Baltimore, MD – October 2014

"This is really inconvenient for me, Bess. It is." Juliet's voice is cold. It sounds so foreign.

Elizabeth nearly recoils, and her head tilts. Juliet is holding a gun in her face. Juliet set her up to be taken. Juliet helped murder Nicolette and George. And it's inconvenient for her? Meanwhile every bit of Elizabeth's effort is going into her filling her lungs with oxygen. She wasn't expecting to be so triggered. She wasn't expecting any of this. She wasn't ready. George accelerated it. Henry accelerated it. She wasn't prepared—not to fight, not for more betrayal, not for more pain. She watches as Juliet foregoes trigger discipline, and her index finger begins to wrap around the trigger. Her head turns to Isabelle as her hands fly up in surrender.

The world moves so slowly. The boom only happens in her head. The suppressor makes the mini-explosion that happens inside the chamber sound more like a whistle. The cold metal presses between her eyes—his breath in her ear. Say your prayers, sunshine. He laughs. He presses into her.

She falls to her knees. His grip is tight around her neck, and he's lifting her off her feet. She's choking and gagging and trying to get away. She can't. He presses her into the concrete, and her forehead splits. Her blood trickles. She closes her eyes tight.

"Bess!" Isabelle's voice rings out. It sounds miles away, and yet Elizabeth feels Isabelle's hand on her shoulder. She can't tear her eyes away from Juliet.

Juliet's eyes are wide. Blood is pouring from her chest. Isabelle is holding her own gun. Elizabeth's instincts make her reach for Juliet, cover her chest with her palms, and press down. Preserve her life. The woman sent to kill her is bleeding out, and her instincts are to save her. Her friend. Her betrayer. Does it matter?

"Jules, Juliet, you're okay. We can fix this. Please. Don't move." Elizabeth is speaking quickly, and her voice is high. She feels the viscous hot blood under her palms. The blood she is trying to stop from seeping into the floor. Her brain won't click into place. Juliet's lips are moving, not unlike The Man's when she had finally slit his throat: moving lips, no sound, no voice. Surprise. Fear. Dying.

Isabelle is behind her, grabbing at her bicep, "We gotta go," She's saying.

Elizabeth can't move. She can't take her eyes off Juliet. She Can't take her hands away. She Can't do anything. She can't save her. Why does she want to? She can't figure that out either.

"Bess, we have to go." Isabelle's voice cracks. Only then does Elizabeth look up.

"She's dying," The words are a flurry of shock and disbelief.

"I know. Center mass. Two shots," Isabelle recites her training, their training as if that helps any of this make more sense. Juliet, their friend, was going to kill them, so Isabelle killed her. Self-defense. It is extremely complicated self-defense, but self-defense, nonetheless.

"Bess!" Isabelle says more forcefully, and Elizabeth looks at her, "We have to go now. If she had backup, we're already behind. But we could get a head start. Come on!"

Elizabeth's head snaps back down. Juliet's eyes are open. Staring. Her lips are still moving. No sound. No words. She's not even sure she's trying to make words at this point. The awareness is leaving her—her eyes are settling.

"I'm sorry," She finds her legs pushing her body back up to standing. She feels the blood still on her hands. She looks at them. She wonders if Juliet feels the same guilt that she feels. Her head tilts as Juliet struggles for air. "I'm so sorry."

She feels Isabelle's hoodie wiping at her hands.

"Bess, come on. I need you to snap out of it."

"I'm here," Elizabeth says, her head nodding as though the action is reassuring.

"Good, now let's go," Isabelle says, beginning to drag Elizabeth behind her. Elizabeth doesn't fully return to her body until she feels her feet striking the concrete under the pavement. The familiar burn in her now middle-aged knee, the pain in her lower back from the way her shoes are forcing her to stand, and the sound of her breath. She focuses on her knee. Focus on the physical. Stay in the present.

Isabelle is running in front of her, leading back to Reggie. Isabelle kicks her to the passenger seat this time. Not that Elizabeth can blame her. She's not sure she trusts herself to drive. Her shoulder is killing her. Her hands are shaking. Juliet's blood is still under her fingernails.

"You think she had on-site backup?" Elizabeth asks as Isabelle does her best to peel out without drawing too much attention.

"No. At least I didn't see anyone following us. But this thing just got a whole lot messier."

"I can't believe she was going to do it," Elizabeth shakes her head, "I can't believe..." She trails off. She wants to think that there is nothing that could hurt her left in the world. She'd like to think that there is nothing that could traumatize her anymore.

"Bess," Isabelle's voice is soft, and Elizabeth wants to snap at her. She doesn't. She's sure she looks crazy as she stares at her hands, wanting desperately to scrub them.

"I can't believe she was going to kill me," She swallows, and she can taste the blood, the sweat, and the dirt. Iraq while she was staring at the sky after the explosion. The pain in her shoulder was so intense when she was lifted off the ground and taken to hell.

"Bess!" Isabelle's tone is louder and harsher, and Elizabeth flinches. Isabelle sees the tears welling up in her eyes, "What is the next part of your plan?"

Elizabeth looks at her, almost helplessly, "I... I don't..." She doesn't finish the sentence. She can't.

"Bess, focus," Isabelle reaches over and takes Elizabeth's hand. Isabelle's nails dig into Elizabeth's palm as a way to bring her back to the present and keep her there, "What was your plan?"

"Prove he's breaking the law," She whispers. In a flash she grabs the phone from her pocket, praying that the recording was on the whole time.

"What are you doing?" Isabelle asks, trying to focus on driving.

"Making sure this worked," Elizabeth whispers. She nearly sobs when she sees the recording still going; she presses the stop button, "We got it." There is so much relief in her words. It doesn't go unnoticed.

"Good," Isabelle breathes the word, "We need to get into hiding, verify your family is safe, and... get the recording to someone who will believe it enough to help."

Elizabeth nods, "Cakewalk," she jokes halfheartedly.

"Yeah, cakewalk," Isabelle lets out a half laugh and rolls her eyes.

Washington, DC – October 2004

Three minutes from Georgetown University, the second cell phone Henry has been carrying rings for the second time. With Henry driving the backstreets like a bat out of hell, Patrick's reflexes to grab the phone are faster than his sons. This entire drive has been unsettling for him. For his grandkids, too, he's sure.

"Da-"

Henry's words are quickly cut off by Patrick's "Hello?"

"Henry, Do you have Stevie yet?"

Patrick swallows at the sounds of his dead daughter-in-law's voice. He briefly thinks that Henry has him worked up. He thinks he's hearing things.

"Henry, babe?" She's more insistent this time. More panicked.

"Almost," Patrick rasps out. His throat is dry, and his mouth is sticky, and his son was not lying. Elizabeth is alive.

"Pat?" He can hear her question. Her suspicion. His eyes flick to his son. He looks him over, really looks him over. He notices how straight he's sitting. His spine is in total alignment, like a marine. He hasn't sat or stood this tall since Elizabeth died. He has the same look in his eyes. The one that said, 'I am so tired. But I can't rest.' Patrick decides his son isn't lying. Elizabeth is alive and on the phone. And she's brought a mess back with her. He doesn't know how much trust to give her. He decides he will trust Henry.

"Yeah,"

"Get to my little girl, fast. Tell Henry it's worse than I thought, okay?" She sounds unsure on the other end of the line. He can feel she wants to say more, but even he knows they are not in a situation in which anything can be said.

"I will," He says before swallowing, "Take care of yourself. I'll take care of them," He doesn't know why he uses reassuring language with a woman he's never been fond of. He loves his grandkids. And he had at least thought her love for his son was something to be admired, for others to be jealous of. He figures now that either that wasn't the case or something horrible happened. His eyes flick to his sons, and as the line clicks dead, he sees the worry written all over Henry's face. He decides it's the latter.

"I'm going to go get her," Henry says as he pulls some maneuvers, pulling the car in front of the dorm that Patrick can only assume his son used to do with fighter jets. When Henry steps one foot on the ground, suited men come out of nowhere.

"Dr. McCord,"

Henry raises his fists, ready to fight his way to his daughter.

"Dr. McCord, Your wife and daughter are visiting the First Family. We're here to extend that invitation to you as well," The agent's words and tone are polite, but his body language tells Henry he has very specific orders. He knows that Henry has no choice but to comply.

"I have my kids and father in the car," Henry says. His fists are still raised, and he's trying to keep his voice level.

"We're aware. You all will be coming to the White House. There will be two cars in front of you and two behind. It's best to stay calm, Dr. McCord; you wouldn't want to frighten your children. If you cooperate, everything will be fine. We have your family's safety as our priority," The man says. Henry swallows. He is certain these particular agents do have his best interest in mind. He's sure they've been lied to. He's sure they are nothing but pawns, and if they are not careful, they will die.

"Henry," His father's voice calls out to him from the passenger seat. The sound makes Henry relax, and his hands drop. Four of his kids are in the van. And Stevie. Stevie's in the lion's den.

"We're going to visit Uncle Conrad and Aunt Lydia, kiddos," Henry says, putting on his best fake smile for the agents. He calmly gets back in the car. He waits for the undercover cars to get in line in front of and behind him. He starts to drive in time with them before speaking, "Allie, Jase."

He watches his teenagers look at him in the rearview mirror. This is not how this should be happening. This shouldn't be happening at all. But they need enough information to protect themselves.

"Guys, I need you to listen to me. You need to understand that a lot is going on that is out of your control. And I am so sorry. You guys are in danger. So am I. You cannot talk to anyone about any of this. You cannot trust anyone other than me and your grandfather," he pauses, building up his nerve. He doesn't want to break this to them in this way. He needed time to speak with Elizabeth about it. Suppose Jessica had only been a banker. Well then there would be a family therapist involved. There would be a lot of things that would've happened differently. He doesn't have the luxury of time right now, "You can trust Elizabeth, too."

He had meant to say, Mom. He had wanted to say, Mom. Unfortunately, that would breed confusion. Mom means Jess. And Jess is not to be trusted, "And under no circumstances are you to go anywhere with Jess. You cannot let her take the twins either."

He catches Allison's eyes in the rearview. They are wide and filled with terror. Allie is always the nervous one, and this has her in a full-blown panic. He wishes there was a way to reassure her. He's terrified, too. But he can't show her. She needs him to be strong, so he takes a deep breath and tries his best to channel the strength he always has.

"Mommy's alive?" Allie's tear-filled voice rips through his heart. Elizabeth had never evolved from mommy to mom, not with Allison. She was five years old when she lost her mommy. Elizabeth has become an almost saint to Allison. Since Allie started High School, Allie has inundated him with questions about her mom. What music did she like? What perfume did she wear? What books were her favorites? It had been question after question. And henry had helped make Allison a play list. He had bought her the perfume. He had observed her reading the books. While Allison loves Jess, she feels a piece of her is missing.

"Yeah, Noodle." he sighs. He wants to give her more, but she doesn't have time. His attention moves to Jason, "Jase, are you alright?"

His son shrugs. Jason doesn't have any memories of his mother. Jess is the only mother he knows. He and Elizabeth are the sole keepers of the memories of sleepless nights spent watching their boy sleep when Elizabeth was too wired. They are the only ones who know what it felt like to hold him close after Elizabeth's successful VBAC. They are the only one who remember watching his first shaky steps after the girls were put to bed. Henry feels that Jason may be indifferent to finding out Elizabeth is, in fact, alive. Thirteen is still too young to understand the gravity of the situation fully. Henry's not sure how much Jason would be able to keep from Jess. His son is loyal, and his wife, despite everything, has been a good mother. His son sees the world in stark black-and-white contrast, and Elizabeth is simply an outsider to him.

"You'll be okay," Henry's voice is gentle, and his hand is comforting as it rests on the steering wheel. He wants to wrap them both in his arms, but he has a gut feeling that once they are in the White House, they will be separated almost immediately, "I need you to be brave. Can you do that?"

He gets silent nods from the backseat.