Stay

by OwlExpress

Summary:

Once, they built something between wars. Now, they’re trying to remember why it was worth staying for.

Chapter 1

 

 

“What’s the status on Hal?” she asked, her voice sharp as the car door closed behind her.

 

“No word yet on Mr. Wyler since you boarded in Paris, Ma’am,” Martin replied, putting the car into drive. Catching the Ambassador’s eyebrow twitch in the rearview mirror, his eyes darted nervously to his partner then back on the road again, ending with a quiet “sorry.”

 

Kate remained silent. Normally, she would have reassured him. It was not Security’s job to know someone’s hospital report. Their job was to keep the Ambassador and her family safe. And they failed.

 

She forced herself to settle into the seat and look out the window instead. All the French Police could give was that her husband and staff were caught in a car explosion. They could not even tell if they were alive. With ragged breath, she began counting the orange streetlights that did not lend any warmth to midnight London. Each one reminded her of the seconds passing without any news. No update within the first hour never boded well.

 

It had been three hours.

 

It’s Hal, she reasoned. Hezbollah can hold him for a week and still get away. He was probably sat on his bed now, waving off the hospital staff from calling the wife because it’s no big deal.

 

She fished the phone in her coat pocket. The light illuminated her face blue as she stabbed on the icons until it displayed the contact list. Her thumb hovered over her husband’s name pinned at the top most.

 

13:17 last call.

 

They were just talking this afternoon. He was so proud of his speech and then, of course, he had to do more than the speech. She told him not to go to that dinner. If only he had listened. Even just once .

 

Kate gulped and pressed the call button. Imagining a conversation where he’s remorseful as she berated him. And when she’s done, his lips would twitch–telltale sign of another fuckwitted plan. But she would tell him to zip it. This time, they really are done.

 

So he better be up and okay.

 

The rings echoed in the car. The desolate streets amplified the silence. It was deafening.

 

“Shit,” she muttered, biting her thumb as they went over a speed bump. A bad habit she thought she had weened out of. Leave it to Hal Wyler to render her undone. She couldn’t even recall how she got out of that red dress and into a plane. He had a way of turning her mind into a missile homed solely on him.

 

“How much further?” her voice was tight, betraying her impatience.

 

“Just around the corner, Ma’am.” 

The press lining up behind the police barricade up the road confirmed that. Martin parked as close to the hospital doors as possible and Byron came over to her side effectively shielding her from the blinding flashes of camera. Despite tuning out the cacophony of reporters’ doing their soundbites, one still reached her ears clearly.

 

“US Ambassador Kate Wyler has just arrived at the Royal Brompton Hospital where members of the ambassador’s office and a local MP were taken after the explosion in Belgravia earlier this evening. Two fatalities have been confirmed.”

 

The ground beneath her must have disappeared as she felt her stomach drop. She saw her chest rise up and down, and yet she could not breath. Everything seemed to be growing farther until Byron and Martin flanked her on either side, urging her forward.

 

“Just keep walking, Ambassador.”

 

She heard that before.

 

From another lifetime, in a different world. In the middle of snow, pink cheeks, cloudy breaths, and black coats.

 

---

 

15 Years Ago

 

“Just keep walking."

 

A light, almost hoarse voice whispered. She whipped her eyes from her Blackberry to the voice's owner, who turned out to be the President’s Special Envoy.

 

He was big, she thought, as she had to look up to find his face. Then he stepped closer, almost pushing her to the side. “Sir?”

 

"I don’t want to ruin their fun,” he said with a grin, before placing a hand on her elbow and guiding her along. “But you really should look where you’re going.”

 

Her brow furrowed as she watched his head bob higher, skipping over something. She slowed, scanning the ground. To her surprise, there was a massive twig with very angry-looking branches between them, only catching the tip of her toes.

 

A faint giggle reached her ears, and she paused, turning her head slightly. The giggle grew louder, followed by shush. Finally turning fully, her eyes widened as she took in the scene behind her. A trail of absurd chaos. Twigs, poorly drawn hopscotch, and, comically, a banana peel followed her. Busy as she was typing in an email, she did not notice any of it.

 

"Somebody could have tripped!" Kate chastised. Realising they were caught, the cackling gaggle of kids scrammed out of the bush they were hiding in. One of them, red-cheeked and puffing clouds through his scarf, paused long enough to stick his tongue out at them.

 

She shook her head and turned to the Special Envoy, as if to say ‘look at these kids’ to a fellow adult, only to catch him blowing raspberries back at the boy.

 

Kate felt something shift and his title seemed to drift away and was replaced with his name.

 

"You just let them set booby traps on unknowing pedestrians?"

 

"Well, I did think it was getting out of hand when they began dragging a tree."

 

They had only exchanged brief greetings in the elevator since his arrival a month ago. She’s in the economic affairs section, he’s in actual diplomacy. Where she’s going, she doubted he had any business in.

 

"Did you need something from me?" asked Kate. Gripping on his arm still holding her, she jumped over the ‘tree’ like he did instead of walking around.

 

"A thank-you-for-saving-me-from-children-of-Bosnia’ would be nice.” He looked affronted, but there was a curl in his lips that told her he wasn’t really.

 

The man began to push the debris the children left to the side of the path. Kate found herself amused despite the odd situation, "they even brought a banana peel."

 

"They're a committed bunch," he chuckled. With tan skin, green eyes, and a Washington accent, he looked as out of place as can be in the middle of winter suburban Sarajevo.

 

---

 

The memory played in Kate’s head as she was led along. It was so quiet, their foot steps echoed to both ends of the hospital corridor. Hal doesn’t belong here either.

 

The nurse guiding them paused in front of a room, and held the door partially open. “Only family can enter,” he said.

 

Kate stepped beyond the threshold, still feeling out of her body. But hearing the the quietness was broken by a steady beeping inside brought surety to her steps again.

 

She walked until she reached the side of his bed.

 

“Hal?”

 

His head was wrapped in bandage, tubes running from his chest, his head, his mouth, and his hand, going down to different bags and machines. His breathing, in time with the ventilator.

 

Gingerly, her fingertips traced his knuckles. His skin was cold. She dared to slip her hands through his, massaging her thumb on the muscle next to his index, a poor attempt to pass her warmth. She can’t help but compare their color. Her jaw tightened as she picture the blood loss that left him like this.

 

Hal Wyler had no business lying unconscious in a London hospital, looking so grey and lifeless.

He was supposed to be charming everyone. Instead, he lay here alone, in a cold room, accompanied by the smell of antiseptic and rhythmic beeping of machines.

 

He does not belong here, she thought again.

 

Kate gave his hand a light squeeze. This picture of him, she will make sure they will rue.

 

Notes:

Hope you liked. Still working on chapter 2. Kate's mind is abstract to me, so this is my attempt to understand her. Story heavily inspired by the song If The World Was Ending playing on loop.

Chapter 2

 

The hall was still empty save for Byron and Martin standing guard outside when the doctor finished chronicling what happened since the ambulance arrived at the hospital and what to expect in the coming days.

Kate followed the doctor out but stayed by the threshold, one hand holding onto the inside handle, keeping the door ajar. “Have someone pick up the Station Chief.”

“The Station Chief is here, Ma’am.” Byron informed her, gesturing his hand to a room four doors down.

Oh. That was where Stuart was. “Since when?”

“She spoke with Mr Hayford earlier and left. She returned while you were inside with the doctor.”

Kate sighed, although it came out more as a grumble. Any information he had, he would have given already. Instead of disturbing the man's recuperation, she should have come back to her directly.

She casted one more look at Hal. Perhaps only now did she truly understand what he felt after Suljic bombed Sarajevo. The feeling of utter helplessness through it all; fear, anger, and supplication amalgaming into each other and imploding at once.

The fragility of human life, so stark when it’s someone important to you who’s at stake. She thought she knew this already.

Reluctantly closing the door behind her, she turned to Martin. The younger security nodded, understanding the unspoken request and stayed on his post. With Byron following her to the other room, she could see the inside part by part through the door’s glass panel as she neared.

Eidra was standing with folders clutched under one arm, by the foot of the bed, overlooking a sleeping Stuart.

Oh.

Kate stopped in front of the door, she let a beat pass before knocking and opening. By then, the Station Chief had already moved away from the bed.

“Ambassador,” Eidra greeted. “I wanted the DCM to review some details he shared earlier but,” she finished with a tilt of her head to the asleep figure.

“He’ll be fine.” Kate said, knowing those too are the words she yearn to hear. “The doctor said he only had some bruises. Should be discharged tomorrow after lunch.” She shared the information to be a comfort but as usual she could not read anything from the CIA woman.

“That’s good,” was all Eidra’s reaction. “How is Mr Wyler?”

“They’re keeping him in an induced coma until the brain swell subsides.” Not wanting to dwell on on the uncertain, she did what she pushed Hal to do all those years ago: focus on the next step. “What do we know about the explosion?” she asked, her hand out.

“Definitely not an accident,” Eidra passed the folder. “We’re still waiting from HDU but it’s looking to be a victim triggered IED.”

Kate sat on the sleeper couch identical to the one in Hal’s as she scanned through the initial report. Impressed with the swift work of the Station Chief. “The radius was 3 meters. They really wanted to get rid of Merritt and everyone he was with.”

“Likely planted while the car was parked outside. But why now?”

“They wanted to stop him from telling Hal something.”

“But why now?” Eidra repeated, stepping closer. “The MP is a page 3 news article. If they were willing to kill over this something, Grove would have been taken care of. Long ago and discreetly.”

“Grove was not in their radar,” Kate looked up, realization on her face. “They were monitoring us.”

Eidra nodded, “I have ordered a trace on anyone who might’ve leaked–”

“It’s me.”

"What?"

“I called Margaret Roylin,” she blurted. She had to get it out quick, faster than her insides wanted to come out of her mouth. Self-preservation fighting her from taking accountability.

“The journalist? What did you tell her?”

“I wanted a local’s perspective.” It was not lost on Kate she sounded like a child explaining herself. “I asked her who Merritt Grove was because suddenly this unknown man wants to speak directly to the president. Won’t talk to anyone unless it’s me or Hal.”

She wanted to stand up and walk and get out of her body. But fuck. She fucked up. She forced herself to stay where she was; determined to ride the worst until she can fix it.

“So you called a journalist?”

“I’m telling you because I know where she’d bring this information to.”

Kate told Eidra to take a seat, unblinking until the other woman followed her on the couch. She began with Roylin and Trowbridge’s connection back in Dennison’s country estate. Up to the discovery she had just hours ago: that Lenkov’s arrest is an assassination. That the UK commissioned Lenkov to bomb the ship and now wanted to quiet him. Only two can issue the kill order. One, Kate trusts. The other, Meg Roylin’s conspirator.

“Wow.” Eidre leaned back, her shoulders sagging against the cushion. “You think it’s the Prime Minister?”

“We don’t have proof.”

“You and who?”

“Dennison.”

The station chief hummed, her expression indecipherable as she continued to stare up the ceiling. “Why is it not the Foreign Secretary?”

“Because he looked just as scared shitless as me.”

“Did Warren keep the Foreign Secretary’s phone?”

“We are not hacking his phone.”

“Now it’s an us ‘we’,” Eidra looked at her from the side of her eye.

Kate was aghast, riled at the insinuation, “We have to work together so we don’t go to fucking war.” she seethed. “That’s why there are balls and dinners, so you get to know which of your neighbors is not a nutcase.”

“The Ambassador is right. In this field, the people you can trust are few and far in between,” joined Stuart, now awake. Eidra only gave him a sparing glance, then back at Kate.

“I don’t doubt that Ambassador.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, “But working together does not mean you have to trust them implicitly.”

“You think I do that, trust implicitly?” Is it not because she didn’t trust Hal that they were in this mess.

“I think you give away information too freely,” Eidra paused, turning to Stuart, “and Mr Hayford hold too much back.”

Kate did not have time to observe the stare off between Eidra and Stuart as she mulled over the Station Chief’s words. There was a second, she was almost certain Dennison was playing her. But why would he, they were both just unfucking the clusterfucks of the government.

Eidra continued, “The bombing of HMS Courageous ordered by a Brit? That changes everything. They throw each other under the bus faster than a cabbage rots.”

“They’re not that bad,” Stuart sighed.

“I’m just saying.” Eidra shrugged.

“Put a trace on Roylin,” Kate said, handing back the folder “But cast a wide net so they don’t suspect we’re targeting anyone.”

The Station Chief seemed satisfied with this and got up. Said tracking the past twenty-four hours’ activity should be done by tomorrow, which technically was today but, will make it look like three days because they just don’t know where to start.

“She’s intense, huh?” Stuart joked once they were alone in the room.

“She had a point, points actually. I’m sorry we woke you,” Kate said. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, just a bit sore–Jesus!” he exclaimed as he raised his aching arm and found purple covering his skin.

“I should let you rest.” Kate smiled and began to leave. She took a step then paused, turning back to Stuart, deliberating whether she should bring it up now but there just will never be a good time. He looked at her waiting. “Listen, about Ronnie…”

“I want to be the one to tell Ronnie’s family.”

“Of course.” A silence passes between them. Kate was the first to break it, “Ronnie was good.”

“Ronnie was great,” Stuart corrected, his eyes looking far away. “Did she suffer?”’

“The doctor said it would have been instant. She didn’t feel anything.” The only silver lining in all of this.

“Good, that’s good.”

Notes:

This chapter was harder to finish than I thought. I wanted to explore Kate's anxiety and insecurity issues, I don't think she's very self-aware and that makes her go into defensive when called out. But because she's at fault here, her sense of responsibility moves her to actually listen.

Next chapter, eta 2 weeks. We'll see more characters, promise.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

15 years ago

 

They did not cross paths for some days since that walk with the kids and banana peels. They ended up heading different directions after all, she went to interview families in the outskirts of Sarajevo. He, on the other hand, said he was going to have a drink at the pub.

 

His casual demeanor and tendency to prioritize leisure over work would make someone think he was more interested in enjoying the ride than steering the ship but, she had seen him chased by a colleague, whispered a question, and he had a ready answer.

 

He can be laidback, because he was just that good.

 

That was why Kate was not that all surprised to find the Special Envoy’s office to actually be buzzing with activity, an orchestra of murmured conversations and the clattering of keyboards, when she was moved to his team a week later.

 

Those who are not naturally great needed to work twice as much to keep up.

 

She didn’t hold it against people like Hal Wyler; in fact, she reveled in her role. All the fun and none of the fuss, she thought as she stretched out her arms, noting that that sun had set on her again.

 

“Katherine, wasn’t it?”

 

She jumped a little in her seat, “Mr. Wyler. I thought I was the only one here.”

 

“I thought the same… but then I saw your computer light and I can’t let you have all the fun, could I?” the Special Envoy sauntered to her, peering over what she’s working on. 

 

Her desk was covered in notes that truthfully looked more like a a bored schoolgirl’s notebook with all the drawings and arrows on it. She was bored at one point, so there was also a dog in the mix. He raised an eyebrow.

 

“Don’t ask,” she blurted defensively, “I am typing it to be humanly comprehensible. I assume you want the results of the interview I did so you had me reassigned.”

 

He picked one up and held it in front of him, purposely staying too long on the stickman legend she used for Suljic. She pulled it from his fingers, and was caught off guard when his amused smile behind the paper landed on her.

 

She cleared her throat and went back to typing, “I’ll just be a few minutes, Sir.”

 

“You know you’re not an intern, right? You can ask others to help you.”

 

She protested when he pulled a chair next to her, assuring he didn’t have to wait for her. But he settled like a cat that would not budge, and if not for seeming incapable, she found she didn’t mind him staying.

 

---

 

“Don’t ask,” she said as she passed Hal, rolling the little caster table she used as laptop table from the toilet back into the room. She waited for a teasing comment but none came. He was as still as he was three days ago.

 

After the first day, when her laptop was brought in and a weekender bag was delivered, people realized Kate Wyler was not leaving.

 

News channels speculated that a substitute ambassador would be sent out as Mr Wyler’s condition worsened. If the White House thought the same, it was not for long.

 

Muscle memory kicked in for Kate. She rolled out a two week action plan, with contingencies for nearly all god-awful scenarios. She made and took all within Hal’s room, sometimes retreating to the ensuite washroom for a plain white wall during video calls.

 

Such was the meeting she had just now with the White House. Billie and Rayburn thought she was in the conference room the hospital reserved for her, and she let them. This will not be the crack they use to get rid of her.

 

“Are you cold? It’s freezing in here,” she said to Hal. Kate swallowed a lump as she turned away to grab the tartan blanket she was using for the past couple of nights. Overnights were not allowed but, this was one of the rare times she pulled connections to get an exemption. She laid the vivid colored wool over the white one he had and went back to work.

 

She finally managed to convince President Rayburn that the HMS courage and Central London explosions were connected. As the second one costed an American life, capturing Lenkov themselves now took precedence over giving the UK a Bin Laden figure to play hero with.

 

The faux leather squeaked against her jeans as she settled on the sleeper couch. It’s been quiet since the ventilators were removed. It was good but, hearing the machine's loud inhale and exhale gave her an odd comfort.

 

Kate sighed, it would have been an easier feat if she could share her suspicion on the Prime Minister. But until she had a definitive proof, it stays within her team.

 

She turned on the laptop and opened the phone logs again. Her nails tapped on the MDF tabletop, memorizing the phone number. Margaret Roylin did call an unregistered British number, the only hitch was that the cell towers could not locate the callee, meaning the contact was somewhere abroad.

 

If only she could get Dennison to—she stopped the thought. Eidra and Stuart were still wary of her turning to others. In the CIA Chief’s words, other than the three of them, everyone else was on a “need-to-know basis.”

 

Did this not fall under need-to-know? Dennison had the resources and possibly the only ally they have from the other side . Her tapping now evolved to sounding like clopping horses.

 

“Have you been playing me?”

 

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

 

She believed him. There was no reason not to. She saw the same panic she had in his eyes. Just two people trying to unfuck clusterfucks.

 

She leaned on one elbow on the table, thumb and index finger massaging her temples. Keeping people at arm’s length was not her style. That was Hal’s. She had to make herself essential so that she can ask favors.

 

Eidra and Stuart working with her after what had happened because she was still the Ambassador was a prime example. If they had a choice, she reckoned they’d rather a new one.

 

When she finally accepted the massage was doing nothing, she looked up. She saw Hal behind the edge of the screen. She focused on the minute rise and fall of his chest, not realizing she was matching his breathing, and her nail-tapping stopped.

 

Then there was a knock. Byron popped his head inside. “Mr. Quainton is here, Ma’am.”

 

Kate nodded her assent and closed her laptop. “Lewis!”

 

“Kate!” He pulled her into a hug. The man’s hair was more white than brown now, larger too, but he was still as affable as she remembered. “How are you holding up?”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Kate smiled, the first in many days. They sat down, and he eyed the laptop. “You know, you and Hal really are very much alike,” he said. Kate winced; the last person she heard that from caused this. “It’s not a bad thing. People were terrified of you two,” he added, as if that made it better. Kate shook her head.

 

“People say that, but we’re really not. If Hal was in my position he wouldn’t be struggling half as much.”

 

Lewis hummed, “Maybe it’s the wrong word. More like two sides of the same coin?” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Back when… when you were in the hospital. I used to have to drag him out of your room. I had to keep it down because the times he could visit you, you were usually asleep. He would just sit there, typing his speech. He said the quiet makes him focus. I didn’t think it was the quiet.” He gave her a look and a smirk.

 

“He never told me that.”

 

“‘Course he wouldn’t. If you saw what he was like– I was scared. He wasn’t there to talk; he was telling Suljic what’s going to happen.”

 

“I gave him such a hard time when I heard he didn’t shake his hand,” Kate groaned. She could remember asking Hal why; it was Diplomacy 101, and he just shrugged.

 

“I can tell. You don’t give yourself enough credit. Everyone knows the handshake story, but they don’t know he extended his hand first. It had Kate written all over it.” There was a somber pause between them, until Lewis broke it with a laugh, “Who knew, Hal Wyler listens to his wife.”

 

Kate was still pondering what Lewis said, there was a time Hal did, he really did , when Byron knocked on the door again.

 

“The Foreign Secretary and his sister, Ma’am.”

 

Dennison apologized for coming unannounced but felt compelled it was time someone from the UK government express their sympathies. He was surprised to find Lewis Quainton with her, said they ran in similar circles back when he was in the Institute. Celia quickly lost interested in this talk and gravitated to Hal’s bedside.

 

“It’s a shame what lengths some people would go to,” the English woman said in a drawling accent. Celia caressed the edge of the blanket that would have touched skin with the tip of her finger. 

 

Dennison was beside Kate, asking in a low voice what the President said about Trowbridge, but what she blurted instead was, “Please don’t touch him.” It came out more curt than intended and Lewis looked at her funny. Kate cleared her throat, “I don’t want to him to get moved.”

 

Celia held her hands in the air. “Of course,” she said. Lewis came over and engaged her in small talk of their own.

 

Kate turned to Dennison, biting her lip. “Sorry, you were saying?”

 

The Foreign Secretary stared at her for a second before answering, “When’s the last time you went out?”

 

Kate shook her head. “I can’t. Hal will be waking up soon.”

 

Dennison glanced at where Lewis and Celia stood. “We don’t know that—” Seeing Kate bristle, he retracted quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. But these things could take days… you can’t set aside taking care of yourself until he wakes up.”

 

Kate wanted to argue she was not neglecting herself. Martin brought her food, the washroom had a shower, and the couch fit her perfectly. She may not be fine but, she surely was not neglecting anything.

 

But Dennison leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I have a lead I can’t share here.” He then stepped back towards the door, “Come on, let’s get some fresh air in the courtyard. Celia is more than happy to look after Mr. Wyler.” 

 

That swayed Kate. Not that Celia would look after Hal, but she asked Lewis if he could stay for half an hour. “Alright,” she finally agreed.

 

She was putting on her coat—it was getting rather chilly in London now—when they heard a groan.

 

Kate’s head snapped up. She dropped the coat and rushed to Hal. His eyes were still closed, but it was unmistakably him. She slipped her hand in his, squeezing it. She leaned closer, her face hovering above him, observing every tiny detail in his face.

 

“Hal?”

 

Her legs almost gave out when he groaned again. The nurses were in just seconds after she pressed the call button. It did not even register to Kate that the other visitors were already ushered out.

 

Dennison picked up Kate’s coat and draped it over the couch, completely forgotten. His sister sidled beside him, linking their arms together as they walked out. “See what happens when you come between a man and his woman.”

Chapter 4

Notes:

A/N: Who’s still reeling from season 2? I know I am. I almost decided to stop with this story, everything just pales next to Debora Cahn’s genius. But that ending was too much again and I need something to tide me over until season 3. So, onwards we go.

Chapter 4

 

It was not dark—just a void in which he existed. He was untethered, drifting along vague sensations brushing the fringes of his awareness. His favorite was a woman’s voice, clear above the rest. He wanted to reach out and grab it, but he could not recall his own body, sensing its presence only through her warmth.

 

He accepted this fate. It wasn’t so bad, just him and her. But then he felt her slipping out of his reach. Other muffled voices took her away. Suddenly, he was underwater and he needed to surface.

 

No.

 

Wait.

 

Don’t go.

 

The darkness, thick and suffocating, began to thin. Senses returned in fragments. At first, a slicing pain through his head was all he recognized. He squinted in pain but willed his eyes open.

 

The light wasn’t as bright as he feared. They were dimmed with curtains drawn shut, just enough for him to make out the shapes around him. His eyes wandered from the machines with tubes snaking to his chest, down his arms, to where his hand rested atop a brunette bundle of hair.

 

Relief surged through him as he managed to run his fingers through the strands. She was asleep, seated on a stool pulled next to the bed, her head resting on crossed arms as pillows beside him.

 

There were tear tracks in the corner of her eyes. It must have been hard for her, so he let her rest a bit longer. He ignored his pain, content to watch her, marveling at the delicate lines of her face, the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders.

 

When her eyes fluttered open, she gazed at him through unfocused lenses as sleep still beckoned her back. They were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. 

 

“Katie.”

 

His voice, raspier than usual and rough from disuse, barely disturbed the quiet of the room. But it was enough.

 

Her face crumpled, her lips quivering, and her brows drew together, forming that tiny crease at the center. She turned her head so his hand fell on her cheek, and she held it there. She squeezed it, and he squeezed back.

 

Once the first tear came, the dam broke and she sobbed into his hand. Then to his arm. Climbing onto the bed until she could wrap herself around him. She clung to him like she had never before, he could feel her sobs through the gown.

 

“I’m sorry” she kept repeating.

 

He wanted to hold her back, but his limbs still felt leaden. Whatever it was, he accepted her. Whatever it was, it could not have been her fault. It pained him even more that she was blaming herself.

 

“It wasn’t your fault. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

 

It took another moment for Kate to collect herself. She looked up from where she lay on his chest, searching for his eyes. He held her gaze, no hesitation in his belief it was not her fault. Her breathing was still ragged when she placed a quick tear-wet kiss on his lips.

 

He closed his eyes, trying to anchor himself in the kiss. He does not tell Kate that when he closed his eyes it was Ronnie chasing after Grove he saw. A young service officer trying earnestly to convince an old MP to consider them. Right before bright orange and heat eclipsed everything.

 

He waited for Kate to blame him. Wrong, but he would accept it. If it meant she would be able to sleep at night. But she was already deep in the bowels of self-blaming. 

 

Stuart’s visits made it clear he agreed with her. It was subtle, no disrespect, just a curtness that only comes from a controlled seething rage when he talked to Kate.

 

Hal told her she should go when he was no longer going in and out of sleep. Kate ignored him. Stayed beside him, being the first person he saw each time he woke. She barely left his side for days. She would always check his bandages, ate the jelly he didn’t care for. Supported him when he needed to get up.

 

She would help him pee if he let her.

 

It should not make him smile but it does.

 

He just got blown up, was it so bad to enjoy her doting like this? To feel like she loves him again.

 

“Are you done?” she asks from behind the door.

 

“Yeap,” he said, washing his hands. The door opened, and she sidled beside him and wrapped an arm around his middle, helping him limp back to bed.

 

He lay as close to the right side as he could, and with what little space left beside him, Kate settled herself. Perfectly slotted under his arm, her head on his shoulder, her shampoo soothing him. It was almost a routine now.

 

He took it all in, knowing this Shangri La would not last long. The intermittent buzzing of her phone was a toll-bell reminder there was still a world outside. She typed a quick reply and slid it back into her pocket.

 

“You should go, they need you,” he urged her again.

 

“No, you need me,” she answered, burrowing herself deeper in his hold.

 

“I’m just sleeping,” he countered.

 

“They can manage without me.”

 

But he knew the meaning behind her words, and reminded her, “It was not your fault."

 

“I called Roylin. You got bombed because I called her. Ronnie died because–”

 

“Because someone planted a bomb in Grove’s car.” He patted her arm, signalling for her to get up. Kate leaned away on her elbows, blue eyes meeting green. “That was not you.”

 

“Ronnie was just 28.” There was an old wound there. Faces etched in their minds and names that remain unsaid even through the worst of their fights.

 

I know. 

 

And Amir was just 24.

 

And Paulette was just 22.

 

They never talked about it, not directly anyway. But he saw it in her eyes for months after their deaths, the loathing she felt for him. He knew that was the real source of her vitriol.

 

For her to direct that anger to herself, must be torture. So, he gives her the kindness he had always been trying to teach her. He cupped her face, adoring the same face he loved since fifteen years ago.

 

“Don’t apologize for something you did not do.”

Notes:

Hope you liked this. It's going to be different than canon s2 but I'm trying to incorporate as much as I can. The insights for Kate and Hal's relationship in s2 just goes deeper and deeper, I can't wait too what happens in s3.

Chapter 5

Notes:

A/N: Liberties were taken in this fic’s depiction of Bosnia and Serbia. I loosely based it off the Bosnian War and Richard Holbrook. Please turn a blind eye on the blatant inaccuracies.

Chapter 5

15 years ago

Of course, he had a car. A driver and a security detail to boot.

Kate stopped under an alcove by the Bosnia National Gallery’s main doors, while Hal Wyler continued toward the car parked out front. He popped his head in the window, and the wind carried his voice as he spoke in broken Bosniak with the driver.

They attended an event hosted by the Mayor’s office to celebrate Bosnian heritage, which felt pointed, judging by the guest list. Taking advantage of the presence of Bosnian, Croat, and Serb delegates, Hal and Kate lingered longer than most to plant the seeds of an agricultural union and restitution scheme—an idea that came from Kate’s report.

But they were no good at gauging the delegates’ reactions. The Balkans were well-versed in stoic responses, not giving away more than blasé, "we-all-aim-for-peace" remarks. Before they knew it, most of the attendees had left. Service cars were arranged for embassy staff’s transport, but their limited availability left Kate waiting for a ride home. Making her glad she wore her thickest coat tonight.

When the driver looked up in her direction, Kate realized where this was going. She turned to the security guy, who stood between her and Hal. “You know, I’m just going to go on my own,” she said, gesturing a finger to herself and then to the road.

The Special Envoy heard her. “Just stay there,” he called, waving a hand to her to stay put. Then, with his head in the window, he said, “Okay, samo je bezbedno drive kući,” and straightened up. He pulled the car door open. “Get in.”

“Oh no, Sir, there’s no need,” she demurred. The optics alone would be terrible. It’s no different than shaving your own rumor kindle, but letting your boss take you home would push them over a line that was closer to familiar than professional. “I’ll call a cab.”

“It’s fine,” Hal said, trotting over with his hands in his coat pockets. “I’m sending Omar home anyway.”

“How will you go home?”

“I don’t need to go home. I have a date,” he cocked his head toward the hotel restaurant across the street.

Oh.

“What?” He blinked at her.

She hated that her face always showed what was on her mind. “Nothing. I’m surprised you found the time.”

“Ah. One must always make time.”

It irked her the way he was smiling. Here she thought he was pitching community reconciliation in the ethnic territories, but it turns out he was trying to get laid.

Fine, none of her business. She would be saving time and fare money—it was all in her favor.
“Okay,” she shrugged, immediately wincing internally for doing so. She played it off by marching to the car. “If Omar doesn’t mind, then I appreciate the offer. See you on Monday, Sir,” and closed the door.

Did she just salute? No, she didn’t, did she? She would have waved. No, that’s worse. They’re not high schoolers saying goodbye after school.

She was sure she did something stupid right before the door though. She groaned in her seat before remembering she wasn’t alone. “Hi.”

"Propao bih u zemlju."

Kate did not understand a word Omar said, but she could hazard a guess. “Da, to all that.”

She rested her head on the window, watching Hal Wyler’s image in the side mirror become smaller and smaller as the car drove away, an amused look clear on his face.

 

---

 

Kate watched Hal from the mirror button up his shirt as she slipped into her dress. The staff had learned to bring Mr. Wyler’s things to her room now. But there was something different about him since she returned from the COBR meeting. It was only after she briefed him about the Roylin plan at Grove’s funeral service, with his reaction so blasé, that she became certain.

“That’s interesting,” was all Hal contributed, focused on the cuff buttons that refused to slip through narrow slits. It was not so much that he was withdrawn, but at times it felt like she was watching him from further away.

Kate walked over and fixed the button for him. “We’ll see which of the Brits react.” She offered her hand for the other cuff and did it just as swiftly.

“Does Dennison know?”

“He’s one of the Brits, so no.” Why that mattered, she didn’t know. Kate turned so her back faced him. Hal moved her hair to the side, his thumb a precursor to the zipper gliding up along her skin. He did not let go when he reached the top.

“The red looked good on you.” His voice took on a deeper tone she could feel behind her ear. Kate froze. That’s what this was about? So what, she wanted to say, I didn’t do anything. But before she could think better, the words tumbled out, “I spilled coffee on the black one.”

She glanced up at the mirror, wanting to gauge his reaction, but he was studying the fabric of the dress as if thread count was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Might as well. The red was so much hotter,” he murmured, “you should wear it again.”

This time the answer came easier. Wearing it in the first place was a mistake. The feeling of being unable to breathe in it came back to her. She never wanted to see it again and all that it implied. “Can’t. I ripped it.”

“Wha-at?” Finally an emotion elicited from him. When he looked up, he found her expression in the mirror unwavering.

“Yeah,” she turned to him, her hands on his collar, folding it down. “I couldn’t find the fucking zipper, so I ripped it. So I could change into the clothes I stole off some poor schmuck’s back and get on a plane.”

He was quiet then, just staring into her eyes, and she held his gaze. There was a time when she could tell what he was thinking; she hoped he could still read hers.

“I’m still here,” he said after a while.

“Yes, you are.” There was a warmth in her chest that she only felt around him, and nothing scared her more than the thought of losing it. To affirm the fact, with her arms wrapped around his neck, she pulled herself up to—

“Ah—ow—ow!”

“Shit!” She jumped back, arms in the air like they were scalded. “Are you okay?”

He croaked out an affirmation, not so convincing when her husband was hunched over, clutching his side where he had stitches, and could barely get one syllable out.

The pain subsided a few seconds later, enough for him to make wisecracks about her making them late. He picked up the cane leaning against a side table on his way out, but Kate noticed the flying laces as he walked.

“Wait, your shoes are untied!” she exclaimed.

Hal gave an unconcerned response, assuring her that he had it covered.

This became his theme of the day: insisting on holding his own umbrella, even though there was nothing stopping her from sharing half of hers over him anyway. He played the wounded man to stall Trowbridge, yet seemed to recover as soon as Roylin was out of the vicinity, despite the flash of real pain in his eyes. "I've got it," he had said.

However, she could not take any more when it reached its pinnacle after the service. He began to twist her care into guilt. Sue me for wanting to help my injured husband to go up the steps of St. Paul’s because it was wet from the rain, who, mind, still has to use a cane.

“Fine. Go without me.”

“I mean it. You don’t have to stay just because I got blown up.”

Kate rolled her eyes. "That’s not why—" She let her anger come to the forefront, annoyed that she had to spell it out to him. But her train of thought was interrupted when she heard Dennison’s voice talking to one of the officers.

Hal’s mention of the red dress reminded her of something she had almost done. She wasn't ready to confess it to him yet—perhaps never if she were lucky.

“Did you fuck him?”

“No!” Taken aback by the point-blank question, she knew her voice sounded defensive. “I didn’t,” she repeated, clear and precise.

Of course, he already knew. He could read her like a book, yet a miniscule part of her hoped she could hide it from him.

“Were you planning to?”

A beat.

“Yes.”

For all his following questions, she answered with absolute truth. Albeit uncomfortable. There was an irony somewhere that this was happening at a church.

Hal seemed to accept the honesty and left for the men’s room without another word, ignoring the Foreign Secretary coming down the steps. 

When Dennison reached her, he asked, “Did you know Margaret Roylin was in there?”

“Now?” Kate feigned ignorance, “Well, that’s good. She’s not missing in a ditch.”

“A blessing,” Dennison nodded. “We’ll get her soon.”

“She’s a journalist; she’ll just be somewhere out there.”

The Foreign Secretary seemed to consider this before stepping closer and moved onto a different topic. In a whisper that only the two of them could hear, he confirmed that there was indeed an assassination order tied to Lenkov’s capture.

“Shut it down,” Kate whispered back.

“I am trying,” Dennison answered through gritted teeth.

It was a stalemate, but it was moments like this that Kate appreciated from Dennison—the impeccable Foreign Secretary forced to come down to her level.

Seeing through the political façade the public knew made it so much easier to work with him. Saying a little prayer, she was thankful she hadn’t done something stupid and made a real mess of their partnership. She understood Eidra and Stuart’s reservations, but in time, they would realize what a valuable ally he was. Until then, it was up to her not to alienate her counterpart.

“I should apologize,” she began. He had been courteous not to mention it, but experience taught Kate stronger ties are fostered when faux pas are acknowledged. “I was awful in Paris and in the hospital.”

"No, it’s understandable. But your husband is safe now, and so is your marriage," he said, stepping back. It only occurred to her then how close he had been standing, and maybe he wasn’t entirely impervious to what the red dress indicated. "All things are as they should be."

 

When Hal returned from the restroom, his feet were dragging more than usual and Kate’s heart would stop every time his shoe seemed a millimeter off the step. But she knew better than get out of the car to help him down.

Brace him as they walked? Totally fine. But that? He would shoot her with laser eyebeams. Perhaps it was from their early years spent building his image that this habit grew. It was never about appearing weak, it was about appearing weak in front of people he didn’t trust.

For months on end, they labored to curate his public image to be impeccable, genial, and invincible all at once to secure the Senate votes. And Hal played the part perfectly; Stuart would have loved him.

"Are you okay?" she asked when he got in.

"Yeah." There was a delay in his response, as if what she said had just registered with him. "I may have overdone it with the pain meds," he admitted, his thumbs fiddling with the seatbelt.

Kate sighed as she watched him lean back on the headrest, easily falling asleep with his head tilted toward the window. The car went over a bump and she reached out to cushion his temple before it could hit the glass.

She retrieved the document from the backseat pocket, the one she hadn’t had time to review, and scooted closer to him. Resting her head on his shoulder, she guided his to rest on top of hers as she read. It was like back in the day when Omar drove them. The scent of Hal's cologne mingled with the crisp smell of printed paper, could not be more familiar. 

Notes:

Special thanks to Ley for giving this chapter a read and feedback a month ago, you legend

Chapter 6

Notes:

A/N: What's this? Two chapters in one day? It must be Christmas.

Chapter 6

 

"We got our reaction," Eidra said as she joined them in the building elevator. Kate agreed, Trowbridge was not at all subtle in chasing Roylin. “Did you notice anyone else?" 

"No, I think most had a normal reaction."

"Who did?" The Station Chief’s eye sharpened.

"I don’t know," Kate shrugged, but Eidra wouldn’t drop it until she named names. "Dennison.”

"Did you tell him you called Roylin?"

"Of course not."

"Then why a reaction?"

"He’s not completely clueless—they’re from the same party. It’s no state secret that Trowbridge talks to Roylin," Kate said. If Eidra was unsatisfied she decided to let it go. Hal’s yawn, a backdrop to their conversation.

Reaching the Ambassador’s wing, Hal drifted away from them, intent on lying down on the first couch he spotted, never mind that it was Stuart’s. “I’ll go home after I nap,” he slurred. "Go do some ambassadoring,"

That was what she had been trying to do since day one in London, Kate thought, but she had a sense that it had all been a series of what-the-fuck-now?

As if to prove the point, within the next hour, Roylin demanded to talk to Dennison, and Kate had Eidra set them up in a CIA conference room.

Roylin, in her words, was risking her life doing this, adamant that someone else had pulled the strings to undo the momentum of Scotland’s secession. “Trowbridge is innocent,” the old bat said. Dennison wanted to turn her over to the police and be done with it.

"We can’t. They could be involved," Kate shot down the idea immediately.

“I was supposed to launch an inquiry today, you know,” Dennison revealed.

“They will kill you,” Roylin warned.

“Let them. The Foreign Secretary gone after a Central London bombing. Bit suspicious, no?” Dennison said, digging his fingers into the couch’s leather.

“We have no use for martyrs,” Kate said. It was the pragmatic reasoning Hal would use—professional indifference, he would say. “We’ll hit a dead end if they appoint someone from their side.”

Just then, Howard informed them that the Prime Minister was headed to the US Embassy. They had to concede for now. The fawn smelled its mother’s scent and Mommy came just in time to protect her baby.

Howard smuggled Roylin out, while the other three made way to the groundfloor for Trowbridge’s arrival. “We need to get her to spill more,” Kate muttered once they were in the elevator. 

"We’ll talk about it," Eidra nodded.

"We are?" Kate said, oblivious.

"Just us."

Stuart was just as determined to keep the Brits at arm’s length, making sure there were no conversations alone with the Foreign Secretary once there were in the lobby. However, not so easy to do with the Prime Minister.

“I had GCHQ check her phone records,” Trowbridge stated once they were alone in her office, his tone implying it was a given. As if there were any other way he would operate. “You called her. Why?”

“She tells me how to handle you, Sir,” Kate replied coolly, offering just enough truth to make the lie convincing. She knew he couldn’t see through the deception, but he could sense when something wasn’t entirely false. Trowbridge seemed satisfied with the morsels of truth she’d thrown him, and after a final, scrutinizing glance, he left.

The door clicked shut behind the Prime Minister, and the weight of the room seemed to shift. Kate exhaled sharply, her breath shaky. She pressed her palms against the desk for support, the cool wood grounding her. She had just met the eyes of the man responsible for Ronnie’s death—and in that moment, she’d imagined his downfall.

But Kate wasn’t naïve enough to believe she was immune to the same scrutiny. She wasn’t like Trowbridge, or Hal, who could rationalise their actions to reach an end and, when things went wrong, simply box it up and move on.

So, she let Stuart speak his mind. Before Ronnie’s body was sent home, she knew they needed to address his anger. There was no other word for it. She understood—hell, she felt it. She still did. If things had been different, she would’ve done exactly what she would advise him to do.

With her jaw clenched, she stood her ground, absorbing the blame in his stare as Ronnie’s casket—draped in the American flag—passed between them.

 

 

By the time Kate got home, it was late, and she was completely drained. She kicked off her heels and collapsed face-first onto the mattress.

Hal was sitting in one of the armchairs, absorbed in a book. “Have you eaten?” he asked.

Kate paused for a moment, then muttered a soft “no” into the pillow. She heard the rustling of clothes, followed by a pat on her butt. He had picked out a shirt and pants for her.

“Come on,” he urged gently. “Change and come downstairs.”

It took a while, but she finally managed to peel herself off the bed. As she entered the kitchen, she asked, “You were waiting for me?” She saw him pulling two plates from the oven, keeping them warm.

He shrugged, offering a quiet “maybe.”

“You shouldn’t have,” she replied, uncertain if she even had an appetite.

He grinned. “Nah, I’ve been doing nothing but sleep.” He inhaled the scent of the food, then shot her an approving look. He placed her plate at the head of the table, as if it was waiting just for her, and settled in the adjacent seat himself. She reached for a bottle of wine.

The food was good, but Kate ate mechanically, bite after bite, focusing more on nourishment than enjoyment.

“Stuart’s mad,” she said, swallowing the last bite. “At me.”

“And me.” Hal sipped his wine finish.

Kate had not thought it extended to her husband as well. Stuart told him to apologize either way. “Well, did you?” His second-guessing response tells her he didn’t. But she didn’t mind, it was not his fault. “ I should apologize.”.

“Correlation is not causation.” She didn’t have the energy to pretend to know it, and finally admitted to him. “It means, it’s not your fault.”

Typical. “I can see my part in it. So can Stuart. You never could.” He sighed sharply as he glanced up at the ceiling. “You’re not gonna see it now.” She reached for her wine glass and could feel him staring at her now.

“Someday,” he started “and it looks like today’s not gonna be the day, but someday, you’re gonna say ‘I gave you a lot of shit. For the plane in Kabul, for house in Beirut. But I kind of get it now.”

She was swaying in her seat as she listened to him but his words gave her pause, it was the first time he mentioned them in a very long while. She did not know where this was headed, her blood ran cold and hot. Then he said it:

“The cost of doing business.”

The audacity of him to speak those words. To look at her as if he expected she would agree. She was beginning to see red. She had to get away now or she might actually physically hurt him.

Kate went to her room without another word. He did this to her. He made himself invaluable to her that she couldn’t live without him, taught her this visceral anger she couldn’t live with him.

Everything is as it should be.

The Foreign Secretary’s words hung in her mind. This was so Hal. Even at his weakest, he manages to inflict pain. He just dusts himself off and onwards for the next thing to do. While she’s left with her soul chipped away, cleaning the aftermath of their experiment.

She was beside him every loss, every pain. But he was able to walk away because it was just the cost of doing fucking business.

She heard two steps and a cane coming, she gripped her nightstand, fighting the urge to scream divorce. “I don’t think you should come in here.”

“Are you sending me to my room?”

“I’ll go to your room, you can stay.” It didn’t matter which. She just can’t look at him now. If he thought he’s got a pass because she’s now turning into him, then he’s dead wrong. She could hate both him and herself.

He didn’t like that. “You’re right, you sleep in the other room,” he said. “It has a shitty mattress.”

As he retreated into the bathroom, she forced herself to breathe. She hated him, yet every time she closed her eyes, she saw him pale and unconscious in a hospital bed. She asked for forgiveness from Amir, Paulette, and Ronnie—because losing Hal, even after everything that has happened, would still be the one she couldn’t survive.

She followed him. If she was staying in this marriage, he needed to know what she had come to terms with. “It’s the job. I acted like it was you.”

“You sure did,” he said, brushing his teeth without looking at her.

“The job,” she said, knowing exactly what she meant, “has a morally repugnant component.” She turned back toward the room, and she could hear him trailing behind, with the cane thudding as his third step.

“So, your big revelation is that I wasn’t born horrible, the job made me that way, and now you’re just like me?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think you backpedaled far enough.”

“It’s a start, right?” She said it pointedly. After all, that was where she’s headed—this was progress.

“For ten years, I let you act like I was a man with no moral compass,” he said, his voice steady, though his free hand moved more animatedly as he pointed to the floor, the other now tightly gripping the cane handle. “I did that for you. It was a kindness.”

What the hell is he on? “No, you offloaded it to me. You excused yourself because I was the conscience for both of us.”

“Katherine, do me a fucking favor and sleep in the other room.” He sank onto the mattress with finality, unbuttoning his shirt as if preparing for bed.

“Un-believable!” Fine. It worked in her favor—this was what she’d asked for in the first place. She grabbed a pillow and her pajamas, stomping barefoot through the carpet to the bathroom, only to come back out again. Where the fuck are my glasses.

“Kate...”

“Can I have thirty seconds to find my fucking glasses!” she snapped.

“I can’t reach my shoes.”

For the second time this night his words made her pause. She turned to see him slumped at the edge of the bed, his hand pressed against the stitched wound near his liver. So defeated.

Just like that, all the fight in her dissipated.

Since they'd come back from the hospital, she hadn’t once seen him tie his own shoes. It hit her then—he’d been hiding it, or asking someone else for help.

He couldn’t hide the limp in his stride; it was something the whole nation expected. But not being able to do something as simple as tying his shoelaces—that was a real weakness. And Hal despised showing weakness to those he didn’t trust. How could she ever be in that category. She would never let him believe it was wrong for him to turn to her.

She dropped the pillow and pajamas without a second thought and came to him. Her fingers lightly touched his knee for support as she get down on to the floor. He wouldn’t even look at her. He turned his head to the side and tried to quietly let out a shaky breath but she could see his the shudder through his chest.

She untied his left shoe and slid it off his foot. His sock followed. The room was so quiet, only the distant chirp of crickets breaking the stillness. She did the same to the right one. Even when done, Kate remained sat on the floor in front of him. He did not move either.

He showed his vulnerability. It was her turn. If she leaves now, she did not know how she could come back. How they could come back.

She rested her hands on his thighs, waiting for a reaction. He remained still. Remembering what happened earlier in the morning, careful not to put stress on his side, she pulled herself up to her knees. She searched for his lips. Tentatively. When he did not push her away, she leaned in further.

“Do you still want me to sleep in the other room?” she asked, pausing before their lips touched.

He breathed her in and kissed her back. “You can stay. It has a shitty mattress.”

Chapter 7

Notes:

A bit of smut. It’s a new year, a little indulgence is due. Appendix to the previous chapter. Proceed at your own discretion.

Chapter 7

 

When their lips touched, it was neither gentle nor forceful, but firm, anchoring them in each other’s existence. Whenever one came up for much-needed air, the other would blindly seek to close the gap, sharing the breath between them.

Hal bent down slightly, his fingers snaking from the back of her head and tangling in her hair to hold her in place. Kate arched to meet him, one hand trailing up his thigh, causing him to hitch his breath, before moving along his torso to the opening of his shirt.

She slipped her hand inside, pushing the fabric further apart. His hands in turn glide down her sides and over her breasts. He slid his hands from the hem of her shirt and pulled her close by the waist. Her free hand moved from his thigh to clutch the bedsheet for stability as the weight of her upper body pressed against him.

They sighed into each other, reveling in the warmth beneath their clothes.

It had been a long day, and it’s been a while.

Hal began caressing from her waist down to her hips, then up again, creating goosebumps along her skin. He pulled away only to move his kisses to her jaw, then to her neck, giving that sensitive spot under her ear a quick lap, making her moan.

Her eyes snapped open when she felt his fingers slipping inside the waistband of her jeans, and she quickly pushed herself off him. One of his arms wrapped around her back, keeping her in place, while the other came up to cup a breast, giving it gentle squeezes. His kisses made a path from her clavicle to her sternum.

There was an undeniable coiling forming in her belly, and she groaned as she pushed him away again. This time, she got to her feet and stepped back. His eyes were glazed as he searched for her, not entirely cognizant of what she wanted to do. Under the warm light of their room, his usually green eyes now seemed black as he watched her take off her clothes, one by one, until they pooled around her feet.

It was intoxicating the way he looked at her.

Kate stepped up to him, standing between his legs. She reached for the remaining buttons of his shirt and slipped them out of the slits one by one. Once undone, he threw it across the room.

It would be so easy to give in, be carried by the torrent of his want. It would appease him. But it would not take away the wall between them.

“Lie down,” she instructed in a low voice. Pushing his shoulders, she straddled his legs, “Let me take care of you.”

She could see the warring desire in his eyes. She contemplated whether it was selfish what she was doing. Was she exploiting his weakness to clear her conscience for the slicing words she, admit it or not, meant to hurt? To soothe the insecure part of her that feared being held at arm’s length?

He lay down, his feet still planted on the floor, as she climbed up on him. She took in every bruise and stitch he was still nursing. He must have realized she was staring because he propped himself on an elbow, issuing an almost imperceptible hiss under his breath as he reached up to her. He pulled her down for a kiss, effectively diverting her gaze from his injuries.

Her heart ached. This man, who had changed lives for better or for worse, was still just a man. Like the last remnant of a ripple in a lake, a realization surfaced in her mind, one she already had before. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t guilt. And it sure as fuck wasn’t her insecurity. She simply wanted to be the person he turned to.

She held onto his shoulder as she raised her hips a little and unbuckled his belt. His erection very apparent under her. She slips him into her and they both sighed into each other. She raised and lowered her hips in the rhythm she knew that got him off. He tucked his head on the crook of her neck. His breath getting more ragged by the minute.

He gripped her hip, halting her movement. The pressure in his hold told her he wanted to roll them over. "Shh," she crooned, her thumb rubbing circles at his nape just before it met his hair. "I got you."

It was the chill in the early morning air rather than the soft gray light that rouses her. She had fallen asleep on her stomach, and refuse to wake she may fight, the cold was biting. As grand as Winfield House was, it did a terrible job of keeping the heat in. 

But the the cold soon vanished as the duvet came up and covered her bare shoulders. But it was not warm enough, she decided. She rolled closer until she was against his side. His arm as he wont to do, was tucked behind his head, and she readily discarded her pillow for it. He pulled her in, tucking her head under his chin.

“Are you awake?” Kate mumbled through her sleep.

“No.” He pulled the duvet over them until only the top of her head peeked out. It felt as though they were cocooned. They stayed like that for several minutes, relishing the calm before the day began. After a while, his voice broke the silence. “It’s unfair that I can never stay angry at you.”

“You think I haven’t felt the same way about you?”

“Well, you’re always angry.”

“Does it bother you?”

“I can handle it,” he said, then, after a beat, he added, “But you can leave if you can’t anymore.” He said it, but he held her a little tighter then.

“Hal, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know.”

She looked up and found him staring faraway at something and nothing across the room. She hooked her leg between his, as if to pull him back from wherever his mind had wandered.

She cupped his face in her hands and refused to speak until he met her gaze. “I’m staying,” she began, “because I love you. If that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Am I that obvious?” He chuckled.

“No,” she answered, her tone softer now.

He turned and kissed her palm. “I love you too.”

Chapter 8

Notes:

First of, thanks to Ley for giving me the time of day and giving amazing feedback. 🫶

I have an idea for pre-s1 plot and I'm going to run with it. Apparently, a lot of embassy employees live inside the compound for safety purposes... and that makes it very convenient for my plans lol. Bosnian to English translation available at the chapter end notes 😊

Chapter 8

 

15 years ago

The agricultural scheme has reached an impasse. The Ambassador dismissed it outright from the start—didn't even make it to the proposal’s bullet points.

Kate never learned why, and Hal Wyler never explained. It was a sound policy. While it might not resolve the tension between the Serbs and Bosnians, it would at least alleviate some of the strain in the area that bore the brunt, before things escalate further.

She had expected that they will move onto something else, something better, if the first plan did not work. But she had not seen much of Hal Wyler in recent days. Neither had the rest of the team. Their policy development sessions had devolved into closed-door meetings just among the Special Envoy, the Ambassador, and the Deputy Chief of Mission.

There were only four of them in the Special Envoy’s staff, but without documents to verify, reports to prepare, nor meetings to join, even with such a small team, there was barely enough work to go around. Just the sudden requests of finding this or that person’s contact.

She groaned and stood up from her seat. “Coffee?” she heard Pete from the desk behind her ask.

“The shitty kind,” she quipped. 

“Whether you like it or not,” Pete replied with a put on stern face that felt awkward in his kind face.

There was a nice café around the corner employees frequent but there was a notice since before Kate woke up for all employees to stay inside the Embassy’s compound until further notice. A security sweep they said.

Pete suggested the cafeteria, and Kate thought he must have liked the coffee there more than the one in their pantry—he seemed to lit up when Kate said she liked the walk. He began asking the others if they wanted anything, Kate made a mental note to also get Hal something for when he came in.

 

“Maybe it’s got to do with this morning,” Pete whispered conspiratorial as they found the coffee line unusually long.

“Well, a lockdown would do that.”

Pete turned with a befuddled look, “Oh, you haven’t heard?” Kate shook her head. “Word is, Mr Wyler had a screaming match in the Ambassador’s office.”

It was unlike the impression she had of him. Hal Wyler, the one who gauge counterparts first before letting them in on the plan. He would rather persuade and charm than demand. But then again, she barely knew him. “Why?”

They moved up the line. Pete shrugged, “I don’t know. They don’t know.”

“And he’s still there?” Kate asked, incredulous, glancing at her watch that pointed to half past three.

“He’s probably already back in his suite—” Pete trailed off from his carefree tone as he saw her brow furrow. Kate caught a glimpse of her expression when he adjusted his glasses. The staff asking for their order was a welcome diversion.

“They do that, don’t they? When you’re high up enough, you can sort of do what you want, when you want.” Pete’s words lingered as they collected their order.

Kate tucked a club sandwich into her jacket, and they both held a coffee in each hand. They turned to head back upstairs, but there was a sudden stillness causing them to pause. Every head was fixated on the events unfolding on the CRT TV mounted high on the wall.

The reporter spoke in Bosniak, but the words at the bottom of the screen were enough. Body Count: 21. Ash-covered responders carried a wailing man on stretcher. Broken storefronts, piles of splintered wood, and the tattered remnants of a canvas canopy—once part of a fruit stall—scattered across a bombed Central Market.

“They done and did it,” Peter said, sipping on his coffee. 

Outside their office, Kate recognized David standing at the door, the Special Envoy’s assigned bodyguard.

 

Kate’s pace sped up, eager to speak with Mr Wyler on what they’re going to do now. She said a quick hello but, David remained unmoved. Behind him, a couple more men were already inside speaking with her colleagues.

 

“Hey, man. What’s going on?” Pete spoke up.

 

David kept them up to speed. “The Special Envoy left the premises. Attempts at locating and contacting him have been unsuccessful,” he explained. “Given what has happened at the city central, it is imperative we secure Mr Wyler immediately. We appreciate any information you could provide.”

 

“What do you mean he left? The gates are locked,” Kate asked. She propped the cups she was holding atop the lids of those in Pete’s and pulled out her Blackberry.

 

“It has come out that Mr Wyler is good friends with the custodian… and he let him through the maintenance exit.”

 

Of course he was, Kate thought. “Where have you looked?” she followed up, the phone already ringing on her ear. It was distorted and skipping before ultimately dropping. The network was likely overloaded with the population checking in.

 

“We’ve searched the Embassy and any known outside contacts.”

 

“You mean the girlfriend?” Kate cut to the chase, that was an odd way to describe the woman. She scratched at her neck as she racked her mind. “Have you tried the pub?” 

 

“The pub?”

 

“Yeah, he goes to this pub just outside the city.”

 

None of the security knew what she was talking about. Not even Omar who was the sole transport of the Special Envoy. Kate told them which park she bumped into Hal but from there and by car, she didn’t know.

 

Kate followed the security team as they headed out, determined to join them. Behind her were Pete’s objections—unsafe and unnecessary, he called—but she squeezed herself into the elevator anyway. She could pin the exact tree where they parted, she reasoned, when David tried to dissuade her too.

 

Omar drove them to the place and the only pub he knew nearby. They caught the owner closing shop. He spoke English, had a lot of American patrons he said, but none fit Hal’s description. He suggested the one inside an alley two streets away. Much to David and Omar’s chagrin, Kate didn’t wait for them.

 

She exhaled into her cupped palms, her nose appreciated the warmth, as she scanned the second pub. She didn’t see anyone except for the man behind the bar.

 

“Excuse me–”

 

“Amerikan?”

 

“Yeah,” Kate answered breathless. The barkeep excitedly came around the bar and pointed to a booth away from the windows. There he was, unmistakably Hal Wyler, even when slumped and hunched in his seat. 

 

“Žena je tu! Izlazi već!” the barkeep’s voice boomed in the empty space, then toned down to her, “Nisam mogao zatvoriti zbog tvog muža.”

 

Kate walked up to Hal. He was nursing a brown drink in his hand, a half empty bottle of scotch on the table. “Sir, security has been searching for you. It’s time to go back.”

 

Kate wondered if he was too well in his cups to hear her. She was about to speak again when he asked, “How many?”

 

Somehow, she understood what he meant. “114.”

 

“Is,” the word caught in his throat. He groaned and downed the remaining contents of the glass. “Is that the final number?”

 

“No.”

 

Hal nodded. “You can sit, Katherine. They won’t bomb anything else today.” He clasped his hands and rested his forehead over it.

 

She took in the state of the man across her and though his words were slurred, the implication was not lost on her. “You knew.” Disbelief clear in her voice. 114 and counting. He knew, the Embassy knew. And they let it happen.

 

He remained still. It would later be confirmed to Kate they knew the when, not the where, but he didn’t make an effort to refute.

 

After a while, “It had to happen,” Hal suddenly said. He straightened up. Through his drooping drunken eyes, he said with an affected southern drawl like he was imitating someone, “Tomorrow, we got American forces comin’ in to save the day. A just cause. And everythin’ in this place will be as it ought to be.”

 

“People died!” Kate hissed, low enough that it wouldn’t carry beyond the booth. “If there’s any way we could prevent that then we should.”

 

“It’s the cost of freedom.”

 

Her hands moved before she could think about it, her palms slammed down on the table so hard the brown liquid rippled. It very nearly was her palm making contact with his cheek, but she wanted to dare him say he didn’t mean it.

 

“If you will not be able to do your job because of this then it’s better you return to your previous assignment,” he said. Just like that the conversation was over. He pressed onto the table to get up and stumbled his way to the front. He planted marka bills twice the bottle’s price on the bar. He didn’t wait for the barkeep to get his change.

 

“Nema potre... nema... neću dolazit' ovde neko vrime,” Hal said, pressing against the door.

 

Kate wanted to let him be, but she could not in good conscience let him walk on icy pavement drunk. She caught up to him. “That’s a lot,” she said, veering away from the fact that she’s grabbing his arm.

 

“He will need it,” Hal said once they were out. “He won’t see half of his customers anymore.”

 

He stopped in his tracks. Kate anticipated he will reveal he was in fact angrier than he showed when he yanked his arm away, but it was to brace himself against the alley wall, just in time for his stomach to heave its contents.

 

She came behind him and rubbed his back. He spat the taste of sick from his mouth but she could hear him sniffle. She felt the shudder in his breath.

 

“I tried.”

 

Just two words and suddenly pieces of the man flashed through Kate’s mind. He would go alone to the pub, the one where locals go. She could see picture him sat at the bar, chatting up the regulars as he butchered the language. The refinements he made to her proposal, derived from the locals' stories.

However, the Ambassador told him that it would not be their course of action. A military takeover under the guise of humanitarian intervention was what it would be.

 

The odd contacts he requested. He scrambled to find someone who could shift things but there’s no one. Powers that be knew what was coming today, he screamed and still no one. So here he was numbing himself from the inevitable.

 

Hal stayed as he was against the wall, staring down at the sick on the snow. His voice was devoid of emotion when he spoke. “I need power.”

 

“What for?” But she already knew. 

 

“To prevent things like this.” He swiped at his face before turning to face her, back in his usual unruffled self, he smirked, “They can’t do what I can in their position.”

 

“Then take it.” Right there in that moment she believed in him, wholly. He could do many great things. He blinked, her words sobering him more than the cold air. She stepped up to him; it was the first time she looked intently into his eyes. “Tell me what you need to make it happen.”

Notes:

Translation:
>> “Žena je tu! Izlazi već!” the barkeep’s voice boomed in the empty space, then toned down to her, “Nisam mogao zatvoriti zbog tvog muža.”

“The wife is here! Get out already.” the barkeep’s voice boomed in the empty space, then toned down to her, “I couldn't close because of your husband.”

I just love the thought that people mistake them as married before they were even a thing.

>> “Nema potre... nema... neću dolazit' ovde neko vrime,” Hal said, pressing against the door.

"There’s no need... there’s no... I won’t be coming here for a while," Hal said, pressing against the door.

The Bosnian words were also misspelled to convey his drunkenness and that he's still not that fluent at it.

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 

15 years ago

 

He groaned as they dropped him on the bed unceremoniously. A little too intentional if he were asked.

“I can manage Hal from here. Thank you, David.” He listened to her say, followed by the door closing. A few moments later, her footfalls changed from the ceramic tiles to the carpeted floor of his room. He peered open one eye and saw she had come back with a glass of water.

“You like me,” he announced. Kate stopped in her stride, mouth agape. A long, dangling pause between them. He was sure her mind was reeling to deny it, but before she even gathered the words, he got in, “I’ll have you know I don’t date my minions.”

Kate scoffed. “I assure you, my mind was nowhere near that.” She placed the water on his nightstand, with a sarcastic flourish of a chichi waiter.

“You called me Hal.” He pushed himself up. “It’s been ‘Sir’ or ‘Mr. Wyler’ up until now,” he said in between sips of water.

“Hmm, I don’t know, maybe seeing your boss vomit does that.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t see the others worried sick to find me.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been an ass to them.” Kate raised her eyebrows at him, and he could not disagree. “Why didn’t you tell us? We could have helped.”

“You couldn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know,” he turned to her, stern eyes that brooked no argument. “You would not like the face you see in the mirror if I had told you. Any of you.”

He liked that her face showed what she was thinking. If he could protect at least that, spare them the pain, and keep their optimism alive, then maybe he could go to sleep doing one good thing. Hard decisions are part and parcel of the job; that is why there are fewer people at the top—to bear the burden of guilt that allows everyone else to live their lives.

“Don’t look down on us,” she said, breaking him from his reverie. “Don’t assume what we can take and what we can’t.” She reflected the look he gave her. “So next time, don’t keep everything to yourself.”

She scared him, and he found himself smiling. It was small, but he could not help the tug at the corner of his lips. There was weighted warmth in her words that enveloped him, it felt nice to not be alone. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding, not expecting he would acquiesce so easily. “Okay,” she repeated, not sure what else to do now.

“I’m hungry.”

Kate, thankful for the change of topic, reached for the service phone on the wall. “I’ll call downstairs to get you something–” then remembered what was in her pocket and tossed it to him. “While you wait.”

He told her to order something for herself; it was already well into the evening, and she had just given him what he thought was meant to be her lunch. She assured him, though, that it was meant for him.

Hal looked at the sandwich in his hand and smirked. “Yeah, you like me.”

 

 

---

 

 

The memory splits his lip into a grin for a moment before it faltered as he stared at the array of finger sandwiches laid before him. 

Maybe he did make things harder for her.

He was able to pave his way through this world, having full trust Kate could catch whatever he threw. And he never threw anything he thought she could not handle. Just trust me, he used to say until it became a haunting refrain for them both. Nonetheless, he wished she would again.

Kate could have thrown her own ball if she wanted to. But she was never inclined to be the star; she preferred to be on the side, making sure nothing was missed. She would have done many great feats even without him. Perhaps more. He shined because she pointed the light his way.

Deep down, he thought, maybe he made things more complicated than it had to be so she was always in awe of how bright he could get. So she would need him. Because being needed is more compelling than being wanted.

He took a small bite of the first of twenty five sandwiches, he scrunched his nose at Mrs. Munning and shook his head. The stalwart woman nodded attentively and crossed it off her notepad.

It unnerved him to think, that had he not got blown up, Kate would have come back resolutely done with him. He was not naive enough to believe that he was not on borrowed time. She could convince herself she loved him, but the moment he could walk straight, his stitches healed and faded, she would see him again as the man who eclipses everything that comes near him.

And he would see the same look she had in the picture from Paris. She hated him alright, but in that frame, she did not want him anymore either. So, what could he do but make himself needed?

He was fixated to show her how useful he could be, prove to her he could point the light her way too. Just trust me, his inner wish damned him again and he did not hear what she had been saying.

She did not need that. She needed someone to catch what she threw.

So he no longer overstayed at breakfast to eavesdrop on their briefings, nor did he ask anything about the Embassy, except whether she had eaten.

Every time he thought he was helping, it backfired. He only meant that their job entailed hard decisions for the greater good. Whether it paid off or not was the cost of doing business. But somehow it only evidenced what a horrible human being he was.

So he swore to mind only what she throws him. And if that meant picking food, flowers, music, and sponsors for the Fourth of July party, then he will pick the damn best for each.

 

When Kate came home early while he was on apple pie duty, to pop open a champagne for the The One Good Man’s impending premiership, he felt something he was not accustomed to.

It would have been easier to say it was jealousy. But hurt was more accurate. Denison could do no wrong in Kate’s eyes. While to be more like Hal was equal to become horrible.

Still Hal neither rejoiced nor lamented when Denison’s putsch of Trowbridge disintegrated before it had even started. The man was even going to use America’s party as backdrop, how good of him to entangle the Ambassador. Now, Kate has to act to the Prime Minister like she didn’t know but also not be his travel buddy in Scotland.

Hal did not mull over what he would have done, he only told Kate the situation as the world would see it. What she would do was entirely up to her.

Watching her come on stage, improvise a speech on the fly, and nail it, he knew then she’d be alright no matter. The light was on her now and she was shining. He could not be prouder. 

And then the first explosion happened.

The light was blue. Not orange. The night was cold. Not hot. He kept his eyes on the fireworks display, rationalizing what it was and where he was, and yet he flinched when the sound reached him. He did not know it would have such an effect on him.

Another shot up in the air.

He averted his eyes this time. The light in the sky colored everything red, and there was Ronnie looking back at him in the crowd.

His breath caught in his throat. The exploding sound followed a second later, his eyes closed involuntarily. In the darkness, he saw–

“Are you okay?” Kate’s voice breaking through all the chaos.

“Yeah,” he answered automatically. And yet when another firework exploded he winced.

Water formed in his eyes. The cheers of the crowd sounded like screams. Each time the light went out he saw their faces.

Amir.

Paulette.

And many others who met their demise with this as the last sound they heard. Helpless. Hopeless. He did not want to be here.

“We can go inside.”

“No.”

Amir and Paulette were fearless. They were so brave. They were too kind to laugh but they would surely shake their heads if they saw how scared he felt right now. But they never could. In gasping breaths, Hal tried to fight his instinct to run away. He would see this through.

Kate wrapped one arm around him, holding him close, and held his hand in place over her side with the other. “Can you feel my ribs?”

He swiped at an errant tear that escaped before answering, “Yeah.”

“You’ll breath with me, slowly.” In. Out. In. Out. “Don’t look at that, look at me.”

He turned to her. In her eyes, he could watch the sky lit up. He held onto her voice like a lifeline. His anchor to pacific. With both arms around her, he felt the rise and fall of her chest and breathed in time with her. Kate was always the one who could get him out of his head. “I’m okay,” he finally managed to say more than a syllable. “I’m okay,” he repeated, not sure if it was to himself or her.

But when it came from her mouth, “you’re okay,” he believed it.

 

In the days following the party, Hal did not feel as wrong shaped for the role as he used to. Even without the routine and distraction the planning of Fourth of July provided, Hal did not find the itch to get into Kate’s business.

He called Darya. The girl– young woman, he should say, was doing better than they gave her credit for. For a first time grant applicant, she got a few tricks of her own to stand out. She just needed the assurance she’s going the right direction.

On really slow days, Hal even went out with Lewis again, slowly warming up at the idea of working in the Institute.

But most importantly, he and Kate haven’t had a fight. He almost suspected it was a trap when Howard came to pick him up. The last time this happened, he got into trouble. 

“Katie, Eidra sent Howard to pick me up, did you know about that?” Hal asked over the phone. He’s calling Kate first before getting into any car.

His wife confirmed she ordered them to, “I need you to screen Roylin. I think she’ll talk to you.”

He paused, looking out the window, “You sure?”

There was a sigh in the other end, “They've been trying for days. It’s that or we waterboard her.”

“I mean, sure you want me near this?”

“Yeah,” she replied, emphatically, “I do. You’re the only one I can trust on this. Don’t you want to?”

“No, no, I just wanted to check you’re okay with it.”

“You don’t have to ask my permission, Hal,” she laughed a little, “So, will you?”

 

Of course he would. Not twenty minutes later, he was walking the length of an abandoned air strip with Roylin herself. And thank god they were where they were. Anywhere indoors would have been bugged. No one can know about this.

This cannot come public like Kate and The One Good man wanted, Kate would still throw him a dirty look when he referred to him that way. He invited Denison himself to Scotland to prove he’s got the wrong guy, before he blew the lid off the whole thing for some misplaced mission of serving justice.

But Denison would not budge from announcing to the world what he thought he knew, so, Hal lets him in on something too.

“I know and you know, that on the day I got blown up in the streets of your vaunted city, you were planning to fuck my wife,” Hal delivered, smiling.

It was just a taste of what Hal really was. In another life, he had shaken hands with men, smiling as they walked, all the while leading them to their end. They could not pull away even if they wanted to. The One Good Man was not a good strategist, but he knew a threat when there is one, Hal will give him that.

So off they all went to Scotland. As long as Roylin do not drop any names, Kate can control this. He almost felt bad for Trowbridge, they might as well throw him a grenade for what they’re about to put him through. Hal believed he was innocent, but it’s better to be sure with these things.

Hal mingled with the Scottish parliament in the drawing room, waiting for it all to unfold. When Kate came back, she was visibly tense. He came behind her and put a hand on her waist to cover it up, “How’d it go?”

“He slammed her head to the ground?”

“He wh-at?”

Definitely innocent. The Prime Minister was catatonic as he stood in the middle of his people. The Foreign Secretary seemed to be handling himself better as he rescued Trowbridge from the First Minister’s questioning.

It was gruelling to watch the Prime Minister. “For all the things I do not want,” Trowbridge raised his glass for a toast. He was too sincere of a person for this job, Hal thought, quite like Kate which made them perfect for it.

Doud borrowed Kate for a last minute talk and Hal went back ahead to their room. He was in the about change his bandages, holding his breath in a hiss before pulling on the adhesive when a knock came.

It was Randall, the Prime Minister’s secretary. Sudden change of plans he said, the Prime Minister won’t be staying the night in Scotland after all and wanted to speak with the Ambassador before he leaves. Hal assured Randall he’ll get Kate.

He buttoned his shirt again and went back to the study where he last saw Doud take Kate but they were not there anymore. The drawing room was almost empty now. Even the dining was cleaned out already. Then he passed by a slightly ajar door.

He pushed it with the tip of his fingers and let it swing on its own accord, not really expecting to find her there as it slowly revealed to be a breakfast room.

But then there was Kate, her back facing the door. Hal stepped inside, he did not hear any talking so was surprised to find someone else was in there with her. Denison was standing right in front of Kate. Looking down. Leaning down. His hands cupping either side of her face.

Notes:

😊 Please don't throw rocks at me.

Chapter 10

Notes:

Thank you for the kind comments and DMs last chapter! I hope you enjoy this one too. Warning, it's going to be a bit heavy.

Chapter 10

 

It all happened in the span of a blink.

They were talking, just talking. She would hold on to that until the end of time. When he leaned in, she thought he had lost his balance. She would hold on to that too.

Her neurons had just finished firing synapses that told her brain the Foreign Secretary’s lips were indeed on hers—when, the very next moment, he was gone, down on his ass on the floor. Replaced by a clenched fist and outstretched arm still in the air.

“Oh my god!” Kate exclaimed.

Hal is going to murder someone. Could very well be me.

She had never had reason to fear violence from her husband, but suddenly his build felt very prominent. He was even taller and broader than Denison. She had seen him carry their niece and nephew with one arm. Hell, he could carry her if he wanted to.

With hands raised in front of her, she approached him like one might approach a feral animal. She doubted she’d be able to stop him.

But then she heard rustling. From her periphery, she saw Denison getting up, ready to retaliate. She spun on her heels, placing herself between them, and pointed her index finger at the Foreign Secretary. “No, don’t you dare!”

“Is everything alright? I heard—oh! Sir, are you okay?” Stuart peeked through the door. By now, blood was oozing from the Foreign Secretary’s split lip.

“Yes, he’s fine. The Foreign Secretary tripped on his toes and knocked himself on the table,” Hal answered, unprompted, his tone flat and dismissive. Then he grabbed Kate by the wrist and dragged her into the hall, not caring that she could barely keep up with his pace.

Where he was taking her did not matter. She wanted to know what was going on in his head, but feeling the grip he had on her, she would lose the nerve. It seemed she had no right to do so right now.

She almost bumped into him when he stopped walking. They were outside the Prime Minister’s study.

“We will discuss this later,” he said. The dead cold in his eyes when he turned to her sent a shiver down her spine.

“The Prime Minister is inside. He wants to speak with you. He’ll probably record everything in case of an inquiry, so don’t say anything more than you have to.”

She nodded in understanding, and Hal left her readily. Kate had hoped he would wait, but asking something of her husband seemed more daunting than facing the Prime Minister.

Kate entered the room. Just as Hal predicted, Trowbridge was already transcribing the events of the evening on a legal pad. There was no preparation that could help now, except to stick to the “official” narrative. But for whatever deep-seated grudge he and Denison harbored for each other, it always seemed to make them suspect each other first.

“You can trust him,” Kate said, trying to ease at least one of the Prime Minister’s worries. “I had him wait with me outside, to support you when you heard.”

But this detail only made Trowbridge’s eyes narrow. The pieces began falling into place in his mind, and with one simple question, he had her figured out.

“Why?”

She had no answer. He sank back into his chair, mouth agape.

“You thought it was me. You tried to entrap me. Say it.”

Don’t say anything more than you have to.

“You uncovered a conspiracy in my government, and you tried to destroy me with it,” Trowbridge continued. “Say it.”

Don’t say anything more than you have to.

He really did remind her of her husband. Give them a few pieces, and they’d solve the whole puzzle.

“You thought I was a murderer. Yes or no?”

She steeled herself. It had turned personal now. But answering would incriminate not just herself, but the office she represented.

He stood, and she couldn’t help flinching—aftereffects of watching an old woman choked and a man punched right in front of her. People like him and Hal would not let go until they got a degree of truth they believed. It was the filter for falsities and the foundation for their plans. Take it away, and they would question the integrity of what they built.

His voice was tense now.

“I hate a liar, Mrs. Wyler. Tell me. Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

 

Trowbridge took his jacket and slammed the door behind him. Like clockwork, SUVs pulled into the driveway and his posse filed out, including Denison. From a distance, she could hear Trowbridge’s voice as he gave Denison a quizzical look, “I don’t remember punching you too.”

The source of that was exactly who she was about to face. Her feet dragged on the way back. Even her hands felt heavy as she stared at the doorknob to their room. Hopefully, he’d had time to calm down. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest. She took a deep breath and held it, counting four seconds before breathing out.

Hal was on the phone when she finally opened the door. “That sounds good. I’ll look over it in email.”

“Who’s that?” Kate tried, voice cautious.

“No one.” He pocketed the phone. He leaned back in his chair, almost lazily, hands clasped over his abdomen and legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. “So, how’d it go?”

“With Trowbridge?”

“Sure.”

He was going to make her work for it. Kate sighed. She was rarely on the receiving end of this kind of anger from Hal. He could be flippant and reprimanding, but this was interrogative and calculating. Still, there was some comfort that there was tension in his voice that perhaps only she could catch. Anger and pleasantness with Hal spelled doom. If he smiled, it was because he had already thought of ways to end you.

Kate gave him the rundown on Trowbridge. “He knows everything. The putsch at the party. The stitch-up today. So I’m on his shit list, and he wouldn’t take Roylin off our hands.”

“He’ll get over it.” Hal waved a hand dismissively. Kate’s brows furrowed—was that a dig? She couldn’t tell. “I mean it. If he really is the smartest man you’ve met since me , he’ll realize you had nothing to do with it.”

“And with Denison?”

“You tell me.” He cocked his head to the side.

She sat on the edge of the bed, facing him. “I was on my way back here after talking with Doud when I ran into Denison. I pulled him aside into the first empty room I saw. He didn’t want to; I think he was upset we dropped this on him. But he’s convinced now Trowbridge didn’t do it.”

“And you just had to kiss.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Okay, then what happened?”

“I said, ‘If it was not Trowbridge, someone else in your government did it. Probably someone at your level.’ He seemed shaken at that.”

“Shaken?”

“Yeah, like he was going to hyperventilate, so I put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down, but he must have thought it was more than that.”

“Why would he think that?”

“I don’t know!”

“So you have not made any indication that you are no longer interested?”

“How would I even tell him that? We never talked about any of it!” The moment the words left her mouth, she knew her anger was to mask a graver offense. His lips parted—told her he recognized it too.

“Did you like it?”

“It barely even registered he kissed me when you punched him.” Her tone calmer now.

“Did you want to kiss him?”

“No.”

“So he made an unwelcome sexual advance on you.”

“Hal, it was a misunderstanding.”

“Of course it is, the line is so fucking blurred. A month ago you both were down to fuck in Paris. I’m sorry me almost dying cockblocked you.” He pulled his legs in and leaned forward on his elbows, his index finger waving in the air like he would when presenting a bright idea. “I bet you wish I died instead of Ronnie.”

“I wish nobody died! What the fuck?!” She would have shaken him herself if she didn’t think the explosion shook his brains enough already.

“If I didn’t walk in on you, what would have happened?”

“I would have pushed him away.”

“What if he doesn’t stop?”

“He’ll stop.”

“I don’t trust the guy.”

“What’s he going to do? Just a little yelp and Stuart heard it down the hall.”

“Katherine, what kind of Foreign Secretary gets spooked just because there’s a traitor amongst them? He’s the head of MI6—you always assume there’s a traitor.”

They fell into silence as Kate mulled over his words. Hal is, for the most part, spot-on with his professional judgment, but anything related to this Foreign Secretary will be marred with bias.

After a while, Hal stood up, heading to the bathroom. When he passed by her, she reached for his hand.

“But you believe me, right? I didn’t want him—” Her fingers grazed his palm when he flinched, his hand flying away like he touched something disgusting. Their eyes met each other, both wide in surprise. She didn’t think he meant to react that way.

Hal blinked, collecting himself first. “Just go to sleep,” he said and continued to the bathroom. She heard the water run, but no other movements followed. She fell back onto the mattress, turning face-down, and groaned into the pillow.

 

---

 

15 years ago.

 

“No touching.”

 

Kate, by reflex, had grabbed onto Hal’s sleeve as she lost her footing while changing into her outdoor shoes. The snow had been getting thicker these days, and they had started to put their boots in the office coat closet. She’d roll her eyes, and he’d chuckle. It had almost become a routine for them. She reached for the bag she had set on the floor, but it was already in his hands.

 “Thank you,” she said, her hand outstretched.

 “It’s heavy, I got it. What’s in this thing? Weighs almost as much as my luggage.”

 “Because it is my luggage,” Kate explained. “Omar will drive Pete and me to Veligrad with the Ambassador after we drop you off at the airport.”

 The country had fallen into a state of civil war days after the bombing in the Central Market. U.S. troops had arrived and asserted control over the conflict areas as expected. The leader of the Bosnian-Serbian faction, Radovan Suljic, had laid the blame on the Bosnian government, suggesting the government had orchestrated it to provoke international help and silence those who wanted independence. Several smaller skirmishes still happened, but the U.S. troops had pushed Suljic outside of Sarajevo.

 It was all part of Suljic’s plan to instill fear and sow discord among the people. For the most part, the average citizen didn’t care if their neighbor was a Serb, a Bosnian, or a Croat. But confuse them enough, insert his separatist propaganda, and sooner or later, he would have cultivated an organic following from the population itself. Playing the divide-and-conquer game by the book.

 Kate had heard from a friend in the CIA that the U.N. was forming a negotiating team led by a Eurasian diplomat. A Russian, most likely. So Hal was flying to New York to crash the party and convince the Secretary-General it should be him instead. Harder to say no when you’re already at the door, he’d said. Meanwhile, she and Pete would join the Ambassador’s team in a four-day bilateral meeting with the country’s Defense Minister.

 The roads to the airport were congested. A lot of people were trying to flee the country before things escalated. Though Hal was an unlikely target—on paper, he looked like a failed envoy sent home unable to handle the aftermath of the Merkala bombings—it put Kate at ease to know security in plain clothes would be with him until he got on the plane.

 “Mind the house, kids,” Hal winked and got out of the front seat. It was awkwardly quiet once the door shut. It was just her and Pete in the backseat. And Omar was never the talker.

 “Are you and Mr. Wyler…” Pete trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

 Kate’s face was incredulous. “No way. Where did you get that?”

 “No, it’s just you two seem awfully close.”

 Kate turned silent for a while, thinking about it. Perhaps. “We just get along well,” she offered.“But that’s because we actually agree on how things should be.” She raised an eyebrow at Pete, knowing his position on the plan.

 Pete sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I just think the Vance-Owen plan was good already.”

 “Yeah, but not good enough.” Kate smiled sadly.

 Hal had explained it during their last meeting: They’re doing a shit plan. Regionalism won’t work in a country that already has divides. Bosnian-Serbs will say no because they already have the countryside. Bosnian-Muslims will think we’re awarding Bosnian-Serbs. If you kill enough people and take their land, you get to keep it? That’s not the message we want to send.

 “So what message do we want to send?” Pete asked.

 “That it’s possible to devise a plan where each group has enough autonomy to agree,” Kate said. “He doesn’t take it against you, you know? That’s why we’re going with the Ambassador for contingencies—”

The sound of metal crushing and darkness suddenly enveloped the car. Kate felt her body fall forward before slamming back onto the backrest. A ringing in her ear was the last thing she recognized before consciousness slipped.

 

When Kate awoke, she was already in a hospital room. The IV drip and bed told her so, if not her leg in gauze raised off the bed. She tried not to be alarmed by the screws poking out. Pete was watching the TV from the chair beside her, and the sun was low outside.

 “Hey,” she said, her voice hoarse from disuse. “What happened?”

 “Kate,” Pete stood next to her, “how are you feeling?”

 Feels like shit.

 Pete laughed; apparently, she had said that out loud and not just in her head. He explained they’d gotten caught in a car accident. There had been a bombing up ahead, and with the icy road, it caused a pileup. One car skidded and T-boned them before anyone could react.

 The past two days were blurry to Kate. Partly due to the mild concussion and partly due to the sedatives they’d put her on as they set her right leg straight. Kate looked over at Pete, and thank goodness, he didn’t have any major injuries.

 “Omar?”

 “He’s fine,” Pete assured her. “He’s gone home to his family.”

 “And the bi-lat?”

 “It was a disaster,” Pete started. He took off his glasses and wiped them clean. “Vance-Owen is officially scrapped by all parties. NATO dropped bombs on Suljic’s territories in the provinces.”

 “Oh God,” Kate gasped. This could quickly escalate into an international war.

 “Mr. Wyler returned this morning,” Pete looked at her solemnly before continuing. “He stopped by here coming from the airport. He’s leading the negotiation team.”

 “That’s one good thing,” Kate exhaled, but then, catching that Pete’s expression hadn’t changed, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

 Pete narrated what had happened during the ‘talk’ that morning in Veligrad. Where he expected the Defense Minister to be, it was Suljic instead. The relentless NATO bombings had put pressure on him to make an appearance for a peace talk.

 They were introduced to the room, and Suljic extended a hand, but much to everyone’s shock, the Chief Negotiator walked past the man and went straight to his chair as if he saw nothing.
Hal pulled out documents from his briefcase, essentially declaring that he would not do anything to discourage the efforts NATO was making to restore peace in the region and listed the crimes against humanity Suljic would be charged with once this was over.

Suljic sat across from him and said, “Then I just have to make sure it never ends, don’t I?”

 “You’re right, this is a disaster,” Kate rubbed her temples. No amount of painkillers could take this off her mind.

 Kate still had a few days left in the hospital for observation and physical therapy. Nights were when the pain was worse, and the analgesics often kept her asleep until nearly noon. But things were improving. She needed less medication now, and this morning, she even woke up early enough to see her breakfast arrive.

 Someone knocked on the door. Pete was early today, she thought, but it was Hal with his laptop. He seemed surprised to see her up. “Feeling better?” he asked.

 Kate nodded. “I heard you’re U.N. Chief Negotiator, congratulations.”

 She asked what the strategy was with Suljic, but what Hal described was barely a negotiation. He was willing to use the U.S. troops to double NATO’s airstrikes if Suljic didn’t yield at the next meeting.

 “He won’t,” Kate said.

 “He has to,” Hal said.

 “Or else you’ll bring in the big guns to flatten whatever territories he managed to get,” she imitated his tough-guy act. “But you won’t, and he’ll find out your bluff.”

 “Am I bluffing?”

 “Yes. Because I know you don’t want to see this place destroyed any more than I do. And you care for the kind of life these people will have even when we’re gone.”

 “He doesn’t know that.”

 “Yeah, he thinks you’re in it for a pissing contest,” Kate watched Hal rub his hand over his face, frustrated. “He cares more about his image than the people, and that’s where you’ll lose.”

 His eyes flitted to her, and there was a sadness there.

 “It’s just a broken leg,” Kate said, answering the words he left unsaid.

 “You could have died.”

 “It’s part of the job.”

 “I hate him.”

Kate shook her head at the almost elementary tone he had. It really was just a broken leg; she’d be back on her feet in a month or so. She hid the smile she felt when she thought of how much it affected him by reaching for the Jell-O cup in her breakfast tray. He stayed for a while, talking about mundane stuff when another knock came.

“I knew you’d be here–oh, hello. How are you?”

She didn’t recognize the man with the deep brown hair.
“Katherine, this is Lewis. Lewis, Katherine,” Hal introduced them.

Lewis came up to shake her hand. “Kate is fine.” Kate grasped his proffered hand and looked intentionally at Hal. This is how you do it.

Lewis laughed, understanding the look. “Oh-ho, you’re in trouble.”

“Shut up,” Hal said, collecting his stuff. “Come on, time to go… or maybe not,” Hal wagged his eyebrows when the pretty blonde nurse came in to check on Kate.

“Go,” Kate ordered. But before they were fully out the door, she called for Hal to tell Pete to bring her sweater when he came by later.

Lewis paused, turning to both of them. Dumbfounded. “I thought you two were– ach, never mind.”

People at the embassy clapped for her when she finally returned. It was awkward, and with crutches, she couldn’t get past them fast enough. It kept happening even a few days later.

One of these well-wishers stopped them while she was on the way to the car park with Hal. Kate smiled and thanked them because that was the polite thing to do.

“You hated that,” Hal grinned, once the person was out of earshot.

She did; it was as bad as being sung Happy Birthday to in a restaurant. But she didn’t think Hal could relate in that regard. She noticed how he was slowing down to match her pace; at this rate, he was going to be late for the second round of peace talks with Suljic.

“Sir, you can go ahead. I won’t be inside the room anyway. I’ll come with Pete later.”

“Nonsense,” he said, looking around them. “I need you there from the start.” He made her hold both crutches in one hand, then dropped in front of her and grabbed her thighs, carrying her on his back.

“Put me down!” she squealed. “Hal!”

“You’re making us late,” he ran with her on his back, leaving her no choice but to hold on tight. Luckily, there was no one else in the parking lot.

“What happened to no touching?”

“This is an unanticipated crisis in a time-sensitive scenario.”

When they spotted the car up ahead, he slowed down. “I have a plan,” he said. They would use the same divide-and-conquer tactic Suljic was using, this time with his cadre. “So, I need you there to observe Suljic’s people when he’s not around. Pete’s no good in that.”

Kate understood her mission. She relaxed on his back; he seemed to be back to his usual self.

“I know someone,” she added. “She’s not a big shot – yet, but she’s CIA.”

“Katherine!” Hal perked up. “That’s perfect.” She normally did, but being this close, he heard her hiss under her breath. “Something the matter?”

“No, sir. It’s, uh,” Kate hesitated, wondering if it was worth mentioning. “Everyone calls me Kate. ‘Katherine’ makes me think of my mother.”

“Kate,” Hal said. She watched her name come out in a puff of cloud from his lips. “That’s perfect.”

 

Notes:

A/N: I just wanted a reason to punch Denison.

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

 

Bosnia. New Year’s Eve. 13 years ago

 

“You know you make it hard to believe nothing is going on between you two when you’re the one opening his door at midnight.”

“We like an audience,” Kate winked at the CIA woman leaning against the doorframe, a manila envelope between her fingers, laughing when the other visibly grimaced. “Carol’s here.”

“Lyngetti!” Hal cheered as they walked in. “Help yourself—there’s kebab, ćevapi, and this cheese-spinach bread,” he said, waving a pastry toward the side table near the entry before resting it back on the arm of the chair.

Carol whistled at the war room they’d made out of the Chief Negotiator’s suite. The man himself was seated in the corner of the room, scribbling notes on a paper then passing it to Peter, who was going about the room laying out documents on the floor for visualization. Two more of the team had sequestered the couch, phones pressed to their ears. Orange lamps softened the seriousness in the room.

“Couches beat desk chairs,” Kate explained as she took the envelope from their CIA insider and handed it to Hal, then settled in the matching armchair across from his.

“What have you got me?” Hal mused as he tore open the file.

“ Jovanović’s interpol file ,” Carol answered, squeezing in with Kate in her chair. “You’re right, this is comfortable.”

Kate was in the middle of a giggle, not sure if she meant the chair or the snuggle, when she felt eyes on her. Hal was staring, but he was untroubled by getting caught and simply turned back to perusing the file. Maybe he was just thinking? Was she imagining it? The Cheshire Cat grin Carol had told her no. Kate made a discreet karate chop on Carol’s arm between them.

She opened her laptop and clicked on an email from their Red Cross contact. “Barnes says yes,” she announced.

“We can get Hrnjica…” Pete sucked on his teeth and pointed to one of the papers on the floor, “next week. January first.”

Ivan Hrnjica was one of Suljic’s last henchmen. Riding Suljic’s influence had afforded him enough pull to have his wife bumped up on the transplant waitlist. But even after the surgery, she remained in frail condition. The poor state of palliative care in the country had made joining the rebel force lose its appeal. Barnes had just confirmed they could move the wife to a Vienna hospital, and the UN was already considering asylum for Hrnjica in exchange for information on Suljic, as they built a case at the ICC.

These were the kind of weak points they gathered from Kate’s observation and CIA intelligence courtesy of Carol. The team would then orchestrate a pull-aside for Hal to whisper the solution to the target’s problems. A “chance” meeting in the lobby. At the urinal. With their daughter, brother, childhood friend—anyone who could pass along the message unwittingly.

Suljic’s generals have not outwardly broken away, but there was a significant slowing down in his forces. Almost no movement from the flanks of the generals who’s taken the ‘carrot’.

The Ambassador, for his part, cast a wide net of financial aid, inconspicuously geared toward the families of the rebel soldiers. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but after two years of civil war, it was enough to make weary men long for home.

The good guy’s divide and conquer.

Kate was on a roll with Peter, spitballing ideas on how they could get Hrnjica alone. Hal leaned on one elbow, a finger pressing to his temple, still reading the file. Kate moved her drink on the small table between them closer to him.

“We’ll have a chance with Hrnjica on the fourteenth,” Hal said, finally putting down the paper, “Jovanović comes first.”

“Sir, we still have no opening on him,” Peter said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We can tail him again after peace talks but the next one won’t be until February third.” He fidgeted on where he stood, seeking reprieve in the ‘designated food table’, running out of fuel for ideas. “No more burek,” he sighed.

It’s always the burek that goes first, Kate thought. She glanced at Hal’s armchair, remembering he still had one piece, but to her surprise it was on the table between them too, placed on the side closer to her.

“The Hrnjicas are Orthodox, we’ll use Julian New Year as cover for them to go out then we’ll have people to sneak them out of the country. Suljic should think he’s been deserted,” Hal explained, as he sipped on the iced tea. “But Jovanović? He’s a closet devout Catholic. He won’t miss a holy day of obligation,” Hal tutted, as if it were already a  given. He tapped the file in his hand, "Jovanović’s calendar always left the major feast days clear, though there's never mention why."

Kate opened a city map in her browser and Carol, understanding what Hal was planning, pointed the general area of his suspected hide out. Kate takes in a deep breath, realizing how short the list was for the Catholic churches within the radius.

She bites her lip, this the most slippery of their targets, will they pull it off? Her eyes flick to Hal, studying his expression, it is doable but, “What’s the carrot?”

“Freedom.”

 

The answer stayed with Kate for days.  The New Year’s party the Ambassador hosted felt like the quintessential meaning of the word.

The banquet hall was filled with music loud enough to make conversation difficult, but nobody minded shouting. It was fun. Champagne spilled from their glasses as colleagues linked arms, singing lyrics to songs they wouldn’t dare to if sober. Unbridled joy hung in the air.

It was her second New Year in Bosnia. She observed that some people from the previous year now hung out with different people; some the same, some had evolved into something more.

“Clink,” she whispered to herself as she raised her glass, watching a couple kiss behind the bubbles.

“Clink,” someone echoed, tipping the edge of their glass to hers.

Kate looked up and found Peter, holding her gaze. Around them, the countdown had started. She knew he liked her. He wasn’t bad-looking, curly hair and glasses, coupled with his anxious humor, gave him a kind of nerdy charm. He finally mustered the courage to make an move on her, and yet, she found herself shaking her head at him, a sad smile on her face.

She left the party, the fireworks going off behind her. Was she really free if every choice she made took another person into consideration? Perhaps that was the reality of freedom. Unbridleness was an illusion.

Hal will strike a deal with the UN and ICC to exempt Jovanovic in the cases they are forming brought about this war, Or at the very least block his extradition. But Jovanovic was a man of many crimes against humanity, inside and outside the scope of his service to Suljic, only complete assurance will make him flip. Perhaps going to church was his way to lessen his days in hell.

But who were they to decide who gets to be free and who doesn’t?

 

She returned to her room. Her accommodation in the embassy compound wasn’t like Hal’s, where he had his own kitchen and living area. Hers was more akin to a quaint hotel room. She slipped beneath the covers of her bed.

The alcohol in her system helped her doze off, despite the philosophical conundrum circling her head. To her disappointment, the next time she opened her eyes, it was still dark outside. She should get more sleep; they had a general to corner today, after all.

But the thought of today’s agenda woke her up fully. The clock on her nightstand read 5:37 a.m. Kate sighed. There was hardly anything to do in her room.

She decided to go for a walk. Somehow, her feet led her to the office.

To her surprise, the light was on. “Hey,” she said to the lone figure inside. “You’re early.”

Hal turned from the window, watching the dawn break. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Are you nervous?” she asked, coming to stand beside him by the window. Their reflections were visible on the glass pane. For all the times they’d done pull-asides, this was the first time she’d asked him.

“Yeah,” he said, and it sounded like a relief to admit.

“We can change the plan.”

Hal shook his head. “I was just thinking.”

“Uh-oh,” she japed. “What about?”

“The burden of being the judge and the executioner.”

Was this not what she was worried about. Kate’s brows furrowed, she could not let Hal confuse what he is. “You’re neither. You’re the negotiator.”

Hal nodded, but Kate didn’t think he took it to heart. His foot kept tapping the floor. She grasped his arm, turning them both to look at each other instead of the skyline, her fingers curling around his rolled cuff.

“What happens to Jovanović, to Hrnjica, to Suljic — it’s the result of their own doing. You focus on stopping them from making more children from the park orphans. Half of them already are.”

She held his gaze, cold blue eyes meeting green, unwavering. “If you’re unsure of your role here, we can replace you.”

“Nah, I’ll do it,” Hal said, cocking his head to the side, scrunching his nose. He placed a hand over hers, giving it a squeeze before saying the familiar words: “They can’t do what I can.”

Kate chuckled at his confidence, even if some of it was just bravado. He walked away from the window, stretching his arms. He should catch some sleep, Kate thought.

“It’s just almost midnight in New York. You should call your family. I know you already forgot Christmas and Thanksgiving,” he said.

Why not. Kate logged into her desktop. Shortly after, the sound of Skype ringing echoed through the room. Hal went into his own office, closing the door behind him to give her privacy. But the glass walls allowed her to watch him slip off his jacket —when suddenly:

“Katherine!” boomed from the speakers.

It looked like everyone was home in New York. Her mother in particular prattled on about how she should call more often, and Kate promised, half-heartedly.

Her mother turned the camera to the side, saying she’d call Kate’s brother. Kate could see their small figures in the distance, by the river she had so many childhood memories in. Then, for the second time that day, she heard the beginnings of a countdown to welcome the new year, only this time, much fainter.

Remembering she hadn’t seen Hal at the earlier party, she rushed to his office. She tapped on the glass, thankful she was only disturbing him from some document he probably already knew backwards and forwards, instead of sleep.

It’s New Year, she mouthed when he looked up.

Hal came out of his office, now hearing the faint countdown too. The fireworks looked beautiful despite the pixelated appearance on the screen.

They both reached for each other at the same time, framing each other’s faces in their hands. Like an unrestrained surge of electricity pulled their lips fiercely together.

It was quick, but she couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her when they pulled away. She knew his lips had said happy new year, but all she could think about was how good they felt. And how his eyes were dilated.

And how they were now coming closer again.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself up to his height. Just feeling his lips was quickly not enough. She opened her mouth to suck on his bottom lip, but then he slipped his tongue in, eliciting a moan from her.

Her knees buckled as she felt him explore her. His arm around her waist was the only thing keeping her upright. She tried to match him, stroke for stroke, but the sighs it drew from her robbed her of breath.

They ended up on the floor. They did no more than kiss, but they couldn’t get enough — kissing, tasting, gulping the air the other breathed, no matter how long they went on. If only air wasn’t a factor, they’d still be at it.

Maybe it was the lack of oxygen that made the cold floor seem perfect for a nap. She lay on her back, focusing on the florescent lights installed in the ceiling as tried to slow down her breathing. A laugh creeped up in her throat like the bubbles she watched slowly rising in her champagne earlier. Hal also couldn't help the mirth that came out of him. They tried to stop it, their lungs still in need of air, but the more they do the more they fall into a fit of laughter. Triggered by the other's failed attempt.

It almost felt delirious.

When they seemed to calm, Kate rolled to her side, resting her head on his chest, listening to Hal's heart thumping until it steadied. She looked up and found him blinking, slowly finally falling into slumber. She smiled. Carefully, she moved around him and brought his head to her lap as a pillow.

 

“Oh honey,” came Carol’s voice.

She too must have dozed off, leaning against the wall, as she didn’t hear anyone come in through the door. The sun had completely broken out of the sky now, soon the others will arrive. She looked up at her friend and pressed an index finger to her lips; she didn’t want to wake Hal just yet.

Notes:

we're now in their 13-years-ago mark. they've finally stepped on the line, i wonder how they'll cross it.

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

“Kate… Kate…”

Her eyes fluttered open, her husband a blurry vision as they slowly came to focus. Her gaze settled on his lips and it struck her how after all these years, they remained just as it was when he first fell asleep on her lap. A tiny butterfly flapped its wings in her stomach, even with the deeper lines and grayer hair that was not there the previous year, it made him look incredibly boyish.

Many waking minutes had been spent just like this, her watching him, often debating if she should reach for him but ultimately decides not to, as it constitutes cheating in the silent game she played. Discerning if he was asleep or not. Early on in their relationship, she realized that he is often conscious earlier but is infinitely more reluctant to actually wake up than her. Only this time, her hesitation did not stem from such a light reason.

They had gone to bed with neither bringing up his flinching at her touch. Would he now, when he’s still in the claws of sleep? He called for her, didn’t he?

“Stuart’s at the door,” Hal rasped, his voice rough with sleep.

Ah. Another round of knocking confirmed her DCM indeed was. Kate, clearing her throat, pulled the duvet up over her chest before calling Stuart in. She doubted he would be interested, but she was only in an old, flimsy tank top; no need to greet him with her headlights first thing in the morning.

She heard Hal beside her ask what time it was as he pushed himself upright. It was still dark; it couldn’t have been later than five.

Stuart crutched into the room, also still in his pajamas. “I am so sorry, but we have to get going right away.”

“What happened?” Kate asked, already bracing for the kind of news that would have Stuart rushing to her room in sleepwear—short of a nuke headed their way.

“The Vice President is on the way to London,” Stuart explained.

“ Now? ” Stuart nodded. It might as well have been a nuke.

Hal got off the bed with a low groan as he bent at the waist. “Come on,” he said, patting Stuart on the shoulder as he walked past and out of the room. Stuart turned back to Kate with a confused look.

“He’s getting coffee. Can you...?” Kate gestured vaguely for him to follow Hal. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

It was a routine they had formed from years in crisis zones where security breaches meant 3 minutes to vacate the premises. But if there was time, Hal would always secure food first. We don’t know when we’ll get to eat again , he’d say. While she packed essentials, may it be a change of clothes or a scrap of paper with a defector’s contact scribbled in haste.

By the time Kate finished her shower, Hal was waiting on the bed with a tray of coffee and toast. He grabbed his towel and, when he’d usually place a hand on her back to move her, he turned his body to the side instead, avoiding bumping into her. Kate bit her lip and dried her hair aggressively.

She did not have time for this.

The VP was flying out to London mere hours after the sting on Trowbridge. Thinking about why made her stomach turn. Hoping something warm would help, she sipped on his coffee. Her eyes fell on the barely but already-started toast, and with a sigh, she sat down and spread a bit more butter on it.

It has be because of the sting. But why come herself? The last thing anyone wanted was more attention on the issue. She needed to get her hands on Eidra’s report and prepare a brief for the VP during the ride back to London, she thought as she munched on the bread.

When Hal emerged from the bathroom, Kate wiped off the crumbs from her fingers and grabbed the bandage supplies from the dresser. She had meant to sit down again so his wound would be at her eye level, but he took the plastic bag from her with a quiet, “Thanks.”

She tried to meet his eyes, but he had walked over to his side of the bed, placing the bag on his nightstand —conveniently kept his back to her as he tended to the wound himself. Kate bit her lip again. This was a complete 180 from yesterday morning.

Perhaps if she were not so disconcerted, she would have been a little more ginger when she put on her pants and not forced the zip over the fabric that had snagged on the fly’s teeth. Now, the zip had come loose and kept riding down.

With black underwear, trousers, jacket, and shirt, it was barely noticeable. But it was not lost on her when Hal insisted a paper clip from Stuart to hold it up and yet didn’t volunteer any help to put it on. God forbid he might touch her. Well, Stuart managed just fine, shooting the thin metal through the zip’s crown without so much as touching fabric. 

Hal tried his best to give her a refresher on the Embassy keynotes but the eight-hour drive turned one-and-a-half-hour flight was barely enough to work her nerves out. The Great Seal of the United States printed on the helicopter’s body, in case she forgot to whom she was being delivered to.

If Grace knew about UK’s false flag op, and came to directly give a hand on how US intends to deal with this revelation, Kate could work with that. Fantastic even, the weight of this whole ordeal would be off her shoulders. But if Grace Penn also knew Kate’s lobbying for office, this could go from national security to politics very quickly.

“Yeah! She definitely knows!” Hal yelled beside her, answering the question in her mind, hand in his pocket as they walked side by side to hear each other over the helicopter’s spinning rotor blades behind them.

Grace Penn, in her red suit and blonde hair, even from a distance, Kate felt her blue eyes piercing through her. Watching and evaluating as she stood at the top of the double staircase, hands planted on the railing with an ownership that Kate never felt toward Winfield.

Once inside the house, she was on her own. Hal could not even cross to the drawing room. Probably for the best. She did not have the mental space to account for whatever trick he pulls on the Vice-President to make sure Kate gets the limelight.

With him in tow.

Kate’s pen raced faster than her mind could find the words. Compacting the past two months’ revelations into a digest. Her knee became restless as she drafted a plan of action regarding their greatest ally.

None of it came to use. Grace Penn already had the CIA Station Chief’s fifty-two-page report absorbed forwards and backwards. Kate hated to admit it, but there was little she could offer at the moment. The VP called on the PM and Foreign Secretary like inviting the neighbors over. No ceremonies, no making up reasons. For which Kate was grateful Hal was cordoned off to the other side of the house.

When they came, Nicol Trowbridge had none of his usual affable attitude for Kate, only scathing words of acknowledgment as he stared straight in her eyes. Austin Dennison on the other hand barely did, opting to look at the walls as his split lip said no more than five words to her. The two men had become a band of brothers overnight.

But Grace had them eating at the palm of her hand in no time.

‘Oh I thought… blame it on the jet lag. I’m seeing everything in absolutes. Tell the story and resign. Bury it and stay in office. And you’ve found a third way?’

They did not even notice it. She quashed their third way by it not even being in consideration. If Nicol and Austin pushed for it, Kate could tell Grace already had a narrative prepared. The Brits left feeling rather sure about themselves, believing they arrived at the conclusion on their own volition.

It was all Grace.

Kate was in awe. Ever since Kate watched Grace talk at her university, she had aspired to be someone like her. Grace could present herself deferring if it meant getting her words across but in no way did she make herself less. All grown up, however, Kate found herself nowhere near like her.

‘When you’re a second-tier diplomat in a third-world war zone, that might read as scrappy. If you’re representing the interest of three hundred million Americans… it’s best to look like the  care of your trousers wasn’t more than you could manage.’

Dissected like a common bug. And they wanted her to replace this woman?

They are out of their minds.

Hal. Billie. Rayburn. Stuart. The lot of them. They all have ambition twinkling in their eyes. It was never what she could do but what they could do with her. Good but not too good to replace. Good but not too good to overshadow the President. No, that’d be Hal. They’re too smart to let him that close but through Kate, White House could squeeze the most optimal commensal symbiote with Hal Wyler.

 

“Come on, supper time.”

Her husband’s voice cut through her rumination. She did not realize the sun had come down, she’d been huddled on the floor by the bedside since her post-mortem by Grace Penn. Hal stood there, quietly waiting for her.

She wanted to be mad at him for nominating her for this position, but she couldn’t. The VP’s words would not have hurt as much if deep inside she hadn’t already entertained the idea and liked it . 

“The Vice President called me a sloppy hussy.” Kate knew what it looks like. A child telling on the head teacher who scolded her. But she’d been keeping it together the whole day, pretending none of it got to her. Now that it’s just him and her, the words spill out.

“One time, Chief of Protocol called me ‘shit on a suit,’” Hal said without missing a beat. He was not dismissive, just reminding her of perspective.

“Hal…” Kate trailed off, too tired to explain why it’s not the same. He got called names because he made their work complicated; she got called names because… that’s what they think of her.

“She’s a sore loser,” he doubled down.

She could not find it in her to agree, even in jest. Not when all Grace did was serve cold hard truths that would objectively improve her, though painful they were to hear. “She’s not. She’s incredible.”

He did not say anything. She did not want him to.

But perhaps if she had looked up then, she would have seen the lights die in his eyes.

Not really having the appetite for anything herself, she let Hal take the lead in the dinner talk with the Vice President. Almost inane with how anal-retentive he is being with the specifics.

 

“Have we?” Hal asked when Grace mentioned they’ve talked about the same topic in a previous meeting.

 

It was during a summit, then Congresswoman Penn was making rounds and Hal basically hijacked her time to pitch an immigration proposal, Kate remembered as she half-heartedly sliced through the burrata on her plate.

 

“Yes and you still talk about VISAs the exact same way,” Grace said.

 

Because nothing has changed , Kate answered in her head. She and Hal have exercised this script for meeting politicians, but to her surprise, he focused on the occurrence of the conversation, “Right. That one where Medvedev made that abhorrent long speech to reframe UN charter.” he said, sipping on his wine.

 

“No, before that. In ‘06.”

 

“In Brussels?”

 

“No, in Beirut. We had a long conversation,” a hint of exasperation in Grace’s voice. Wanting to drop it, she added, “It was a bigger deal for me than it was for you.”

 

Kate stopped decimating the soft cheese. This wasn’t a trip to memory lane. Hal was too sharp for that; he remembered every summit, every speech, every schmuck he talked to. He wasn’t lost. He was circling .

 

You’re not worth remembering, Kate could read beneath the thoughtful looks he tried to feign. Reminding people their places when they stood in their way was always in his options, but Grace was on the way out —the woman herself was decidedly so, there was no need to lash out like this except for Kate letting him know she got to her. Never mind that they’re still in a ‘fight’. 

 

He was on the hunt and she gave him reason to draw blood.

---

13 years ago.

 

Kate listened as the jubilant bells tolled, both from the distance and in the listening device in her ear. There was some static, then the rustling of clothes. Kate watched as parishioners began to exit the church.

“Ivan,” came Hal’s voice. The response was faint, but unmistakably male. Ivan Jovanovic. “I did not know you are religious.”

“—re you doing here?” Jovanovic’s voice came into the mic’s range. They were now at arm’s length from each other. His voice was controlled. Perhaps closer.

“It’s New Year. I thought I should pray to God for deliverance.”

“You have no God,” he said, with a thick accent. “What do you want?”

“Izvini me,” a soft female voice said. Hal tutted. “We should move this to the side. We’re in the way.”

“So your people can put a sack over my head.”

“No. I don’t like others doing my dirty work.”

There was a pause, and then Kate heard wood creaking shut.

“What is this?” Jovanovic asked.

A beat.

“I think you know.”

Sounds of paper being unsheathed and flipped over and over.

“These are lies. Fabrication!”

“Pull your forces, and maybe you’ll find yourself somewhere that has no extradition treaties.”

Jovanovic scoffed. “This is has nothing to do with me.”

“Nothing? Then it’s fine if it goes to trial, isn’t it?” Jovanovic had no answer. “I can help you make this go away,” Hal’s voice a ghost in the darkness.

“I don’t need your help.”

“You do. I’ll tell you why. Because the moment Suljic falls, you’re next in their list and they will drag you all the way to The Hague. And I will be the first to tell them where to put you. It will be no Norwegian prison, I assure you.”

“I make sure Sssuljic succeeds,” Jovanovic’s voice was indignant despite the slight tremor in his words.

“He won’t.”

“If you are so sure,” Jovanovic forced a sardonic laugh, “you will not resort to this disgusting accusations.”

“Of course I will,” Hal’s voice responded without hesitation. “Waiting for the inevitable does not bring back those who die in between.”

Kate unlocked the car door as she watched Hal come down the steps of the church. His eyes blank, devoid of light and emotion, as he spoke into his wire, “But what do I know? I am godless after all. You can ask him if he can bring back the minors you—”

Kate was not able to hear Hal’s final words over Jovanovic’s cursing and the slamming of the confessional doors Hal had led him to.

“Sine?” An elderly man’s voice was picked up, along with the murmurs of the surrounding people.

“JEBI SE!”

Kate yanked her earpiece as Jovanovic screamed directly at the long-range wireless speaker he discovered they had left inside the confessional, followed by stomping and plastic breaking sounds until the built-in mic was ultimately crushed as well.

They didn’t wait to see Ivan Jovanovic, pale and stricken, a copy of Interpol’s file on his human trafficking affiliations stuffed into a manila envelope he struggled to keep hidden inside his suit jacket.

 

---

This was what it’s like to go against Hal Wyler. For better or for worse, he utilizes everything he has on you. That’s the same reason why Kate knew he would not take the out Grace was giving him. He didn’t need it.

Still feigning ignorance, he asked Kate, “You remember that?”

“She came on a CODEL.” Kate was not playing. She set her utensils down and turned to Grace, just as curt. “Why are you quitting?”

“I think you know why,” Grace replied.

“Kate,” Hal interjected.

Party’s over, sweetheart.

The difference is subtle, but she could see the bloodlust coming off him as he leaned back down into his chair.

“She’s one of the two people in the White House who can’t be fired.”

“What are you doing?” her husband asked, knowing very well what.

Stopping you from keeping a woman down when she’s exactly what the nation needs. Competent and experienced. Not me. Not you. Her.

It was a three-way battle with no one fighting for their own. Kate was fighting for Grace against the arguments Hal raised — ones the VP had long since conceded to. She didn’t think they were his real reasons; he was only magnifying what the detractors say to keep Grace discouraged from staying.

His tone, from being just petty and exasperating earlier, had now turned sharp and surgical. Like there were specific nerves she could not see that he was trying to snip.

“The Vice President is not electable either, and she’s trying. They try different bowls, different labels. The dogs don’t like the dog food.”

He just knows where to make it hurt.

He at least still had some sense of decorum to excuse himself after that. Grace and Kate finished their dinner in silence. She tried what she could to repair the damage he made, but who knew if it worked.

When Kate finally followed upstairs, she found him in bed already, on his side and covers right up to the top of his shoulder. She narrowed her eyes for a second. “I know you’re up.”

Nothing. She sat down to take off her boots and told him to call Billie first thing in the morning. “We’re gonna tell her Grace Penn should be Vice President of the United States.”

“The President does not want her. He wants you.”

“He speaks.”

He made another round of his attempt at enticing her into the role. Tough luck. Kate had decided. She wouldn’t let another woman fall down just because of their stupid fucking husband. Hal caught her dialing Billie on her phone, and he swung his feet over the bed to grab it from her. Raised above their heads, it was impossible for her to reach without tackling him to the ground.

Spotting the landline behind him, she scampered to the bed, and she felt him pull on her thighs — him diving on top of her, effectively pinning her under his weight.

“What the fuck are you doing!” she yelled.

She tried to flip him off, but he let out a choking grunt that halted that plan. “You’re going to pop a fucking stitch!”

“Then stop moving!” he breathed against her neck.

Really? The whole day he avoids touching her and this is what makes him fold? He wanted power that much?

“Grace Penn shouldn’t be rescued.”

“Why? Because of her husband? Because the people don’t like her? She’s brilliant and tough and human. And for some god-awful reason she still wants to serve the American people!”

Kate made another attempt for the phone.

“Stop!” He held her by the wrist, but there was something in the urgency of his tone that finally broke through her. “Katie, Roylin didn’t come up with the plan.” He panted again. “Grace Penn did.”

What.

The.

Fuck.

Notes:

it took me a while to figure out Kate's mental head space following the events of chapter 10 and how to execute the flashback scene, it turns out getting locked out of your house for 7 hours is the key to unlocking the mind.

i wanted her to be more introspective and at the same time not give kate a chance to do so. i hope i was able to express that. also around chapter 14 i have something wild in store, if you are still interested 😄😄

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

‘Ma'am, I think you're good for the country.’

‘You were inspiring today.'

‘If you’re exhausted from 30 years in the ring, I respect that. You’ve done more than anyone has the right to ask of you. But if any part of you still wants it, if you won’t fight this? I don’t know who will.’

If only she could reach out and grab the words and shove them back into the pit of sincerity they came from. They taunted her now as she forced a smile and shook the Vice-President’s outstretched hand.

The bitch knew what she did, and she still let her rally, pleading into the night over a glass of scotch, not to throw the towel just yet. Fair enough that it was Kate who could not be deterred by Hal’s uncharacteristically merciless counters when normally he would have considered it, if only because it's what the wife wanted.

But she should have known: if Grace really wanted out, the woman had more than a razor-sharp tongue to stop her. Kate saw it now for what it was: she was used as a sounding board.

‘I’m just embarrassed by my lack of imagination.’

“Now we’re both prepared for anything.” The older woman said, smiling, before they left for the dinner at Blenheim Palace.

 

Trowbridge was hosting an official dinner as a show of trilateral unity among the Western world’s nuclear powers. And with the sudden addition of the US Vice-President’s attendance, whom Trowbridge was superbly impressed by after just one meeting, he called President Rayburn to pitch being the nuclear czar. He thought tonight was the best time to make the announcement.

This was not one of the contingencies Kate accounted for when she brought in Hal as a filter. All she thought was something to assure the old bat Roylin that she could speak to them securely. But for it so that Kate would be genuine in her encounters with Grace Penn, not one whiff of suspicion, only utmost respect and, to some degree, idolization, was just part of the magic that came with her marriage. So much so, the evil mastermind let her guard down and didn’t think twice about giving Kate a heads up on Trowbridge’s plan.

Which they managed to thwart at the last minute, literally.

Kate first tried to whisper to Denison, being that he’s now, as he claimed, the PM’s lieutenant, in not so many words that Trowbridge should put off that idea, only to get stonewalled at anything she had to say. Kate would have felt sorry, in light of the events two nights prior, if it were not frustrating that he could not set aside the personal undertone of their partnership to pass a warning to his PM from a reputable source. She supposed she’s no longer reputable in the Foreign Secretary’s eyes.

‘Austin Denison has so thoroughly colonised the moral high ground that I couldn’t set foot there even if I wanted to.’ Trowbridge’s words wafted by, and briefly she wondered what history was in there.

“I got it,” Hal said when she came back, mission failed, to their little trio with Stuart.

He slid seamlessly into the group of the UK PM, US VP, and French General, discussing who Russia was selling their subs to. He did not need to find a crack to squeeze in; they pause when he speaks. His reputation was enough to demand attention. They did not even notice Randall, the Chief of Staff, had left their circle.

Her husband fitted well in this first-world glitterati, she thought, not for the first time since they moved to London. She and Hal are good, really good in their respective roles before all this, but when it came to the showmanship part of the job, he’s got it down pat. Not one detail is ever unintended.

She watched him stand with his bruised knuckles, which unknowing eyes would attribute to the Central London incident, next to Denison, with a dried cut on his lip, almost unnoticeable as it was closer to the inside than out. Their eyes met from across the room, and Hal blinked slowly at her. What? She could almost hear his feigned innocence asking.

Diving onto her like a linebacker tackling the ball carrier last night had somehow broken the awkwardness between them, reaching an unspoken truce. I don’t bring it up, you don’t bring it up. World affairs took precedence over personal woes after all, especially when they hinged on something that wasn't her fault.

She may have more than failed to disabuse Austin Dennison that a Wyler divorce was coming, but she never once indicated to him that he should kiss her.

What was it Hal said? Correlation is not causation. Right, that’s it, still not entirely sure she got it.

She squeezed where her hand was resting on Hal’s arm as they filed into the state dining room, watching Trowbridge get stopped just as he was about to pass through the door, whispering, and then passing a torn note to Randall’s hand. His mangled toast was painful to listen to; obvious that something substantive had been redacted shortly before.

Too obvious, Kate thought as she sweated in her seat, trying her best not to meet the Prime Minister’s begrudging stare.

In the weeks she harbored suspicion of Trowbridge, Kate was able to hide behind the fact that their encounters were few and short. And if some of it seeped through, he wouldn’t have picked up on it because he was never guilty.

That would not be the case with Grace.

The moment things were not as Grace expected, when the announcement she was perked up to hear never came, no matter how much Kate denied her hand in it –knowing what she definitively knew now, lying also became exponentially difficult, and Grace picked up on it in a snap.

“He was going to mention my new portfolio. Didn’t happen, and then he looked right at you.”

Perhaps it was the same way she could read the anger emanating from Stuart for days after she finally confessed to being the leak to whomever IED’d Grove’s car that got Ronnie killed in the crossfire. He said he’s over it, but now and then, she’d still catch him staring at the once-occupied desk by an earnest bow-tied 28-year-old.

He probably thought he had a good poker face, but he might as well have worn a sign on his forehead spelling out exactly what he thought. Stuart can’t know about Grace, Kate made a note in her mind.

Well, Hal knew, and nobody would have guessed, not even when he tried to extinguish any fight Grace still had in her face. There was comfort in having him sit between them at this dinner; a physical and metaphorical shield.

“Looks like Peter Cottontail, but she’s a climber,” Grace not so subtly uttered.

“I think you’re misunderstanding,” Hal placated.

Great. Now, she thinks I’m after her job. She was. But not for the reason Grace thinks. Kate calculated the repercussions; regardless of her people knowing or not knowing the whole truth, there were battles Kate had to fight alone.

“Tell her,” Kate ordered simply. Despite Hal’s initial reluctance, he did as he was told, phrasing it in a way only those in the know would get. She watched the color drain from the Vice-President’s face before getting up from the table. Though it was a small victory for Kate, she was not at all surprised when Nora, Grace’s assistant, landed on her shoulder a moment later, asking her to step out as well. Kate mustered a breathy, “Sure,” and gave Hal a last glance.

 

She expected Grace to be waiting in the other room, ready for a browbeating at the least. But to her surprise, the Vice President came dragging the taller-than-her Dreadnaught map display from the lobby and picked up a burnt coal from Blenheim’s fireplace.

Kate stayed quiet as Grace crossed X’s all over the map, the growing Russian submarine bases in the Pacific. “Do you know what Creegan is?” Grace asked, circling a tiny peninsula in the upper middle of the UK.

“A nuclear submarine base in Scotland,” Kate answered. One of the last footholds the US has that deters Russian movement to the Atlantic.

The Scottish referendum had success in its fingertips, were it not stopped in its tracks by a fatal tragedy and a heroic vengeance for the fallen, rekindling the unity of the kingdoms of Great Britain, the Scots would rid themselves of Creegan as fast as they would rid themselves of anything English.

Kate disliked how close to home she found the soundness of this plan, how her marriage mirrored it. Had Hal not been blown up, they would be in a very different position by now as well.

What else but a reminder of one’s mortality could be more effective to dissuade someone from leaving? 53% of Scotts seemed to agree.

“Is there a universe where USA can afford to lose Creegan?” Grace wiped off the ashes on her dress’ skirt with such gusto that Kate felt a gust of air as it was whipped back to place, leaving Kate alone to ruminate.

 

Kate kept turning the facts over and under and sideways throughout dinner and the drive home.
It barely even registered Hal maneuvering the world around her, catching conversations and steering them away for her.

Even back in Winfield, she stared blankly at the bedroom wall, her body moving perfunctorily as she removed jewelry that only ever saw the light of day when attending official functions. Her mind wandered far away, searching a path where HMS Courageous didn’t have to happen.

But it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.

It would have been perfect if all had gone according to plan.

But it didn’t.

 

Hal moving to her periphery with wrists proffered anchored her back to the present. He didn’t prompt her, much like he didn’t prompt her for anything since she returned to her seat at dinner, but she knew with his eyes on her, unfastening his cufflinks was just an excuse, a silent you okay?

Kate turned around, presenting the zip of her dress to him. There was no changing what had already happened. Now what? The answer was in the fringes of her mind, but the day’s nerves made her feel too fraught to voice it. Even with Hal unzipping her, taking it fully off seemed too big a task. She sat on their bed, dress still half on. She just wanted to close the book on this debacle and take on something else she can make a difference in. “Walk with me for a minute?”

 

The cool air against their faces was calming, and the sound of crickets, more prominent than what they could hear inside, was a welcome distraction. It had been a while since they went out at night in just sweaters and jeans, meandering under the moonlight. Although it was only through the stretch of Winfield’s front lawn, it was reminiscent of earlier times.

Resting on the front steps, thoughts finally settled down in her mind, she told Hal what went down with Grace. She watched his face as he took it all in. She already conceded that, in the grand scheme of things, it was for the greater good.

‘I can name all 42 people who died in this debacle. I can’t do that if it were forty thousand or forty million.’

The same rationale he had for hijacking the plane in Kabul. So civilians with no American affiliations could have one more day to evacuate. In the end, 8,190 people were able to leave in those last 24 hours.

She had always known, but it tore at her to face the 358 they failed. People they had worked alongside — confidential informants, staff, mediators. People who put their lives on the line without second-guessing the Americans who promised to protect them. And they repaid them by leaving them behind.

She might never be able to forgive Hal, the smartest man she knew, for coming up short with a plan that could save everyone. But she could begin to understand his choice. It was exactly what he would do.

“She should stay,” she finally broke it to him. “She shouldn’t be punished for a decision that had to be made.”

“I really can’t do this, Kate,” he said with a deep sigh.

“What would you have done?” This time, she audibly voiced out her thoughts, indignant, “It’s exactly what you would have done.”

“Can we take a quick break from making it all about me? Just once? And look at you?”

“No.” Why should they? This was her finally taking a leaf out of his book. Her finally seeing it from the other side of the desk.

“After the great and good on two sides of the Atlantic prostrated themselves at your feet, you finally condescended to the idea of being Vice President... “

She scoffed. There it is.

For once, she accepted that the means justify the ends. But there he was again, not listening, pushing her into something he wanted.

Always the advocate, when there is something in it for him. How many times did he commit borderline crimes himself because it was the best move, or sometimes the only move they could make? He, of all people, should be the one to understand Grace. Now, he had the audacity to say they should go to the proper channels to judge Grace’s action. Write a cable to Ganon, no less.

“Fuck you,” Kate lets out.

Chapter 14

Notes:

I really thought I'd be able to do a 4-chapter update in one go, but alas, I can only give you ch.13 and 14 for now.

Kate wove through the estate’s gardens, her trusty bodyguard trailing a few good paces behind. She raked her fingers through her hair for the nth time, she didn’t care much if it looked like a bird’s nest up there; mussing up her hair was the best she could do to let out some frustration without screaming. Because sometimes it felt like it’s the only way he hears her.

 

Relief found her once she reached the front of the Gardener’s Cottage, eager to see the friendly face inside.

 

---

13 years ago

 

“You ever going to tell me what that was?”

 

Kate heard her friend ask behind her, followed by the sound of a can being cracked open. She paid Carole no mind as she continued writing the progress report for Tuesday. “Don’t spill beer on my sheets,”

 

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear what I said,” Carole shot back, propping the pillows behind her to make herself comfortable on Kate’s bed.

 

“What was what?” Kate answered. She hoped Carole would drop it if she played dumb long enough, but she could feel the woman’s scrutinizing eyes piercing her back. The clacking of the keyboard intensified as she refused to crack.

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Carole started in a sing-song tone, “Maybe sleeping with the boss man—”

 

“I’m not sleeping with him.” Kate corrected matter-of-factly. 

 

“Didn’t look like it from where I was,” Carole teased. When Kate didn’t react, she continued, “Hey, I’m not judging. With the men around here, he’s not the worst choice…”

 

Kate tilted her head back, enough to throw an arched eyebrow and a smirk of her own. “Something you want to share?” She took the first opportunity to turn the tables on her friend, who had for the longest time sworn off men.

 

“You’re no fun,” Carole pouted, “thank god you have booze.” She took a swig, but then grimaced just as quickly. “How old is this?”

 

Kate stretched an arm back, her hand making a gimme gesture, and Carole placed the beer in her hand. Euch. It tasted metallic. Kate raised the can higher to see the date on the bottom, “It should still be good…” 

 

“Nah-uh,” Carole snatched it back. “It may be younger than your boyfriend, but I’m not croaking until you give me the 411.”

 

“He's not that old!” Kate replied indignant, she swivelled in her chair, watching her friend retreat to the small bathroom.

 

“So you're okay with the boyfriend bit?” Carole called from the bathroom over the sound of the rancid liquid poured down the drain, quite proud of herself for cracking Kate.

 

Kate rolled her eyes and turned back to her laptop, “It’s so outrageous– and ridiculous, that it shouldn’t be deigned with a response.”

 

Carole came out and rummaged the tiniest mini-fridge ever for fresh beers. “The lady doth protest too much,” she said, placing one next to Kate.

 

“What is there to say,” Kate’s tone was less defensive this time, more resigned, her nail finding purchase under the metal tab. “I had a bit too much to drink, he was tired, and then we fell asleep on the floor.”

 

Her friend stared at her for a moment, like contemplating if she should say but, settled on a simple “Okay” and climbed back on bed.

 

There was no need to divulge what happened before or after, Kate decided, because there won’t be anything more to it.

 

It was a poorly made decision brought about by the gaiety and alcohol and anxiety. A carried away New Year’s Eve kiss at most. Not helped by the fact that working closely together for the past two years have made them comfortable with each other. But watching him deal with Jovanovic reminded Kate she didn’t really know Hal Wyler.

 

When she found him in the office that day, while the rest of Bosnia sleeps, exhausted by the festivities, anxious of what the day holds, felt like seeing something only she should be seeing. And she liked it. She liked that she was the one that could ground him.

 

She reminded him what he was. He was the negotiator, the one who airs out conflicts of interest until everyone came to an agreement they can live with. It was not his burden nor was it up to him to decide who gets punished or pardoned or let go. 

 

They slowly removed the conflicts for most of Suljic’s trusted men, most they found were in it for self-serving reasons which were in truth easy to resolve with valid means but they were too distraught to see, effectively making them lose interest in his separatist movement.

 

But they could not find any angle why Ivan Jovanovic supported Suljic other than he was a steadfast believer to the cause. So when Kate realized that the ‘freedom’ Hal was offering Jovanic was to let him get away from the crimes he committed, she felt lied to. She was angry that she was made an unknowing conspirator.

 

“Why did you bring me?” she had asked him as she drove through the icy roads back to the Embassy white he stared outside, watching the throngs of people celebrating the rest of New Year’s day contrasting the silence in the car, “Why not Pete? Or Lewis?”

 

“Lewis is, busy,” Hal answered like it was the most obvious thing, a curious furrow in his brows. 

 

“So why not Pete?”

 

He let out a deep breath, leaning back in his seat. He stared up at the headliner like he was contemplating something, after a while he asked, “Where do you want to be in five years?”

 

“What the fuck?”

 

“I mean it.”

 

“If you think just because…” she lowered her voice then, but the hiss was as venomous nonetheless, “we kissed that I’m down for ‘special favors’ think again, buddy.”

 

That seemed to break him and she could see him biting his cheek to stop himself from smiling. “No, seriously, where do you see yourself?” 

 

“I don’t know. This job?” she shrugged.

 

“Yeah, well, Pete wants to be a politician,” he revealed, “He’s going to take this back to D.C.”

 

What they did in the church with Jovanovic was definitely off the books, one that victors refrain from being written in history, hence they snuck out of the Embassy without Omar or David or any of his details knowing.

 

“So what, that makes me fine to learn the tricks of the trade?” Kate tried to make it out as nonchalant but could not completely hide that her character was insulted. “That he won’t be okay with this but I am?”

 

Hal shook his head, his hands coming out in the air as he wont when explaining, “Believe me, he’s okay with this if he knew. I knew you won’t be. But,” he placed a hand on hers that was on the stick shift, “I needed someone who trusts me.”

 

He looked at her intently, she met his eyes momentarily but with the driving excuse, she turned her eyes back to the road and changing gears to get his hand off. 

 

“You needed someone who won’t talk.” Those were her last words to him. It had been weeks since, and they never found themselves in a room just by themselves, and their communication strictly limited to business. Neither talked about it nor did it feel like they were dancing around each other, it just was how they are now.

 

Kate paused in her typing, the blinking cursor waiting on her. “Carole, what’s in the envelope?” she asked, dispirited.

 

“You already know,” Carole answered emphatically. Though Kate never actually saw the files, it was apparent it contained evidence for heinous acts. “What did you expect him to do with it?”

 

“I don’t know,” Kate sighed, watching the pale gold liquid catch light from the little opening as she swirled the can, “I just know we’re failing a lot of people.”

 

---

Kate watched legs form on the side of the glass as she swirled her glass of red wine. “He gives me advice like he's doing me a favor,” she pondered, “But you look closer and you see it's just him doing him a favor.”

 

The fire crackled as they sipped on their wine. Perhaps having Carole stay over after finding out she’s in London was the one good decision she made today. It felt nice for once not to have to explain where she’s coming from.

 

“I really... believed... that he could be different. I mean I changed. A lot. He didn't,” Kate said, but when met with silence, she turned to Carole, “What? Say it.”

 

“I'm just here for the free booze,” her friend shrugged.

 

“I haven't changed?” Kate prodded.

 

“You have.”

 

“So?”

 

“He hasn't?” Carole returned, “He's supporting your career. He's working behind the scenes to make you more effective.”

 

“You -- of all the fucking people in the universe -- should understand that's not what's happening.”

 

“Honey, you don't have to convince me. I'm on your side, always. I may laugh at you. But I support you.”

 

“It's sweet,” Kate said, and then there's a moment of quiet. Kate decided to ask a hard question, “If you weren't on my side, what would you say?” Seeing her friend was hesitant to answer, Carole’s lips briefly forming a moue, Kate pushed, “If you were on Hal's side. I mean it.”

 

Carole took a second before answering, “I'd say this has happened before. You want him to behave, and when he does, you don't see it. You can't even detect it…” 

 

It gave Kate pause, she’d never heard this from Carole before. “I worry sometimes that you don't like it,” Carole continued, playing with a fluff on the couch, contemplative, “You don't like him when he's good.”

Notes:

It had been a busy couple of months, and I wanted to return with up to Chapter 16 complete, but I realized it's going to be even busier for me this September, so why make people wait when Chapters 13 and 14 are already done? It's so close to getting out of the s2 canon, and I really hope you guys will still stick with me when the time comes.

Anyhoo, hope you guys enjoyed the 2 chapter update, and thank you so much for the comments/kudos!