Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, Germany – July 2005
She doesn't want this. This isn't the freedom she had dreamed of. She doesn't want to lay here and be examined. She doesn't want pictures of her naked and bare body to be taken. The nurse had told her that everything they did was up to her. She can revoke consent for any part of the exam. Elizabeth didn't believe her. Elizabeth learned the rules, his rules. She had not known how deeply ingrained they had become. But she finds herself still living by them as if he'll walk into this room and drag her back to hell. He repeatedly told her I own you, and she started to believe him somewhere along the line. She hadn't even known it was happening.
"Ow!" She says as she startles from the surprise pain of the pap smear brush hits her cervix.
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I'm almost done." The GYN tells her, and the sane nurse squeezes her hand. Elizabeth looks over. She doesn't remember grabbing the woman's hand, but she knows she did at some point. The nurse is still holding it. Elizabeth wonders what the nurse thinks of her. Does she think she's weak? What does she think of her injuries? Does she know how many times she's been raped? Does everyone back home know? Did they tell Henry? Is that why he isn't here?
She's not ready to answer those questions. She doesn't want to have a conversation. She doesn't want to think about what's happened to her. She doesn't want to have the findings presented to her. She wants to crawl in a hole. Freedom isn't what she thought it'd be. It's overwhelming, and the emotional pain is setting into her soul. The physical pain is starting to subside thanks to morphine, but the emotional pain only grows. She has been so worried about surviving and getting home that she hasn't taken a moment to let herself think.
But now all she can do is think about it. Over and over. He did so many things to her. He hurt her in so many ways. He violated her. And now, the physical proof of it will exist in a CIA report. People will know. They will have pictures and videos. It will never go away. It will haunt her forever.
"All done." The doctor finally says. Elizabeth can't close her legs fast enough. She doesn't want to look at her. She doesn't want the woman to see her. She feels too vulnerable and exposed. The nurse pulls a blanket over her, and Elizabeth is grateful for the barrier. She never wants to be uncovered again. She can't fathom the thought of a man's eyes on her ever again, of anyone's eyes on her. She has become grateful for the time she's spent unconscious since being found. Being awake and alert has opened the floodgates. And it's making her nauseous.
"You have injuries consistent with prolonged, violent, and repeated assaults." The doctor says. Elizabeth wants to roll her eyes. What did the doctor think she was going to find? She had told them what happened and how long she had been there. Well, her guess of how long. It turns out she was short by three months.
"We'll run an STI panel and a blood hCG test. However, don't worry about that one. Your urine dips have been negative, so it is unlikely that you are pregnant." The doctor gives her a small smile, and Elizabeth tries to process the words.
"It's unlikely," Elizabeth repeats. "I have an IUD... I don't remember him taking it out." Elizabeth mumbles. Her stomach starts to roll, and she feels bile rising in her throat. She had never thought about that, never worried about it. But now she is, although he wasn't feeding her enough. The lead of her healthcare team is very concerned about her malnutrition.
"He didn't, I saw the string. Do you happen to know if it's expired?" The doctor asks.
"Uh... no... I got it after my son was born... Um... Late 2001... It's..." Elizabeth swallows, "I guess it might be... five years, right? I'm not sure... I'm sorry."
"That's fine. I'll make a note to check your medical records from the States as soon as they are sent." That confuses Elizabeth. This isn't the first doctor on her team to mention waiting on information about her. She doesn't know what's taking so long. She doesn't know why her husband isn't here or why he at least hasn't called. She can't do this alone anymore. Why is she still alone?
"Okay." She says. She doesn't have the energy to fight. She is too tired. All she can think about is Henry. Where is he?
"Your wounds are healing nicely, and there was no internal damage to the uterus or..."
Elizabeth blocks out the doctor's voice. She doesn't want to know. She doesn't want to know how badly he hurt her. She doesn't want to hear the list. She lived with the injuries, the pain of them, the infliction of them. She doesn't need the play-by-play. She's gotten pretty good at disassociating, and pressing the button on the pain pump she's on for her shoulder helps. The meds make her tired, which makes people leave her alone. She closes her eyes and prays for the sweet relief of drug-induced sleep.
…X…X…X…
The flight was long. George couldn't turn his brain off. He couldn't shake the feeling that something big was about to happen. He walks through the halls of the LRMC, following the directions he was given. Room 508D is a private room.
He hesitates. He is a trained CIA operative; it is in his nature to be paranoid. He doesn't like not knowing what's waiting for him on the other side of a door. He doesn't like being blindsided. But there isn't much choice here.
He opens the door. He freezes in place. His mind goes blank. Bess. It's Bess. He blinks. He can't believe it.
She's asleep. He approaches her bedside slowly, afraid that if he makes any sudden movements, the scene will disappear, and it will have all been a dream. She looks like shit. And that's putting it kindly. Her hair is dull, and she is way too thin. Her skin is pale. Her lips are cracked. There is an IV in her hand, and her arm is in a heavy-duty sling. She's clearly not meant to move it.
But her chest rises and falls. She's breathing. She's really right here in front of him. George lets out a shaky breath. She's alive. His Bess is alive. He sits down in the chair next to her bed. He wants to touch her.
"Kiddo?" He hadn't realized he was crying until he heard the tears in his voice. He wipes his eyes. He reaches out his hand. She stirs. He takes her hand. He watches her sleep. He's overwhelmed. He's lost in his thoughts when she wakes.
"Henry." She rasps. Her eyes are still closed, and for the first time, he notices her husband isn't here. Henry's not here. He's not completely alarmed yet. She had been dead. Everyone thought she was dead. There had even been a body. And a funeral. They put a body in the ground. A body was identified as Elizabeth Adams McCord via a DNA match. So it doesn't strike him as too odd that her husband has yet to be notified. Maybe they needed a positive ID on her first… But the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"No, Bess. It's me, it's George." He keeps his voice soft.
"Did Henry come with you?" Her voice is still sleepy, and her eyes are still closed, as if she's scared to open them. She is scared to open them. She's terrified that if she opens them, she'll be back in that place, and she's not sure she can take it. She wants this to be real.
"No, Bess," his heart breaks. "But I'm sure it's in the works..." he hesitates. He doesn't know what she knows about her supposed death. There are a lot of moving parts when an agent is found after being missing, and even more, if they buried that agent. He's not sure how much information he should share. He hasn't been given any instructions past coming here.
"Bess, I'll call Conrad. Get the update on Henry. Okay, kid?... rest for now." He can tell she's exhausted. Even though her eyes are closed, he can tell she's having trouble breathing. He has so many questions.
He kisses her head. And gets up to make his phone call. He needs to figure out what the fuck is going on.
"Don't leave me alone." She croaks out. She opens her eyes and grabs his hand.
George doesn't answer. He's still too stunned. She's alive. She's awake. And she's afraid. What happened to her?
"I won't." He promises. His phone call can wait. Bess's hand is shaking.
"It's okay, Bess. It's over." George reassures her, his hand covering hers. "I'm here."
George watches her struggle. She has an unimaginable look of pain on her face. It stuns him into silence. He has never seen her willingly express any amount of fear. The woman has one of the best poker faces he's ever seen. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She winces, and a single tear slips out. She's holding back. He sits in silence, watching her, waiting for her to say something, anything. He doesn't know what to say. He can't possibly tell her it's okay; this feels anything but okay.
He takes her hand again. He needs the contact. He needs the connection. He needs her to know he's here. He doesn't want to know what happened to her. He's an experienced agent. He knows what happens to captured women. But he can't think about Bess that way. She's his kid. His little sister. His Bess.
A part of him is angry. Not at her. At Conrad. They didn't look for her. He had known. He had to have known. The other part of him wants to scream. They'd been lied to. They'd all been lied to. She'd been tortured and most likely raped, and her country didn't come looking for her. And where the fuck is Henry? He is supposed to be taking care of her. She is supposed to be taken care of.
"Where've you been, kiddo?" He finally asks. He needs information. He needs to figure this out. He needs to fix it. He needs to know who hurt her. And then he's going to kill them.
Bess looks at him. Tears are still threatening to spill. She opens her mouth and closes it again.
"A house." She says. Her cheeks burn red with shame. She doesn't know why. There is an intellectual side of her brain that hasn't quit working since she was taken. That part knows that none of what happened was on her. But the emotional part of her, the part that is screaming, is a different story.
"A house," George repeats. He doesn't know how hard to push her. She's been through something unimaginable. Something awful. He doesn't want to make it worse.
"Yeah." She confirms. She doesn't offer him any extra details. He knows this will be a slow process. He knows that she doesn't want to talk. But he needs answers.
"You were held hostage in a house." He offers an obvious detail, hoping to get her talking.
She nods. She looks down.
"I don't want to talk about this." She says. It causes George to smile a bit as her stubbornness shines through her pain.
"Okay." He doesn't want to push her too hard. He doesn't want her shutting down on him. He needs to call DC. "I'm going to get some coffee. Do you want anything?"
She shakes her head. She doesn't trust her voice.
"Alright." He stands up and kisses her forehead. "I'll be right back."
…X…X…X…
George is impatient when dialing the number. He doesn't even know where to start.
"What's her status?" George doesn't like Conrad's tone. This is a man who supposedly cares for the woman lying in that hospital bed, but he sounds so distant, as if they aren't talking about Bess. About their friend.
"Alive," George replies. He has nothing else to say. The rest seems personal, her business. And his gut tells him not to trust Conrad. He shoves that feeling down and waits for a response.
"She's still alive? Well, good, I guess." He sounds disappointed, and George makes a note to remember his tone and his words.
"Was Henry notified yet?" George can't help but feel something is off. He knows that Bess is going to want answers. She's going to want her husband. She's going to want someone she can lose it to, not him.
"Listen, I'm going to send you Hirst's report. His unit found her walking around in Sabaa Al Bour. I need you to trace back to where she came from. And I need to know what she knows about who took her." Conrad is all business as he skips right over George's question.
"Sir, I need to know when her husband is going to be notified and brought in," George repeats himself. He needs information, not orders.
"He won't be notified," Conrad says.
"Excuse me?"
"We can't have him know that she's alive. We need him to believe she's dead."
"You're joking. What about the kids?"
"This is not up to you, Agent Peters. We are handling this situation as delicately as we can. Now, I suggest you get to work. Bess needs to be interviewed. The more details, the better."
The line goes dead. The bastard hung up on him. George wants to punch the wall. What the hell is going on? And what the hell is he going to tell her?
Washington, DC – July 2005
He finds himself driving the route to DC on Elizabeth's birthday. It wasn't planned or intentional. He didn't even know what he was doing until he was on the road. It's a compulsion. A force stronger than his will. This day belongs to Elizabeth. Spending it with someone else is not something he can do.
He drives until he reaches the cemetery. It's the same as always. The grass is perfectly green, and the headstones are all well-kept. The sky is gray. There's a chance of rain, but he's not concerned about it. Elizabeth had loved watching it rain. He is reading on a big porch while the rain falls. It was an idyllic picture of his wife.
He isn't totally surprised when he sees Will laying flowers. His presence creates a complex feeling for Henry. Guilt for leaving him. Anger at Elizabeth for leaving them both. More guilt about Jessica and the twins. The only emotion that makes sense is confusion.
"Hey," He calls out.
Will turns and smiles sadly. "Hey, Henry."
Henry takes a step forward, and the two men share a hug. Henry has always loved Will. Will was part of the package when he and Elizabeth started dating. Elizabeth had told him upfront. My brother is like my kid. He comes first, at least until he graduates from high school. And she lived up to that. She juggled her hectic life around to make sure he was never alone. And when Henry joined the family, it was just the way things were. Henry has a lot of memories of the three of them at ball games, movies, and dinners.
"You didn't bring Team McCord?" Will looks past his brother-in-law, looking for his nieces and nephew.
"No, it's just me today. They're back at home. With my parents and Jessica."
"Jessica, huh?" Will gives him a small, knowing smile. "So, things are going well?"
Henry doesn't know how to answer. The last thing he wants to do is upset Will.
"Yeah, they are." He takes a deep breath. "Things are better."
"Good. I'm glad to hear that."
They stand in silence. Henry knows there's nothing he can say.
"She's pregnant, we are going to get married." He confesses.
Will nods. He has to pause for a long moment. He misses his sister. He has no idea how to live in a world where his sister isn't alive. She was his best friend. After their parents died, Elizabeth reminded him every day for years that life goes on. It wasn't that she didn't grieve. She did. But she was always the stronger one.
"Elizabeth would have wanted you to be happy." He says. He looks away from Henry, and his voice breaks. "She would just want to know that you and the kids are okay."
Henry takes a deep breath. He feels the guilt start to lift. Lift in a way it hasn't before. Lift as if it might lift for good. As if his guilt is ready to fade into the background and make room for something else. Something good.
"I'll always love her." He says. He needs to remind Will that he was committed to Elizabeth with everything he had.
"I know." Will puts his hand on Henry's shoulder. "You loved her well—even the crazy neurotic parts of her. You were always there for her. You were always her partner. And she loved you, Henry. She really did."
The two men, still brothers, though their connection may be gone, walk to the car. They exchange hugs, and Henry promises to keep in touch.