A/N: Hello!
Just wanted to say I'm officially on Ao3 with the same username (gypsysfeather). In His Arms will still be updated here, but I will also be uploading there for the time being.
Also, I just want to talk about this story for a minute because...I think it's become my favorite.
I was re-reading some of it and was caught up in a few points that I wanted to share (it's the teacher in me to lead discussion LOL)
They're so young. The older I get, the young twenty-four and even twenty-six seems. They're so young. They also have been through so much in ten days. And while I know I'm the author and have made them go through so much in ten days, I'm still just...rattled somehow. And as someone with a deceased parent, I think it's interesting and something I haven't played with much to show that Elizabeth's driving factor is, ultimately, her parents. We (typically) inherently want to make our parents proud and it's hard to stop.
Ok. That's all my babbling lol.
Hope you enjoy!
Elizabeth | Post-Extraction – Day 10 (232 Hours)
When she opened the car door, the air felt like she was breathing under water—the humidity was that thick. She wasn't sure which was worse: being in a deafeningly silent car with Henry for the past four hours where she pretended to be asleep the whole ride or being in this stifling underwater-like heat in D.C.
As Henry was working to get her crutches out of the backseat, she swung her legs out and dangled them outside the car door. Her hand was still in her pocket, her fingertips jangling the chain on his dog tag that he'd given to her. When he came around with her crutches, her eyes darted immediately to the one hanging around his neck, tucked underneath his shirt.
She took the crutches without saying anything, just one more moment of feeling like they were being ripped apart from each other.
Conrad walked up and looked at Henry, "You need to be going immediately," he said, looking back at where he'd just come out of Langley. "Otherwise we're going to have a bigger problem. Rawlins is waiting on you."
Henry nodded, swallowing hard. "I scratched your car, sir."
Elizabeth looked at him and felt her jaw tighten, thinking, you had to tell him now? But Conrad looked at the side of the car and sighed, nodded, and then looked at Elizabeth. "Everyone's okay I assume," he said.
"Fine," she murmured, using her crutches to walk past Conrad and toward Lydia's car—the one he apparently was driving now that the 4Runner had been occupied. She could feel both of their eyes on her back, and she turned around and looked at Henry, then looked away when she felt the immediate pain that shot through her chest.
Conrad let out a sigh, "Alright then," he mumbled, looking at Henry. "I'll let you two say your goodbyes."
She looked at Henry when Conrad when to his car and shut the door, and Henry just shifted awkwardly. Finally, he stepped toward her and hugged her tight, his lips right beside her ear and his scruff tickling the side of her face, "Be safe," he whispered. "Don't forget what I gave you."
You gave me everything, Henry. Life. Love. You.
"I will," she whispered, meaning she'd try to be safe. She closed her eyes and felt her throat tightening when he started letting go, and she almost pulled him back, but she knew this was how it needed to be.
She wanted to say a thousand more words. At least. I love you, Henry. Tell me more about your life, tell me about your mom and your brother and your other sister—all the people you didn't get a chance to talk about between being on the run and combing through intel. I love you, Henry. Did I tell you that I love you? She thought back to last night and her sure words—"I love you"—and his even surer words—"I know. I love you too." Her mouth went dry as she kept thinking, I want to tell you I love you again. But that's just going to make it impossible for either of us to leave. Right? I can't tell you that, right? She looked down at his hand and wanted to touch it, to reach for it at least, but she didn't.
Being in the company, she would never be able to make this work with Henry. He was obviously on his way up the ranks, and having a romantic partner who's a CIA agent would not bode well for either company, she was sure. Even through the trauma being a CIA agent caused her, she couldn't see another way of living her life.
The CIA was never her entire dream, but it became her life after she found out about her parents. When Conrad recruited her, she knew that was where she was supposed to be. She had felt a peace in part of her, something that told her that her parents would be proud of her. Just having one dead parent often makes people wonder if their doing their parent proud but having two—well it was nearly impossible to think of anything she could do to make them both proud of her. Until the CIA.
And Henry—he tried to separate the Marine from himself. She saw his valiant effort. But he will always be a Marine—he's never going to be able to shake that. She remembered back to him talking about flying in Kuwait, the golden sunset, and she nodded slowly as she looked at his fingers. I would never even ask him to give that up, she thought, recalling the actual sparkle in his eye when he was telling her that story in the infirmary what felt like months ago.
As he stood there, they finally made eye contact once more, and she took a sharp breath and looked away painfully. She heard him turn away, too, and then the footsteps to the car. She watched as he got in the car and waited for her to get into Conrad's, so finally she turned and hobbled to Conrad's car, having to put the crutches in on her own. When she sat down in the passenger seat, she turned and faced the window, looking out the side mirror at Henry driving the other way. He turned and she couldn't see him anymore, and she bit down hard on her lip.
She heard Conrad put the car into gear, and she opened her eyes briefly to see where they were going. When she looked over, she saw a picture on the dash that she hadn't noticed when she got in—something she recognized immediately as an ultrasound picture.
"What is that?" she asked, trying to make her voice sound as though it wasn't being constricted by the muscles in her throat choking it out.
He looked at her first and then followed her gaze as both hands were on the wheel, "Oh, that," he whispered, sighing, "I'd hoped to tell you at a happier time," he said.
She swallowed thick and looked at him, "Lydia's having a baby?" she asked.
A smile came to his face as he focused on the road, "Yes, which is why I've been a bit more…scattered than I'd like to be," he breathed, a little bit of happiness in his "yes." Though she could see the joy trying to prick through, she could also hear the sadness, the worry. "Lydia has been very ill, so I've been trying to go back and forth between work and her…and it's just…" he shook his head as he trailed off, and Elizabeth could hear the frustration in his voice, "Bess, I—"
"Congratulations," she said quickly, trying to not let him get on a serious subject yet. She couldn't bear it right now. Her heart was still aching too hard from when she saw Henry turn.
He smiled briefly and looked over at her, his lips pressed together, "Thank you," he said calmly, rolling to a stop down the road from Langley. He looked over at her again and down at her hands—she'd been messing with the dog tag in her lap the entire ride so far. He exhaled slowly, pulling both lips in and clearly thinking about his next words.
She was just about to change the subject again, or at least draw this one out, when he finally spoke up: "You don't have to tell me what happened between you and Captain McCord," he said, and she cringed at the name. Captain McCord. Because that's all he is. A Marine. "But I know when you've left something behind," he continued, bringing his eyes up to meet hers.
She sniffled and looked away, back out of the windshield as she wished he'd just drive. She laid her elbow on the door, tucking her head into her hand, "I've left a lot behind," she whispered.
And she wasn't just talking about in the past ten days with Henry. She was talking about how she left her apartment behind, a life that she thought she tolerated, a job she thought she loved. But to be back in the States, she felt none of the good of her old life—she just felt sad when she thought about her ransacked apartment and how it was targeted to send a message, and she felt angry when she thought of her lonely little life, and she felt fear when she thought about that job being the very reason she almost died brutally—all because she was collateral damage in a much bigger scheme.
And now Henry, too, was collateral damage just because he rescued her.
Finally, they started driving again, and Elizabeth just stared out the window the entire ride to the White House. When they pulled into the gates, she didn't have any identification, so it was a big ordeal to get her in. Conrad had to specify over and over that she had a meeting with President Westfield, but because she didn't have ID, they wouldn't let her in. "Call the President," Conrad said, his voice stern toward the guard.
"We can't let her in without an ID," the guard said stubbornly.
Elizabeth was so frustrated and exhausted that she shoved the dog tag into her pocket and reached back into her duffle back, her casted ankle dangling by the dash as she knelt in the seat. "Ma'am!" the guards shouted at her with their guns drawn, but she didn't care. Let them shoot me. She was grabbing the only thing that could begin to ID her in this car.
She waved the papers in front of Conrad's face at them, "This is intel from the CIA showing that the U.S. government tried to kill me," she said, her voice sharper than she knew she could be, "If you want to look at it, be my guest. But I wouldn't have this intel if it weren't for the fact that I am Elizabeth Adams," she snapped, shoving the papers further toward the window.
Conrad looked at the papers with wide eyes and then at her as if to say she shouldn't be doing that. She knew she shouldn't be—it was classified intel. But she didn't care. She just wanted this all to be over and to take a long, long nap. She wanted pain medicine. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to get back to living her lonely little life to the best of her ability, and she couldn't do that with the Secretary of Defense trying to kill her. She'd like to say that she wanted to get back to living a normal twenty-four-year-old life, but there was nothing normal about that life at all.
The guard took the stack of papers cautiously, looking at Conrad and then back at her, and they flipped through the pages and spoke into their earpieces. "She's showing us intel," his voice was muffled by the distance. He nodded, listening to whoever's in his ear, "The President said to let you in," he said, handing the papers back but eyeing Elizabeth. She ripped them from the man's hand as they opened the gate, and Conrad drove on in.
There was an awkward silence as she tossed the papers back onto her duffle bag in the backseat, and she tried to resituate herself in the passenger's seat, but she was too frustrated. Finally, Conrad looked over and widened his eyes, "I don't know what happened between you and Henry, Bess, but whatever it is…you've got to breathe before you meet with Westfield."
She shot a look at him, "Is that a joke that you think I could even think about breathing right now?" she asked, coming across way more harshly than she'd meant for it to, but she didn't back down either. "Because aside from anything with him—with Henry," his name hurt her tongue to say, "I have been hunted by my own government because I was doing my job, Conrad, so I really hope that what you just said was a joke in really poor taste." She turned forward and unbuckled her seatbelt with a clear display of irritation, letting it smack back and hit the door.
She caught a glimpse of the ultrasound picture again, though, and she took a breath. That's why you do what you do, she thought to herself, you do this to keep this country safe for future generations.
She felt her lip quiver, but she was tired of crying. She reached back and grabbed her crutches, opening the door and climbing out. Secret Service immediately came and patted her down, and she obliged but bit at the inside of her cheek the entire time. Once she'd been let in, they took them both back to the Oval Office.
She'd toured the White House once before on a school trip—a function with the debate team at Houghton that brought them to D.C. and a group of them also took a White House tour. But that was then, and not after she'd almost been put to death by a high-up in her own government and then hunted to finish the job.
So she wasn't in awe this time, she was determined as she hobbled along on her crutches, following the person leading them back. When the door opened and the woman told them to go ahead, she looked up to see President Westfield—a face she'd only seen in pictures and on TV—staring at the two of them. "Director Dalton," he greeted first, standing at the desk with his arms crossed, looking out the window.
Elizabeth stared him down for a moment and tried to get a good read on him. She, after all, had an impeccable judge of character just based on even first impressions. "Agent Adams," he said finally, looking at her and turning his body toward her. "Dalton here has told me what's happened."
She swallowed thick, "It's better than what will happen if the Secretary of Defense is let loose," she replied, and Conrad snapped his head toward her with wide eyes, "Sir," she added, taking a deep breath as though she was wasting it by saying that one extra word. She didn't have the patience for formalities.
"Sit," Westfield said, gesturing toward the chairs in the middle of the room. Elizabeth gladly hobbled to them, sitting down and putting her crutches to the side. She looked at the intel in Conrad's hands as he sat down, and Westfield stood between her and Conrad, to the side, as he crossed his arms. "Explain everything that's happened in the best detail you can, Adams," he instructed, then looked at Dalton, "And hand me that intel," he said. Dalton did as he was told, and Elizabeth started telling him everything.
Everything, including General Lark and Major Grayson, and how Lacey and Smith had been left behind because they presumably saw the U.S. markings on the crates. She mentioned that Henry was also a target because he saw the crates just like Lacey and Smith, and how he was even more of a target now that he'd been harboring Elizabeth and gone AWOL according to the government.
She told him about Freeman coming to their hideout with those two men, and she told him that they were all three dead now, but that Major Grayson had sent them all. She told them about Talon Solutions and how there were financial records she'd marked some time ago, flagging them in the system as suspicious, and that's how she'd gotten a price on her head in the first place.
In exquisite detail, she told President Westfield about what all she'd gone through the night of the kidnapping after her cover was blown, explaining how her comms had been blocked by someone in Defense. Westfield sat down on the couch next to Conrad whenever she started talking about the torture in better detail, and he flinched when she told him how they whipped her. She should've flinched, too, but she was on autopilot now—she'd been on autopilot since this morning, since leaving Henry in that bed to get dressed.
"I didn't know who to trust other than Captain McCord," she said, "And it even took some time to trust Director Dalton." She shot her eyes over to him, and Conrad looked down guiltily. He had nothing to be guilty about, but she'd thought he somehow had failed her on the night she got kidnapped.
"And Captain McCord—"
"Who's AWOL," Westfield added, almost as if he were reminding her or something.
She furrowed her brows, "He's AWOL because the Marines sent someone to kill him," she reminded, "The bullet meant for his head went through Freeman's instead," she snapped, not even making up for it this time by throwing in a "sir." She just continued, "Captain McCord, when he extracted me from the warehouse—I don't remember anything from that day—but when I woke up, he was there. He was there in the infirmary the entire time and helped me get back on my feet," she paused at the irony of that word because she couldn't feel her toes on her casted foot as she spoke, "And I feel—" she stopped herself, shutting her eyes and taking a sharp breath but trying to cover it quickly, "I felt safe with him. He helped me through the flight back to the States, too."
Conrad was watching her carefully when she looked at him, and she felt suddenly like she was under his magnifying glass. He knows, she thought, shifting in her seat slightly and trying to not look like she was squirming. Westfield spoke again, though, and she was thankful for it.
"And you're saying that Secretary Davison orchestrated this whole thing," he said, flipping through the pages of intel and squinting. "Do you know what page these items are on?"
She nodded and pointed out the page numbers to him, reaching across the way and showing him where exactly the information was on each page, highlighting the financial records and phone calls. Finally, Westfield sighed and leaned back, placing his hand over his eyes. "Where's Captain McCord now?"
She bristled at that question and looked at Conrad who immediately opened his mouth, frowning, "That's irrelevant right now," he said.
"I'm asking because we need to get to Davison and Lark and Grayson—" he stopped and looked down through the papers again, "And this McAfee guy—we need to get them all quietly without causing World War III and keep Captain McCord safe."
Elizabeth swallowed hard, "He's safe with someone trusted."
Conrad nodded, following Elizabeth's lead, "And he'll reappear once he knows he's safe to do so, sir. He's only AWOL because he—"
"You were harboring an AWOL Marine, you know that, right Dalton?" Westfield asked, turning toward him slightly.
Elizabeth's eyes flicked back and forth between the two men, and she frowned at his behavior. She was just about to ask another question to see where this was coming from when Westfield sighed loudly.
"But I suppose you were doing it to keep him safe," he breathed, looking down at the papers again and shaking his head. "What a mess."
"A big mess," Conrad said.
Elizabeth swallowed hard, eyeing Westfield and then Conrad, but finally realizing Westfield is probably just as surprised as they were when she remembered that he and the SecDef were friends in college. "What's our next steps?" she asked.
He looked up at her, "Where do you feel most safe?" he asked.
With Henry, she thought, but she knew she couldn't allow herself to use him as her third crutch. "I think I'd feel most safe in one of the Langley safehouses for a while, once we get McAfee out of the company and the rest of them put away," she admitted, already clenching her teeth at the thought of having to be alone now.
He looked at Conrad, "You set up the housing situation for her," he instructed, and Conrad nodded. "And as far as next steps go…" he sighed, "We'll issue official arrests for Secretary Larry Davison, for General Nolan Lark, for Major Michael Grayson, and for Agent Bryan McAfee." He looked down at the papers and his jaw tightened.
Conrad looked at him and swallowed hard, "Difficult with the ratings, I'm sure," he sympathized.
Westfield let out a strained chuckle, really more of a breath through his nose, "Yeah," he whispered, "Definitely difficulty with the ratings. Jim has been trying to get me back up, and he's going to have a heart attack when he hears about what we're having to do," he admitted.
Dalton smiled sideways, trying to keep his sympathy, "Just don't make your chief of staff have a heart attack," he said, trying to be lighthearted, but it really just placed a heavier blanket over the room.
"When are the arrests going to be issued?" Elizabeth asked, bringing them back on track.
Westfield looked up, "I will do that now."
"I want to stay," Elizabeth said, "I want to hear their names."
He watched her carefully, and she could sense Conrad looking at her and silently telling her to pull back, but she didn't. She didn't care, either, that she was basically demanding something of the President of the United States. She'd given enough of herself in return.
"Alright," he said, getting up slowly like creaky older men do, and walking over to the phone on his desk. He dialed some numbers and then put the phone to his ear, "AG please," he murmured, and Elizabeth remembered who the AG was—a man named Thomas Crowley who was a no-nonsense type of man. "I need arrests issued for the following names, Tom," he said, his voice getting more tense as he looked out the window and said his friend's name first, then the other names. "I'll have Jim send over all the information here soon, but this is a matter that needs handled quickly."
When he laid the phone down, Jim was coming in, and Westfield told Jim what he'd just done. "Sir," Jim stuttered, "What…what the hell?"
Westfield explained tiredly, and Jim rubbed his forehead. "We're cooked."
"I know," Westfield admitted defeatedly, nodding, "But it's what had to be done."
Elizabeth realized that this basically just lost them the election coming up in a few months. She looked down, but she didn't feel guilty for bringing it all to light. How could she? They'd tried to kill her, and ultimately, Westfield was the one who appointed SecDef.
Conrad looked at her and got her attention while Jim and Westfield discussed, and Elizabeth watched the news flicker on in the background behind Conrad's head. "We can get you to the safe house now," he said, "Or you can come to the house for a while—it might be better to be around people you know?" he suggested.
She shook her head, "I just want to be alone right now," she admitted, her heart aching. And it was true—she did want to be alone because she knew that she couldn't be with Henry. She couldn't entertain the idea of them ever coming back together because it was nonsense—it was stuff, as she kept reminding herself, out of a novel. "But thank you," she added, "And tell Lydia that I'm wishing her the best. You better be pampering her," she said as she held onto her crutches, her toes throbbing.
He smiled a little and she looked past his head to see an image going across the screen of General Lark being walked out of the Pentagon in handcuffs, and she was amazed by the speed of the Attorney General to get things moving that quickly. Conrad noticed where she was staring and he turned back, too.
"McAfee has already been arrested as well," Westfield announced, and Elizabeth looked over to see him behind the desk, watching the two of them with his arms crossed. "Grayson is being detained as we speak, and Davison—they're on their way for him." He swallowed hard and looked down, and Elizabeth knew that even though there was clear evidence that Davison was orchestrating this entire scheme against her and ultimately against the country, she also knew that it would still be hard to implicate your friend like this.
"Thank you, sir," she finally said, adding the bit of respect the Oval Office deserved now that he'd earned it.
She looked back at the TV and then at Conrad, "You better be pampering her," she said again, her brow raising this time as if accusing him of not.
He smiled and shook his head, standing up and raising his brows at her, "It's been a little hard, I must admit," he said, looking at her in a way that reminded her she was the reason Lydia wasn't being pampered.
She sighed and stood up carefully, gathering her crutches, "Well, now that your focus is off saving the world for a while, be sure she stays hydrated," she said, thinking about her mom when she was little and how she had to go to the emergency room when she was pregnant with Will. "And give her anything she asks for."
"Noted," Conrad said, sighing and thanking President Westfield once more.
"Agent Adams," the President called before Elizabeth got too close to the door, "Hang back for a moment?" he asked.
She and Conrad exchanged a glance, but then she nodded and he walked out. She turned to Westfield again, waiting for him to say whatever it was.
"I want to thank you for your dedicated service to the United States," he said, swallowing hard as he stood tall behind his desk. "And on behalf of the U.S. government, I will be issuing a pardon to Captain McCord immediately, and I also will be indebted to you and to him as well."
She shook her head a little, "You don't have to be indebted to me," she said quietly, "Just keep him safe."
He eyed her for a moment and then nodded cautiously, "And you?" he asked, "Would you like to be moved to a desk position?"
She thought for a moment and then shook her head, "I'm sure you're aware of who my parents were, sir," she said, gripping the rubber pieces on the crutches. "I don't want to give this up—I don't want to let them down."
He had the audacity to let out a laugh, and he leaned forward on his desk before sitting down and shaking his head, "Elizabeth," he whispered, "I knew your mother and father, and they would already be beyond proud of you. I believe you have well surpassed—"
"You knew my mother and father?" she asked, the realization hitting her in the middle of his sentence. She stood up straighter and took some of the pressure off her arms, "How did you know them?"
He crossed his hands over his small belly, sighing, "Your father and I also went to college together—he knew Davison too." He clenched his jaw and glanced at the TV, and then back to Elizabeth whose palms were dripping on the rubber grips, "We were all friends." He said it so distantly that it made Elizabeth feel like she'd only heard an echo. "And I was in your parents' wedding."
She swallowed thick, "And no one knows what happened?" she asked.
He looked at her and took a shaky breath, "I believe that it maybe will all be coming out soon," he said, glancing back to the TV. His gaze stayed fixed in that direction this time, so Elizabeth turned and saw Davison being walked out in handcuffs, putting up a fight and causing a scene. But the FBI was not faltering in the slightest.
She hadn't ever considered that she'd been a target because of anything her parents did, but Davison probably had already been keeping an eye on her anyway since he knew who her parents were. He probably knew how good they were at their jobs and how she had the potential to be stellar at hers.
She looked back at Westfield and felt her body relax, "Thank you," she said softly, looking away and turning toward the door.
"Stay safe, Elizabeth," he said, "There's always deeper things out there than anyone realizes."
Boy, don't I know it, she thought, but she just nodded and hobbled to the door.