A/N: Ahhhh we're getting into the thick of it here folks!

I appreciate your comments/reviews and you beautiful people make my days brighter. Thank you.

Hope you enjoy this chapter!

[2014 – McCord Residence]

The house is unusually quiet as she lays her briefcase down in the entryway, kicking her heels off and bending down to pick them up with a whispering groan. She carries them with her all the way up the stairs tiredly, her mind still stubbornly sticking on Matt's words from earlier: "mystery daughter."

She shimmies from her blazer once upstairs and tosses it over the foot of the bed before also tossing her shoes toward her closet—only one landing inside. She runs her hands through her hair and pulls it back, staring at Henry's nightstand blankly before blowing out a breath. Mystery daughter, she thinks, letting her hair go and walking to the bathroom. She flips the light switch on angrily, as if that's the most delicious thing they could dig up on me is something about my daughter. If they only knew the past I've had.

Elizabeth shakes her head slightly and grabs a hair tie, throwing her hair up into a ponytail before going back into the bedroom and undressing. She pulls on her sweatpants and a tee before catching herself in the mirror on the dresser. She thinks about the comment again—she's not necessarily shocked by it. It's politics, after all. Yet, today, she seems to be allowing it to gnaw at her for some reason. Maybe it's from the gloominess of the rest of the day, or maybe it's from how exhausted she is, but she just wishes they'd leave her family out of it all. She knew when she took on the job that they would try to pick her apart from every angle, and she just naively hoped that Henry and the kids, but at the very least the kids, would be able to be left out.

Her eyes drift from the mirror to the picture on the dresser—her and Henry's very first picture together. The faded colors in the photo make it look much older than just twenty-five years ago, and the way she and Henry both look like babies makes her realize how young they really were. Elizabeth's head is resting on Henry's shoulder and she's mid-smile. She remembers that Jess had made her laugh because she was saying something and embarrassing her like a good roommate should.

It was taken in 1989, just one day after they had gone on their real date. He was deploying, and Jess insisted on a picture after they'd come back from their day together. They'd made out outside her room and Jessica walked out, saw the scene, and insisted on snapping the photo. Though she was embarrassed by Jess's enthusiasm then, she's so happy that she has this memory now over twenty years later. Her heart aches at the thought of Jess and the way she misses her so dearly, so she takes a deep breath and pulls herself away from the photo.

Yet the image of a young Henry and Elizabeth still lingers in her mind as she pulls on some socks, protecting her feet from the chilled hardwood floors in this Georgetown house. We've been through so much, she thinks to herself as the memory from their second date pops into her head. She hops sideways from lack of balance, setting her socked foot down. She smiles, too, thinking about that morning she'd woken up with drool running down the side of her jaw and onto Henry.

She hadn't even known she'd fallen asleep, and she certainly didn't intend to hold Henry captive there all night, but he was sound asleep too when she woke up and saw him. He'd been talking about his family and about his childhood, but she'd been so exhausted and sick that she must've just fallen right asleep. His head was resting against her wall, and she had a blanket in her lap that she knew hadn't been there when they were talking.

In their Georgetown home, she pulls her sweatshirt on and glances at the mirror again, giving herself a sideways smile. He was always a good guy, she thinks, then sees headlights shine through the window. She peeks outside and sees that it's Henry, and knows that it's him and the kids coming home from Christmas shopping, and she thinks, this is what it's all about anyway—my family, as they all pile out of the car with diplomatic security ushering them to the front door.

I have to protect them, she thinks, I swore I would never do anything I purposely knew hurt my family again—yet here I am Secretary of State.

[1989 – University of Virginia]

"I'm so sorry I fell asleep," she whispers. She'd been trying to move carefully enough to not wake him since he seemed so dead asleep, but she had to go to the bathroom for at least five minutes now and couldn't wait any longer.

He looks confused as he blinks, scanning the room and stretching simultaneously. "It's okay," he murmurs, yawning and letting his eyes go back to her. "Are you still feeling sick?"

She wasn't, but now she is after he's mentioned it. "A little," she admits, "But I just had to pee really bad." She says sheepishly, adding a little laugh as she crawls off the bed.

When she comes back from the bathroom, he's slipped off the bed, too, and is putting his shoes on. "I'm sorry for staying the night," he says, tying his laces on one shoe before sliding the other on.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep," she repeats. The irony is that she enjoyed waking up next to him, that she liked the way she smelled like him before ever even leaving her bed.

He shakes his head, "I'm glad you got some sleep," he says genuinely, tying this shoe before standing up and looking at her. "You're sure you're alright?"

She wants to open her mouth and tell him no, she's not alright, and that she has something to tell him that's going to change his life forever. But she presses her fingers together and picks at the fuzz next on her turtleneck that she was still wearing, giving a forced nod, "I'm just still a little sick," she says, and then her fingers get too close to her stomach, and she shies away quickly and drops her hand to her side, looking up at him with a smile. "Are you doing anything this morning?"

The words come out of her mouth before she realizes it, and he shakes his head, "No," he says, lowering his brow as if he's just as confused as she is why she asked.

But she swallows thick—she's gotten herself into this and now she needs to finish it off. "Would you want to go to breakfast with me?" She asks, "Maybe finish the date properly?"

He laughs a little and scratches the back of his neck, "I like to think we finished our date pretty well," he points out.

She shrugs, "We didn't kiss."

"We didn't," he realizes.

She stands there beside his coat where hers was laying on top of his, too, and she holds onto her chair slightly. They share a few moments of just watching each other, wondering, no doubt, what the other was thinking. When she sees his feet move just an inch, she holds her breath, and she bats her eyes at him and smiles, and finally he steps toward her at a slow, smooth pace.

He gently slides his palm across her cheek, gliding it over her ear and into her hair, and his other hand slides sweetly around her hip to pull her body to him. She gladly moves to close the gap, and when he leans into her, she leans, too, and their lips touch once more.

"This doesn't mean the date is ending," Henry whispers, smirking.

She closes her eyes when she smiles and feels her hips pressing against his first, and then her chest against his, and then her hands against his arms.

They stay like that for a few moments, only interrupted by the door opening. "Oh," Jess says, stumbling in with her party clothes on and her hair all a mess. "I'm interrupting something important." She adds, smirking and turning around on her heel—her barefoot heel since she's carrying her shoes in her hand—and starts to leave.

"Jess—" Elizabeth starts.

"We were actually just leaving," Henry says quickly, and Elizabeth is still trying to catch her breath from the way he stole it.

She nods, though, and looks at Jess. "I fell asleep last night while we were talking." She says, trying to not let Jess get the wrong idea—she didn't want Henry to feel embarrassed over something that didn't even happen. Jess already has seen Elizabeth at her worst—knocked up from a one-night stand. But she doesn't want to give her the wrong impression about him. "Henry," she says, "This is my roommate Jessica Howard."

Jess walks back in and extends her hand to Henry, then snorts, "I'm a hugger," she announces, hugging him tight. Elizabeth raises her brow when she realizes that Jess is still drunk, though it is how she greets everyone who she knows she'll be around much, even when she's sober. Henry looks over Jess's shoulder with wide eyes, and Elizabeth just shrugs and laughs.

When she finally lets him go, Elizabeth hands him his coat and puts her own on. "I think we're going to go get breakfast," she says.

"I'm going to go to sleep," Jess murmurs, "It was nice meeting you," she's saying as she's crawling into the bed with her party clothes still on her body, but her high heels in the floor.

"Nice meeting you," Henry says cautiously as they walk through the door. Elizabeth turns and locks the door from the outside, and when they're a few steps away, he looks down at her, "Was she drunk?"

"Yep," Elizabeth says nonchalantly, "She's a party animal."

He laughs and looks back at their door, his eyes widening.

"But she greets everyone with hugs," Elizabeth adds, shrugging, "Everyone who she thinks she's going to like or thinks she'll be around for very long."

She feels him looking over at her as they climb down the stairs, her body just slightly in front of his as the stairway is too narrow for the both of them side by side. But she doesn't look back, she's not sure she can and stay upright while going down the steps.

"Oh," Henry finally says, half-mumble.

When they get outside, she zips her coat up and he does, too.

"The diner has really good pancakes," she suggests, looking over at him as they near his car.

"Who said anything about breakfast?" He asks playfully, his hands resting in his pockets before he slides one out and extends it to her shyly.

She looks down and smiles, taking it with her fingers wrapping around his first, then he engulfs her hand sweetly. "I'm starving, Henry," she admits, still using his name erratically and getting a little high from it each time, "I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday."

He stays quiet, and she feels the tension rise again. She looks down at their feet as he opens the truck door for her, and she swallows thick and looks at him, wanting to tell him again so badly, but still unable to even open her mouth to form the words. Two simple words that feel way more difficult to get out than any other sentence in any debate she's ever participated in.

But he's quiet too, and it makes her wonder if he's caught on.

So instead, she climbs into the truck and sits, buckles, and he shuts the door.

She watches as he walks around to his door, and she's trying to get a game plan for when he sits down. As soon as his own door shuts and he's turning the ignition over, she says, "Thanks for talking to me about your family."

He looks over and smiles as he's reversing from the parking spot, "Why are you thanking me?" He asks, clearly amused as he chuckles, "They're all crazy."

She smiles and shrugs, "Maybe I like a little crazy," she says innocently, "And I just…I think it would be fun—even with its hardships—to have a big family like that."

He nods quietly as they pull out onto the main road, "I guess so," he admits, "It definitely has its ups and downs." He's quiet for another quick moment, "What about your family? I feel like I did all the talking last night, but I think you were too sick to say much."

She nods, "Yeah," she whispers in almost-guilty agreement, looking down into her lap at her fingers playing with each other. They were freezing because she'd left her gloves in her room. "I liked listening to your stories anyway."

He smiles a little, "So what are your family like?" He asks.

She sighs and looks over out of her window at the buildings going by, unable to keep stalling anymore. He deserves to know—he's so graciously told her so much about his family that it's only fair. "My mom and dad died when I was fifteen," she announces, staring at the sky out of her window now, "And I have a little brother Will, he's in his first year at Duke. Pre-med." She speeds through the basics, and she tries to not feel the shake in her ribs that leads to the crying.

"God," he murmurs, "I'm so sorry."

She shrugs and looks down at her fingers still fumbling with each other, trying to warm up in his freezing cold truck. "It's been six years ago now," she says as though it somehow takes the sting away. She keeps saying things like that in the hopes that it will, one day, take the hurt out of it.

But it never seems to.

He reaches for her hand and squeezes it, and already her fingers are thawing.

"My dad's name was Ben," she says, swallowing hard and taking a shaky breath as they pull into the same diner as last night, "He was an accountant and I think is the one who passed down the number gene because I love working with numbers," she says, a smile breaking through as he puts it in park. "And my mom worked in a bank—she was a teller after Will started school."

He nods as he leans against his door, turning to look at her fully, "What was her name?" He asks.

"Suzanne." She replies, pressing her lips together and to the side, "Ben and Suzanne Adams. It was a car wreck," she adds, clearing her throat, "Someone was driving on the wrong side of the road and Dad swerved—Will saw the whole thing and only remembered bits and pieces as he got older. He had a pretty bad concussion." Of course, she didn't know how much of that memory loss was actually grief and trauma.

"You weren't there with them?" Henry asks, his voice filled with a gentle curiosity.

She presses her lips together again as she feels a pang in her chest, and she shakes her head, "No," she says, the guilt flooding back. "They were all going out for ice cream and I chose to stay back and study." She says, swallowing thick. She looks down at their hands and blinks a few times, remembering that day clearly, "I sometimes wonder what would have happened had I gone with them."

He's silent for a moment, and he scoots toward her after a few seconds and wraps his arm around her shoulders, tucking her body into his and warming it up. He must've been able to tell she was still freezing, though she'd tried to make it look like she wasn't—she didn't want to make him feel bad for not having heat. "I know it may sound selfish, but I'm glad you weren't with them," he whispers, "Because then I may have never met you."

She feels her body vibrate with nerves again and she tries to take a breath through what feels like a closed throat. She gently pulls away from him and kisses him on the cheek, "That's really sweet," she whispers, trying to steady her breathing, steady her thoughts. This is only your…is this the third date? Or still the second since it never ended? You can't love him like you feel you do, Elizabeth. You can't. It's impossible.

You're attached, that's all.

She drags her tongue over her bottom lip and swallows thick, "I'm really hungry," she admits. For the first time this entire week, she is really hungry, and she doesn't even feel nauseous. It occurs to her that maybe it's because it's also the first night she's gotten a decent amount of sleep since she'd found out she was pregnant, so her body was only fighting pregnancy and not pregnancy plus a lack of sleep.

"Then let's go eat," Henry says sweetly before getting out and rushing to open her door.

She chuckles, "You know," she says as she slides out onto the pavement, "You don't have to open my door every time."

He shrugs, "That's one thing Dad always did right for Mom." He admits.

She finds herself smiling and then, briefly, her mind betrays her and thinks about themselves as Mom and Dad. You're not going to ruin this date, she tells herself as they walk into the diner and see the same waitress as last night. She greets them happily and they slide into a booth, and she takes a deep breath to steady herself.

You need to tell him, the voice in her head keeps repeating, though she is cringing at the thought.

"So I assume you're getting pancakes?" Henry asks, looking over his menu at her with a smile.

She hadn't even picked up a menu at all because, yes, she was ordering pancakes. "Yep," she says with a smirk. "What are you getting?"

"Are their pancakes good?"

"Would I have suggested this place otherwise?" She asks, raising her brow.

He laughs and says, "Touche," and then lays his menu down on top of hers. He looks into her eyes and she feels her heart in her throat, and she's telling herself over and over again to not mess this up, to not throw up or bolt or anything else.

This is your second chance, Elizabeth.

"So can I know where you're being deployed to?" Elizabeth asks, her stomach finally full. Their hands are swinging together as they walk down the sidewalk with their shoulders bumping into each other comfortably.

"No," he answers, scouring a bit and looking over at her, "But I can tell you that I'm a fighter pilot, which is pretty cool."

She looks at him with wide eyes and stops walking, "A fighter pilot?"

"Yeah."

"Like…in the air?"

"Yes." He says, chuckling and looking at her.

She feels as though she's been told that he is Santa Claus. "In a jet?"

"In a jet." He confirms, smiling and squeezing her hand, "But it's actually, surprisingly, one of the safer jobs. We're above the worst of it usually."

She stares at him for a moment and thinks of the way he looked in his uniform at the club fair the other night, and she's able to take a breath until she thinks of him wearing a helmet in a tiny tin can in a battle with some enemy she doesn't even want to think about. "That sounds like a lie," she admits.

"It's not," he says, and they start walking again.

They get quiet because she's lost in her head once more, thinking about the potential of him dying. She thinks about him crashing or getting shot out of the air and crashing, and she stops abruptly and looks at him. Tell him, Elizabeth. He deserves to know. But she blinks and gets teary eyes, and the suddenness of emotion shocks her so she turns away from him and starts walking.

But he stops her, tugging on her hand, "Hey," he whispers, "It'll be okay. I'll be alright."

"How do you know that?" She asks, glad that he thought she was upset over the safety. And maybe, if she's letting herself be realistic, she is upset and concerned for his safety. She really likes this man.

"Because I just know," he says, shrugging. "It has to be alright so I can come back to the States and see you again."

She turns to face him fully now, and he takes both her hands in his. She steps closer and lays her head on his chest, feeling like there's a magnet in their bodies that pull each other together somehow. She listens to his heartbeat and wonders to herself if it's always this fast, and she closes her eyes. "You have to come back home." She whispers.

"I will." He promises.

After their walk, she'd gone and thrown up again, and she was brought back to the reality that she still is keeping two big secrets from him.

Outside her dorm door later that evening—they'd spent the entire day together—he held her hands and stepped close to her, and they kissed again. She didn't want to pull away, and neither did he, and they just stood there with their mouths locked for what felt like easily could have been forever. Finally, Jess comes out and they talk for a moment before she insists on snapping a picture.

They pose, and Elizabeth's pretty sure Jess got her mid-smile and maybe not even looking at the camera yet.

When Jess goes back inside, she looks down between her and Henry's feet. "You still don't know when you have to leave?" She asks quietly, staring a hole into the top of his boot.

He shakes his head and runs his hand through her hair softly, pushing it back from her face as she pulls it up to look at him, "They haven't told me yet," he whispers, and she's focusing on not crying, "But I assume it'll be Monday."

"So I can see you tomorrow?"

"I wouldn't dream of anything different."

She didn't get to see him Sunday because he called her that morning, "I ship out today," he said without much warning, and it shook her more than she wished it did.

She said oh, and that she hopes he stays safe. He asked if he could call her, and she all but begged him to yes, definitely call her. She didn't know if she'd be in the room whenever he was calling, but she prayed then and there that she would be.

Days went by without him calling, but she expected nothing less. He'd told her it may be a few days because they had to get settled first and then get the sat phones working, and he said to definitely expect a call by Thursday. But today is Wednesday, and she's sitting in the abortion clinic's office. "Elizabeth Adams?" A woman calls back, and she takes a shaky breath and stands to her feet, her mind racing the entire walk back.

They sit together in a small room with comfortable chairs, not the cold and sterile doctor's office she's used to. "I'm Amy," the woman says, extending her hand to shake. Elizabeth shakes it and realizes, too, that she's not in nurse's clothing or doctor's clothing. Instead, she's wearing a name tag and business casualwear. "Since this is your first appointment, we will be doing the consultation today and—"

"Wait," Elizabeth stutters before apologizing for interrupting, "The first appointment? There's more?"

Amy nods sympathetically, "This is the consultation appointment, and depending on the doctor's availability, the procedure gets scheduled within the week. Today we'll confirm how far along you are and talk through the entire process."

"Oh," Elizabeth breathes, simultaneously feeling relieved and scared all over again. She feels the tears prick at her eyes, but she blinks them away.

"I know this can feel overwhelming," Amy says, her voice gentle as Elizabeth plays with her fingers in her lap. They went through what Elizabeth considered to be standard questions, the assumed date of conception, her medical history, etcetera. Amy moves on to the procedure explanation, and Elizabeth feels herself go rigid whenever she thinks about herself on a table and whether or not she needs sedation.

Or pain medication.

And then she sits back in the seat and picks at her fingernails further.

"Do you have anyone to talk to about this?" Amy asks softly, signifying that she had finished the explanation.

Elizabeth looks up and starts to say no, but then she thinks of Jess and second guesses herself. "My roommate," she says, her voice barely coming out when she needed it to. She clears her throat. The entire time, Henry's face lingers in her vision, tricking her into almost being able to believe he's sitting right here with her. She swallows thick and clears her throat again, "The father is deployed."

"I see," Amy says, writing it down somewhere on the clipboard. Elizabeth tries to see what it says, but she can't, and she finally gives up when Amy flips the paper back over. "Let's go ahead and look at the schedule."

Elizabeth waits as Amy gets the scheduling book out and finds a spot, and Elizabeth says yes to whatever the soonest was, which happened to be next Wednesday. But then she sobers up to reality and remembers she has finals next week. "Wait," she says, "It'll have to be…" she groans a little internally, "I don't have an opening until Friday. Final exams." She murmurs under her breath.

Amy nods a little and flips a few pages to what Elizabeth presumes is Friday's schedule. "I have a 9:00." She says.

"That's fine." Elizabeth answers and takes a sharp breath. "Are we done here?" She asks, feeling like she's going to throw up suddenly again.

"We—"

Before Amy can say anything else, Elizabeth leaps to her feet and hurls into the trash can she'd been eyeing for a few minutes. Amy watches her and cringes as she vomits, and Elizabeth finally sits down and wipes her mouth tiredly.

"We'll contact you to finalize the appointment," Amy says softly.

Elizabeth nods, unable to talk at this point and she stands up, leaves the trash can, and walks out the door.