Pittsburgh, PA – October 2014

"You look like shit, son" His father's words are not kind or couth. But they are correct.

"I know… I've had a long few days. Where are the kids?" Henry knows his voice is laced with a parental protectiveness that he hopes his father doesn't ask him about.

"The twins are in the den watching SpongeBob. Jason is playing that game thingy at the kitchen table, and Allison was helping me go through some of your mom's things to donate." The mention of his mother still sends a dull pang through his chest, even four years after her death. He wonders if it's always going to be that way. He knows it was—is for Elizabeth.

"I need them to come on… I gotta… I" It's as if he has suddenly forgotten how to lie to his father.

"Henry?" Patrick looks at his son. The only other time he's seen this particular look on his face was in the winter of 1980. He was playing hockey at the park, and it was late when he got home; the street lights had been on for over forty-eight minutes. And he knew it was forty-eight minutes. He watched the clock tick with Anne as they decided how long he had before they went looking. And he got home, and his little voice, Tommy, fell through. We had to wait for the police. It was all the information Patrick had needed to deduce the outcome. He knows he never quite understood his son, but he has always loved him. Henry was different. He was smart. He was always going to be something. It had intimidated Patrick, so much so that he had spent a great deal of his childhood ignoring him, pushing him away. The fact that he's been able to have a somewhat functional relationship with his eldest for the past ten years is a small miracle.

"Dad... I can't... I need the kids, okay? I have to take them and go." Henry realizes that to an outsider, he may sound like a rambling lunatic. And the look of worry on his father's face confirms that he thinks so as well.

"Go where Henry?" Patrick places a hand on his son's shoulder, attempting to comfort or at least settle him a little. He can almost feel Henry's adrenaline.

"It's a safe place... I'll be back in a couple of days..." More half-truth rambles escape his lips. He's eight all over again with the pack of baseball cards in his pocket that no one paid for.

"Henry, is everything okay?" Patrick is not nurturing. That was always Anne's job, nurturing the children. He feels ill-equipped to handle Henry and his sudden, erratic behavior. He was always ill-equipped to handle Henry's feelings. Patrick knows that Henry is his child who feels things deeply. He's passionate, emotional, and brilliant. He's always given the credit to Anne, but he had a lot to do with it. He may not know it, but he taught Henry how to protect what you love- whether that be striking for better wages to care for them or working a little overtime to buy your kids an Atari for a magical Christmas morning. He had taught Henry the importance of taking care of what was yours and loving it fiercely. And Henry has. He had protected Elizabeth from McCord family insults. He is a better father than Patrick could've ever dreamed of being. So, when his eldest, the one with his eyes and his smile, starts to ramble nonsense, he is more than a little concerned.

"Dad. You have to trust me. Just let me get the kids, and we will be out of your hair." Henry is growing impatient as his mind still races in circles of Elizabeth, Jessica, and Dalton, "They aren't safe here."

"Henry, with the way you're acting right now, I'm not sure they're safe with you," Patrick says calmly. Henry can't blame him for the thought. He doesn't know how to lie right now. He feels like he's being ripped apart over and over. He hasn't heard from Elizabeth yet. And he doesn't know what Jess is doing. Or even who she is. He can barely feel his body at this point. It's like it's not even real.

"Dad, please..." He considers telling the truth for a moment. He considers explaining that he is terrified. He's so worried about his children and the woman he never stopped loving. Not truly. She had been dead, and his love had morphed into grief when he had nowhere to put it. And now, he has a place to put it. He has her back, and he is terrified that he's losing her all over again.

"Is everything okay with Jessica?" Patrick asks. Henry has never been a good liar. No, Dad, I used my allowance to buy them, I swear. His eyes had not been able to meet Patrick's, and his face would go bright red. It had made the lies so easy. But, the way his face paled at the mention of her name told Patrick he had hit the nail on the head.

"No," He sighs. His marriage is not okay. His ego is not okay. His faith is shaken. He remembers so vividly every time in his life that God had gone silent on him. But this time, Henry finds himself begging his God for help or guidance. Something. And he's given nothing. In all those times, God has gone silent; not once has his faith wavered. He's been mad at God. He's wanted God not to exist. But today, he's not angry. He's scared, and his heart aches, and he has no idea what the right thing to do is. He doesn't even have a gut instinct anymore. It's all just numb. And not even God can comfort him.

Patrick studies his son. He goes through his knowledge of his very grown little boy. The deep pain in his eyes that had slowly disappeared over the last decade is back in its full raw force.

"Is Jessica dying?" It's the only thing that Patrick can think of. The pain in Henry's eyes mimics the pain that was there after Elizabeth died. It's a deep kind of heartbreak, soul-crushing, and gut-wrenching. He has not seen it in a while, though it's not a look he could forget.

"No." Henry deadpans.

"Then what's going on?" Patrick thinks the last time he used this tone with Henry was the day the then seventeen-year-old told him he scored a high ASVAB and the Marine Corps was sending him to college. Patrick had not even known at the time Henry was talking to a recruiter, let alone signing his name on the dotted line and taking the ASVAB. It had been the worst fight he had ever had with his son and the last time Henry had spoken to him for months.

"It's Elizabeth," Henry whispers. He shouldn't say anything. But he doesn't have the energy to stonewall his father. And he needs to get his kids out of Pittsburgh. He needs to get Stevie out of DC.

"Elizabeth?" Patrick doesn't understand.

"Dad... It's a long story, and I can't really... I need the kids..." Henry tries one last time.

"Henry, son, Elizabeth is dead," The way the words come out of Patrick's mouth makes Henry shudder. His father is speaking to him more gently than he ever has and looking at him as if he's lost his mind. Perhaps he has.

"She's not." He says, trying to make his voice sound as confident as possible.

"Of course she is, son. It's been a decade," Patrick's words are firm and sure. There is a part of the man who is contemplating how long he indulges in this conversation before getting his son help.

"It's not, dad. I can't explain how. But she's not dead. She's alive, and she's in Los Angeles. I'm trying to get the kids somewhere safe," Henry tries to find the balance between explaining his actions without divulging too much information, "Dad, I'm not lying. And I'm not crazy."

"Son, she died," Patrick repeats. His words are gentle. He does not believe the words his son is saying. But, he believes that Henry believes the words he is saying.

"She's alive!" Henry yells as his patience finally bottoms out. He can't breathe. He can't feel his hands. He can barely form a thought. But he knows what he needs to do, and that's get his kids somewhere safe.

"Okay. Okay, Henry." Patrick raises his hands in a placating manner. His son is panicking, and the last thing he needs is to be antagonized, "I'm sorry... Wherever you need to go, I'll go with you, son. Okay?"

Henry nods as his hands continue to tremble, and his body feels like it's moving independently of his brain. Having his dad with him is a terrible idea. But he can't have Jess with him. And Allison isn't old enough to be a second adult. So, he agrees to let his father come.

"I'm going to get the kids, and we will be right back. Okay? It would be best if you calmed down," Patrick instructs his son. He waits for Henry to acknowledge the instructions before heading into the den. He doesn't know what is happening to his son, but there is something about him today that is reminding him of the broken man who had walked through the door nine years ago after moving back to Pittsburgh, a broken man whose eyes were void of light and life.

Henry doesn't know how long it took his father to wrangle his children while he stands in the entranceway and tries to take deep breaths. But his lungs don't fill properly until there are little arms around his thighs.

"Daddy!" Drew's excited voice fills his ears, and all at once, he feels peace. He picks up his smallest child- always the smallest twin.

"Hi, sweet boy." He murmurs and kisses the top of his son's head. It doesn't take long for both of the twins to be in his arms while Jason and Allison stare at him with worry. He doesn't know what their grandfather said to them, but he knows it was enough to make them scared.

"Hey," Henry is surprised when his voice sounds normal. He pulls Allie into his arms and holds his kids close. He breathes in their scents and the comfort that they give him. He can't help but think of all the times he's gotten to do this over the last decade, all the times Jess has gotten to do this, and all the times Elizabeth missed. She hasn't been able to hug them or tell them she loves them. She missed Jason's first day of school. She missed every soccer game, piano recital, birthday, and graduation. He feels guilty as if he should've known she was out there. As if it's his fault, she didn't get to be a mother.

"Are we going home?" Allison is the one to break the silence.

"No. I'm going to take you all somewhere safe." Henry's tone tells Allison this is not a time to argue. Henry, as a rule, does not believe in dictatorial parenting, as Jason likes to call it, but that is the only way he knows how to deal with his kids right now. There are moments, and this is one of them, where he must be the parent. And the kids will not understand why they have to listen. But Henry can't worry about their hurt feelings or their questions right now. The only thing he can worry about is their safety.

"Da-" Jason starts to protest as he always does.

"Not up for discussion. Get in the car. Help your brothers with their car seats." He commands his children and turns his attention to his father, "We gotta get to Stevie."

"Let's go, kiddos," Patrick says to his grandchildren and ushers them outside. He doesn't know what is happening, but his son is scared, and he won't have him go through this alone. He's let him down too many times before.

Baltimore, MD – October 2014

Isabelle resists the urge to interrogate her friend as Elizabeth pulls out of the parking garage. Isabelle watches Elizabeth closely as they merge onto the freeway. Elizabeth's hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and her jaw is clenched tightly. There is a problematic tension radiating from her body. But then again, the woman has always had an anxious quality about her, so it could just be an Elizabeth thing. It's been a decade since she's seen her, and memories fade.

"I'm not here to assassinate you." Isabelle tries for her tried and true deadpan humor, hoping to break the tension. She knows it backfires when Elizabeth tenses further. Her blue eyes narrow and Isabelle can't tell if it's the sun or her mood that has caused her pupils to shrink.

"You don't know anything." Elizabeth's voice is flat, emotionless. If she weren't so fried, there would be extreme annoyance in her tone, but she can't find it.

"No, I suppose not. Why don't you tell me?" Isabelle tries to keep the exasperation out of her voice. Elizabeth has never been an easy person to coerce, especially when she has a mind to remain tight-lipped. There is not a single situation in which Elizabeth would jump off a bridge just because all of her friends were. That is something that Isabelle remembers. Elizabeth is stubborn and can be single-minded.

Elizabeth tries to think about where to start. She had not planned this part. She knew she needed help. She knew she needed to give them the evidence she already had on Conrad. She knew she'd have to tell her story. But just like with Henry, finding the starting place in her memories is difficult. She has found that telling someone who cares for her has been harder than telling Dr. Sherman the full story. Or even strangers at her every so often last resort AA meetings that she's a trauma survivor.

"I brought some files with me," She says, pointing to her backpack sitting in Reggie's back seat, "Read the Liquidate Bluebird file, and we'll go from there." That seems easier to her. She'll have time to figure out what she's going to say while Isabelle reads. She has a vague idea of a plan, but she knows it's dangerous. She doesn't expect her friend to jump at the chance of being in the line of fire. George has already paid for his closeness to her. She can't bear the thought of anyone else doing the same.

"Fine," Isabelle agrees.

Silence falls over them as they drive. Elizabeth is surprised at how quickly her knowledge of a city she hasn't stepped foot in years comes back to her. The exit is the same. The street is the same. Even the building hasn't changed much. The old bar looks as run down as she remembers it. The only thing that has changed is the signage—from tasteless "Hot Nudes" to something a little better, "Adult Entertainment Bar." The bar's owner must have a new manager or a new sense of humor. She resists the urge to look at Izzy as she reads through the files.

"Fuck," Isabelle's voice is breathy, and the word comes out of her mouth as though she hadn't meant to say it aloud. She looks over at Elizabeth, but her gaze is locked forward, and her hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel as she circles the block for the fifth time.

Isabelle slowly closes the file as she tries to process the words written on the pages it contains. So many things start to click in place, and suddenly, she can't remember a time when she didn't wonder what happened to her friend. She's angry, and the anger is bubbling over. How could Conrad do this? Moreover, how could Juliet be an active participant? She feels herself balancing on the edge of nauseous. She pushes it down. Elizabeth doesn't need a big reaction. She needs a partner to help her do the work she needs to do. She did not have to get sucked into the world's tensest buddy cop movie by her back from the dead friend on her bingo card.

"Bess, you do know who Copper Bloodhound is, right?" Isabelle asks. She wants Elizabeth's answer to be yes. She wants Elizabeth to know she has a meeting leading her right into the mouth of the beast. But she also knows Elizabeth sent that email using Juliet's older alias, White Vermont Gladiolus, and that doesn't give Isabelle any hope.

"No, Moros is Conrad Dalton. The two agents he had helping him, I don't know."

"Fuck." Isabelle mutters, "It's Juliet, and you've sent yourself straight into the lion's den. You have no idea what you're doing." Isabelle's statement is not meant as an accusation. Elizabeth has been out of the spy game for a long time. She's got to be a little rusty. And she assumes George has been pulling a lot of the weight in keeping her safe.

"I don't have a choice anymore. They killed George. He's tying up loose ends. Maybe someone knows. Maybe he's just skittish about re-election like Nixon." Elizabeth's statement is simple and final. Isabelle can't help but notice that her best friend isn't even a little surprised at hearing of Juliet's possible involvement.

"Elizabeth, did you comprehend that? Juliet was a part of this." Isabelle says, holding up the file to emphasize her point.

"Yes, I heard you," Elizabeth shows no emotion. Isabelle is not surprised by this, but it doesn't make the conversation any less frustrating.

"Then, why aren't you angry? You have every right to be." Isabelle is confused.

"I am. I'm furious. But it's not the first time I've learned I've been betrayed." She still hasn't looked at her friend, and Isabelle isn't sure she wants to see what's behind her friend's eyes.

"Maybe this is a good thing," Isabelle suggests. When Elizabeth's eyes narrow as she starts her sixth circle of the three blocks they've been driving, she clarifies, "She thinks she's getting a one-up on you, but we both already know about her."

Elizabeth finally pulls Reggie into a metered parking spot two blocks away from the Clubhouse. She sits in contemplative silence for a few moments. She's running scenarios in her head. She's trying to think about what might happen if her plan doesn't work. She's trying to come up with a plan B. But the truth is, her plan isn't much of a plan. Isabelle is a working Case Officer. Maybe Elizabeth can lean into that a little. Maybe she can trust her friend. Maybe it's worth the risk.