Parkersburg, WV – October 2024
The water coming from the hotel sink doesn't get hot enough for liking. The lukewarm water does nothing to remove the now-dried blood. The bar of hand soap doesn't lather the way she wants it to, either. Elizabeth finds herself scrubbing, picking under her nails and around her cuticles. Her hands are shaking. She can't stop the tremor that's overtaken her. She feels the tears prickle her eyes, but she doesn't allow herself to cry. She refuses to cry. She doesn't feel safe enough to allow herself the luxury of feeling her feelings.
She had been annoyed at that phrase for the longest time. Dr. Sherman had labeled her an intellectualizer, and at first, she had wondered what she was supposed to do with that information. And then the day came, and the feeling in her chest had been so big and so tight, and the only word she could use to describe it was anguish. But the word was not enough. The word was too big, and she could not handle it. The grief was overwhelming, and the only way to get through the wave was to weep through it. And that had helped. That was the first day she didn't want to get high. But she cannot bring herself to cry now. All she can do is pick at her nails and try to stop herself before her cuticles bleed.
Isabelle knocks and cracks the door open, "Bess, I'm not trying to interrupt your time, but, uh, are you okay?"
"I'm fine, just..." She sighs.
"You've been washing your hands for about a half hour. And I have a pizza," Isabelle offers her a lifeline—something else to do other than stand at a sink with her hands rinsing in lukewarm water. Isabelle needs to get her talking. Otherwise, they're both going to spiral alone with their thoughts of Juliet bleeding out on the floor.
"Right," Elizabeth nods, but her hands are slow to remove themselves from the stream of running water as if she is processing Isabelle's words on a ten-second delay.
"It's a cheeseburger pizza, still your favorite?" Isabelle asks gently. Five and a half hours is still a lot of wait time. She needs Bess to recharge. She had been so determined when they met at the airport, but she has watched her friend decompensate since leaving Juliet to die. Isabelle swallows the threatening tears. She tried to kill them, and they left her to die.
"Yeah," Elizabeth nods, finally turning the water off. She's slow, and she's not entirely present.
Isabelle doesn't say anything. She sits down next to Elizabeth, grabs a slice, and tries not to be bothered by the way Elizabeth only stares at the slice in front of her.
"Bess, you haven't eaten in twelve hours. If you didn't eat on the plane from LA, more like eighteen hours. You need to eat." Isabelle says, remaining as calm as possible. She's trying so hard not to get frustrated, but she's the one who pulled the trigger that fired the bullet that killed Juliet. She needs Elizabeth as much as Elizabeth needs her for these next few hours.
"I'm not usually this... um..." Elizabeth searches for a word that isn't the descriptor crazy. She knows better than to use that word now anyway. You have a treatable and manageable mental illness. You're not crazy, Elizabeth. Dr. Sherman had said that to her time and time again.
"Withdrawn?" Isabelle offers, and Bess gives her a thankful smile.
"I can't seem to find myself. My old self anyway," and that's the crux of it; Elizabeth wants to find the person she was ten years ago. The person she long ago decided she'd never be again, but now that feels like a hard truth. Her experiences have changed her, and maybe her experience here will change her again.
She doesn't know if she's ready for the change, "God, why did George do this," she sighs, "I wasn't ready. I was never going to be ready."
"George?" Isabelle needs clarification. She's a good spy and a good investigator, but she still feels like she doesn't have enough pieces for the whole picture. She killed Juliet today, and she's not ready to feel that grief, but she's already deeply grieving George. She agreed to take on the president. She allied herself in this fight. She needs the whole story.
"He's been there for me. He was my handler... He went to Henry and told him where I was... And now they killed him, and that feels like it's my fault... And if they hurt Henry and the kids... that'll be my fault. I did the one thing I could for them. I disappeared. I kept my distance, and now..."
"And now you have the enormous task of taking on the President of the United States." Isabelle fills in.
"It's an impossible task,"
"That doesn't mean it's not the right thing to do. There has to have been something that's kept you going. Something that is making you fight instead of rolling over,"
Elizabeth takes a breath as she takes another bite of pizza. She chews as she tries to dig for that answer. She's always figured it's pure instinct. People are animals, and animals always fight to survive; survival of the fittest is ingrained in the core of every single living thing. But maybe there is something else that keeps her going—the thought of seeing her kids. But that wouldn't have been true either. She grieved their losses as if they were dead.
No. She got the photo of George's body from Munsey with the threat, and her first thought to solve the problem was to let herself be killed. It was Henry who stopped her.
"I was going to roll over," she admits, "I was. It was my first thought: let him kill me, and everybody stays safe, but Henry... He was... I couldn't imagine him having to pick up the pieces of his heart all over again... He needs me to fight, and honestly, I feel like I owe it to him."
"Owe it to him?" Isabelle asks, leaning into a conversation that has nothing to do with what happened this morning. She needs the reprieve; she's sure Bess does, too.
"I left him alone," she says. She knows it's not that simple, and she knows it's not all her fault. But that is the truth of it. He was left alone to grieve and raise the kids. She knows he had his wife eventually, but her presence doesn't negate the ten years she was missing.
"You still love him?"
Elizabeth looks up at Isabelle. She hadn't been able to say that when he left her apartment in LA. His whispered I love you plays over in her mind. His words were so soft and so true. And she didn't answer to them. She let them float around the room, unanswered and ignored.
"I think," she pauses to gather her thoughts into words, "I think that when you share the connection he and I shared, the deepness of our relationship, the intimacy and trust that formed, there's always going to be something there, and there will always be a part of me that loves him. Maybe not romantically anymore, or maybe I've just buried it as a way to cope with being away from him. And he's married to someone else, and I wouldn't... I can't come in between that,"
Isabelle catches the heartsickness in Bess's words, the regret, too, "How'd Henry seem in LA?"
"He was understandably angry," Elizabeth says, "It's why this has to work. If Mike doesn't come through, I have no idea what my next play is... And Henry needs this to work. He can't be on the run forever, and neither can the kids. I know that I'm supposed to want justice for myself, but I want it for him and the kids more,"
Isabelle doesn't answer her right away. She doesn't know what to say. Elizabeth lost her life- everything in her life that mattered was taken from her. She lost her children and the man she loved. And that's not even considering the pain of her experience in Iraq.
"I'm sorry, Bess," Isabelle finally says, unsure what else she can say.
"I know, thanks," Elizabeth says, finishing her pizza and wiping her hands on the napkin, "So... What've you been up to?"
Elizabeth finally shifts the conversation as the clock still reminds her of the five hours they still have left to wait.
Washington, DC – October 2014
It's almost too much hotel room. That is Henry's first thought as they walk into the ambassador wing suite of the infamous Watergate Hotel. He can feel his dad's energy at the money being expended on this whole charade. Maybe it's a foolish thing to think about: the money being spent in an effort to kill one person. He watches his children for a few moments. None of them have ever been in a hotel this nice, let alone a suite that has six separate bedrooms, all equipped with their own king-sized bed. He fears hearing a vase break or a painting falling from a wall as the twins run past the living room and through the kitchen. They are free. Much more free than Allie and Jason, who seem lost and withdrawn. He catches Stevie's eye, and so many questions are written on the twenty-year-old's face. But he can't answer them.
"Pat, can you watch the kids for a few? I need to speak to Henry," Jessica's voice breaks him of his thoughts of the hotel room that's way too luxurious for the occasion.
Patrick looks at his daughter-in-law and then at his son. He tries to gage whether or not Henry can be trusted not to react emotionally.
"I'll take them to the restaurant downstairs," Patrick tells her. Henry hears the warning, the reminder to play the part. Jessica smiles at the man she's called father-in-law for the last ten years as if she has the upper hand. She wants the kids away from Henry. She doesn't want him to speak with them about any of this. She doesn't want her children poisoned against her.
"Go on, kids," she urges them, "Grandpa's buying you dinner."
Henry watches them reluctantly file out the door. Allie is the last one to leave. She stares at him for a moment, and he can tell that the girl is not convinced. He offers the best reassurance he can at this moment in the form of a small smile, "Go with Grandpa; it's okay. Mom and I just need to talk," he tries not to feel sick as three agents follow his family out of the room.
"They won't hurt the kids. Conrad wants your cooperation, Henry. I want your cooperation," Jessica starts, her hands moving to his shoulders, massaging his tensed muscles.
"Please don't touch me," He pulls away. He looks at his wife, "How could you put me in this position?"
Jessica can hear the sadness in his voice, but she feels dejected, too. When he walked out of their house in Pittsburgh, he told her that he chose Elizabeth. There had always been the fear in the back of her mind that would always have been the truth. The truth that had come back to haunt her. And it's a reality she was never prepared for. She's lost. And she's trying not to lash out.
"How could you choose her?" her voice breaks, and Henry looks to the floor. He feels pulled in so many directions. He doesn't want to hurt her, and yet, he has already. He loves her, and yet, he doesn't. And it's not knowing where he's at emotionally that has him reeling.
"I shouldn't have said that," He tries with a single truth. He doesn't think he should've said that if for no other reason than it doesn't help his kids.
"But it's the truth, isn't it?" She presses, "You do choose her,"
"I don't think she should be murdered. That doesn't mean I'm choosing her," He argues. He can't even think about choosing between them both in a romantic sense. He can't fathom romance. He can't fathom a partnership. But he knows two things. One, he loves Elizabeth, and she is innocent. And two, he loves Jessica, and she is a willful participant in the plot to rid the world of Elizabeth Adams McCord. He can't help but think of Elizabeth. How much pain and agony and suffering and isolation has she had to endure over the last ten years?
"Henry, honey, please, please just tell me you choose me. The woman you've spent the last ten years with. The woman you've raised the kids with," the desperation in her voice makes Henry's eyes threaten to tear up.
"Jess," he sighs, "Jess, I love you. I do. But knowing what you've done, what you are still doing... If you loved me, you wouldn't make me have to help you guys kill her,"
"I can't change it. It's too late. But Henry, this will make our lives better. We can go back to the way things were. This will end all of the turmoil. It's only a call. I'm only asking you to make one phone call, baby."
"One phone call that's supposed to lure her to her death," he counters.
"I know how you must feel about that," she says, "I really do. You're a good man. So good. And you loved her. I know you don't believe the evidence... "
"I don't," Henry confirms.
"Okay, listen, you gave her argument a fair assessment when you saw her. All I'm asking is for you to give me the same courtesy. Please, let me walk you through it. I promise to tell you nothing but the actual series of events and every piece of evidence I saw. Please, give my argument a fair shake,"
He looks at her. There is not a doubt in his mind that Elizabeth is not guilty of treason. He doesn't need to hear any arguments. He doesn't care what the evidence is. But yet, he thinks, perhaps hearing what his wife has to say will provide a better argument for Elizabeth. Perhaps it will give him a chance to save her and convince Jess to help. At the very least, it'll buy Elizabeth some more time.
"Fine," He says.
