A/N: Hello everyone!
Instead of sleeping last night, I put together a fun little collage of what these characters look like in my head. I was going to post the link to it, but FanFiction unfortunately doesn't allow that (it takes it back out...boooo). If you'd like to try it anyway, here's the link just broken up with spaces (maybe it'll work...fingers crossed): ibb . co/ pJpCJy5 (if you enter it without the spaces, it should take you to an imgbb site. I promise it's not malware or something :O !)
This chapter is one of my favorites, I think. And we all need a little Christmas in July (especially if it's, like, 100 degrees like it is where I am!)
Hope you enjoy!
December 18, 1988 | Elizabeth
She's moved from the couch to the lawn chair, from the lawn chair to the kitchen table, and from the kitchen table to the bed. In between those various seats, she's paced the floor, trying to keep the tingling in her arms and fingers at bay. Not often does one get itchy fingers, but when there's a Christmas tree just waiting to be decorated in the living room, it's hard not to.
Henry insisted on leaving this morning to go Christmas shopping for her, even though she also insisted she didn't expect gifts. They're getting married, they have a wedding to save for. "More importantly," she thinks, "We have a house to furnish." The lawn chair could only be so comfortable, and it was really starting to make her feel cheap since she had this large sum of money sitting in her bank account just waiting to be used. School is paid for. She has a good car. She wants to start their life off with a well-furnished place where his family can come and visit without feeling as though they're having a picnic in the dining room.
She'd whined about the Christmas tree not being decorated yet, wanting him to stay long enough so they could do it together. But he had a point, anyway, the tree needed to settle still. That painfully annoying waiting time after taking it from its net was starting to wear on her.
She's made her way back to the couch, now, and she's staring at the lusciously green pine in front of her, watching as it seems to be moving in super slow motion to keep spreading its limbs and needles. It's like watching paint dries, she decides, and takes a deep breath before rubbing her eyes. Her palms are over her eyelids when she laughs, recalling one of her first memories from when she was young.
"Daddy," she'd whined, "Why can't we put his stuff in there now?"
They were standing in Will's nursery, or what would soon be Will's nursery. He was set to arrive any time now, hopefully before Christmas, her mom kept saying. "Because the paint is still wet, honey." He told her, scooping her up into his arms and setting her on his side, "We have to have patience."
She all but stuck her bottom lip out, much like a three-year-old would, and just wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her cheek on his shoulder.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to her head, "It'll dry before Santa Claus comes."
"And the baby will be here before Santa Claus comes?" She asked, "What if Santa doesn't know to get her anything?"
Ben chuckled and shrugged, "Santa knows all. He might even know that it is a boy instead of a girl."
Elizabeth shook her head, "Boys are gross."
"Daddy is a boy." Ben added.
Elizabeth just looked up at him, unsure what to say. She'd never thought of him like the boys in her preschool class, he was different. He wasn't a boy, she just knew it. And neither was her sibling, she knew that, too.
Elizabeth brings her gaze to the boxes she still had stacked up in the living room, a few tubs of items from Ben and Suzanne's house that had been at her Aunt Patty's waiting on Elizabeth to get her own home. She stands up and moves over to the boxes, taking the lid off the top one and looking inside. She smiles a little when she sees the albums of photos, taking one from the top of the stack and flipping through it.
Mostly filled with pictures of her when she was a child, she finally got to when Will was born. There were some of Elizabeth sitting next to her mom in the hospital bed while Suzanne held the baby—Elizabeth wouldn't hold him at first. She chuckles to herself, thinking about how it must have stressed her parents out to think she didn't like her brother. She still wonders sometimes if she likes her brother, but she'll always love him, no matter what.
A few pages over, she's in a navy-blue dress with a red striped tee underneath, standing next to a very tiny Will who looks like he could topple over in his diaper. He's holding her hand, and Elizabeth has a little backpack slipped over her shoulders. She slides it out of the vinyl carefully, flipping it over to see her mom's handwriting:
Will and Elizabeth
September 5, 1973
Elizabeth's first day of kindergarten
The lump in her throat settles there for a moment before she carefully slides the picture back into its vinyl cover, making sure it's straight in there like it had been before. She clears her throat, taking a deep breath and trying to keep it together. The littlest things can trigger the biggest emotions.
She flips through the next few pages again, stopping when she finds one of her parents that she'd never seen before. Her mother is standing in a black, floor-length evening gown next to her father who was wearing a tuxedo, bowtie and all. She runs her fingers over the picture for a moment, knowing it had to be after she and Will were born because Suzanne had cut her hair after that. She used to wear it long, Elizabeth even remembered it that way until Will was about one, but he got so bad about pulling it whenever he'd nap with her that she decided to get it cut short.
"What was this for?" She thinks to herself, sliding her fingers in the vinyl to cautiously remove this one and look at the back. As she flips it over, she's debating in her mind whether they're too fancy for a wedding or not, and she ultimately decides they are. She'd never seen her dad wear a bowtie. She reads the back, but is fairly disappointed:
Ben and Suzanne
Bellerose Mansion
November 17, 1973
She flips it back over and studies the picture some more, mostly because it was pulling her heart outside of her chest, making it ache a little too hard. Everyone told her the pain would eventually ease, and that the grief would get better. As the years go by, though, she forgets little things about them, and it makes her feel even worse, even more of an ache to see them again. Sometimes she tries to remember what they sounded like, and she wonders if she has it right. Will sounds a lot like their dad, though, she's pretty sure of that. Whenever Will comes around, it's like hearing her dad's voice again. Sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's comforting.
One thing she notices, though, is that the ring on Suzanne's finger is not her wedding ring. It's on her ring finger, the left hand, but it's not the one she has always known her mother to wear. She would know because this one is silver, whereas her ring is gold. After her parents died and they had to start going through their belongings, Elizabeth kept Suzanne's ring and put it on a necklace along with her father's wedding band. It's in her jewelry box—she's too afraid to wear it and lose them.
She brings the picture closer to her face, trying to squint to see the picture better. Suzanne's left hand is resting on Ben's arm, and they're kind of holding each other, but the picture is a little too far away to be able to tell much about it. With a sigh, she sets the picture back into its vinyl and flips the page, surprised to find another one just like it on the next side. This one, though, is closer—it doesn't have their full bodies in it.
With an immense carefulness, she slides it out of the vinyl like she has all the others, flips it over, and finds the same exact writing. She examines it closely, then realizes that there's something a little off about the ring. The stone in it, not a diamond, is not a stone at all. When her mind wanders and begins to think it might be a tiny microphone, she puts the picture down quickly and walks away from the boxes, taking a deep breath and putting her hands on her hips.
The idea that her parents were spies still is just too unreal for her.
When she finally brings herself back to the boxes, she puts the picture back in its casing and closes the album, taking out another one that looked more recent. She flips through mindlessly, just trying to find a good picture of her and Will to hang up on the wall like she'd intended on doing in the first place. Instead, another picture of her parents catches her attention, but this time with another person in the middle.
Both of her parents were in business attire, the same attire that Elizabeth had always watched them leave the house in every morning before she would catch the bus to the elementary school with Will. Her process is repeated: take the picture out, flip it over, read the back.
Ben and Suzanne with President Jimmy Carter
Signing for Department of Education
October 17, 1979
Elizabeth gasps a little just before the door opens. She pops her head up, and her immediate reaction is to hide all of this for some reason, as though she's looking at secrets. Her flight or fight wires were crossed, though, so she just stands there with her mouth hanging open, the picture in her hand, her other hand resting on the book of photos, all while Henry is staring at her with confusion written on his face.
"What's wrong?" He asks immediately.
She lays the photo down and closes her eyes, raising her brows and taking a deep breath. "I don't know if anything is wrong, per say, I'm just…shocked, I guess?" She says, gesturing slightly to the pictures.
He walks over while taking his coat off, tossing it over on the couch and kicking his shoes off while he extends his neck to look at the album. "Is that President Carter?" He asks in amazement. "With your parents?"
"Yeah." She says distantly, one hand resting on her hip. The other hand is somewhat holding her head up, her elbow tucked into her side just below her chest. She blinks a few times at him when he looks at her.
His mouth is hanging open as he peels his gaze away from her, looking back at the picture, "Why?" It's all he could manage to say, she can tell, but she wants to scream at him.
"I have no idea, Henry." She breathes, rubbing her face exasperatedly, "I'm guessing it had something to do with the Pentagon or whatever they did." She adds, "Sometimes I wish I never found out that they were into secretive things."
He finally closes his mouth and looks back at her, taking his hand away from the box and placing it on the arch of her back, rubbing it gently, "I can imagine it's hard." He says softly, trying to be understanding.
She swallows hard and tucks the photo in its sleeve, shutting the book and then reopening it quickly to a page she'd found a photo of she and Will on. She grabs it out of the clear vinyl before slamming the book, then slamming the lid on top of the box. "I think I just never want to talk about it." She admits quietly, walking over to grab an empty photo frame she'd bought the other day.
As she's taking the back off the frame, Henry walks over slowly, "Like…ever?" He asks.
"Ever."
"Like it doesn't exist?"
"It basically doesn't, Henry." She almost snaps, then takes a deep breath, "Sorry…I don't mean to snap at you. I'm just…confused, hurt, I don't know what all else."
He nods and sits down at the table where she was working on the frame, putting the picture face down against the glass, "How about we make a pact to never talk about it." He says, "It doesn't need to be talked about. And besides, that Conrad guy said there's still dangerous people out there who could—"
"Hurt me and Will, I know." She says, "I don't know why they would. We obviously know nothing of our parents' work." She mumbles, feeling frustrated with the entire situation. "I think that's a great idea. Not to talk about it, I mean. Ever."
Henry leans over on the table a little, grabbing her hand that she just noticed was shaking as she was trying to put the frame's backing on. She sighs and nods, and he nods too, "Starting now, we won't talk about it. Ben and Suzanne were just your average people, working in average jobs."
"My mom was a bank teller, that's what she always told us." Elizabeth says, sitting down in the other chair, "I have no idea what Dad's cover was."
Henry thinks for a moment, contorting his lips as he mulls over choices, "Would Conrad know?"
Elizabeth looks at him, tilting her head and widening her eyes, "Probably," she says, "But how can I get ahold of him?" She asks, "Isn't it dangerous to be around him? Him being CIA and all?"
Henry shrugs, "Worth a shot, right?" He asks, standing up and taking his wallet out of his back pocket before sitting back down, flipping through the items in the leather.
"Why do you have so many things in your wallet?"
"Have you seen the inside of your backpack?" Henry retorts.
"That's different." She says defensively.
Henry just raises his eyes up to look at her, giving a knowing look without moving his head, and then focuses his attention back on his wallet, "Here it is." He says, "I stole this off Conrad's desk."
"You stole something from the CIA direc—" She stops herself when Henry finally shows her, "Oh, it's a business card. You can't steal business cards." She groans, jerking the card from his hand and rolling her eyes.
He tries to not chuckle but it doesn't work, "I mean, I didn't know if just any random person was allowed to have the CIA director's information. But he just had it there so I guess it was legal."
She looks it over and finds the phone number, standing up and getting the phone off the hook. She takes a shaky breath and looks at Henry, "Should I?"
"Go ahead, babe." He says softly.
With that, she dials the number.
December 18, 1988 | Henry
She'd been told to come to Langley the next day, that he would be glad to meet with her and answer any questions he was allowed to answer. "He told me I deserve to know something," Elizabeth had said when she told Henry the details of the meeting.
He nodded at the time, swallowing thickly. A silence fell over them for a few minutes, and now he's standing up from the table and smiling, "So Langley, huh?" He asks, "That'll be pretty cool to see, right?"
She shrugs, "I guess." She says, "I think it makes it better knowing it's not the home of the organization that actually killed them."
He swallows hard, nodding a little and taking a deep breath, trying to wrack his brain to figure out how to get the subject to be a little happier. He looks around to the living room and perks up, "Looks like the tree is ready." He announces.
She smiles a little, her mind still somewhat distant, "Did you get the popcorn to string while you were out?"
He walks over to the door where he'd laid bags down as soon as he got in, too fearful over the expression she was wearing on her face to do anything else with them. "Got it." He announces, pulling a jar out and opening the lid.
They walk into the kitchen together and she pulls a kettle down from the cabinet, one that she'd just gotten from her parents' things after getting it all from her aunt and uncle's house. He twists the lid off the jar the rest of the way while she pours some oil in the bottom of the pan, and he smiles a little, "Hey," he says, "You're cooking."
She snorts and bites her lip, "My uncle Don loved to eat popcorn." She says. "He hated the microwave kind, even after they got a microwave finally. He said it just didn't taste the same and that it was probably because of all those radio waves," she states, putting air quotes up when she mentions the last two words.
He laughs, "I see," he says, watching as she measures out enough oil and shakes some salt in. When she finishes, she puts the oil away and then wipes her hands off, leaning against the counter with her back to it. She folds her arms over her chest and watches it, and he smirks at her, "A watched pot never boils."
"That's just what our moms always told us to keep us out of the kitchen and out of their way." She murmurs playfully.
He shakes his head, teasing her now, "Oh no, it's scientifically backed." He says, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her hips to his.
She raises one brow, "Miss me while you were away today?" She asks in a low tone.
Leaning down, he presses his lips to hers and rests his nose against the end of hers, looking her in the eyes while smiling and trying to not laugh, "Yes." He admits.
Before he realizes, she's kissing him again, but he hears the oil starting to simmer. He quickly breaks away from her, wagging his finger playfully at her before pouring some kernels into the kettle and setting the lid over it. Looking back over at her, he wraps his arm around her waist again and smirks, "Where were we?"
"I believe we were here." She says, kissing him again.
He slides his hands between the counter and her backside, lifting her up on the counter. With their lips never parting, he lifts her shirt over her head and throws it over behind him, landing somewhere on the counter.
As he's peppering kisses down her chest, the popcorn starts popping, and they both immediately laugh. "Well," he says, "That's distracting."
She bites her lip and kisses him once more, "One thing at a time, McCord." She says, grabbing the oven mitts and sliding off the counter to shake the kettle.
The popcorn had cooled plenty by the time they strung themselves back together enough to go search for the string that Henry had bought on this morning's outing. After they strung the lights on the tree, she said she'd go get a needle from the emergency sewing kit while he gets the ornaments from one of those boxes, and he's on his way now to search through the various ones to find the box of ornaments that Elizabeth said would be here.
He takes the lid off a few boxes, finally finding one with mostly handmade ornaments. He kneels down on one knee, carefully sifting through years of crafts and Christmas photo frames, eventually finding a snowman frame with a picture in each circle. His eyes immediately go to the picture of Elizabeth, the one in the middle of the snowman. She looks to be about thirteen or fourteen, just old enough to maybe be considered a teenager while being young enough to pull off snowman earrings and to not be tainted with all the hurt in the world yet. She has her chin kind of tucked down in the shoulder of her red sweater as she's sticking her tongue out, presumably at her dad who's maybe taking the photo. Maybe it's her mom, who knows. He takes his eyes off her and looks down one, analyzing the picture of her parents. They're sitting on a recliner together, her mom stringing her legs across her dad's lap while they both wear Santa hats. His chest tightens a little. "How can I hurt for someone I don't even know?" He wonders. He makes himself move away from them, now, moving up to the smallest part of the snowman to see Will in an elf costume. He's giving two thumbs up, smiling like a crazy person. He must be about ten or so, he thinks, and something about the picture makes him laugh. He looks like he's hopped up on all the Christmas candy he could find, maybe. Maybe this was him before the wreck. Maybe Elizabeth was the type of girl to wear snowman earrings and stick her tongue out more often. Maybe the wreck took that from them, too.
"I got the thread," Elizabeth startles him whenever she starts speaking behind him.
He quickly sets the picture frame down, double-checking to make sure he didn't break it, and turns around to smile at her, "Good," he says, immediately kicking himself for sounding so nervous.
She laughs, "What is it?"
"I don't know." He says, and that was the truth. He's not sure why he felt like he wasn't supposed to be looking, but he thinks it's because it's odd to see her like that and Will like he was. It feels personal, maybe a little too private for him to know about. A little piece of vulnerability that they both had to tuck away after the world hurt them so.
She walks up closer to him and looks down in the box, and he wasn't sure if she was going to cry or smile. She ends up doing a little of both, giving him a little grin before reaching in with teary eyes and picking it up. "Quite the family, huh?" She asks.
He nods softly, rubbing her back in little circles over her sweatshirt, "You guys looked like you had fun."
She nods in response, staying silent for a moment. He wishes he wouldn't have gotten caught looking at the photo, now, because he knows this is hard on her. "We did have a lot of fun," she admits shakily, "My parents were quite the jokesters. For spies," she pauses and laughs, looking at Henry, "We'll have to start that pact after we talk to Conrad." She adds in. "Anyway, for spies, they sure knew how to have a good time. And hilarious…oh my gosh, they were hilarious."
"Oh yeah?" He asks, smiling a little more. Maybe this helped her to talk about it, maybe she'd just needed someone to talk to all along.
She twists her lips to the side and takes a deep breath, and he can tell she's trying to steady her breathing, "Yeah." She answers, then smiles again as she's looking down, "Dad was the real silly one. Mom was funny, but Dad had us all beat." She says, her voice getting distant again, "The last Christmas we all spent together, Will woke us up at an ungodly hour. I think he always woke us up around six, if not earlier. That last year, we all got up, and like usual, we met in the living room to unwrap gifts before breakfast. Not like usual, though, my dad had beat us all down there, somehow slipping past my mom unnoticed. He was wearing bright red shorts with suspenders over a silly Hawaiian shirt—he called it "Santa's vacation shirt"—and he had these ridiculous socks that came all the way to his knees. So, there was this little gap of bright white leg between his shorts and his socks," she's chuckling as she's shaking her head, biting her lip and shutting her eyes, "And to top it all off, he was wearing this hat we had that was like a baseball cap but had a stocking sort of thing on top. It was interesting." She says and shrugs, giving Henry a look, "My mom just rolled her eyes and went back upstairs, and we thought that was amusing enough." She says, looking back at the box of memories and laughing, "But it turns out, she had plans of her own after seeing Dad. She came back downstairs in this nice red dress that she apparently had worn for an event, but she'd stuffed the back of it to make her look like she had this ridiculous butt." She says and snorts, "She came down acting like Mrs. Claus, and we went with it the whole morning."
When she pauses, Henry pulls her into his chest a bit, resting his head on top of hers.
"And we were happy." She adds with a whisper.
"It sounds like you were," Henry whispers back, just holding her there. He doesn't ask anything else, doesn't push her to move along with the decorating, just stands there and holds her, wishing the world had been a little easier on her. A little easier on Will, too.
When she finally picks her head up off him, she wipes at her face quickly and reaches in the bucket. "Enough of that," she says, clearing her throat, "Where are the cranberries?" She asks.
He walks over and grabs the container he'd bought, and they head to the couch and start stringing. He would hand her the items, alternating between the popcorn and the berries, while she would run the needle and string through each thing. By the time they had a few feet of strung berries and popcorn, he was pretty sure her eyes were starting to cross.
He laughs a little and takes the string, walking it over to the tree, "Think it's long enough?"
"It better be." She groans, blinking to try to get her eyes to refocus. "Otherwise I'm handing you the stuff and you're doing the stringing, buddy."
He smirks, "I can handle that for a while." He says. "I don't think we'll need to do that, though, it looks like it's long enough."
She stands up and takes the end, starting to walk around the tree with it and tuck it in so that it hangs properly. He watches as he feeds her the string, watching her meticulously place the string between the branches so that it hangs with a bit of a zig-zag formation. She doesn't seem to realize he's just staring at her, but she finally pops up, "We need music." She says, walking over to the radio and tuning it until she finds a suitable station.
The Pretenders' version of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" is just coming on, and she seems satisfied with the song selection before going back to hanging. She glances up at him, not standing up straight, and just goes back to working. But she does it again and laughs a little, "Why are you just standing there staring at me?"
He shrugs and smiles, shaking his head a little, "You just look really happy." He admits.
She bites her lip, still focusing on stringing as she stands up straighter, starting to get more toward the top. "I am happy." She says softly.
He feeds her the last little bit of string that she hangs at the top, "Perfect," she says, standing there with her hands on her hips while she looks up at it.
From now on, our troubles will be miles away.
Here we are as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore…
He steps to her and wraps his arms around her shoulders tightly, hugging her and looking over at the tree, "Perfect," he says.
She smiles a bit and turns to him, and he immediately adjusts his arms to wrap them around her waist. Her hands come up to his shoulders, draping them over.
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more
He takes the first move to start swaying them side to side, their hips pressed together closely as they listen to the music. The tree is poking him in the side every once in a while, but he doesn't really care. He's just looking down into her eyes, seeing the little sparkle that is reflecting the lights every so often. Her head is tilted just slightly to the left, and he resists the urge to kiss her lips because he just wants to look at her in this light.
The early dusk of winter had entered in their living room. Lighting was another commodity they had not been able to afford much of until recently, so only one small lamp tried to fill the room with light in the corner by the couch, but the Christmas lights were even brighter than that sad little lamp. They glowed bright, shining the multiple colors everywhere as they blinked to imitate a twinkle. That twinkle was nothing compared to the twinkle in her blue eyes, but he knows this isn't a competition. If it were, she'd have them beat by a landslide.
Through the years we all will be together
If the fates allow
"What are you thinking about?" She asks, surprising him.
He looks down at her as he thinks, tilting his own head just slightly, "I'm thinking about how beautiful you are right now." He says.
The dim light still let her blushing cheeks shine through, but he doesn't say anything to her about it. "You flatter me." She teases.
He lets out a quiet laugh, "It's the truth." He says honestly, "If you could just see the way the lights make your eyes glimmer…you'd understand." He whispers, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
December 19, 1988 | Elizabeth
Something about it being Monday makes it hard to drag herself out of bed, but then she opens her eyes and remembers that they're meeting with Conrad today—she might have some answers she's been wanting.
She rolls over and looks at Henry who is still fighting off being awake by blinking his eyes rapidly, as though his body is trying to decide whether he wants to sleep again or wake up. He looks over at her, "Busted," she thinks to herself, trying to keep herself from smirking. "Good morning," she says.
He blinks again, then shuts his eyes real tight and rubs them, "Good morning," he mumbles before stretching out and yawning.
She sits up and puts her feet over the edge of the bed, feeling the chill in the air a little extra this morning. "Wow, it's cold." She whispers and looks down at the goosebumps racing down her arm. She stands and grabs a sweatshirt from the end of the bed, throwing it over her pajamas as she walks to the bathroom and starts her morning routine.
After he'd woken up enough, they decide to just stop and get breakfast on the way. They hadn't set a time to meet with Conrad, he just told them to stop by any time today. He might be surprised that they show up this early, but she couldn't wait around all day. She wanted to rip the band-aid off.
When they arrive at Langley, they have to go through what felt like layers of security, each time explaining that Conrad Dalton was expecting them. "Conrad Dalton, the director?" They would say, or something along those lines. Elizabeth and Henry would always answer yes, that Conrad Dalton, but the people were still suspicious enough of them that they would call someone each time.
They finally got to his floor and were being led down a long hallway by a young woman, "He's in with his wife right now," she says, knocking on a door.
"Come on in," Elizabeth hears his voice booming from the other side. It sounds so familiar, even though she'd only talked with him on the phone once and then that one time in person.
The woman shows them in and then shuts the door behind her as she leaves. "Elizabeth, Henry, this is my wife, Lydia." He says.
Lydia moves to stand up, but Elizabeth widens her eyes and shakes her head, "Oh, no, no, no, we'll come to you." She says, rushing over before the very pregnant woman got to her feet. Henry is close behind her, and Elizabeth extends her hand to the woman first.
"Second baby…" she says breathlessly, "Somehow they make you more tired than the first one. It's nice to meet you, Elizabeth," she says with a smile, catching her breath from that little movement. "When Connie told me you were going to meet with him today, I told him I just had to meet you."
She looks over at Conrad, and then back at Henry. Puzzled was an understatement. "You—"
"Oh," she says and laughs, "I knew your parents."
"Oh." Elizabeth breathes.
Lydia looks at Conrad and sighs, "You didn't tell her?" Conrad just shakes his head, and Lydia goes on. "Your parents were great friends of Conrad's before we got married. They actually kind of set us up," she says and grins at her husband, who was quietly chuckling behind his desk.
"My parents?" Elizabeth asks, astonished.
Lydia nods, "Your dad knew Connie well, of course, but your mom actually was my neighbor growing up. She lived right next door to me and would come babysit me sometimes while my mother went to get groceries or whatever. She was a wonderful woman."
Elizabeth smiles a little and sits down in the seat beside Lydia. Henry is pulling a seat from the side of the room up beside Elizabeth, and they've formed a sort of lopsided circle. "She was." Elizabeth agrees.
After a little bit of chat between the four of them, Lydia stands and announces she must leave to get to a doctor appointment on time, and they all say their goodbyes to her. When she leaves, Conrad leans over on the desk as though he's ready to get down to business. He'd been awfully quiet while his wife was here, and Elizabeth assumes she must be the talkative one of the couple.
"So, Elizabeth," he says, "What did you want to know?"
She laughs sadly, scooting over to make more room for Henry, "What don't I want to know?" She murmurs, quickly becoming more serious, "Well, we know my mom always said she was a bank teller. And I don't—I'm not asking what she actually did. I'm not even sure I want to know," she admits, "But I would like to know my dad's cover story. Henry and I decided we don't want to talk about it anymore, and we just want to give them the normal lives they'd built for me and Will to believe in. We'll talk about them like they're any other person." She explains.
He smiles a little, and Elizabeth almost gets that weird feeling that he's proud of her. She barely knows the man, but something in her tells her he wants to say that. "Ben's cover was that he was an accounts manager for AT&T."
"The phone company?" Henry asks.
Conrad simply nods, "Right," he says, "Which worked out very well for him because he was one of the best communications spies out there." Conrad says quietly, giving a little smile.
Elizabeth looks down and laughs, "I just…it doesn't feel real." She blurts out, taking them both by surprise it seemed.
Henry was staring at her while Conrad was doing the same, but it was Conrad who finally broke the silence. "It was all made to not feel real, Elizabeth," he says in a soft, almost fatherly tone. "There are thousands of people out there who have to do the same thing your parents did, thousands of children like you who wondered what happened to their parents after a mysterious death, or children who wonder if all the conferences their parents go to are really a real thing." He explains, "But what those people, and your parents, do for this country is the highest form of patriotism that anyone can ask for." He adds in solemnly.
She nods a little, swallowing thick, "Is there anything else you can tell me?" She asks.
Conrad presses his lips together, shaking his head, "Other than that they were my great friends, and that they should have been here to see Lydia and I raise these two kids of ours, there's nothing else I really know to tell you," he says, "Much of what they did is classified even to me, but the things I do know is most definitely classified to the outside world."
Elizabeth nods again and feels Henry's hand slide around hers, giving it a gentle squeeze, "Thank you, Director Dalton," she says, standing up and swallowing hard as she looks at him. She takes a deep breath, "And thank you for keeping an eye out on me. I never thanked you the last time; I was just in…I was in a lot of shock, really."
He stands to his feet, too, and leans against the desk a little, "Anything for the children of my dear friends," he says softly, "So…a pact?"
It brings a little smile to her face and a bigger one to Henry's when she looks at him, "A pact." She confirms, "From now on, they're Ben and Suzanne Adams, the AT&T accounts guy and bank teller." She says, trying to convince herself of that. "Just two average parents. They story they wanted us to believe, and the story they worked hard to protect."
Dalton nods a little at them, then walks around the desk and wraps Elizabeth in a hug. It takes her by surprise, to say the least, but she quickly lets him do it anyway. "They'd be proud of you," he whispers, "I knew them well enough to believe wholeheartedly in that. If they can see you up there in the sky, I know they look down on you and your brother both with an immense amount of pride."
She feels a tear run down her face and land on his suit jacket, and she closes her eyes to attempt to not let anymore escape, but instead it has the opposite effect. More fall, and she sniffles a little, "Even with all my mistakes?" She mumbles, even though he knew nothing of her mistakes. At least, hopefully he didn't. He's CIA, after all.
"Even with any mistakes you might have made," he whispers, pulling away from her.
In a surprising move, he gives Henry a hug as well. Elizabeth watches her fiancé's face as he's being embraced by a man they barely know, and it makes her giggle under her breath.
"Take good care of this young woman," he instructs to Henry, pulling away and extending his hand for him to shake, "I'll be watching from afar, as always."
Henry laughs softly, nodding, "I'll do my best, sir." He says.
As Elizabeth watches the two, she wonders if this is what it would be like for her dad and Henry to know each other. She smiles at the thought, glad to have the memories of her account-guy AT&T dad and her bank-teller mom to think about, even when it's hard to do so.