Disclaimer: I do not own Madam Secretary and/or the characters.
This is a work of fiction and offers no spoilers to readers who have seen the entire first season of Madam Secretary.
Set after S01E11
Madam Secretary, Elizabeth McCord to those who knew her and Bess to the closest friends, walked on the halls of White House, stepped in to an office and halted in front of desk of the assistant of White House Chief of Staff.
"Where is he?" McCord asked.
"Excuse me?" Russell Jackson's assistant Adele asked. Her expression was polite but there was something in her eyes Elizabeth couldn't quite determine.
"He doesn't answer phone calls or messages. I'm sure you know how unusual that is," McCord pointed out. It seemed like Adele was going through some inner fight. Then she gave a deep sigh.
"He is in there," she said and pointed at the inner office door,
"In there?" Elizabeth looked at her puzzled. Adele gave her a nod.
The Secretary of State took a few deep breaths and opened the door quietly. The room was dimly lit. She could see Jackson's suit jacket on the chair frame by his desk but the chair was otherwise empty. The man had turned a leather couch to face the window. Elizabeth pulled another chair closer and sat down.
"Russell?" there was no answer.
"Russell?" she repeated.
"Yeah, I can still hear, thanks," the man said. His voice was low and raspy. Elizabeth was not accustomed to touching Russell Jackson but this time she laid her hand on his arm. He didn't move. McCord noticed how slowly the man was breathing.
"Russell, what's wrong?" she asked. She knew he had a severe heart condition and the way he was breathing started to seem alarming.
"Russell?" she asked for the fourth time. Now the man looked at her. His grey eyes looked bottomless.
"What do you want?" Jackson asked. The words were rude and cold, but the tone was emotionless.
"I have called you eight times and sent you at least fifteen messages. Usually your phone is glued to your hand and you reply me before I get my thumb off the 'send' button. What is the matter with you?" she pressed. Jackson took a deep breath, held it for a moment and then breath out. The corners of his eyes twitched.
"Russell? Are you in pain? Should I call for help?" Elizabeth asked. Jackson's right hand rose and he laid his fingers on his chest, right above his heart.
"It… doesn't matter," Jackson said, absentmindedly.
"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Elizabeth inquired. She looked around in the room and then she saw it: there was a pill bottle under the footstool. Elizabeth leaned in fast and took the bottle. She recognized the name of the drug as extremely strong painkiller that included sedatives. The bottle was empty.
"Russell?!" she exclaimed in horror. Elizabeth tried to get up to go to Adele and call for help but Jackson flipped his wrist and caught her arm.
"Don't," he said. Elizabeth got up and pulled her arm free.
"Russell, what the hell have you done?!" McCord shouted. Jackson got on his feet and shook his head.
"Nothing," he said.
"Russell?" Elizabeth pleaded quietly.
"I had a headache and I took one of those. Prescribed to me, see. It happened to be the last pill and the bottle fell. I was just too lazy to pick it up," Russell explained.
"Just one?" Elizabeth checked. Jackson's laugh was tired.
"If I wanted to kill myself I would certainly find another method and most surely another location," he said quite convincingly.
"What is wrong with you?" McCord asked. Russel breathed heavily. Then he shrugged.
"I've been accused of a lot of things. I'm a street fighter, ready to play dirty when needed to. But never, ever, before have I been accused of cold blooded murder," Russell Jackson said.
Elizabeth McCord was staring at him. Finally, she understood the emotions: the man that seemed heartless and unmoved by anything was deeply hurt and sad by her suspicions of him having anything to do with Vincent Marsh's death.
"Russell… I'm sorry," Elizabeth said. Jackson shrugged again.
"I can understand where it was coming from, I mean… I wasn't exactly on your team there at the beginning but murder… Just not really… there yet," the man said. McCord laid her hand on his arm.
"I am sorry, Russell. I really am," she said. Jackson looked at her.
"Yeah… but until you find out who killed him, I'm still on your list," he said. Then the man walked to his office chair, took the jacket and walked out of the back door. Elizabeth stood still, staring at the closed door.