feet kept her frozen on the curb. Her fist tightened around the leather straps of her briefcase.
"Madam?"
Usually, she found a cool breeze refreshing, but as the wind gently swept through the leaves at the top of the oak trees, goosebumps spread across the bare skin of her forearms.
"Bye," Elizabeth muttered before she pressed a kiss against her husband's lips. As she screwed on the lid of Jason's bottle, she reminded, "I'll be at the Pentagon for the morning."
"I um…" Biting her bottom lip, she met Matt's eyes. "I forgot something inside. It's… I'll be a few minutes," she said before she headed back into the house.
Just inside the doorway, her heart started to thump thump thump harder against the inside of her chest. Wanting to free up her hands, Elizabeth tossed her bags into the chair that sat in the corner of the entryway. She anxiously fingered the pendant of her necklace as she pulled open the door to the office.
"Fuck," she whispered.
Hunched over her desk, she lost her breath as her fingers curled under the edge of the wood. Without fail, her hearing went next— the sound of glass shattering started to echo throughout the room.
Behind her eyes, she saw images of fires burning high, of a thick layer of ash covering abandoned bicycles, and of the dense rubble encasing the remains of the individuals in the World Trade Center. The planes crashing into the towers began to play on a loop in her head. So did the men and women jumping from the upper floors of the North Tower.
Even after fourteen years, her memories were vivid.
When American Airlines Flight 77 hit the Pentagon at 9:37 a.m., she'd been in the C ring of Wedge 1.
God, it was like she was there right now.
The smell of jet fuel filled the air, flames scorched the offices, and smoke smothered her.
"My babies, Elizabeth," Emily had gasped.
The blast had shattered windows, causing glass to rain down over the conference room.
"My babies, Elizabeth," Emily had gasped.
She remembered blood. It had been everywhere— on her clothing, between her fingers, and seeping into the fibers of the carpet. Looking down at her hands, Elizabeth screamed. Now, while standing in front of her desk in their home office, she imagined blood.
"My babies, Elizabeth," Emily had gasped.
Although Colonel Shaw had been urging Elizabeth toward the exit, she'd taken Emily's hand.
The blast that had shattered windows had thrown both women across the room. While Elizabeth walked away with torn ligaments in her left shoulder and a cut across her cheekbone, Emily's leg had been severed at the thigh. Recovery may have been possible without the large piece of shrapnel that had pierced the right side of her chest, but Emily had been unlucky.
Emily had gasped, using the last of her breath.
"Elizabeth, she's gone," a man had said before Colonel Shaw had grabbed her up and hauled her toward the exit.
Out in the Center Court, she'd thrown up everything in her stomach. Sitting in the grass, she'd sobbed, she'd screamed, and she'd cursed just about everyone she could name, including God. Once she'd wiped her eyes, she'd asked one of the men who'd been in the room with her to help locate the children in the Defense Department's Child Development Center.
"My babies, Elizabeth."
After they'd reached the park near the Potomac, she'd pleaded with the daycare supervisor to tell her which of the children belonged to Emily Clark.
"Elizabeth?"
Feeling a hand along her back, she flinched.
"Baby, did something happen?"
Still leaning over her desk, Elizabeth clawed at the base of her throat. And then she began to completely hyperventilate. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she desperately tried to suck in a breath of air.
"Emily's babies," she cried.
Her husband stepped away only to appear a moment later clutching a glass of water in one hand and a small white pill in the palm of his other. Without a word, she reached out. Her hands were shaky, so Henry helped her lift the glass to her lips.
"Let's sit," he urged once she'd swallowed the pill.
Fifteen minutes passed before the medication started to take effect.
Sitting on the floor in front of her desk, her head rested against her husband's shoulder. He pressed kisses against her hairline. As she came to, she realized that he was also stroking her back.
"It felt like 9/11," she whispered. Elizabeth twisted in his arms, so she could see his face. "The color of the sky and the smell of the air," she explained. "I panicked."
"You were triggered."
The sky was the brightest of blues. Without a cloud in sight, it was the perfect condition for flying. As she'd walked to her car that morning in early September, she remembered the crisp morning air.
With a nod, Elizabeth said, "I just…"
Seeing the panic in her eyes, Henry grabbed her hands.
"It's okay," he assured.
As tears welled in the corners of her eyes again, she tucked her face into the side of Henry's neck.
"It's not," she cried.
Seeing heavy smoke float up into the brightest of blue skies hadn't been okay. Neither was watching the planes crash into the towers. Or looking on in horror as men and women jumped from the upper floors of the North Tower because they would rather fall to their deaths than be burned alive by the flames.
Arms circled her waist and Elizabeth was lifted into her husband's lap.
"I watched her die!"
She'd watched nearly 3,000 people die, but Emily had been different.
"My babies, Elizabeth," Emily had gasped.
After they'd reached the park near the Potomac, she'd pleaded with the daycare supervisor to tell her which of the children belonged to Emily Clark. The woman had been weary, but eventually, she'd called a marine over. As he led her toward a crib, he'd advised her to seek medical attention, but she'd refused.
Fisting the kitchen apron that hung from Henry's neck, she sobbed against his chest, soaking the collar of his pajama shirt.
"Her babies, Henry," Elizabeth choked out.
Even with blood on her blouse, she remembered holding Emily's infant in her arms. After staring into the baby's blue eyes, she'd pressed a kiss against the top of her head. She'd cried when Emily's toddler had grabbed her hand.
"The girls are okay, Babe. They're probably on their way to school," he said. "They're safe." Henry stroked her hair. "Well, as safe as they can be since Emma got her driver's license," he joked.
"I need to see them today," she told him.
She'd planned a visit with Aaron and the girls next week on the 11th, but she was itching to hug them.
"Okay." With the pad of his thumb, he tilted her chin up. "How about we call after you take a nap?"
Fiddling with the collar of his shirt, Elizabeth nodded. Her eyes stung, her throat felt raw, and her head pounded from crying. Even without the medication, she was ready to sleep.
Work forgotten, she asked, "Stay with me?"
"Always," he said before he kissed her forehead.