DAY 17 - Prologue

ELIZABETH fell into his arms and for the briefest of seconds she could feel herself relax. She knew it wouldn't last, but for that instant it was all that she wanted. The familiar beating of his heart soothed her badly shattered nerves, and she closed her eyes, exhaling, at peace for the first time since she had left. It felt inexpressibly good to actually relax - for however briefly. It seemed that lately, the times when she could truly let go and be herself, had been reduced to mere seconds snagged every now and then. For three days, nine hours and thirty-seven minutes she'd been cautious, calculated, and tight with stress; she had been holding her breath.

She couldn't speak, but just clung tightly to him. They stood in the dim, early morning light of the foyer. She breathed in the comforting familiarity of home, grateful beyond words to be home again - to be safely tucked in his arms again.

"Elizabeth?"

He was, of course, confused at first, but being Henry, she understood it wouldn't take long for him to figure it out - to realize her deception. For so long she'd craved the sound of his voice but even as he opened his mouth to speak, she felt her knees buckle.

"Babe?"

But by then she'd started to fall and he'd lifted her up, carrying her in seemingly infinitely strong arms to the couch. He set her down and kneeling beside her, leaned in close. "You said," His voice was strange and husky. "You said it happened after you'd left." She recognized the anger in his accusation, letting it settle over her; after all it was just. She had known this moment was coming and yet it still pained her. She wished with all her heart that her return was simple and uncomplicated with world crisis, and deceit.

She pulled herself upright, feeling the familiar tightening in her chest as she pushed aside every raw emotion; burying it deep - again. She ran a hand over her face and turning to him said, "I lied."

He sat back on his heels, his face grey with shock. Something unrecognizable washed over his features and she felt an actual sting of physical pain as she awaited his reaction.

"You lied?" His voice was flat.

"Henry," She held a hand out to him. "What was I supposed to do? It was over by the time we talked and there was an ocean between us! I'm supposed to let you stress for the next two days?"

"Three." He corrected. He moved, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. His shoulders were slumped and he sat further back - away from her.

"Were you hurt?" His voice was strained, and she found herself precariously close to sobbing. She had hurt him. She had known her lie would.

"Not really. I just . . . I have a bruise and . . ." She swallowed hard. "Henry, I never meant to . . . It was so . . . I just wanted to come home, first. That's all."

He rose and looked down at her. "Now I know why it was so hard to get a hold of you." He shook his head, taking a step away from her. He gave a shrug, "At least I know lying to me is difficult enough for you to try and evade my calls."

"Henry, please!" She turned and stood slowly. They stood just two steps apart from each other. "I just wanted to be home! I'm so sorry!"

He gave the slightest nod and turned from her. "The kids will be up soon. It's almost 6:30. I suppose you're heading into the office today." He paused at the doorway of the kitchen. "I'll fix 'em breakfast. You must be exhausted."

She stood staring at his back, blinking back tears, incapable of any response.

He glanced back at her and her eyes grew wide, shocked by his expression - which was somehow equal measures of fury and grief.

"And I am . . ." He paused his voice suddenly husky, again. "Elizabeth, I'm so grateful you are home and safe. I was worried - no matter what lies you told me. But I don't know how to process this - at least not yet."

He met her eyes then and she couldn't stop herself from crying. She nodded her head. "Okay."

"Go on." He said. "If the kids hear your voice, they'll be down in a second and I'm thinking you need a minute."

She nodded once more and somehow found the strength to climb the stairs. Truth be told her knee was throbbing. It was still swollen and the meds they'd given her had definitely worn off. But somehow the pain in her knee made her feel better; her punishment for saying three words to her husband.

"I've been calling and calling!"

"I'm sorry! We were . . ."

"They said there was an attack. It's all over the news! Are you okay? Babe? Were you still there?"

"No, we left."

It wasn't what she had wanted to say to him. The very sound of his voice had sent her heart racing, her desperation to hear him, see him, touch him so powerful she had to hold the phone away for a minute and just focus on breathing. She wanted nothing more than to tell him everything and to listen to the sound of his voice as she wept but she was surrounded by agents, her staff, a small group of soldiers who'd been assigned to them, and immediately following this phone call to Henry, she'd be negotiating with the general who still held three American teenagers hostage.

So she lied. She lied to Henry, and he was angry and she couldn't take it back. She stepped into the warmth of the shower grateful that the sound of the water drowned out her heaving sobs.