A/N: Sorry for the brief hiatus...this week has been busy and is only about to get busier into next week! Hoping to update over the weekend again.
Hope you enjoy :)
Elizabeth | Post-Extraction – 182 Hours
When they pulled up to the old cabin she used to train at, she was almost relieved—one more painful moment in the backseat of this car with Henry might have killed her. She'd been staring out the window as much as she could, but the coldness in the backseat was suffocating—like ice crawling through her lungs. But then she remembered why she was here, who she was seeing, and she took a shaky breath to try and calm her nerves.
She and Henry hadn't ever made a game plan. Instead, she just told him everything she could about Conrad, and in doing so, she felt slightly better about this meet-up. Conrad was one of her most trusted mentors, someone she always felt she could count on, and retelling his life story as she knew it made her solidify that belief.
But maybe a little too much, too. Henry kept reminding her that he's not necessarily the hero just because he hasn't proven himself to be the villain.
Henry had gotten out of the car first and was coming around to her as she gathered her crutches in her hand. He surveilled the area first, and she watched him through the window as he laid eyes on Conrad. Her blood still felt icy, and her fingers gripped around her crutches tightly, but he opened the door for her and she made herself get out. Her eyes betrayed her, flitting up to meet his when she wanted nothing more than to not look at him.
She kept waiting, she realized, for something to feel off about this meet-up.
The only thing that felt off about this entire situation was that Henry had told her he shouldn't have kissed her. When she thought about it again, she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and ran her tongue over it, just to think about him doing the same. He helped her get steady before shutting the door, and she walked over to Conrad immediately—partially to get her mind off something other than Henry's tongue exploring her mouth.
"Bess," he breathed, closing the gap and walking to her, wrapping her in his arms.
Though she hadn't made a game plan, crying would not have been in that plan had she made one. The immediate rush of tears that came to her eyes could not be stopped, and she felt them spill over and out onto her cheeks, onto his shoulder, as he gave her a gentle squeeze.
"God," he breathed, pulling away and keeping his hands on her arms, "I was so—" his breath hitched and he looked away, and she did too out at the sparkly water, glimmering in the dim dusk light.
She tried to calm her breaths as they stood there in silence, and she heard Henry's footsteps coming up before she felt the energy from him. Ever since the moment in the shower, she could feel his negativity, feel his stress…she didn't like that version of Henry at all. Normally whenever he was around, she'd felt a renewed sense of calm. When she first saw him next to her bed in the hospital, she'd felt a peacefulness that he gave not only by helping her breathe, but just by sitting there with her.
"What the hell happened, Conrad?" she finally asked, still not looking at him. She hadn't necessarily meant to snap, but the sudden rage that burst through her was too much to contain. This was his fault, whether it was purposeful or not because he was the one who put her on the op. "What the hell did you get me into?" She gripped her crutches tighter again as she took a small step back, still looking out over the water.
He cocked his jaw to the side as he looked at her, and she could feel him staring at the side of her face as she looked past him and out at the water. Henry came closer to her, and she looked over to see him standing firm with his arms crossed.
"Captain McCord," Conrad murmured, nodding at him, "Thank you for keeping Bess safe."
Henry stared at him with tight lips, and Elizabeth wanted to prod him for not answering.
"I understand that you were supposed to be on leave soon, and I can get her protection from here." Conrad extended his hand out to Henry, but it just hung in the air, "You've outdone yourself in your post, Captain McCord, and I thank—"
Henry's folded arms never moved as he stared at Conrad, "This isn't about orders or assignments," he said, and Elizabeth cringed at the tone of his voice. She closed her eyes and thought about how Conrad is a lieutenant, no matter what the situation is, and how he still outranks Henry even though he's no longer active in the Marines. This was a direct defiance, and Henry was making a good show of it, too. "It's about her," he added, making Elizabeth's head whip to face him.
He glanced over at her for just a second before looking forward again at Conrad, "I promised I'd keep her safe," he added. Elizabeth watched as his jaw tightened, "And I don't intend to break that promise now or ever."
She felt Conrad's gaze shift to her, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see his brow raise. "Alright, McCord" he said, shifting his weight and copying Henry's stance. He looked down his nose at Henry, just a bit taller than him, and he squeezed his chest with his arms, "Noted." Elizabeth couldn't help but notice the tinge of respect in Conrad's voice this time.
For a moment after, there was total silence with the exception of the nature in the background, dancing around for the dusk to come upon their world like a goodnight blanket.
She didn't look away from Henry until she heard Conrad clear his throat, and then she peeled her gaze away to meet Conrad's instead. The weight of what Henry had said felt heavier now than it first did.
She wondered what he was giving up to protect her, what kind of life he could be living right now if it weren't for her coming in and turning it upside down.
It was so clear, though, to her and probably to Conrad too, who claimed the real control over Elizabeth's safety. It wasn't Conrad Dalton, and it wasn't even Elizabeth herself.
"I believe you were going to explain what happened," Henry said, his voice steadier than Elizabeth's would've been, "The CIA owes Elizabeth that much, don't they?"
Elizabeth looked at him again, too stunned to snap at him for being so brusque, but definitely giving him a look. Conrad reached around his back, though, and she immediately looked at him and felt her heart skip. She remembered the gun in her waistband again—the gun that Henry had given her again in the car for her safety. I could never use it on Conrad, she thought in that backseat, and she thought it again here.
But instead of something dangerous, he pulled out a file—which could've been equally as dangerous, she realized. "Isabelle gathered the intel," he said, "I asked her specifically to do this because I know you trust her." Conrad eyed Elizabeth for a moment when she didn't react, just breathed deeply, "You do trust her, right?" he asked, keeping the file closed as he waited for her response.
She looked at him and paused. Did she trust Isabelle? Sure, as a colleague, as a damn good analyst and spy, but did she trust her to not be involved in something so deep as a CIA breach? She trusted Juliet too, but maybe not as much as Isabelle. She'd known Isabelle longer—she worked with her ever since her first day as an intern here. She was just two years older than Elizabeth and had been with the CIA straight out of college, just as Elizabeth had been.
"I trust her as much as I trust anyone right now," she finally admitted, the words feeling like cotton balls swiping across her tongue as she spoke. She swallowed thick when she saw the way Conrad's face fell. He must have realized, then, that she was even weary of him.
He nodded and looked down, silent for a moment. She thought briefly that he might blow up at her, but he just fingered the edge of the folder and finally flipped it open, "She ran an internal audit," he started, grabbing a sheet and handing it over to Elizabeth, "This is the information on your comms and mine, too. It shows when they went down and the nature of the outage."
She looked it over and blinked a few times, her eyelids feeling heavy suddenly as she leaned on her crutches and tried to make sense of the jargon, "It was an intentional jamming," she murmured, half talking to herself, half talking to Conrad as she looked up toward him slowly.
He nodded, his lips pressed tightly together in a thin line.
She felt Henry shift a little, and she looked up at him to see him watching Conrad.
"It wasn't just random interference," Conrad added, "Someone inside the Agency fed Hariri's men the exact frequencies we were using that night."
She felt her heart throbbing in the front of her neck, and she had to turn away from the paper before another bout of tears came out. She closed her eyes tightly, forcing the tears to go away.
When she felt like she could see clearly again, she looked back down and squinted in the now-dark, and Conrad pulled his lantern up off the ground and held it over the paper for her. She took another page from the folder and glanced at satellite images—crates that had U.S. markings on them being loaded into the Kuwaiti warehouse. She wanted to know how they knew where to look on the satellite, but she had too many questions spinning around in her head right now to begin asking any of them.
The next lines she read made her lose her balance a little, and Henry reached out and caught her quickly. "Intercepted messages show that someone within the Agency relayed her mission details days before the op."
Her eyes flicked up to Conrad, then to Henry, but he still wasn't looking at the papers, only at Conrad. Something about the way he stared Conrad down made her feel more comfortable—he was her eyes, her ears, her guard when she couldn't be any of those things for herself at that moment. But she also wanted him to be seeing what she was seeing so someone could corroborate that this wasn't just a nightmare.
She looked back down at the paper. Whoever did this had access to her movements, to her location, to her extraction point.
"The mole knew where I was," she whispered aloud, the words bitter and burning her tongue.
Conrad nodded when she looked up, and he swallowed hard, "Exactly," he breathed, "It was a deliberate act, and it goes deeper than we thought."
"How could the director of the CIA not know about any of this?" Henry finally asked, and Elizabeth shot her eyes up at him. It was an indirect accusation, but an accusation nonetheless.
"Henry," she tried to say, breathing it out, but it was clearly no use. He looked like he had steam coming from his ears as he stood firm, his legs spread wide as his arms were crossed over his chest tightly. He hadn't budged this entire time.
They were all quiet for a moment longer, Conrad and Henry staring at each other like if one moved the other would swing. She could hear the tension, the screeching, terrible noise between the two of them as if there were actually sounds other than the crickets chirping in the background.
"There are hundreds of people at Langley that have top level security clearance to know this information," Conrad finally said, his voice calm but low as he stared at Henry, "And even outside the Agency—the DoD, for one."
"So you think the DoD had something to do with this?" Henry asked.
Elizabeth swallowed hard, her head spinning. "I need to sit," she said suddenly, feeling like she was going to throw up.
Henry grabbed for her immediately, helping her walk over toward the cabin's porch and sit down. Conrad sat next to her, but Henry stood up next to Elizabeth and watched Conrad carefully.
"I don't know," Conrad answered, looking up at Henry and swallowing hard, "But I am saying that Isabelle's intel found that the signal jam came from a DoD-controlled network."
"That sounds too easy," Elizabeth realized.
Conrad nodded, "Exactly," he breathed, sighing and shaking his head, "A damn good analyst…" he murmured, clearly thinking about Isabelle. Did he think Isabelle might have something to do with this? He probably doesn't know who to trust any more than I do.
She took a shaky breath, "But how would the DoD be getting CIA information?"
He shrugged, shaking his head in disappointment, "That's what we don't know yet," he said, the sadness and almost-defeat of his tone making her feel like her body is being weighed down. "But we're not keeping you in the dark on purpose, Elizabeth, know that," he declared, then looked up at Henry, "I promise you that I want her safe just as much as you do," he said.
Henry shook his head, "I don't think so, sir," he replied.
Elizabeth's stomach flipped and she felt dizzy, bringing her hand up to her head and looking down.
Another silence passed over them, and by that time, it was dark. The crickets and frogs had gotten loud, and the only reason she could see anything was because of Conrad's lantern still sitting between the two of them on the porch.
She rubbed her palm over her face, trying Henry's move of resetting, but it didn't work. She looked up at Henry first, then at Conrad, and swallowed hard, "And what about us?" she asked him.
"What about you?" Conrad asked.
She shook her head a little, "Are we safe?" she breathed.
He huffed, an attempt at a laugh, but it didn't make her feel any better. It made her feel way worse, in fact, because he was then shaking his head too. "No," he whispered, "There are people—high up people, I'm assuming right now—that know you saw things you shouldn't have."
She swallowed hard, "Why would they take me there knowing I'd see those crates?" she whispered.
"Because that was the plan all along," Henry breathed, looking at Conrad ferociously, "Who put her on this op to begin with?"
Conrad shook his head, "I did," he said, looking at Henry and then back at her, "I think they knew I'd put my best on this, and anyone inside the Agency knows that my best is Elizabeth Adams. They've known that for about a year now."
She looked down and thought about all the rumors she'd had to dispel—the ones that she was actually having an affair with Conrad, or that he was having an affair with her, rather. Not to mention that he was about six years her superior, but he also was madly in love and even infatuated with his now-wife, Lydia. There was a connection between she and Conrad, sure, but it wasn't romantic.
"I'm not buying that," Henry said.
"Henry," she finally barked, looking up at him now, "If he wanted us dead, he would've killed us by now," she reminded. She knew that he, too, was feeling extra nervous—how could he not be? He didn't know who to trust, and she didn't either, really. While she thinks he would've killed them by now, maybe this is a part of some bigger plan to get them closer. But what would the point be?
She sighed and rubbed her fingers against her temple, "When are we meeting up again? And where?"
"Are you sure you don't want security?" Conrad asked again, looking at Henry and then back at her.
She looked at Conrad for a quiet few seconds, then shook her head firmly. "I trust Henry," she breathed, feeling her heart pang against the inside of her ribcage—maybe trying to escape her chest altogether.
It hurt, that spot in her chest where her heart was, and she couldn't tell if it was because of her stiffness in general or if it was because she was feeling the effects of a broken heart after Henry told her he shouldn't have done what he did. That ultimately, it was a mistake. But she'd said it first. She hadn't let herself forget that she'd lied to him first.
"Okay," Conrad said, eyeing Henry once more. "Then we'll meet up in the city next time—it's going to be suspicious if I keep leaving." She nodded, agreeing with that, "And we'll just sit in the back of Rawlins' car." He gave some detail about when they'd meet again, and how to lie low until then.
She nodded at all of it, and she looked back at the car where Rawlins had been sitting this entire time. "And Rawlins?" she asked. Henry trusted him, but then again, who could they really trust?
"He's a good one," Conrad said, "I have no doubt."
"Me either," Henry murmured, the first time Henry hadn't sounded accusatory.
They looked at each other again, and this time Elizabeth felt a little less anger radiating through the both of them and more calmness and understanding. They both trusted Rawlins, and if they could agree on that, so could Elizabeth.
When they got back in the car, Conrad had walked to his car and they went back to Rawlins' cabin. The whole ride was silent except Rawlins had turned on a country radio station, and they'd been listening to Billy Ray Cyrus's "Achy Breaky Heart" and Brooks & Dunn's "Neon Moon" among others the entire time. She'd watched the lightning start to come up from the distance, too, and she'd noticed that the air had that feeling like there was going to be a storm soon when she was standing outside talking to Conrad.
She still wasn't able to let herself look over at Henry, and he made no effort to ask her to look at him.
When Elizabeth realized they were pulling into the little driveway of the cabin, Rawlins looked at them through the rearview—as he'd been doing occasionally—and spoke, "Well, I tell ya what," he said, the car coming to a stop as he let out a little chuckle and darted his eyes back to the mirror, "If that ain't the quietest damn car ride I've ever been on with two people who clearly want to rip each other's clothes off but are too damn stubborn to admit it, I don't know what is."
Elizabeth's entire body stiffened, squeezing every muscle she owned. Her face instantly felt hot, like she needed a cold splash of water even, and she could feel Henry tense up beside her too.
Rawlins smirked and unhooked his seatbelt, shaking his head, "It's like watching two deer in rut, pretending they're not sniffin' after each other," he murmured, opening the door. Henry exhaled loudly through his nose, almost like a huff, and Elizabeth reached for the door handle quickly to hopefully fall out of this vehicle.
"Ain't my business of course," Rawlins said, causing her to pause with her feet dangling out of the door. Henry seemed frozen in his seat while Rawlins was getting a gun out of the driver's side door, "Just seems like there's a whole lot of truth not being said between two people who can't afford to be keeping secrets right now. Not when there's people out there who'd rather see you dead than have you figure out the truth."
Elizabeth swallowed hard and stared at the cabin, her teeth pinching the skin inside of her lip. She hadn't realized Henry had gotten out of the car during some point in her long stare, and he was at her side, helping her out with the crutches. She grabbed onto them and felt herself sway, but he steadied her with his hand on her hip, and she closed her eyes and felt her breathing get even more unsteady.
A loud crack of thunder rumbled not far from them, and it gave them a reason to hurry and get inside. "There's a landline in there," Rawlins reminded, even though he'd told them that before. "Call the number that's taped under the receiver and I'll answer."
"Got it," Henry said.
Elizabeth couldn't open her mouth—she felt like she'd be sick if she did.
They got inside after telling Rawlins they'll call if they need anything, and him reminding them to lay low, and the rain was starting now as Elizabeth waddled in on her crutches from the bedroom. She'd changed back into her pajamas, feeling much more comfortable, but still feeling like the air was charged with too much electricity.
She felt like they were sealed inside this cabin now—they didn't need to be leaving, be outside and become a target. Every time the wind howled against the windows and added to the unsteady feeling in the air, she'd felt herself tense more.
She stopped cold when she saw him pulling his shirt over his head, and she backed up into the hallway a little more so he couldn't see her. A thunder rumble startled her when it rattled the walls, but she never took her eyes off him.
His back was to her and he'd already built the fire, so the glow was flickering on his back and casting shadows and lines over his broad shoulders. She bit down on her lip when she saw the muscles moving beneath his skin before he tugged a clean shirt down over his torso. She almost let out a sigh, but she stopped herself just before it escaped her throat.
Something about the way he moved—so unaware of her and, for once, unguarded—made her watch him longer than she probably should have. When he stepped into his sweatpants, she couldn't help but notice the muscle in his thighs and how he looked like he was probably a runner—runner's legs are chiseled like that. He's a Marine, Elizabeth, she reminded herself.
He reached for the waistband of his sweatpants and rolled them once, and she liked the way they looked on him even more now—a little tighter than they had been. But then she realized he'd probably be turning around soon, so she took that as her cue to step forward, clearing her throat softly to announce she was in the room.
Henry looked up at her, turning over his shoulder slightly and watching her. His eyes went wide for a brief moment, and she pretended she didn't notice as she made her way to the couch. It was like he realized how closed to naked he'd been just moments ago. "Storm rolled in fast," he mumbled.
She nodded, setting her crutches over to the side and pulling her cast up on the couch first, then her other foot. "I could hear the wind hitting the windows in the bedroom," she said, swallowing hard.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him rubbing his neck. She looked over at him and their eyes met, watching each other carefully for a few seconds too long. He ripped his gaze away from her before going over and tending to the fire that didn't really seem to need to be tended to.
She turned toward her cast and tended to it, too. It also didn't need tended to.
A blinding flash of light came through the little openings in the curtains, splitting through the sky and crashing down on this little house with an earsplitting crack of thunder. At the exact same moment, the lights went out, plunging the cabin into total darkness—with the exception of the small fire.
Her ears felt like they were ringing as she kept her eyes closed. Her gasp had choked her when it happened, and she felt like she couldn't catch her breath. Her body immediately had locked up as the lightning strike hit her, feeling like it had touched a part of her memory that she'd already locked away.
She tried to breathe in, but she smelled the musty stench of the warehouse, the way it smelled like sweat and dust and explosives. She grabbed for her wrists when she felt rough, calloused hands wrapping around them, and she was brushing at her skin as if she were pushing them off.
A place in her back stung, and she knew why now—she'd not known the cause before. But that lightning had tapped into her mind too sharply, and she remembered the way the whip came cracking down on her back when she'd refused to move to the closet on her own. She still doesn't know why they hadn't just dragged her—they did every other time. But that time, apparently, they'd wanted to herd her like cattle, and it only took one time of that leather hitting her back to make her move.
She sucked in a breath, but it didn't reach her lungs, and she heard voices in the distance. She opened her eyes just to be met with almost total darkness, and she let out a whimper and tensed her body up again.
The voices were so close, and she writhed in her place to try to get away, but her body was totally frozen.
"Elizabeth!" she finally heard, and her head looked over to see Henry kneeling down beside her. He was the one holding her wrist, not Hariri's men. His other hand was on her thigh, and she realized he'd been shaking her.
A choked sound escaped her mouth, something that couldn't really register as a whimper, and she brought her free hand up to her mouth to stifle it, realizing all that had just been her imagination—it was a memory, yes, but she hadn't been living through it. It all felt so real.
She felt the warmth of his hands—calloused, but gentle on her skin. Under the weight of his hands, she felt like she was being anchored to this couch, no longer being tossed and turned over wild waters.
"It's me," he whispered, and she nodded just barely. "It's okay, I'm here, you're safe."
She shut her eyes again and felt a shiver run through her body. Her hand reached for his on her thigh and she squeezed it, "I've never been afraid of the dark before," she realized aloud, squeezing her eyelids together tighter. Her voice didn't even sound like her own. She wondered, for a moment, if this was a nightmare—sometimes in her nightmares her voice sounds like someone else's. But she opened her eyes and saw him, and she knew this couldn't be a nightmare.
"I know," he whispered, gently exhaling and rubbing his thumb across her hand as he held onto it. "I know."
Her eyes shut once more and she felt a sob wrack through her body, and then she felt his torso on hers, and he was climbing on the couch with her. She looked at him only briefly before burying her face into his chest, letting out a strangled cry.
His hands wrapped around her back and she shuddered, wincing from the ghost of that wound that she hadn't even thought about in the past week. Henry felt her shift, of course, and she could feel him look down at her, but she didn't take her face away from his chest.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his hands moving slowly on her back, afraid to hurt her again.
She hesitated and thought how she could lie. She'd already lied to Henry once today. What's once more? But she knew she wouldn't be able to do it, he'd keep pushing until he figured it out. So she whispered, "They whipped me," into his chest and hoped that he couldn't hear.
His grip didn't tighten on her body—she knew he would never risk hurting her like that. But she did feel the way his body locked up at the weight of her words. Elizabeth swallowed and breathed out against his chest, feeling her warm breath hit her back in the face.
"When they moved me," she said, her voice hoarse, "I forgot…I forgot about it." She barely heard herself say it, but she felt his arms move around her and pull her body into his. She felt so sandwiched between him and the back of this couch, but she hadn't ever felt safer in her life.
A few moments of silence passed, and she thought for a moment that he was going to let it slide without pressing for more. But then he spoke, finally, his voice low, "Where?" She felt his hot breath against the top of her head and she closed her eyes.
The thunder rumbled again and she felt his leg tangle over hers, completely engulfing her in him. She reached slowly for his arm and took it in her hand, guiding it until his fingers brushed over the place in her back that had been burning. There was no actual pain there now, but she felt it sting. She wondered how bad it looked.
Henry's breath left him in a slow, overly-controlled exhale, and he stayed silent again for a long while.
"They did this to you," he whispered. She realized it wasn't a question, so she didn't answer. "They're going to pay for it."