Washington, DC – October 2014
Patrick leans closer to his son from his place in the passenger seat, "Elizabeth said it's worse than she thought," He's still surprised that she's alive, but the more he thinks about it. He doesn't quite know if that makes him angry or just confused. Henry nods at him.
"Yeah," He sighs. His knuckles are white on the wheel as they approach Pennsylvania Avenue. He wonders if Elizabeth knows about Jessica. He should've told her. But there is a part of him that wants to be wrong about Jessica. His heart is torn. A part of him still loves her. And his children love her. Another part of him is terrified of her and what this might mean. He can't think about that now, though. His children's safety is the most important thing. Regardless of anything that happens, his heart is broken. He knows that, eventually, he will feel the trauma of this. It wasn't coming home for leave after Desert Strom that let the war finally sink in; it had been his honorable discharge. He stepped into civilian life, and that had finally cracked his wall of protection. He knows that when he gets through this, no matter its outcome, he will be broken up over it. There is not a single outcome that does not break his heart. There is not a single outcome in which all five of his children come out unscathed.
Patrick can feel his son's pain. Henry has always felt deeper than Patrick can understand. It's just simply not his way. His father taught him with his fist how to be a man. Patrick had tried so hard to break that curse, and while he never laid a hand on his children, he knew he damaged them in other ways. He's never been there when Henry needed him the most. When Tommy died, he had told Henry to dry his tears. He had told him to buck up and be a man. But his son had cried for his friend every night for months, and Patrick had been proud that Henry learned to cry in private. He had taught him to only have emotions in the dark. Maybe that's why he resented Elizabeth so much. Maybe it wasn't her fancy clothes, her horses, or her money. No, when Henry met her, he started feeling again. Henry quit hiding his feelings in the dark. They started having conversations and crying together. They laughed together and fought together. He had envied his son's ability to feel and reason and live authentically.
"Hank," Patrick starts placing his hand on his son's shoulder. It's the only way he's ever been able to comfort; it's not nurturing, and man, how he wishes Anne were here, but it is what he can do, and he hopes that his son can find some measure of solace in his touch.
"Dad," His eyes flick once again to the rearview mirror. His children. Two Elizabeth's. Two Jessica's. But all five of them are his. Those kids are who he needs to pledge his allegence to. He knows Elizabeth would agree. But there is a sinking feeling that Jess wouldn't. He doesn't know what to make of that.
"Dad, I know what I'm asking," Henry speaks quietly, not to catch the attention of the kids, "Believe me, I do, but if... If, for whatever reason, it's me or them... you have to choose them. You have to keep them safe,"
"Son," Patrick sighs.
"Dad, I know. I'm a parent to... Please?"
"How about we just hear what they have to say?" Patrick suggests. He's slower to put the pieces together. He knows it's bad. He's gathered Elizabeth is in trouble, though he doesn't know who caused it. He caught the Fed guys telling Henry his wife, presumably Jess, was at the White House. Henry told the kids not to trust Jess. He doesn't understand the urgency, the danger.
"Okay," Henry relents. His father is right, and his anxiety is causing his mind to race. It would be better if they listened to what they were being told before acting. He can't go off half-cocked. He needs to trust Elizabeth. He needs to stay calm and make measured decisions. He cannot give Conrad Dalton the upper hand. He needs to be as smooth and smarmy as Dalton is.
"Dad," Patrick can feel the weight in his son's single word.
"I know. I will."
Henry lets out a sigh of relief. But Patrick is only nauseous as they pull behind the non-descript Honda Accord into the secure road leading to the West Wing. Walking up to the hallowed halls of Government was something the old union leader thought he would do in his dreams. And yet here he is, not for worker's rights or Canadian steel trade deals. No, the reason is so much more personal than that. He swallows as he starts to help a sleeping Bobby out of his booster seat, and Henry gets the smaller twin out of his still-big car seat.
"Come on, kiddos, let's go meet your uncle," Henry smiles, "And remember what I said earlier."
It's Jessica who meets them, standing next to the First Lady and First Son. Stevie is next to Harrison, which causes Henry to sign in relief. But he can't get her to quit making googly eyes at her old High School crush for more than half a second. He wants to yell and grab her attention. Look, sweetie, something's wrong; please notice something is wrong.
"Honey," Jessica nearly screeches. It causes Henry to tighten his hold on Drew as he fights the urge to put his father and the other three children behind him. When Jess notices the fact that Henry shows no intention of letting Drew go to her, and Patrick seems to be on that level with Bobby as well, her practiced smile falls, "Hank?"
"Jess," He nods to her, "What's going on?"
"Why don't we go to the family room, and we'll talk about it," She tries to take Drew, but Henry holds on tight. So, she goes for another tactic. She hugs Jason, to her her oldest son.
"Hi, Mom," Jason hugs back. Henry's heart speeds up. This is not the time to be defiant. Jason gives Jessica no resistance. No, he hugs his mom. And it's not like Henry can blame him. It's not his fault. None of it is his fault. But he can hear Allie's breathing getting heavier. He can't have her panicking. She can't let on that she knows. He takes his free arm and wraps it around his youngest daughter.
"Be brave," He reminds her. It seems like such an unfair ask. How can he expect his two teenagers to act like trained spies or soldiers and follow orders? They are teenagers. But they need to because Henry cannot handle it if they don't.
"Why don't I take the kids to see the bowling alley," Lydia says in her perfect WASP hostess tone. Henry has always wondered if the woman knows more than she lets on or if she really is that willingly oblivious.
"My dad can go with you," Henry tries.
"He can't, actually. All adults, other than Mrs. Dalton, Mr. Dalton, and Ms. McCord, need to come to the Oval for a meeting with the President," a statured bald guy tells them. Henry barely remembers him from Conrad's campaign stop in Pittsburgh. But he nodded; he knew this was going to happen; they were going to separate them. Just play the game, he reminds himself. He starts to hand a sleepy Drew over to his oldest sister. He kisses his daughter on the cheek, hoping to bring her out of her love for long enough to notice something is wrong.
"Stephanie," He says firmly. Her eyes shoot away from Harrison. And that is exactly the problem. The girl is not a spy or a soldier, and Henry knows her attention is not focused on her father, but rather on the boy she's liked since middle school, "Take your brother," he says, handing the small-for-his-age seven-year-old to her.
"Got him, Henry," She says, letting him know not to use her full name again. Her hands are a little awkward under his arms, but he wakes up as the transfer happens.
"Hey!" He grumbles, but Stevie gives him a sympathetic smile. Patrick reluctantly hands over Drew to Lydia. He watches as his grandkids start to disappear down the corridor, heading to the East Wing.
The two men follow close behind Jessica, and the man Henry finally remembers is campaign manager turned chief of staff Russell Jackson. The whole time, Henry can feel Jessica's desperation for him. She's trying to reach back for his hand, but he's not going to play the part of the happy couple. He knows too much. She's admitted too much.
They stop in a group in the outer office as if making a show of a normal meeting with the President. It's as if it's every day that the man plays with people's lives. It's as if he hasn't been playing a game of cat and mouse with Elizabeth for the last decade. Henry takes a deep breath and mentally prepares for battle.
US-50 W/Northwestern Turnpike near Parkersburg, WV – October 2014
Isabelle hauled ass—a little too well for Elizabeth's liking. While Elizabeth didn't grow up in the Mountains, she grew up near them, she grew up in driving in them and hiking in them. She had gotten used to the winding, treacherous roads. Isabelle, apparently, had too. Only she is driving in a way that makes Elizabeth want to slam on an invisible break beneath her feet. They've been off the main interstate for the last fifty miles or so, both of them trying to gauge a good place to stop. Not too far from DC, not too close, not too easy to get to, and not too hard to leave. They need their own fucking goldilocks zone.
"There's a Holiday Inn Express in three exits," Isabelle sighs. Elizabeth calculates it, having read the same sign. Parkersburg. Close to the Ohio border, a five-ish hour drive to DC (Less if Isabelle is driving)
"Good. Good. I'm not sure I can take much more of this," Elizabeth breathes out, closing her eyes and leaning her head back.
"It'll be better once we get there," Isabelle offers as if she's not the one causing the nausea. Elizabeth only nods. Yes, the ride is not smooth, and that's not helping, but neither are the visions of Juliet bleeding out, and neither is the thought that Henry didn't listen to her and get the kids out. She can't make sense of why Patrick answered her second call. She wants so badly to lay her eyes back on Henry and her kids. Even if it only happens seconds before her final breaths.
"Bess?"
"Hm," She looks over at Isabelle.
"What are you thinking?"
"Nothing important," she shakes her head, "You think they found Juliet yet?"
"I haven't gotten any calls yet," Isabelle says. She thinks Munsey would call her. Or that there'd be a BOLO out for her and Bess, but then again, it wouldn't be in Conrad's best interest to publically look for Bess, "But it's been what, four and half hours? Guess it depends on when she was due to check back in with Munsey or Dalton," She shrugs. She's trying her very best to be cavalier about having to shoot her friend. She can sense that Bess has too much to worry about right now. She needs to bear the load of that guilt so Elizabeth doesn't have to, "You think about who you can trust to help us,"
Elizabeth gives her a small nod as Isabelle pulls off route 50, "Mike Hirst,"
"The Congressman from Alabama. Like super red Alabama? Fights to keep GITMO open Mike Hirst,"
Elizabeth gives another small nod, "I don't agree with him on ninety-nine percent of issues, but I know him from Iraq. I trust him."
Isabelle nods. Trust. How does Elizabeth have it in her to trust anyone? Everything she's been through, and yet here she is, trusting some guy who's not well-liked among left-leaning centrists, which, unless something has drastically changed, Elizabeth would be part of that group. But Iraq is where Elizabeth was taken, so there's more there. A combat zone affair isn't out of the ordinary, but Bess? No, she wouldn't.
"You know him from Iraq?" Isabelle asks the question without asking.
"Yeah," Elizabeth says with no indication that she's going to keep speaking.
"That's all?"
"He's a prick. He was an angry officer who beat prisoners with impunity. And even I fell into that with one particular terrorist. But I think Mike liked me. And from the little I can remember of being rescued in Sabaa Al-Bour, he felt guilty about losing me. I don't have the full story. But he's the only person I can think of that would both have the ability to do what I need and the reason not to sell me out,"
"So nothing ever..."
"Jesus, no. You know me better than that," Elizabeth wants to be offended by the question, but she realizes she is the person who left her husband for ten years thinking she was dead. And it's not like she's been celibate for the last ten years. But back then, with her marriage in the happiest state, it could be when one spouse is deployed, and the other is playing single parent. She had wanted nothing more than to go home and jump Henry's bones. Men surrounded her; most of them were boys who had never seen a woman before, or at least that's how they were acting. But back then, she never would've jeopardized her marriage, especially for a guy like Hirst.
"Just had to verify, sorry if you feel like I called you an adulterer," Isabelle doesn't ask anymore, just puts her blinker on and makes her way towards the hotel. But she does hear Bess let out a little puff of air that could be mistaken for a small laugh.
"I'd ask too if I just shot my friend who tried to kill me and probably killed my other friend when I'm supposed to trust no one," Elizabeth mumbles.
The rest of the drive is quiet. Isabelle has the radio off, and Elizabeth doesn't seem in a talking mood.
