Washington, DC – October 2014
Henry and Elizabeth walk next to each other hand in hand down the Halls of the Capitol, the impending storm of the public hearing and its potential consequences looming over them. There is a certain amount of confidence he gives her as if his hand in hers is enough to shield her from the storm, a storm that threatens to tear them apart.
They stand outside the hearing room, his hand still in hers, their bodies mere inches apart. The ghost of their almost kiss, a moment of shared vulnerability and desire that they both are trying desperately to regret, confusingly lies between them, a palpable tension that hangs in the air.
"I'm scared," she confesses, her voice quivering with the weight of her uncertainty, a raw fear that she can't quite contain. She's not sure if it's the hearing that scares her or the life that follows, a life that could be filled with uncertainty and rejection.
He gives her a subtle nod, his voice steady and reassuring: "Me too. But we'll figure it out. We always figure it out. " His words carry the weight of their shared history and the strength of their bond.
Her free hand reaches up and brushes his cheek, the stubble scratching her palm. She looks up at him and sees the love, devotion, and strength, a love that he has never been able to hide. Their lives had once been intertwined so beautifully, a sacred covenant they had created and brought children to join them. Their lives had been so full, and they were robbed of this—the bond of their souls, which they have no control over. They have never had a choice but to fall deeper in love with each other, a love that has weathered storms and celebrated triumphs, a love that has grown stronger with each passing year, even in the absence of each other.
His hand reaches up to cover hers. His fingertips trace the back of her hand and down her arm as if they are completely alone together in this world. He doesn't want to let her go. Not today, not ever again.
She swallows the lump in her throat as a flash of emotion crosses his features.
"I'd like to kiss you," he whispers, his voice barely audible, afraid to say the words out loud but unable to contain his desire.
"But we shouldn't," she finishes his thought, her voice filled with a mixture of longing and resignation, her heart breaking just a little more.
"No, we shouldn't,"
His eyes are sad as the weight of his feelings comes crashing down on him. The feelings that have only been amplified by the days of worry and fear, by the moments spent by her side, by all the ways he's missed her and loves her and needs her.
The sound of sure-stride footsteps tears apart their eyes as they become flanked by Secret Service agents. Dread fills her body as she knows who will follow them in his final attempt to rid himself of her.
"Well, while I hate to interrupt a sweet moment, don't you have some business to attend to, Bess?"
Henry tries to step in front of her as if the President of the United States will shoot her dead in the Capitol himself.
"It's alright, Henry," she says, her voice strong and assured. "Let him talk. I'm surprised he thinks that coming down here himself will intimidate me into shutting up. I mean, his intimidation hasn't worked yet,"
Henry can't help the small smirk that graces his lips. Her strength, her power, her resilience always fill him with awe, a woman who refuses to be cowed by bullies and cowards, a woman who will speak truth to power.
"It would've been easier for you, Conrad, to have gotten rid of me years ago, yet you've been too much of a coward to finish this. Why?" her question is pointed, and it throws the President off-axis. They hadn't spoken since that day in the coffee shop in which he handed her the Lisa Aldin identity and told her to get out of town. She had asked him why then, too, and she didn't get an answer.
Conrad is stunned into silence.
"You see, Conrad, I've had time to think—reflect, if you will, for years about your betrayal and your threats. I think I get it. I'm still alive, and you've never had any intention of killing me. You got caught with your pants down by an evil motherfucker, and it made you lose your conscience. It made you weak. You gave me to him because you can't be made to face the consequences of your evil actions. And there is nothing you could threaten me with now that will prevent me from going in that hearing room and telling the world what you did."
"And then what? What exactly are you hoping will happen here? If you think that anything will come of this, Elizabeth, you are sadly mistaken. Do you really want your family's lives ruined by your little act of bravery?" He tries to use his height to loom over her. He knows he's never had a small presence which has mostly worked in his favor. He knows he's big, intimidating, and has the power to crush those beneath him. But Elizabeth is not cowed.
"My family's lives were ruined the day you decided Samuel Rodriguez could have whatever he wanted to maintain his silence." Her head shakes subtly, and her eyes sting with the beginning of tears.
"Don't do this. I am warning you. Walk away,"
"And then what, Conrad—let you live in the White House and continue to make secret foreign policy decisions that are cruel and criminal—let my children look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives, waiting for your people to come for them, waiting to die at the hands of your black ops assassins?"
"Do you want your children to die, Elizabeth? Because they will. And I'll make sure they are never found," he steps closer, his nose inches from her face.
"I've heard this threat before, Mr. President, and somehow everyone is still alive. It's hard to be the big, bad wolf when you've got nothing but hot air. It's time to face the music,"
Henry places a protective hand on the small of her back, his hand splayed, a gesture meant to reassure her or protect her. He hasn't made up his mind on what his role is right now, but he knows that Elizabeth can handle herself, and he also knows that the man standing in front of her is capable of terrible things.
"Don't think this is over," Conrad warns. "What—you testify, and I get thrown out of office? Do you really think that'll mean I can't get to you or your children?"
She nods, "You're right. We could continue to play this game of cat and mouse until we're all dead. We could live in constant fear and paranoia. That would be easy for you, wouldn't it? To continue to have someone else do your dirty work, but I've had years of fear and paranoia and being threatened and followed. You have held my life in your hands like you're God, and I'm sick and tired of it. You will no longer rule my life. My life and the lives of my family will not be dictated by a man with no honor, a man who is willing to commit war crimes to save his ass." Her jaw is tense as she speaks clearly through her teeth. Henry's hand remains firmly on her back helping to ground her in her righteousness.
"Your children's lives are in your hands, Bess. You are making a huge mistake," he sneers.
"No, Mr. President. I've made a lot of mistakes. You've kept track of me. I'm sure you know all about them. But my biggest mistake was being scared of you. My mistake was letting a corrupt, evil man keep me silent. You haven't done that well of a job cleaning up after yourself, Conrad, and it's time for this to end,"
Conrad takes a moment, his mind processing her words and finding no way to respond. Elizabeth can see him thinking, the cogs in his brain trying to figure a way out. His jaw tenses, and his eyes narrow. He's waiting for her to flinch or recoil or beg him to stop. He looks around him, knowing he's not in a place he can take matters into his own hands. He has no leverage. He has no way to hurt her. She has taken everything from him.
"This is the end, Conrad,"
Elizabeth steps forward, Henry following closely behind her. The President's glare bores into her. His fists are clenched as his spine straightens to appear even taller.
"We're not done here," he whispers a clear and threatening promise.
The hearing room doors open behind her. She can hear the press buzzing about along with the Oversight Committee, all a tad messy from being called in on such short notice.
Elizabeth takes one final glance over her shoulder at the President, "We are, in fact, done here, Sir,"
She walks confidently to the witness table, leaning on the feeling of having Henry behind her—between her and Conrad and whatever wrath is sure to come.
She stands up straight, as her mother always told her to when she felt small. She's not sure she recognizes her tone when she recites the oath, but she means every word—the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Henry sits down behind her, the chair squeaking under his weight, and his presence is calming. She feels less alone and can focus on what's next, on the reason she's doing this. She's doing this not only for herself and not only for him but also for their kids. She finds herself sitting in the chair with some lawyer by her side—Hirst had told her there'd be a lawyer to be her counsel of record. There's a dog in what is an obvious fake service animal vest between her and the lawyer.
She nearly startles when the lawyer covers his mic and leans over to her, gesturing at her to do the same. She flails for half a second before wrapping her hand around her mic, too.
"Mike Barnow," the lawyer says.
"Elizabeth McCord," she replies.
He laughs, "I know. I've been briefed. I'm your lawyer, obviously."
"What's with the dog? I mean, he's cute, but really?"
"Disparaging Gordon is not the way to get on my good side," he deadpans.
"I'm sorry," she says, and she can't help the laughter that escapes.
"Look, the President is going to try to rattle you. Don't let him," he warns. "All you have to do is answer their questions fully and honestly. The evidence and other witnesses who were involved in the crimes and cover-ups will do the heavy lifting. This is your chance to tell your story. So, tell it."
She nods.
"Ready?" he asks, turning away from her, and she realizes she's not. But she will have to be.
"Yeah," She nods, and he lets go of his mic—her cue to do the same. She looks ahead and sets her resolve.
"The hearing will come to order," the Chairman says, his tone a bit annoyed and a lot angry. "Ms. McCord, are you ready to begin your testimony?"
She takes a deep breath and nods, "Yes, Mr. Chairman."
Clarksburg, MD – October 2014
Jason McCord gazes out the window while Elizabeth's voice fills the small bedroom he shares with his sisters. Her voice is smooth and soothing, even though the content of her words is horrifying. Despite this, her tone draws him in, making him want to listen more.
He never really knew her. To him, she was simply the woman who gave birth to him and his siblings. She's been gone for almost ten years now, and he never had the chance to know her truly. Now, he finds himself sitting in a room where her voice is coming from the TV. It feels strange and uncomfortable. He's certain that if this were a movie, his dad would forbid him from watching it.
Elizabeth doesn't hold back any details. Her voice sounds distant as if she's trying to detach herself from the story. Perhaps it's because her story seems like something out of a show like Law and Order, not real life. But this is their reality, and they are living it. His teenage mind is filled with questions deeper than any other life lessons he's encountered so far.
His stomach churns as he looks out at the tree across the street with its orange and red leaves. His mind is swirling with confusion, and a tight knot forms in his chest. He doesn't understand the world. He thought he did, but as her story becomes increasingly violent and the knot in his throat tightens, he realizes that he may never understand it again.
"Turn it off," Allison's voice breaks through Elizabeth's, and he turns away from the window.
"Allison, we need to listen. It's important," Stevie insists.
"I don't think we need to hear all of this," Allison murmurs, and his stomach churns even more. He doesn't think they need to hear it, either. Elizabeth is recounting unspeakable acts that he can barely wrap his head around, as if her life were some sick, unrated, straight-to-streaming horror movie conceived by a twisted mind.
He stands abruptly, wanting out of the room, away from the horrifying images conjured by his mind. But Allison holds him in place, "No, stay."
"It's horrible," He says.
"Yes, but it's our family's reality."
"It isn't," he insists, "it's hers... I don't want to know any more about what happened to her,"
"I understand that," Allison nods, "But we have to hear this. We have to know,"
"Why? So we can know intimate details about our mother's victimization?" his sentence carries a wisdom that is beyond his years, and even he doesn't quite know when his vocabulary expanded to include those words in that order, "We shouldn't be learning these things,"
His legs carry him out of the small bedroom to find his grandfather. His little brothers are laughing from somewhere and her hears the sounds of crashing Hot Wheels. He finds the three of them sitting on the living room floor, trying to see which little metal die-cast car can be pushed across and off the coffee table the fastest. He hears Cartoon Network playing louder than it normally would and correctly assumes his grandpa is trying to keep any residual sound from the bedroom TV out of little ears.
"Hey, bud," his grandpa greets him as he looks at Jason's pale face.
"Hi," Jason says quietly, sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce on the floor and flicking a small Camero across the table hard.
"You okay?" his grandfather asks.
"Sure," he shrugs.
"What's happening upstairs?"
"Um," He swallows and looks at Bobby and Drew, "She's testifying."
He shoots another car across the table so hard it bounces off the edge and flies onto the rug, "Whoa, bud, slow down," his grandfather says, grabbing his wrist before he can send the car flying again.
"She's telling a lot," he whispers, his eyes glazing with tears.
"Let's go in the kitchen," Patrick says calmly. "Bobby, Drew I want you to stay here, okay boys?"
"Okay, Grandpa," they say together.
Patrick leads his grandson to the kitchen and sits him at the table, "So, talk to me, kiddo,"
"I don't understand how someone could hurt somebody that badly," he says, looking down at the white tile.
Patrick nods; he is still without details, though he's old enough and wise enough to put pieces together of what was a traumatizing experience for his daughter-in-law. "Yeah,"
"I don't want to know all those details. And I'm pretty sure, um, the details aren't necessary," he stammers, his brain trying to compute that real-life horrors exist.
"Your mother is going to tell a lot of the details so that the American People and the House can understand," Patrick says gently, "but you know you don't have to hear it, right?"
"Allison is listening so is Stevie," Jason says.
Patrick nods, "Yes, and I don't know how your father or Elizabeth, for that matter, feel about that. But just because your sisters are ready to listen doesn't mean that you have to be."
"Why not?"
"Because this is a trauma, kiddo," he explains, "This isn't a video game or a TV show. This is real life, and you are still young, and it's okay if you can't process all this,"
"Torture is something I thought only happened in history books. I've never put a face to it... I mean, Senator McCain. We watched an interview he did about Hanoi last year in history. But even that interview wasn't so detailed and, and, and gory, and I, I don't. I don't understand how a person can do that to someone else."
"You'll never be able to understand that, Jase. And that's a good thing. A very good thing," Patrick says, "But the point is, this is serious and scary and sad and a lot of other things. You are allowed to feel that."
Jason nods, but the knot in his stomach doesn't go away. "I want Mom," he admits.
Patrick swallows, "I know your dad hasn't talked to you about Jess yet, but she's not going to be coming here, Jason."
"I didn't mean Jess," Jason shakes his head, "I meant... I meant Mom."
"Elizabeth, you mean?"
Jason nods, and his chin begins to quiver, "Yeah, I miss her. I've always missed her, you know... It's like missing a piece of yourself when you can't remember your mom. And it's weird because, even though I've never really met her, I know her, you know? I mean, I don't know her, but I know her... and it's weird."
"It's not weird. It's complicated, and it will be complicated for a long time. But it's not weird, not at all."
Jason nods, wanting nothing more than to go back in time to the night before when he is blissfully oblivious. "I'm mad at her, though."
"You can be mad at her; something tells me she's strong enough to take it. Hell, your dad hated me for years, and I'm still here. That's an example, by the way. I am not saying that it's okay to hate your mother. Just saying she's tough,"
Jason smiles at his grandpa, "Can I go play Hot Wheels and watch Adventure Time like none of this is happening?"
"Of course you can, kid," Patrick smiles.
"Thanks, Grandpa."
"You're welcome, buddy."
Jason gets up from the table and heads back into the living room. He sits down once again by his brothers and crashes a small pickup truck into Drew's monster truck, making a big deal of how much better Drew is at picking cars than him.
He knows the moment he's alone again, the questions will come back, and so will the knot in his stomach, but for now, he lets the world fade away, if only for a moment.