Washington, DC – October 2014

"Sir," Russell begins, his smooth and calm voice conveying his professionalism. He has dealt with much worse than a pissed-off president, but he's still unnerved. "It's all been taken care of."

"Really?" Conrad's voice drips with sarcasm, "Because she's just entered the Capitol Building on National Television,"

Russell notices the subtle signs of visceral anger coming from the president—his muscles filled with tension, his jaw clenched so tightly it risks shattering, and the way his hands shake with barely contained violence. Russell believes this is what men looked like before there were holes in walls of which no one spoke.

"Mr. President—"

"No! No, Russell, you and I both know this derails everything! She should have been an eliminated threat, and now she'll be a martyr. God," Conrad says. His words are sharp and biting as he seethes them through his teeth.

"Sir, if I may," Russell tries again, maintaining his tone. The picture of the woman holding the infant—fawning over him and her daughters sits on top of the mound of evidence against her. The evidence is so clear, so damning. Nearly perfectly damning. Munsey had called her brilliant. That was the first word he had used. Bess McCord was brilliant. The dossier paints an agent who is much less than brilliant. It paints a convincing picture of a drug addict and traitor who sold out her country to the highest bidder. It paints the picture of a woman who did not care who she hurt in the process. But yet, the evidence exists. Any CIA Operative worth a grain of salt would know how to use a dummy email server and create a fake IP address. They would know how to cover their tracks. They would know how not to get caught. The evidence was there. There is enough in the pile to make anyone doubt her innocence.

"No, Russell, you may not," Conrad interjects through Russell's flurry of thought, "I wanted her gone. She is supposed to have been dealt with by now. And now, I have no choice but to do things the long way. I want the FBI director in here now. If she wants to play cat and mouse with me, so be it. I will bring her to her goddamned knees,"

"Mr. President," Russell begins again but stops when the president's eyes lock with his.

"Now, Russell," he says, the calm tone of his voice is almost more chilling than the rage that preceded it, "I want her arrested. If she wants to try this in the court of public opinion, so be it. We'll see who wins that fight. And the thing is, Russell, she could've had an easy one-way ticket on the last train out of life. But here we go, on the long road. Make the call to Doherty, have an FBI team walk in there and drag her out kicking and screaming,"

"Sir, as your chief of staff, I have to advise against that," Russell's voice gains some power as the President's shoulders begin to loosen, the tension in his voice palpable. "She just called you a monster in front of the entire world. We cannot employ any tactics that make you seem even more monstrous,"

Conrad's face contorted into a grimace, his determination etched in every line, "Russell, let me explain something to you. You and I both know that this will not end until she's either in prison or dead."

"Yes, sir. She will go to prison; however, we need to show that you have nothing to hide," Russell speaks as a true political operative, but that photo catches his eye once more. Why would she leave them to live in an opium poppy smuggler's house in the middle of a war zone? She wouldn't. That's not something mothers do when they look at their children the way she did, "That is, if you can be sure that you do indeed have nothing to hide,"

Conrad's eyes narrow, and Russell knows he's hit a nerve, "You're walking a very dangerous line, Russell,"

"I know, sir," Russell's voice is calm and cool as ice, "But it is my job to protect you and your office. So, if by chance, you do, in fact, have something to hide, your best course of action would be reading me in and then allowing me to do my job, sir,"

The silence in the room is thick, almost suffocating, as the tension between Russell and Conrad reaches its peak. The power dynamics crackle in the air, the unspoken words hanging between them like a heavy fog.

"Russell, do you need to be reminded that I am the President of the United States of America?" Conrad's voice, though dangerously calm, carries the weight of his authority, a reminder of the power he holds—the power he could graciously forget to use.

"No, sir,"

"I could have you thrown out of here for insubordination," Conrad steps towards him, the threat hanging in the air like a guillotine. It is a reminder so stark that Russell begins to wonder about Carol and the boys. What would become of them if this takes the turn he thinks is possible?

"Yes, sir, to which I may deserve. But I have a question for you, Mr. President: did Liddy ever give up Nixon, or was he a good soldier who took the fall?" Russell's words are measured. He is in uncharted territory.

Conrad looks at his chief of staff nearly quizzically. A new level of respect fills his gaze as he considers his words. He takes a moment to answer. "Liddy never gave up Nixon. The man was a soldier to the end,"

"I see. And what leads you to believe that I wouldn't be? Sir, if you have something to hide, something that needs to stay hidden and Elizabeth McCord is at risk for exposing it, then I need to know. I need to know because if I am going to get us out of this mess, I need all of the facts. And if there is something you don't want the world to know, I need to know now so I can properly damage control this, and it all goes away before 2016."

Conrad goes quiet, eerily quiet, for long moments in which the air grows thick. Then, with a deep breath, his expression darkens, and he motions at Andrew Munsey, who has watched the exchange between the two other men with something like horror on his face, "Tell him about Bess, Andrew, all of it."

…X…X…X…

"Jessica Richardson. Captain; United States Army. ID number 704896," Jessica says robotically.

"Agent Richardson, no one here is planning on torturing you. Not only do I personally find it objectionable, but Agent McCord has given very strict instructions, and she's signing my paycheck for this mission," Anis Musse says patiently for what he's sure is the thousandth time.

"Jessica Richardson. Captain; United States Army. ID number 704896," Jessica mumbles again. Her eyes are affixed to the wall in front of her.

"Jessica, please. I know it's what you were trained to do; I was trained that way too. They pound it into your brain. Anis Musse. First Sergeant; United States Army. ID number 896405. They make you repeat it over and over. They teach us how to stare straight ahead and make it look like we can't or aren't comprehending what's being said to us. I understand while falling back on your training. It's designed to keep you alive and sane while being held. But I can assure you that it's not necessary here."

"Jessica Richardson. Captain; United States Army. ID number 704896,"

Anis sighs, "Jessica, fifteen minutes ago, Elizabeth McCord, along with Congressman Hirst, went on national television and made serious allegations against President Dalton," Anis explains patiently.

"Jessica Richardson. Captain; United States Army. ID number 704896,"

"Are you scared of President Dalton, Jessica?" Anis asks softly. He watches carefully for any minuscule reaction.

"Jessica Richardson. Captain; United States Army. ID number 704896,"

"Jessica, do you think this is what Elizabeth did after she was captured? Did she repeat her name and fake army rank over and over and over, hoping to stop the torture?" Anis asks.

It's been hours—seven of them sitting at this table with her, and he finally makes a crack. He sees a flash of something in her eyes: guilt, possibly anger. She's not dead inside; he has to coax her out.

"Jessica, I know the role you played in that. You tried to kill Elizabeth McCord ten years ago, right?"

"Jessica Richardson. Captain; United States Army. ID number 704896," She says once more, her voice wavering.

"You had a choice. You chose wrong," Anis states simply. "Jessica, it's not my place to pass judgment on you. My only interest here is to get a sociopath out of the White House. I want to keep you and your kids safe. I know you're scared of Dalton. I know you're scared of losing your family. I want to help you. Will you let me help you, Jessica?"

He watches as her lip quivers slightly. A single tear rolls down her cheek, and her eyes finally shift from the wall to his face.

"I've already lost my family," she says quietly- sadness covering up something that sounds like shame.

"What makes you say that?" Anis asks, sensing his opening.

Jessica moves her eyes back to the wall, "Jess-"

"No, don't give me the army bullshit again," Anis interrupts, "Why do you think you've already lost your family?"

Jessica doesn't answer him. He doesn't push her. He lets the silence grow big and uncomfortable. He stares at her unwaveringly.

"They won't come home," she says after a few minutes.

"Why not?"

She looks at him once more and swallows, "You know why,"

Anis nods, "Don't want to admit it on record. I can understand that. But I assure you, Jessica, you won't lose your family. Your husband has assured me he's not taking the kids away from you. He can't stay. But I can see you getting some supervised visits when the dust settles."

"What Henry says won't matter," she says with an edge to her voice. Elizabeth is writing the playbook. She will decide."

Anis raises an eyebrow, "Jessica, I know Elizabeth pretty well. I was an operative on her team when she was the lead case officer on the Iraqi desk. I know what she's been through, and I intend to do everything in my power to help her see this through. But the thing is, Jessica, Elizabeth has done everything she's done for her children- because she loves her children. And I know she will not be vindictive to you because her kids are your kids, too. I will not lie to you. You and I both know you are going to prison, but you have a chance right now to do the right thing."

Jessica shakes her head, "You don't get it, do you? She won't win,"

"Not without your help. You know things. You can bring Dalton down," Anis says.

"Jessica, you still have a chance to be a hero in this story. No matter what you've already done, this will matter. It'll matter to the people who love you," Anis pleads.

Jessica takes a deep breath and wipes her cheeks, "I want to speak to Elizabeth. That's my condition,"