Henry felt Elizabeth squeeze his hand and then get up from her seat beside him. Her fingers had been intertwined with his for the last hour, their hands resting on his thigh beneath the table. The loss of the warmth of her skin was jarring and he looked up to follow her blonde hair through the crowd to wherever Blake was leading her. From the corner of his eye, Henry caught various members of the Secret Service coming from the wings to stand around her as she made her way to an alcove on the other side of the room. Henry shook his head, something wasn't right. He politely excused himself from the chatter at their table and made his way toward his wife. The agents parted to allow Henry access to the area where Elizabeth stood, in conversation with three men Henry had never met. He saw Nadine on Elizabeth's right, her face pale and set. Blake protectively held his ground behind her. Henry didn't need to be closer to know that his hunch was correct; something was off. She started searching the room, looking for -
"I need to- Henry," she said in a strained tone.
"Lizabeth," he spoke her name from behind her, keeping his voice low. She met his eyes and took a breath, reaching for his hand.
"Madam Secretary, you need-"
She shook her head. Henry could tell she was trying to keep her composure when a shrill cry resounded, shattering her nerves. Sudden pandemonium broke out, chatter and horrified voices from the crowd filled the room. "BBC just went live with the news, Ma'am."
Henry grabbed her waist, pulling her toward the door that the agents were ushering them through when she stopped him. She pressed her hands against his chest and Henry could feel her shaking. He held onto her arms, running his palms over her soft skin.
"Liz, tell me-" he began, concerned. The turmoil in her blue eyes frightened him.
There wasn't anything they couldn't get through together.
"Conrad's plane is missing," she explained, with a shallow breath."I have to get to the White House."
She shook her head slightly as if in disbelief. "Stay with me," she whispered before she was pulled toward the door again.
Elizabeth clung tightly to his hand as she was passed this way and that by agents and secret service members. He kept pace with her, one hand in hers, the other on her lower back, supporting her. He could feel her trembling and he wanted nothing more than to pull her close to himself, to take her home, to have her beside him, beneath him, to be alone with her, to make her feel secure, to talk to her, to sort this whole thing out.
They exited the building into the chilly D.C. evening and they ushered her toward a waiting car.
"Sir, I'm sorry but you're going to have to -"
"No," Elizabeth said, her voice stronger than it had been minutes ago. "My husband is coming with me."
Henry helped her into the car, her long black dress catching on the seats. The door snapped shut behind them and for brief moments they were alone. Henry intended to make the most of them. He turned to her and took her slim shoulders in his hands, "Are you all right?" he asked her, his dark eyes filled with fear.
She took a breath and tried to give tentative laugh but found she couldn't. "Ask me again in a few hours, okay?" she whispered, her hands clutching his suit jacket. Frank and Michael got into the car and Henry knew better than to press her. "Ma'am, you have a call from Russell Jackson's office. Can you take it?" Frank asked her. Elizabeth nodded, "Thanks Frank."
Even in the dark, Henry could see the confusion and trepidation on her beautiful face. He watched her shiver as she moved forward to take the phone. Henry had his dinner jacket off a moment later and covered Elizabeth's bare shoulders. She looked at him then, "I love you," she mouthed, leaning against him and pressing her lips to his cheek. Before he could reciprocate, Russell Jackson came on the line and she sat up straight again. "Russell, what happened?" she asked, resting her hand on Henry's knee. Henry listened to his wife's voice, the one-sided conversation. He contented his own apprehension by fingering her unopened bottle of anti-anxiety medicine that he always kept in his pocket for nights like this.
Nights like this seemed to be occurring more often now, and the bottle, though unopened had been tucked safely in Elizabeth's purse for months. "Just in case,"Henry told her over and over again. "Just in case," she'd say, as she started to believe him. First it was out of humoring her husband but then it became frighteningly apparent to her that things had changed and she needed a "Just in case." Since Iran, since her panic attack, her PTSD, since Juliet, since their quiet regular life had been replaced entirely by fear of the unknown. When Elizabeth met his gaze once more, Henry knew her thoughts mirrored his. How many more evenings such as this would they have to endure?