Hello! I'm very sorry for the massive delay in getting this chapter out, I'm not entirely sure what happened there. I forgot how to write for a while and then somehow time passed and then... yeah. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter and thank you so much to everyone who has sent encouraging messages, I'm glad people are still interested in reading this random story. I'll try not to leave it so long this time. Let me know what you think! x

Chapter Ten

It took her brain a few seconds to kick into gear and catch up with what was happening, but when it did, Elizabeth had one overriding thought that crowded out all the rest: what the actual fuck.

The car was speeding down the street and her DS agents weren't giving her any explanation, and the only reason she wasn't loudly demanding one immediately was that Matt was focused intently on driving and Frank was giving what sounded like an urgent running commentary to someone on the phone, and she wasn't about to be responsible for distracting them at such a crucial time.

But, oh, how she planned to give them hell later.

Especially Matt, for his sins against driving. He spun the wheel to jerk the car around another corner and it sent her stomach flipping, bile rising in her throat as she fought the urge to vomit – again.

"Babe, what is this?" Henry said as he sat beside her, his hand clutching hers so tightly she could feel his rapid pulse beating against her own.

She thought that she probably knew what it was. It didn't take a genius to figure out what it might be that had prompted her agents to start careening through the streets of DC with what she thought of as reckless abandon but knew that they would maintain were evasive manoeuvres. Same difference. It could really only be one thing.

A glance at Henry's face told her that he no doubt knew what it was, too, but that he was reluctant to let his mind go there, that he was still clinging on to the last shred of ignorance in the hope that everything was really fine.

She was just about to reply to his question when a loud siren behind them cut her off. Flashing blue lights drew up alongside the car and then sped ahead, two police motorcycles overtaking them to clear their path ahead.

The flash of the lights felt like white heat against her eyes and she squeezed them shut, succeeding in blocking out the colour but not the rhythmic flashing or the noise of the sirens.

Her heart was beating fast inside her chest like it was racing to catch up with itself, like it was on the verge of stuttering to a fall and threatening to drag her mind down with it.

The familiar stirring of the start of a panic attack.

But she didn't have time to dwell on that, didn't have the time to spare to give in to the brewing panic, because she was damned if she was going to be dragged down by this, because of some bastard, and because Henry was with her, and he needed her and she needed him and she needed to stay present in the moment, needed to stay with him.

Needed to keep her wits about her so after the whole hellish nightmare was over she knew exactly what she was angry about and why.

She forced herself to open her eyes despite the pulsating blue lights ahead.

Her vision swam and her gut roiled and she thought for a moment she was going to vomit in yet another DS car, but then the sensation settled enough that the immediate danger passed and she was able to register the fact that there were police escorts either side of the car as well as in front.

The fact made her feel both more and less safe.

At least it balanced out. Kind of.

And at least it was almost over – that was what she told herself. This had to be the end game, it had to be. They had to be driving so fast because the target had been located and was, hopefully, being neutralised. It had to be the last thing before everything was finished and then she could go home and collapse into bed and make Henry hold her all night long so her mind was less inclined to take her down to the dark places where lived her memories of gunshots and screaming and the heat of a bullet as it flashed past her face.

Then she thought: someone is trying to kill me.

Maybe this was the last thing. Maybe it was almost over. Maybe she was right about that.

But for now, in this moment, the threat was real. Matt wouldn't be speeding through the city streets surrounded by a police escort if it wasn't real. Frank wouldn't be sat with his phone glued to his ear and an expression of studied worry on his face that he wasn't even bothering to try to hide.

Aiden Wallowski was trying to kill her now and they didn't know his exact plan or the extent of his skills or resources or really anything at all except for the note he had sent her to promise that next time the bullets won't miss and, oh God, this could really be the last thing.

Maybe it was almost over.

Suddenly the thought wasn't so comforting any more.

"Henry," she said, and clutching his hand wasn't enough so she leaned into him, pressed against him as much as she could, wrapping her free arm across his middle and pressing her face to his chest.

She could feel his sweat soaking through his shirt and the arrhythmic racing of his heart pulsing every bit as fast and off-beat as hers. One of his shirt buttons bit sharply into her lip and she pressed harder into it in something that fell halfway between a desperate kiss and a desperate attempt to cover as much of Henry's body with hers as possible, as though it would be enough to protect him from any incoming harm.

Henry's free arm wrapped around her and his fingers dug tightly into her shoulder like he was flailing for something to stop him from falling.

The desperation in his touch sobered her slightly. He needed her. Her husband needed her. She knew he was afraid for her and, while he might not admit it out loud, at least a bit of his fear right now had to be for himself, too. Impossible for it not to be, with the car speeding like it was.

And any bullet fired at Elizabeth might not hit her.

She huddled closer into Henry. "It's okay, baby," she said.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught some movement and she turned her face just enough to see Frank slump back against his seat for a second – in relief or despair? – before he turned to Matt. "Cool it," he instructed. "You can pull over now."

The car slowed back to a normal speed and then Matt flicked the indicator and pulled the car over to the side of the road, slowing to a gradual stop.

Their police escort came to idle alongside them and finally the sirens cut out, although the blue lights continued to flash and the officers on the motorcycles remained vigilant, scanning the area ahead.

For a moment the car was silent but for the sound of their breathing as the four of them collected themselves back together.

Frank got there first. "You okay, Madam Secretary?" he asked.

Still leaning against Henry's chest, Elizabeth nodded a little shakily. "Yeah."

"Dr McCord?"

"What was that?" Henry asked in lieu of an answer to the question.

Perhaps wisely, Frank didn't answer the question directly and he addressed his response mostly to Elizabeth. "It's good news, ma'am. We've just got word that we've got Aiden Wallowski."

The statement prompted her to lift her head from Henry's chest and sit up just enough that she could look at her agent properly. "He's in custody?" She could hear the hope in her voice.

Frank shook his head. "Not quite." The expression on his face was somewhere between a grimace and a smile. "He's dead."

"What?"

"He was tracked down to a couple of streets away from your house, took off at a dead run when he saw the agents coming for him. We were only one street over at the time."

Elizabeth supposed that explained the urgent midnight race through the streets of DC.

"They got him cornered," Frank went on. "He panicked. The idiot pulled his gun on the response team. He was shot by an FBI agent. He's dead, ma'am."

She heard the rush of blood in her head as she quietly took in what Frank had said, a feeling that wasn't quite relief washing over her as she digested the news and remembered the promise that Aiden Wallowski had made to her only a few hours ago.

Next time, the bullets won't miss.

She thought there was a certain irony in the outcome.