It was late. That was the thought on everyone's minds. It had been a long day for everyone at the State Department and White House, solving crises, being yelled at, yelling at someone in return, kissing ass to their superiors. All in all it was the usual, except for one small, tiny, miniscule thing.
Elizabeth had a panic attack during her lunch break. Yeah, maybe it wasn't such a small thing. But that's how she played it off. It was the only way she could play it off. There was too much to do to go home and rest, diplomatic emergencies waited for no one. So she stayed, wrote report after report, calling foreign ministers, making trips back and forth from the State Department to the White House. She even had the pleasure of Russell -uninvitedly- barge into her office. She didn't really pay attention to what he said, she had heard the same speech from him several times.
But Elizabeth's day didn't end later that evening, after the work day she had to go to some ceremony, one that she didn't even know the name at that point. But Blake had of course told her everything she needed to know while she got dressed, he would be at the ceremony too, that was a plus in her mind, he'd be able to remind her of anything she forgot.
And god did she forget, she didn't even clearly remember the speech she gave less than twenty minutes ago. Blake was behind her, whispering names and information about guest. They were like a tag team, she'd tag out when she needed a small breather and he'd step in, conversing with whoever it was until she was ready to step back in.
Their system worked well. Until Blake had taken over a conversation leaving her open for someone else to corner her. Elizabeth only got bits and pieces of the conversation, "-an admirable feat, what you did in Iran. I couldn't imagine being shot at, blown up…" She hid her intake of breath remarkably well considering everything, but Elizabeth felt the panic rise up in her, her fingers felt clammy, her ears started to ring. She took deep breaths, some how managing to keep the smile on her face. She felt her throat make a faint noncommittal noise.
Behind the guest talking to her she thought she saw Russell, but he was gone a second later.
But then he was beside her, with Blake in tow. Elizabeth didn't hear what was being discussed, only that it ended with Blake walking away with the two.
She felt a gentle, but firm hand on her elbow, it slightly tugged on her, causing her to start walking with whoever was beside her, but at this point, she was to out of it to tell. They somehow made it out of the room without being stopped, but she didn't care how they did it. Just that she was out of the cram backed room, full of loud noises and overly friendly people.
Elizabeth felt herself be pushed into a chair, and a cold drink was placed in her hands.
"Drink." The voice told her firmly.
She did what she was told and slowly drank the newly identified water. The water helped, but her mind still wasn't as focused as it would have been.
She opened her eyes after drinking the water, her vision wasn't as blurry and the ringing had faded into a dull background noise.
Russell sat in front of her, surprisingly, patiently waiting for her to recover, the best she could.
"Thank you," She muttered, aware that she was thanking him for more than the water.
He gave her a rare, sympathetic smile in response. "If you want," He began, "I can have them disinvited from the next several parties."
She smiled slightly, "Why, it almost sounds like you care."
He rolled his eyes, but went along with the familiar banter, neither still holding onto the the illusion that they didn't care. "I care about your image, as it is the President's image too."
He sobered, "But really, do you want me to?"
"No." She answered, shaking her head, before rubbing her temple for a second, it was tempting, and she almost said yes, but it wouldn't be right.
Russell frowned, "Do you want your meds? Your assistant has them."
"No," She repeated, "I think it's a little late for them, I should have take one after the first one today."
It was strange, she thought, talking freely about her PTSD with Russell, but then again, they had come a long way from the beginning.
Barely covered concern and disapproval flickered over Russell's face. "You should have went home after the first one. Instead of staying at the office and coming to this." He gestured to the ball room.
"There was to much to be done," Elizabeth argued, "And tonight isn't optional, remember? We have to be here from start to finish. And then we have a meeting with someone, I don't remember."
"The Director of the NSA and CIA," Russell supplied, rubbing his forehead. He was tired to. But he knew he wasn't as tired as Bess, panic attacks drained you. Leaving you exhausted, hungry, but unable to keep anything down, it slowed your thoughts and left you at minimal strength.
He cleared his throat, "The party only has a couple hours left, and we can hopefully wrap the meeting up quickly." That would mean they were getting home around one in morning. And for some, hungover. "We can stay in here for a while if you want." Russell offered, refilling her glass of water.
She shot him a grateful smile, "That sounds wonderful. Thanks Russell."
He waved her off and poured himself a glass of scotch and sat in the chair opposite of her. "You should get some rest before we have to go in there."
"Do we have enough time for that?" She asked, eyebrows raised.
Russell shrugged, "You're the Secretary of State and I'm the White House Chief of Staff, there's not anything they can really do about it." He pointed out, "The worse thing that could happen would to be told off by the President or a small media story."
"How long do you think it will take for him to notice we're gone?"
"Thirty minutes at most," He answered, taking a sip of the scotch, "But it will probably be an hour before he can come looking for us."
Russell proper his feet up on the table and opened the folder he had grabbed from his desk. He had only been reading for a few minutes, but that was all it took for Bess to surrender to sleep.
He smirked to himself and took another sip of his drink before returning his focus on the file. It turned out to be one of the worst reports he had ever read, something about grain production.
Russell could feel his eyes growing heavy as he read the report, soon he too fell asleep in the chair.
That was how Conrad found them no less than forty five minutes later. He had excused himself from the party to go find where the hell his Chief of Staff and the Secretary of State went. He had explicitly told them that they had to be there for the entire party. They had donors and voters to win over.
Which is why he had barged into Russell's office seconds before, only to be greeted with the imagine of Russell stretched out in his chair, his glasses askew and a folder in his lap. In the other chair was Bess curled up into the chair beside his Chief of Staff.
Conrad huffed, aggravated, they should be out winning people over, not taking a nap in Russell's office. They had an election to win, they didn't have time for naps. He was surprised Russell had fallen asleep, especially when he was the one usally making sure everything was going to plan and that everyone was there.
Conrad reached out to wake Russell up, but he pulled away at the last moment and looked at the two of them, really looked.
They both looked absolutely exhausted, more so than they usually did. He could see slight bags under Russell's eyes and he'd bet that there would be bags under Bess's eyes beneath her make up.
The Chief of Staffs suit was beginning to wrinkle and Bess's pant suit was wrinkled as well. Though he could only see the pants part. Russell had apparently gave her his jacket.
He smirked to himself, Russell would be pissed if anyone knew that he was actually human.
Conrad rubbed his temple and made a decision, he'd let them sleep, just this once. He had overworked them both, more than usual, he could sacrifice an hour without them. But they had better be up for the meeting after the party. Otherwise he'd end up being the bad guy. And he wasn't too fond of Russell's or Bess's masked anger.
He turned and walked out of the office, mumbling to himself, "Just this once." But he knew if that this happened again it would play out how it was now. Though, he could harbor the illusion till then.