A/N: I don't necessarily agree with getting a pet very recently post-trauma. After my assault, I moved back in with my Dad, who is like the best dad ever. He bought me my dog to help me feel safer. But I had help to take care of him and myself. Getting a pet is a long-term decision and should be taken seriously. But I'm writing what I know and my experiences. So Elizabeth gets a dog.

January 25, 1991

She's getting a dog. She didn't plan it, but she needs to feel safe. She's tired of being paralyzed with fear every time she needs to leave her apartment. It's been twenty days. Her life has been on pause for twenty days. She has been locked in her apartment for twenty days. That's not a life.

She needs to train for her postponed physical fitness test. It turns out that not even the CIA asks questions when a woman claims "feminine issues" as the reason for a delayed test. She claims to herself it wasn't a lie. She couldn't move for the first few days without her center burning. And she can't exercise without feeling safe.

She's tired of being scared. She's tired of waiting for the next shoe to drop. She's tired of waiting for him to come back. She's tired of looking over her shoulder and feeling as if everyone is watching her. She'll ruin a lot more than a career with the CIA for herself if she allows herself to continue walking down the path that man put her on.

She had two choices to make herself feel safe: a dog or a gun. She had done some reading about guns after she learned her local library would deliver her books. She looked at the available statistics, she checked the legal requirements, and she checked the training options. She made a list of pros and cons, as she's been known to do. But it all came down to a single point. To be in a situation in which she would need to use the gun, she's already in a situation she doesn't want to be in. A dog, however, is a situation deterrent.

She knows that people are scared of dogs, especially big dogs. Elizabeth isn't. Elizabeth loves dogs. She always has. And she believes she checks all the dog ownership requirement boxes. She has love to give a dog. She has time to give a dog. She has money to take care of a dog. She can give a dog the home it deserves.

She doesn't know what she's going to tell Henry about her reasoning for getting the dog. Maybe she'll blame it on loneliness. She can't tell him the real reason. But she'll cross that bridge when she comes to it.

She called around for a few days and found a place that sells trained protective breeds. She was told by a woman with a perky phone voice about a six-month-old Bullmastiff named Lady. It had felt like fate for a moment when she heard that. Her favorite dog ever, Louise—who is buried back on the family farm in Charlottesville—was a Bullmastiff.

She completes her new leave-the-house routine- the tight jeans and belt, Henry's shapeless sweatshirt, and her father's knife. She completes her survey of her surroundings before she jogs to her car. She locks the doors before turning over the engine. She takes a deep breath before reversing.

She has to parallel park two blocks away. There's a no-parking zone in front of the place. She hates it. She looks around, deciding that the street is populated enough to be safe. She grips her father's folder tight and exits her car. She walks the two blocks with two clenched fists. She keeps her hands at her sides, her father's folder tucked neatly in her right one.

"Hi, I'm Elizabeth McCord. I called about Lady, the bullmastiff?"

Her heart rate slows when she walks into the place. She can hear the puppies yipping and barking. She almost smiles.

"Hello!" The perky brunette calls from behind the counter.

"Hi, I'm Elizabeth McCord. I called about Lady, the bullmastiff?"

"Yes, did you bring the paperwork we needed?"

Elizabeth nods, grabbing the file folder from her bag. She hands over the proof of address, bank statement, and ID- all of which she previously did not know she needed to buy a dog. She's a little taken aback as the perky brunette- Emma, according to her name tag- scrutinizes the documents. She hands Elizabeth a clipboard with the application on it, and she stands, filling it out and signing her name.

"Okay, and what payment method will you be using,"

"Amex, okay?" She asks. She knows she's dipping into her trust fund for this. She tries not to do that very often. Yes, she did use it to fund the parts of her education her scholarships didn't cover, but for the most part, she tries to get by on her own. She knows it was important to her parents that she and Will learn the value of a dollar and how to work hard to earn one. But sometimes, it's necessary.

She waits nervously, chewing her lip and bouncing her leg as the woman makes a copy of her ID. She wants to feel safe.

"Here's the bill of health and all of her documentation. American Kennel Club registration papers are included as well as her vaccination record. So, shall I go introduce you to Lady?"

"Please,"

Emma leads her through a door. There are a couple of rooms with small dogs inside of them and then a large open room where all of the large breeds are kept. They walk into a small room containing the most beautiful dog Elizabeth has ever seen.

"Hey there, Lady Bug," She coos as she crouches to the dog's level, "Aren't you precious, Little Girl," She runs her hands along the dog's side. Lady starts to wag her tail as Elizabeth continues to talk to her, scratching behind her ears and stroking her coat.

"She likes you," Emma says from the doorway.

Elizabeth is grateful for the validation, but it is obvious the dog likes her. Her tail is wagging, and she is leaning into her. Elizabeth sits down on the floor, and Lady crawls onto her lap as if she knows Elizabeth is going to be her human.

Two hours of bonding and learning commands later, Elizabeth walks out onto the street with her new companion by her side. She finds herself still looking around her nervously. But now, she's holding a leash, and she knows her new best friend can see and hear things she can't—can sense things she can't. That helps. It's a little thing, but it does help.

She has Lady between her and the rest of the world as she moseys about the pet store. She had not fathomed being able to mosey again. She can take her time and not worry. She can load the trunk and not look over her shoulder. She can walk-not run to her apartment door. And she can take more than one trip. She's able to settle Lady in the apartment.

And when the day is gone and night takes over- usually her darkest of times- she's able to eat a real meal. She doesn't feel so alone, even though the silence in her apartment is deafening. She has a new friend. A companion. Someone to take care of, someone who needs her. And maybe it's her, but that's the difference she needed.

And finally, snuggled up to her Little Lady, she sleeps for five peaceful hours.

January 6, 2019

Henry thinks she's asleep. She is- sort of. At least, she's dancing on the edge of it. Her body wants to sleep. Her brain wants her to sleep. But something is holding her back. The thought of a nightmare—of feeling him again, of reliving those moments again, is not an option. She's so exhausted. She's just so tired. But yet she can't seem to turn her mind off. This isn't the first time sleep has alluded her because of this.

She gives up on the idea of getting meaningful sleep a little too early in the morning. She decides she's had enough of tossing and turning. She rolls over and watches him. He's sitting propped up against the pillows—his glasses sitting on his nose and his hair delightfully messy—holding his iPad. He's reading intently. He has a look of concentration on his face. She raises her head ever-so-slightly to catch a look at the screen—the Google page on full display—the purple links a dead giveaway of his previous reads.

Marriage After Assault: The Do's and Don'ts

Rape Recovery: A Spouse's Guide

Sexual Assault: What Partners Need To Know

Her heart breaks. She doesn't know if it breaks more for him or herself. This was not a variable she had thought about last night—the time he would need to process it or his shock. She hadn't thought about his pain. She can see the pain in his eyes. She wishes she could go back in time and tell him sooner, or perhaps even better yet, never kept it from him in the first place.

But she was young and scared. And she knows how she felt at the time. She had felt like he would die- if she distracted him with it, he would die in combat or crash his plane. And if she distracted him, she would have to face the consequences of what happened, and she had not been ready for that. She had not wanted to face her demons.

That's the true crux of it—she couldn't face it. But she's older now, and she hopes she's a little wiser. She's hidden all of this pain underneath work and kids. She buried it deep and allowed it to fester, and now the wound is infected and oozing. She knows what she needs to do.

"Good morning," she whispers reaching out for him.

"Good morning," he says softly. She can't help but notice how he flattens the iPad against his chest as if she caught him watching porn or texting another woman.

"What were you reading?" She asks, trying to get him to open up.

"Nothing, just some work stuff," he says, putting the iPad to the side and moving to face her.

She nods, letting it slide, "You doing okay?"

"Yeah," he lies, "What about you, baby?"

"No," she's honest, "But I will be. I'm gonna get some help to be okay," she promises.

It surprises him. It was not easy to get her into therapy after the bombing in Iran. In fact, she had fought him tooth and nail about it. He's a little surprised she's bringing it up on her own.

"Okay," he says quietly. He doesn't know what else to say.

She smiles a small, sad smile before kissing his forehead and getting out of bed.