He didn't want to go. It was as simple as that. The room had a sunny balcony with not one, but two comfortable couches, and he had no less than three good books with him. And the thought of standing with a smile plastered across his face through a series of boring speeches filled him with dread. Perhaps it was the knowledge that a dinner and reception loomed in his future. Three events in one day seemed a cruel way to spend a beautiful day. Most of the time he was content in his role but every now and then he did feel like Elizabeth's arm candy - a decorative add-on to her appearances. What could he offer at the second round of opening speeches at an economic summit that was meant to bring peace to two opposing nations?

But he didn't want to tell her that. She had attended enough conferences at his side. No doubt she had wanted to stay behind during one his summits. She was certainly more than intelligent enough to participate in any discussion - theological or otherwise, but surely talking about substantiation bored her from time to time. And yet she had smiled warmly and genuinely, looking gorgeous as always. How could he turn to her and say, "I would rather stay in this afternoon."? He sighed and contemplated the suit laid out across the bed.

"You don't have to go." She said stepping out of the bathroom, as she put on an earring. She was wearing her light grey suit and a pink blouse. She looked, as ever, beautiful.

"What . . ." He stammered trying to regain his balance. Sometimes it was unsettling the way she read his mind.

"Well, if I were you. I wouldn't want to go. It's a really nice day, and this room - well let's face it, this room is amazing. If I were you," She said stepping closer with a warm smile. "I would take my pile of books outside on that balcony and order room service." She wrapped an arm around him.

"The optics would be bad." He argued, trying not to give in to the overwhelming temptation of her generous offer. A wave of relief swept over him. I don't have to go! And then he was hit immediately with guilt. Don't be a jerk. Just tag along.

"You've spent too much time listening to Daisy." She grinned. "It is just a quick couple of speeches. It shouldn't be more than an hour or two. The main event is tonight at the reception. Don't think you are getting out of that."

"I should . . ."

"You afraid you are going to miss something?" She teased him with a laugh. "Here." She took a step away from him. "Our two nations must honor each other. We must find a way to create a new world together while continuing to cherish the old world." She winked at him. "Now, it's like you were there."

He pulled her in close to him, offering her a kiss. "Well, I wouldn't mind skipping it. But I feel a little guilty."

"I know." She winked at him again. "I plan to put that guilt to good use in the future."

He laughed out loud. "It's a set-up. I should've known."

"Well, Henry," She pointed out. "I'm a spy, remember. What do you expect?"

"You're an analyst, Lizzie." He corrected her. "And your devious nature was with you from birth."

She said nothing but rested her head against his shoulder, exhaling as she did. "I miss you calling me that." She said after a long moment.

It was a conscious decision he'd made when she accepted the office. He understood that although the world was full of powerful women, there were some idiots around who still questioned whether a woman could effectively serve in such a lofty position. He had no doubts - never had any doubts when it came to Elizabeth. She was born to lead, and while he recognized that he would probably never change the backward minds of the doubters, he could do some things to lessen their doubts. And so, he decided to never call her anything other than Elizabeth in public. She had, of course, noticed it and threatened to start referring to him as Dr. McCord at all times. But in the long run, she understood that some might hesitate to put the political fate of their nation in the hands of a woman named "Lizzie". Unfortunately, the end result of forcing himself not to call her Liz or Lizzie, he ended up never calling her anything at all; never saying her name.

"It's just for now. It's just for this small piece of our lives." He said softly.

This is what they'd been saying from the day the President had shown up and upset the balance of their lives. She would serve in this office and it would be an adventure - an aberration to the normal flow. When it was over, they would settle back into the old life or perhaps find a new journey to manage together. Sometimes, though, if he were completely honest, he mourned what they'd left behind - missed all that had been changed. She missed it too - the easy way between them - sharing all their thoughts and struggles. She had to hold back now - there were things she couldn't say. It brought back all the old stresses of when she'd been at the Company. It was one of the reasons she'd quit. She hated having a life secret and apart from him.

She drew in a deep breath, and kissing him, she moved out of the circle of her arms, and straightened her jacket. Elizabeth McCord was never still or quiet for very long. "Alright," She said to him. "Enough nonsense, Dr. McCord. You stay here and read one of those books about the meaning of our existence, whilst I go and broker world peace, again."

"Yes, ma'am, Madam Secretary." He teased her.

And so, under orders, he'd sat in the warm sunshine, a cup coffee at his elbow reading beautiful words in a beautiful setting. It was a perfect afternoon, marred only by the fact that she wasn't stretched out beside him. The only sounds had been the voices from far below and the birds overhead. But suddenly the voices grew louder and his peace was interrupted as what appeared to be the entire security detail who suddenly rushed him inside the room, closing all doors and windows.

"Was there a threat?" He asked, wide-eyed, a worn book still in his fingers. He glanced over at the tv that was turned on, and the book fell to the floor with a crash as his eyes grew wider still at the horrible scene. The quiet early afternoon reception and round of speeches were held in a small outdoor garden just fifteen minutes from where he stood. The cameras locked on his beautiful wife as she smiled brightly and then . . .he saw it.

The impossibly complicated, strong woman in a light grey suit being propelled forward - nearly flying through the air - as her security staff tried to protect from the explosion that appeared to have originated just to the left of her. He didn't want to watch it but couldn't take his eyes off it either. She looked so small. She looked so fragile. She looked like someone named Lizzie.