Henry's pacing in the small private meeting room of Hirst's outer office is fraught with tension, each step a desperate echo of his thoughts. When she enters, and the door clicks close behind her, his head snaps to find her. His mouth falls open, but the words that are a barrage in his mind struggle to form. His heart is pounding in his ears as he works to sort through the questions and accusations that are bouncing around, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

"She seemed okay," Elizabeth says softly, her voice a gentle touch in the tense atmosphere.

His mouth opens once again, but the words don't form as he nods. Elizabeth watches as he tries to calm his restless thoughts. He flexes and relaxes his hands rhythmically.

"She agreed to testify," Elizabeth continues.

He nods, "G-good. That's good," his voice barely above a whisper, carrying the weight of the situation.

"Uh, yeah," Elizabeth sighs with an air of hesitance.

"What did you have to promise her?" Henry asks, almost as if accusing her of something.

Elizabeth is taken aback by his tone and the accusatory nature of the question. "A fair plea deal and visitation. Exactly what I told you I would."

He nods, though he's still squeamish about letting his kids anywhere near her, "And she was amenable?"

"I think so... I don't know her, so I guess I can't say for sure she won't try something when she's on the stand... but I believe her… or maybe I have to believe her…" Elizabeth trails off as she tries to process the conversation. She sighs heavily, "I think she really does want to do the right thing. I just... don't think she knows what the right thing is... I... I know I'm rusty and obviously way too close to this, but I couldn't get a feel for her. If anything, it felt like she was trying to read me."

Henry's jaw is clenched, his lips a tight line as he turns his head, nodding as his gaze shifts to the floor. He doesn't want to admit that he has reservations about her motives. While he knows his loyalty lies with Elizabeth in this absurdly painful situation, he can't yet bring himself to sever himself from Jessica completely. They had a family. Until fifty-six hours ago, he was happy—maybe he could push it back to last month when he found out Elizabeth was still alive. He can admit that's when his sense of reality shifted, his entire existence turned upside down. The ground beneath him hadn't felt so unsteady since maybe Jess had told him she was pregnant—though that had turned out better than fine as far as was concerned. Does he have to admit that maybe he'd felt a growing disconnect from Jessica the moment he heard Elizabeth's voice on the other end of that middle-of-the-night phone call? But even then, he had worked to push the disconnect away. He had told himself he was only looking for Elizabeth to confront her, not for her to be in his life. His marriage had been on solid ground when he left for LA—he was confused and angry, but that had nothing to do with Jess and everything to do with Elizabeth. He had loved his wife—and he does love her, even now, even after everything.

But the truth is he feels more connected to the woman standing across the room, who's still looking at him with concern and confusion. He has to admit that he knows this woman certainly better than he's ever known anyone. He has to admit that he doesn't know Jess and that possibly he never did. The reality of that fact slams into him as his chest constricts, his stomach knots and a wave of nausea overtakes him.

He doesn't know who this woman he married is, and he can't read her any better than Elizabeth can.

"That's... that's good that she agreed." His voice is a fierce quiet filled with uncertainty that Elizabeth doesn't want to recognize. It conjures nothing but memories of post-desert storm fights and a pilgrimage he needed to feel as if he had atoned.

Elizabeth takes a hesitant step toward him, "Hey, are you okay?"

He swallows before forcing a small smile meant just for her, "I'm fine. I just... It's just a lot, y'know?"

"Unfortunately, yeah, I know," She nods with a forced half-smile of her own.

His eyes meet hers in a long, lingering stare—a stare that breeds nothing but confusion and guilt, a stare laced with apologies and explanations, a stare filled with a thousand unspoken words.

"How are you doing? Really?" He whispers as his hand itches to reach for hers to begin a slow, intimate dance only their fingers know the steps to.

She lets out a slow, shaky breath, "I'm okay,"

"You just offered someone who was involved in your ordeal a plea deal," he says before swallowing a flash of deep guilt marring his features, "And... I'm married to her."

"I know," Elizabeth nods. She can't ignore the stab of pain that goes through her when she thinks of that marriage. Though the fact is, the pain of his moving on had been deep and aching long before she knew what the redhead had been a part of.

"She's really an Operative? She really played me?" he asks into the thin air forming between them. "She took you from me and then..." he trails off as if he can't quite grasp the full crushing weight of it all. Years of his life, his children's lives, have been built on a sinister lie. He feels his eyes begin to sting—something he had not allowed himself to do yet. He can't. They aren't safe yet. This needs to be finished first.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth says in complete sincerity.

His head tilts to the side. He could safely assume she means that in the way people mean it when somebody dies. But something about the way her face falls and the way her eyes seem to plead for understanding, for forgiveness, for something more tells him there's so much more to the statement.

"For what—getting blown up, getting taken?" He whispers, his voice strained and tight as the lump in his throat threatens to choke him, "You didn't do those things, and the effects of those things—the things you did to cope... those aren't on you either. You didn't ask for any of this any more than I or the kids did. I understand that, babe. I do."

She shakes her head as she fights tears. "I went to Iraq."

His brow furrows, "That was your duty. You were doing your job and serving your country."

"I didn't have to go," she says, her voice thick and wavering, "I was so conflicted. I really didn't want to leave you and the kids. But God, I didn't want to give up my career either. And forgive me, but I really, really wanted the guy I was there to find. I thought I was doing something big. But I wasn't, was I? Conrad sent me not to get Safeer, not because my intel was the best, not because he thought highly of my skills, but to set me up."

"Elizabeth, you are not at fault for this because you wanted to further your career," he says with an edge of anger coloring his words, "You were good. You were a hell of an analyst, and you deserved the opportunity. It was supposed to be a year, and I only wanted you to come home safe. I had no problem supporting you. You stood by me when I was on active duty, back when I thought I was going to make a career out of it. Y'know, before I decided I wanted to be with you and Stevie more. You supported my choice not to work for two and a half years so I could get my PhD. So why the hell would I think it was selfish of you to want to go farther at The Agency? Never would I have wanted to hold you back from becoming everything you're supposed to be."

"I willingly left my kids for a year to live and work in a combat zone. Back when there was no danger to their lives, before all of this. I did that, and I let Conrad play me. I trusted him."

Henry steps toward her as her head shakes back and forth, and her gaze drops to the floor.

"I'm so sorry, Henry," she whispers, her voice cracking; "I didn't mean for any of this to happen,"

Henry tentatively reaches for her hand. Her gaze flickers up to his. He gives her a small, sad smile, and she squeezes his fingers, "You have nothing to be sorry for. You were a victim in this, too. But if it helps you to hear this, I forgive you. Okay? I forgive you. And in time, so will the kids."

Her shoulders drop as her hands reach for his middle and wrap around him in a warm, tight hug. She presses her forehead into his chest, and he holds her against him. His hands find her shoulders and hold her to him.

"Thank you," she breathes. She finds herself relaxing into him as she realizes that he's forgiven her, and while her guilt remains, the burden isn't so heavy.

"Of course," he whispers into her hair.

Elizabeth reluctantly pulls away from him. Their eyes lock, and she wants so badly to tell him how much she loves him, but she can't. She can admit it to anyone but him as if speaking those three words to him would make him disappear. As if speaking those three words would ruin this fragile bond they've begun rebuilding.

He's staring at her, his lips parting as if he has something to say, but the words aren't quite ready to be voiced. There is a pull between them that is familiar and intense as his eyes flick to her lips and back to her eyes.

"What is it?" she asks softly, her fingers finding his.

"Nothing, I just..." he murmurs, his heart in his eyes as his free hand comes up and tenderly tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear. He struggles between pulling away and giving in to the magnetic pull between them.

"It's okay," Elizabeth whispers, her eyes wide and searching his. She finds herself leaning toward him. She can't explain the pull, but it's undeniable. It always has been.

"Hey! We have a—" Isabelle opens the door to speak just as his lips are millimeters away from grazing hers, "Sorry,"

They jump away from each other as if the contact between them was a forbidden flame burning hot enough to sear flesh. Henry's hands fall from her, and she takes a step back, her eyes wide and her face flush.

"Um," Elizabeth clears her throat as she runs her fingers through her hair, "What is it?"

Isabelle looks between the two, knowing she's interrupted something, "I'm sorry, but we have a problem,"

Elizabeth deflates as she nods, "Yep, just one after another," she sighs before looking back at Henry, "You should probably come with us,"

He nods. He wants to apologize, but he doesn't even know what he'd be apologizing for. He feels a pang of guilt and embarrassment, but the longing for her lips against his remains.

…X…X…X…

The air crackles with anticipation as Conrad emerges from his vehicle. The barrage of camera flashes, screams, and questions provides a charismatic testament to his presence. Conrad, with his trademark smile, nod, and wave, begins his ascent up the Capitol stairs. His stride exudes confidence and strength. He has always been adept at projecting a brave front, regardless of the circumstances. This very display of composure, poise, and confidence is what secured his resounding electoral victory.

"Mr. President! Mr. President!" The voices bounce off the building's architecture, and the persistence in their tone reverberates.

"Sir, what are you planning to do about Elizabeth McCord's accusations?"

"Sir, is any of it true?"

Conrad slyly smiles and turns to the sea of anxious reporters, all fighting their way to be front and center. Their persistence in getting their questions answered, he's sure, is meant to emphasize the entertainment value of this news cycle and not so much their real want for the truth. God, he loves how the twenty-four-hour news has turned real reporting into this kind of editorial-feeding frenzy. It's easier to manipulate this way.

"I intend to answer any questions posed to me by the members of the House, in which I will make it abundantly clear that my administration is committed to transparency. In that transparency, I hope to provide assurances to the American people that I am innocent of these heinous and spurious accusations," he responds.

Conrad can't help but feel a surge of pride as the crowd of journalists hangs onto his every word. Their rapt attention and the energy of the public's admiration fuel his ego. It's an intoxicating feeling—the feeling of complete and total power.

Conrad continues his climb up the Capitol stairs, a smug smile playing across his face. He's got this in the bag. He'll take Elizabeth McCord down and then make her pay for the trouble she's caused.

"Nicely done, sir," Russell says under his breath as the Secret Service opens the doors.

"Thank you," Conrad responds, his confidence growing.

As they enter the Capitol Building, the halls are lined with curious onlookers, trying their best to catch a glimpse of the man at the center of the scandal.

"Congressman Burke!" Conrad smiles excitedly as he goes in for a handshake turned half hug, "How have you been?"

"Mr. President, it's so good to see you," Congressman Burke smiles as they clasp hands. I hope you're here to clear your good name. These allegations are ridiculous."

"Well, that's why I'm here, and I can't thank you enough for supporting my request," Conrad smiles.

"Anything for you, Mr. President," Burke smiles as he pats Conrad's back, "She's in Hirst's outer office. The ex-husband, with the rest of the entourage, is with her. The House Session begins in ten. I have to get to the floor. But I can stall," He smiles, holding up his notecards.

"Thank you, Everard," Conrad smiles as the congressman leaves.

Conrad begins to make his way to Hirst's office when Russell speaks, "Sir, I think we need to rethink confronting her at this juncture."

"Why?" Conrad stops walking, and Russell is grateful that he doesn't turn around.

"It seems rather rash, and the media is here. Do you really want them to see you bullying the all-American girl with the tragic backstory before she's testified? Your presence here is important, but so is maintaining a certain appearance," Russell says, knowing he's toeing a very dangerous line, but he needs more time.

"What would you have me do, Russell? I can't let her think that I'm afraid of her," Conrad's voice is a growl.

"And you won't. But you have the upper hand here. Let her testify. Then, we can come back and say she lied under oath," Russell says, his phone beginning to vibrate in his pocket, "Trust me, sir, I will fix this. I promise you."

Conrad's jaw clenches, and he stares down his Chief of Staff. His eyes are cold, calculating, and filled with rage. Russell's heart is pounding in his chest as the President sizes him up. Russell wonders if he's finally pushed too hard—if he's broken the trust by asking for it one too many times.

"Alright, Russell. We'll do it your way. For now."