Dalton threw his weight forward as the ax came crashing down into the wood log, again and again, splitting it, and scattering it in the rain soaked meadow. It had been raining for two days straight. All day, and all night, he listened to it pound against the roof and pour down over the windows. He'd had another dream, last night. This time it was a gunshot. But it was always the same. Jaz was dead, and he felt helpless.

He'd gotten up and tried to exhaust his body with pushups and pull ups and sit ups and planks until he thought he was tired enough to fall back to sleep, but it never came. The sun came up somewhere behind the gray clouds and even in the rain, he was grateful to get to work. The woodpile was almost up to his waist now, after his morning work, as he threw the broken logs on top, then grabbed another stump from the edge of the forest and picked up the ax again. He was sure he'd be feeling it come tomorrow, but for now it felt good. He was soaked through, his pants and shirt. His hair stuck to his face as he swung the ax again. He couldn't tell the rain from the sweat, but it was like letting go of something, something he'd been carrying for too long. Until the sound of the rain and the wind was interrupted by the sharp shrill of the cell phone he'd left on the covered porch.

Dalton pushed his hair back from his face, draining water down the back of his head, and tried to find some dry surface to wipe his hands. There wasn't one. "Yeah," he said, holding the phone to his ear. He expected to hear Hannah Rivera, but he never seemed to get what he expected.

"Dalton?"

"Noah?" Dalton asked.

"Hannah said you wanted to be in the loop."

"I do. What's going on down there?"

"They have Patricia scheduled for a closed door hearing with the Senate Intelligence Committee next Thursday."

Dalton let out a long sigh. "What about you and Hanna?"

"We gave depositions," Noah told him. "They don't want us, Dalton. They want her."

"But why?" Dalton asked him.

"I don't know. They asked me a lot about her son. Maybe they think she's too close to it… to personal. I don't suppose anyone subpoenaed you…"

"They aren't the least bit interested in what I think about it," Dalton told him. "Hey, have you talked to her at all?"

"Some."

"And what did she say?"

"She said to keep out of it; to do as we're told."

"So what are you going to do, Noah? Are you planning on stay out of it and doing as you're told?"

It seemed like a long pause before Noah answered, "Not a chance in hell."

Dalton smiled. "Good man," he told him. "I'm on my way."

"All right, Sergeant," Dwight said lacing up Jaz's shoe around her brace and pulling her up from her seat at the end of the exam table. "How does that feel?"

It had been almost exactly six weeks since Iran. First chains, then a cast and crutches, then a boot. Finally, she felt like she could really move. "Like freedom," she told him.

Dwight smiled and gave her a nod of approval. "Yeah? Let's see it. Fast feet," he called and Jaz started a quick dash with both feet. "Good. Jacks," he said stepping back to watch her. She did a couple dozen. The pressure in her ankle was there with each jump, but she could bare it. "You can feel that?" he asked. Jaz nodded slightly. "That's okay. That's how you build up strength again." Dwight shrugged. "I have to tell you, as much as I love your company, I think you're there, Jaz. There's nothin' more I can do for you."

"You're kickin' me out, huh?" she asked him.

"Setting you free," he told her. He put his arm around her shoulder as he walked her towards the exit. "Two weeks with the brace, at least," he reminded her.

"Copy that," Jaz said happily. The sooner she got through with this, the sooner she could get back to her team. That's what she really wanted.

"You take care of yourself out there, Jazzy Jaz."

"You too, Dwight," she said with a fist bump. That was it. Physical therapy, done.

She strode out of the office and onto the courtyard of Manhattan's VA hospital, when she saw her. She was dressed better than anybody around her, standing near a coffee cart, a paper cup in her hand. She was watching Jaz, like she had been waiting for her.

Jaz cautiously walked towards her and when she was close enough, Director Campbell smiled. "Hello Jaz," she said warmly.

"Director Campbell," Jaz said awkwardly. People like her talked to Top, maybe Preach, but not to her.

"Patricia, please," she said, motioning to a nearby table, for Jaz to sit down. "Can I get you a coffee?"

"No, Ma'am," she told her. "No thank you. " Jaz looked around them. "Were you watching me?" she asked uncomfortably.

But Patricia only smiled. "Finding out when you had a doctor's appointment is not exactly what we would consider high level intelligence, but… I was waiting for you," she admitted.

"Is everyone okay?" Jaz asked, feeling a sense of panic race through her system. "Is my team okay?"

"They're fine, Jaz," Patricia said calmly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

Jaz nodded with relief. So, what was she doing there? "Is there something I can do for you, Ma'am?"

"I suppose you already have," Patricia told her. "You look like you're healing nicely." Jaz nodded. "I guess I just needed to see it for myself."

"I'm not following."

Patricia sighed. "Jaz, did they tell you how we got you out of Tehran?" she asked, lowering her voice.

Jaz nodded. "You told them who I was, so they'd move me, so the guys could get to me."

"That's right," Patricia said. "And I'd do it again. But, as it turns out, outing an American asset is a Federal crime."

Jaz's eyes grew wide and she stopped fidgeting, but Patricia only smiled. "What do you mean? I mean, what does that mean?"

"Well, I was suspended from my job, as soon as the mission was complete, and I've been enjoying some much needed time off."

"How much time?"

"Well, that's apparently going to be up to the Senate Intelligence Committee next week," she told her.

"Oh, shit," Jaz only whispered. This was huge. "I… I mean," she started to correct her language, but Patricia was smiling and nodding.

"That just about sums it up, yes."

"What can they do?"

"To me? They can recommend censuring me, firing me, or I suppose they could prosecute me for treason."

"You could go to jail?" Jaz asked.

"I suppose, or worse. Treason is technically a capital crime, but I doubt it will go anything like that."

"What can I do, Ma'am?"

But Patricia shook her head. "That's not why I came here, Jaz. Everything's going to be fine. I'll tell you the same thing I told Dalton. Keep your head down and stay out of this mess. It'll all be over soon enough. You'll be back in the field. Everything will be business as usual. I just wanted to see you, with my own eyes. And now I have. I have no regrets." Patricia sighed and looked at her watch. "I have a train to catch. I should be going." She stood up and offered Jaz her hand. "It was nice seeing you again, Jaz. You take care." She shook her hand firmly, then turned and made her way to the street, hailing a taxi.

Jaz sat at the table alone for a while longer. Director Campbell had saved her life. She couldn't just do nothing.