Pittsburgh, PA – October 2014
When Jessica's secure line rings from below the floorboard under her bed, her adrenaline levels shoot through the roof. She hasn't been a field agent in so long, and that phone never rings. She has settled down. She goes to the room in the basement of the Chase Bank to a three-person field office and combs through terrorist organization's financials. It isn't glamorous or exciting, and she doesn't travel the world anymore. But she has a family. And she'd give it all up again to be with them, to feel this alive, to feel this normal.
She takes a deep breath, steadying herself and trying to still her heart rate. There is one reason and one reason only this phone is ringing. Elizabeth. The traitor. She carefully picks up the loose floorboard, takes a deep breath, and retrieves the phone. She stares at the voicemail notification for a few seconds. She can barely breathe. She has to press play.
"Black hawk!" Andrew Munsey's affectionate voice comes through the line, and for a moment, Jessica reminisces. Not that she ever loved him, not really. She's not sure she knew what love actually felt like until the twins were born. And she does love Henry so much, now anyway. He's normal and good. He's her home. She knows, though, that Andrew would have made an okay husband if their lives had gone that way. "I need you to call into a meeting. It's about your lover boy and Blue Bird. Code to connect will be zero, five, niner, seven."
She dials the number by memory. Andrew picks up immediately. "Jessie, baby." She cringes. "It's been a long time. How are the kids?"
"What is going on?" She passes by his flirting. She has since she married Henry. She is a faithful wife. Sometimes, she thinks she and Andrew are better matched if you go off pure ethics. Henry has a code. He has a well-thought-out code, influenced by all the theologians and philosophers he loves. She admires that about her husband. He truly makes her think about what she wants her life to stand for and how she wants to be the best version of herself, which was also new for her. Before Henry, she only cared about her job. That's all. But Andrew doesn't have a code. He is an unethical, opportunistic, charming, cold-hearted spy, and so is his boss. And she was once, too.
"Your husband is in LA. We took care of the Peters problem. Moros and I are concerned that your husband is with Bluebird or at least knows she lives." Andrew says smoothly. He cares for the woman he is talking to. It took him three hours to convince POTUS that killing Peters would be enough. And then he agreed to kill Bluebird. But he wanted to give Jess what he could. So he saved Henry's life. But Jess has to get him home and convince him not to talk.
"Henry is at a symposium at UCLA," Jess says in complete denial that Elizabeth has her claws in her husband. Her hands start shaking as her brain begins to work the scenario through. Henry loved that woman. She had manipulated him before. Jessica knows Elizabeth's crimes. Jessica knows Elizabeth's ties to Al Queda. Jessica knows the blood on her hands. Jessica knows what she is capable of. If she had found Henry, had her claws in him again...she shakes her head. She can't think like that.
"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but there is no symposium at UCLA this week," Andrew says gently.
"I can't lose him." She says. She doesn't know if her sentence is because she's terrified of his potential death or him potentially believing anything Elizabeth has to tell him.
"Jessie, I talked POTUS down from a rage. It would be best if you reeled Henry in. Okay? Get him back to Pittsburgh. Get me the room to do the work I need to do. And make sure he can keep his mouth shut. Use the kids if you have to." Andrew's voice is firm and authoritative. "And if he can't be controlled...if you can't make him see... I'll have to take him out. And I don't want to have to do that, Jessie."
Jess hangs her head as she hangs up. She doesn't know what she's going to do. She rubs her temples and remembers the cold spy she used to be. She will have to reign Henry in, or she'll lose him forever. And she refuses to lose him.
Los Angeles, CA – October 2014
They sit together in silence. It's not cold, but it is semi-awkward. And maybe it's doomed to be forever. Henry watches as Elizabeth thinks. She's always made the same face when she is thinking, and the sight is so familiar that his heart hurts. How did they get here? He wants to reach for her and pull her into a hug. But he can't, not yet. His heart feels so torn. He loves Elizabeth, and that is a simple truth. And she used to be dead. And he loves Jess, and that is a truth as well. And she is alive. But Elizabeth had chosen to stay dead, and that choice had been an intentional act of abandonment. It had been a choice to leave him and their kids. And it sent him on another path than the one he had planned. He used to think it was impossible to love two people at once. But as he looks at Elizabeth, the love he feels for her is so palpable. It is the same, if not greater, than the love he feels for Jess. And he's scared. He's scared of what this means. How does he begin to reconcile any of this?
"What do we do next?" His unsure voice breaks through her thoughts, and she looks at him. Her face reads of confusion as if to say, 'You're asking me?'
"If I had known what to do, don't you think I would've done it?" Her words aren't harsh or bitter. There is something much sadder in them. It's defeat. She has no idea how to move forward. What do you do when your whole life is stolen, and you don't know what is left for you? She did it. She left. That's how she handled it.
"I don't know," He admits.
She wants to be hurt by his lack of faith in her. But he's not wrong. To him, she hadn't gamed it out. And in LA, once sober, she sat on the beach and chose not to fight. She wrote a letter that she drowned in the ocean. And so, he is not wrong. She is not prepared. She has not done the leg work, and her choices were selfish and self-destructive. And Dr. Sherman would get on her for using those words. And these last few hours have forced her into a backslide she did not choose and does not know how to control.
"We are not the same people we were, and we never will be," She says, not really a response. "And he's the fucking President. So maybe we don't do anything."
"I can't go backward." He says immediately, "I know you're alive... And it changes everything, and I can't go backward."
"You already moved on." She reminds him and her eyes unwillingly flick to his new ring.
"I did. And it's not that I'm offering to leave her for you. I'm saying..." He pauses. What is he saying? What does he feel? He can't lose Elizabeth. And he can't leave Jess. "I'm saying I know the truth now. And it's changed things. And I don't know what that means."
"You're asking me to fight the President of the United States alone. Do you know how crazy that is?" She says through her teeth.
"I know. But maybe it's not alone." He tries to reassure her that he's not going anywhere. However, he can't really promise her that he can provide total, unwavering support.
"What do you want from me?" She asks, the anger growing within her. The tears in her eyes are angry, and the quiver of her chin is no longer one of sadness but rather anger. At so many people, "And God, why would George put me in this position? To have to break your heart right to your face? To have to choose between hiding and fighting. And then what? I go to Pittsburgh and sure see my kids, but I never really trusted them or you. And watch and observe this family that I no longer fit into. Henry, I would give you the goddamned moon if I could. I really would. But this, right here? This is too much to ask. I am sorry. But I can't." She rants. She has no faith that she will win. So, what would be the point of trying?
Her words hurt. His chest aches. It's been so long since he's felt the weight of the pain of losing her, and the weight is crushing him. And he doesn't know what that means for him or his current marriage. And she has a point about logistics. It won't be easy. And God, what if she's too fragile? What if her sobriety is too fragile? What if she loses, and he loses her to real death? Or even worse, what if he loses his kids? And suddenly, everything clicks for him. Her choices, her abandonment. He's not mad. No. That's not what he is. He has faith. He used to promise her that he would keep it for both of them. But this is so hard. And he finds his faith shaken. But one second of a flash of the type of grief he would face if his kids died... and he understands he every move. But God help him, he's having trouble condoning it. Because the truth is like a lion, you don't need to defend it; let it lose, and it'll defend itself. And all she would have to do, is tell the truth and share her proof.
"You really can't find the integrity in yourself to try?"
Her eyes snap to his. And then they narrow.
"Oh, for the love of God, Henry, it's not about me! I've already lost our children. I've grieved. I've lived without them. Do you really want to put them in the kind of danger where they could be murdered? Because I would rather die than be the reason they are murdered. And Conrad will murder them. He will have no qualms and no remorse. I have already lost everything. This is not about me. It's about our children. I have spent the last ten years in purgatory, and it might as well be hell. And the only reason I didn't kill myself is because I needed to know they were safe. And as long as Conrad knows I'm here doing exactly as he says, our kids are safe. But the second, he thinks otherwise. They are gone. So fuck me and my feelings. And honestly, fuck Aquinas too. Because this isn't about us!"
Her anger is loud, and she is breathing heavily. And the tension is thick. Both sides are valid, which always makes these fights worse. Because how do you choose? But then the air is sucked out of the room. Elizabeth hears the phone ringing from the closet. The phone is not supposed to ring. Munsey's direct line to her is never supposed to ring. And the fear she feels is real and paralyzing. She has never felt more trapped. It takes long seconds, seconds that feel like hours, for her adrenaline to move her body.
Henry has no idea what's happening, and his mind is a whirlwind of questions. But he watches as she sprints up the Stairs to her private space and hears from the loft an awful scream. It's a gut-punching sound of pure shock and horror. And his brain starts to put the pieces together. Something is wrong. Really wrong.
"Elizabeth," He says her name and the word comes out as a breath. And he moves to the stairs and sprints, "Baby?"
He finds her hands shaking as one covers her mouth and the other holds the phone. And then a sob. A sob that reminds him of the same sobs he let out for once upon a time. And his worry creeps up. He finds himself ripping the phone away from her, needing to see with his own eyes that it's not his children. It isn't. But it is a very mangled George Peters. And the relief he feels is quickly replaced with disgust and fear. He stares at the photo, the car accident so obvious, and the body so broken.
"Elizabeth. Talk to me."
His words are firm. And she shakes her head no. She can't speak. The last person she had on this Earth is gone. And Munsey so clearly mocking her lets her know exactly who is responsible, 'Tick Tock Bessie.' She forces her mind to push past the immediate and devastating grief of needing to be a mother.
"Who knows about me? Who did you tell?" she looks at her exhausted ex-husband, "Henry, I need to know." There is a desperation in her voice so pure it almost sounds like begging.
"Nobody." He says, the words quick and true. But her eyes narrow at him. "No one. I swear. It's just me."
"Who knows?" She is panicking, her mind working so fast and so hard. It spins as if she can find an answer in the information running by her.
"No one. Elizabeth. George told me to come here; I didn't tell anybody why."
She states pacing. She needs to find the leak. Someone knows Henry is here. And that doesn't make sense, George was always so fucking careful. She sinks to the floor. Henry watches as her face twists, and she hangs her head in either defeat or grief; he's not sure which. He hears her soft sniffles.
"Hey, hey." He sits next to her, "Tell me what to do."
"There is nothing you can do." She whispers, her eyes looking at him. She wants him to hold her, and she wants him to leave her. "I have to do it. But the good news is you get your wish. I have no choice but to fight him now. He's just proved he will happily kill everyone I love and make me watch as it happens. But the problem is, I don't have a plan. And I've lost the only person who could have helped me."
Her words are broken, and she doesn't have the energy to try and hide it. Henry is at a loss as he realizes he doesn't know what to do either. And his children are his number one priority. They have to be. He can't let anything happen to them.
"How do we protect the kids? I need to protect them." He asks. He can't even give her a moment to wrap her head around her next mission. He's not going to let them get hurt.
"Henry." She says his name, her voice full of sadness. And then she shakes her head. And his brain races, trying to figure out what she's not saying. "I make myself his number one target. Hopefully, he lets it go. If I can't tell anyone what I know, maybe he will feel comfortable enough with just threatening you and the kids. Because he knows the information will die with me." She says. And god, she hears her own words. And part of her hopes is that he'll give her an option on the method because right now, she wouldn't mind overdosing. She wants nothing more than to get high at this moment.
"Are you telling me you're going to let him kill you?" He asks as if it's the most absurd thing she could've said.
"Yes, if it means saving our kids? Of course. I'm not saying it's a good plan. I'm just saying he's going to take me out. I don't have another choice. I can't let anything happen to those kids."
"Then fight and win. You have to fight, Elizabeth."
She looks at him, "Henry, I used up most of my fighting getting out of Iraq and the rest getting sober. I'm not sure what I have left in me."
"You've always had the will. You'll fight. You're a fighter." He sounds sure, but the words feel empty to her. He has no idea. He's looking at her like she's the person he married, and she just isn't. She couldn't even pretend to be her if she tried.
"Don't give up now. Babe, you're so close to the end. I think George... I think he told me about you because he wanted you to be able to win. He wanted you to win and come home to the kids. He believed in you. And I believe in you. Just take a minute before you decide that suicide is the only plan."
She looks at him. She keeps saying she has no fighting left. But yet, he sees the fire that is still living in her bright blue eyes. He sees her the way he always has. Elizabeth is a survivor. Elizabeth is a warrior. She holds the desire to protect her kids. She's spent the last ten years fighting for her life.
"Please," he pleads, "Just let's talk through the options."
And she nods because how can she say no to him?
"How do you take on a sitting president?" He goes full Socrates. And she doesn't know if his question is for her or himself to answer. But she's thought about this before.
"Go public." She states. She knows that it provides the most protection. Being public with a story makes it harder for the accused to kill you because people would notice. But her mind flashes back to the photo of George, his bloodied, mangled body. Her stomach churns, and she wonders how long it would take Conrad to arrange her death if that's what he decided to do.
"Okay," He sighs, "And how do we do that?"
This time, the question is aimed at her. She doesn't feel reassured that he has no ideas. But to humor him because he deserves to be humored, she thinks for a moment. Her brain goes absolutely clear. She remembers the first time she figured out she could solve a complex problem—her dad and her at the kitchen table and an algebra question three grades above her current level. She runs the variables in her head—as many of them as she can think of. And then, she talks out loud when a feasible option enters her mind.
"You go into hiding with your wife and kids. And I mean deep hiding. I find backup... And go to Congress?" The last part is a question on her part. She has no idea who she would even go to. Who would believe her, and who would be willing to help her? "Or... No... I find back up." She racks her brain. She knows the legal process for removing a president. Actually, if someone held a gun to her head and asked her to recite the US Constitution, she's sure she could do it, right down to pausing at the periods.
"If he committed war crimes in the eighties and again during Iraqi Freedom... He's still doing it. We gotta find someone willing to investigate." She says, her mind racing. She knows there is a lot that has to happen. But this is the path forward.
"Who are you going to trust?"
She doesn't have an answer for him. George. That was it. She had one person. She looks up at Henry, "I don't know," she lets out a humorless laugh, "I don't know, Henry."
This time, her sobs are of defeat. She doesn't know what to do. She wonders if she would've once known. She wasn't helpless. She was smart, and she had always had a plan. And now, the weight of her grief and the weight of the task in front of her has her feeling weak. She doesn't want to die, not really. But she wants a high. And the desire for the two is mixing inside of her.
Henry pulls her close, his hand moving through her hair.
"It's okay. I'm going to help. You and I are going to figure it out." He promises. And he kisses the top of her head. He's not going to lose her- not again. And she lets herself sink into him, and she allows herself to feel a little hope. It's not a lot, but it's enough to give her the ability to take her next step.
