Hi again? It's been about three months (whoa) but I think I'm back. "The Dreaded Block," as more-than-words aptly calls it, hit me, and this is all I've managed to write since. From lilacmermaid25's prompt on Tumblr: Henry does something so thoughtful that it makes Elizabeth cry.
Please be gentle, it's been a while. Reviews make me all warm and fuzzy inside.
She almost misses it in the flurry of papers and meetings and briefing books that threaten to consume her. Nearly chucks it in a filing cabinet with a thousand other memos that she's handed every morning. So many of them never see the light of day and she has half a mind to ask Blake to get her data on that some time until she remembers she has no time and his inquiry would just result in another memo.
It's a vicious cycle, she thinks, letting out a defeated chuckle.
She groans and leans back against her desk, rubbing her temples in an effort to soothe her pounding headache. She's been up and working non-stop for the past forty-eight hours and her head feels like it's about to explode.
Elizabeth takes a deep breath and pushes herself up, pacing up and down her office in hopes that moving around a little will give her body one last burst of energy to make it through the day.
She's tired and somehow still jittery from all the coffee and at the point where she really needs a nap, or a long bath, (impossible in her office) or wine (sadly impossible in her office) or some combination of the above.
Sometimes, she'd really love to tell diplomacy to go screw itself.
It's when she finally sits down at her desk and reaches for another stack of paperwork that she sees the little corner of paper poking out from a briefing book. She pulls it out, expecting a misplaced post-it or note card from her staff but she finds an envelope with her name on it instead.
She recognizes the handwriting immediately and smiles. Henry.
The note is short, and to the point, but exactly what she needs.
I love you. I'm thinking of you.
— Henry
P.S. I have your favourite wine for when you get home.
She tries to chalk it up to exhaustion and nerves but she finds herself sobbing when she's finished reading it, big ugly sobs that make her shoulders heave and her nose runny and she tries to pull herself together but it doesn't work because she's running on empty and her husband is just so damn thoughtful.
Eventually, the tears subside and Elizabeth is left feeling drained and probably looking like a blotchy mess but she really couldn't care less right now. She grabs a tissue and wipes the tears off her face, but doesn't dare pull out a mirror and check what deep sea creature she currently resembles.
Instead, she dials Henry's number and leans back in her chair as the line rings.
"Babe?"
"How did you know exactly what I needed today?"
"So you found the note?"
She can almost hear him smiling on the other end of the line and she's just a little bit mad that he gets to be pleased with himself right now while she's a hot mess until she remembers that he did this because he loves her and she melts a little inside.
"That wasn't an answer," she says and huffs. "But yes. I found your note."
"I love you. And I do think of you, you know. All the time."
"You're infuriatingly perfect sometimes. And you made me cry. So there's that."
"Babe—"
She can hear the concern in his voice and immediately shushes him, shaking her head even though she knows he can't see her.
"I needed that, too."
"You've been up for almost three days, babe."
"Yeah. But in a few hours, I'll be home and I heard somewhere that there might be some wine in the house…"
Henry laughs and Elizabeth knows the little bit of guilt he just felt from hearing that he made her cry — even if it was for the best reasons — is gone now. He's not the only one who knows exactly what the other one needs.
It's a mutual skill, acquired over decades and honed to perfection. They sometimes know each other better than they know themselves.
"You've got good sources, Madam Secretary," he jokes, and Elizabeth has to laugh too. She contemplates asking Henry if he has time to stay on the line while she goes through paperwork, just to hear him breathing and talk to him once in a while, but there's a knock on her door and she knows it's Blake with a five-minute warning for her next appointment.
Diplomacy calls. And has shoddy scheduling skills.
"Henry, I've got to go. I love you."
"Love you too."
Reluctantly, Elizabeth pulls a mirror out from her bag and takes a look: sea monster, as expected. She wipes the stray mascara off with a tissue, gathers herself and slips Henry's note in her pocket. Just a few hours left.
It's close to midnight when she finally gets home. Exhaustion sits deep in her bones, and she barely makes it to the entrance closet before she drops her bag and coat somewhere in the hall. She's pulling off her shoes when she notices the soft light coming from the kitchen.
Sure enough, it's Henry.
He's sitting on the couch, a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table. Just like he promised.
The sight of her husband makes her go misty eyed. Damn. She swore to herself she wouldn't cry again, and here she is, about to lose it for the second time in twenty-four hours. She just about makes it into his lap when the floodgates open and she's crying again. Henry pulls her close and lets her bury her face in the crook of his neck and just let go.
"Shh, you're alright," he mumbles, pressing kisses to her hair.
She pushes herself upright a few minutes later and laughs warily, shaking her head at the sudden flood of emotions. She's not normally this quick to cry, and she knows it has lots to do with the lack of sleep but also her incredibly sweet, steadfastly thoughtful husband.
"You waited up for me," she says, playing with the hem of his shirt. She grins and dips down to peck his lips.
"I did. And I have wine."
Henry sits up so they're forced to shift and Elizabeth curls up in the corner of the sofa, gratefully accepting the glass of wine he hands her. She takes a sip and eyes her husband.
"Now you've made me cry again," she says and gestures to her blotchy face, laughing.
Henry rubs her shoulder and chuckles. "Am I that horrible?" he jokes, winking.
"No, you're that thoughtful and I love you."
He takes her hand and presses a kiss to it. "Feel better?"
"Much." She sets down her glass, settles her head in his lap and lets him run his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp in the process.
Elizabeth pulls Henry's note out of her pocket and smooths it out with her fingers. She looks up at him and grins. "This is going in the box with all the others."
Ever since they'd started dating, Henry had written her little notes and letters, sometimes to mark special occasions and sometimes for no reason at all. She started collecting them in an old shoebox, stacked up and tied together with string.
"I'm surprised there wasn't a quote in this one," she says, remembering all the random little thoughts and sayings she'd found on her pillow and desks over the years.
"Had to get to the point quickly, babe. After all, brevity is the soul of wit."
"Brevity, I see. And how, pray tell, did this one get in my briefing book?"
"A man never reveals his secrets." Henry puts a conspiratorial finger to his lips and Elizabeth giggles. The giggle is soon followed by a yawn; sleep is looking pretty good right about now.
"Let's get you to bed, babe." Henry kisses her forehead one more time before they get up from the couch and Elizabeth takes his hand to lead them to the bedroom.
When they're both under the covers and their eyelids are heavy with sleep, Henry whispers into her ear.
"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever. There's your quote."
Elizabeth just snuggles deeper into his chest and releases a contented sigh.
(Quote by Alfred, Lord Tennyson)