A/N: Okay, y'all. Ask and you shall receive. It gets worse before it gets better. I have another chapter ready to go up, but I really want to know what you think of this one. I'm also not sure where to go with chapter 4, so I'm holding chapter 3 in case I need to revise it.
Thanks to Broadwayfreak for the beta work!
Also, I'm really thrilled with the reviews I've gotten on this one. I was totally expecting to be run out of town with pitchforks. But you've still got a chance to find your pitchforks...
Just to say, I do actually feel genuinely sorry for causing anyone emotional distress. ...not sorry enough to stop writing trashy stories, though. I have to express my trash self...
Elizabeth was alone. She needed to find the phone. She needed to call Hen… someone. Dr. Sherman? Yeah. Dr. Sherman.
She tried to stand, but her legs were shaky. Her vision was playing tricks on her. She couldn't think straight. Nothing could penetrate the suffocating fog of her panic. The only coherent thought she could latch onto was that she needed to get to the phone.
As she reached for the phone, her high heel caught on the broken glass that lay shattered on the floor. It made her trip. She could tell she was falling, but she couldn't bring herself to care. What did it matter? Her world was already spinning.
As she hit the floor, her head caught the edge of the table. The sharp corner created a small gash on her forehead, and it slipped to hit her eye.
With that, her world went black. There was no way to know if she had finally succumbed to the panic, or if it was hitting her head that caused her blackout.
Stevie walked into the entryway of her home. She called out to the empty house, "Anyone home? I'm hungry. Is there any lasagna left?"
Turning, she saw her mother lying on the floor, blood trickling from her temple.
No. No. God, no. "MOM!"
She rushed over, trying to find a pulse on her mother's neck. She breathed a sigh of relief at finding a nice, healthy, strong pulse beating beneath her fingers.
Stevie pulled out her phone and dialed the emergency number that was programmed on speed dial. She wasn't really sure who would even answer the line. It didn't matter now.
"Stevie, what's wrong?"
She could tell it was one of her mother's DS agents on the other end of the line.
"It's Mom. She's unconscious, and she's bleeding."
Even an hour later, Stevie couldn't precisely remember what exactly had happened. She and her mother were whisked off to the hospital, and she was stuck in a waiting room. Eventually, her siblings joined her. None of them knew what was happening.
"You said Mom was okay, right?"
"Yeah. She wasn't bleeding too much. I don't know what knocked her out, but she didn't seem hurt otherwise. Her eye was swollen some." The image of her mother unconscious on the floor was now burned into her mind. She couldn't remember the events of the past hour, but she would never forget the image of her mother unresponsive and bloodied on the floor.
A doctor approached the McCord children as they sat. Stevie stood up. "Is she awake?"
"Your mother is fine, kids. She's going to be just fine. Don't worry. She's awake and talking. You can go in and see her in a little bit."
Jason and Ali threw their arms around each other. It was uncharacteristic for them, but Ali had been on the verge of tears since she had been brought to the waiting room, and Jason could tell. He wasn't doing too much better, himself.
Stevie ran her hand up and down Ali's back, and looked back to the doctor. "What was wrong?"
"Your mom can explain everything in a few minutes. I want you to talk to my friend Mrs. Carlyle first, though. She's just got a few questions for you. Nothing to worry about. She's just here to make sure you all are okay." The doctor offered a smile that was a little too chipper.
All three siblings exchanged confused a look. Who is this woman, and why do we have to talk to her before we can see our mom?
They sat waiting a few more minutes before a short, old woman came up to them. She had stereotypical reading glasses perched at the end of her nose. She was the perfect picture of a grandmother.
"I'm Mrs. Carlyle, but you can call me Brenda. I just have a couple questions for you. When we're done, you can go right in and see your mom. Let's sit down over here."
She led the three McCords to an empty seating area. No one was within earshot. Stevie felt apprehensive.
"Alright. I just have a couple questions. You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but you won't get in any trouble. You haven't done anything wrong. And if you'd rather tell me in private, that's okay, too. I won't tell your parents anything you tell me."
Stevie looked at Ali. Their faces both showed concerned expressions.
"Have your parents ever gotten angry with you?" Mrs. Carlyle's expression was blank.
Jason looked shocked. "Why are you asking us that?"
"I'm just asking. You won't be in any trouble." The older woman tried to offer him a comforting smile. "When was the last time either of your parents yelled at you?"
Ali answered this time. "They haven't yelled at us in anger that I can remember." Her eyes were wide. What was going on?
"Alright. Do your parents discipline you physically?"
Again, Ali answered. "Not since we were really little. And even then, it wasn't a regular thing."
Stevie looked at her younger sister. She was staring straight ahead. Jason was looking back at Stevie, obviously upset and confused.
Mrs. Carlyle went on. "And have you seen your parents arguing recently?"
"No. They don't argue in front of us." The words seemed to slip out of Ali without thought.
Jason was surprised Ali was the one talking. They were all uncomfortable in this conversation, but Stevie was usually the one to speak if someone asked a question of the three of them. She was the oldest. Sometimes he would speak. Ali rarely got as impassioned as he did, and she wasn't quite as outgoing as her older sister.
Mrs. Carlyle reached a hand out to touch Ali's knee. "You're doing great. I've just got a couple more questions, and then we'll be all done."
Evidently Mrs. Carlyle could see how uncomfortable Ali was just as well as her siblings.
"Have any of you ever noticed any bruises on your mom? Any cuts or scrapes?"
"No." Jason spoke up this time. He could tell where this was going.
"No." Stevie agreed.
"Has your father ever hit you or your mother?" No expression showed on Brenda's face. Nothing to let on that she might as well be asking if the Pope was Buddhist.
"No. He respects women. And he wouldn't hit us." Jason got up and stormed off. His dad had been the one to teach him to treat girls with dignity. This made him mad.
Ali started crying. Mrs. Carlyle quickly produced some tissues.
"It's okay, Ali. You aren't going to get in any trouble."
"Why are you asking all this? Did something happen? My dad wouldn't do anything like that, ever."
"I just need to ask. I'm here to make sure you're safe." Mrs. Carlyle genuinely wanted to help. She had been more than surprised when she was summoned to speak to the McCord kids, but she had been in her position long enough to know that kids from any family, no matter how political, could be at risk.
"I want to go see Mom." Ali got up to follow Jason.
Brenda turned to Stevie, who was sitting in silence. "Stevie? You alright?"
"A while back, my dad yelled at me. He thought I was interfering with Mom's job because of the guy I was dating. He yelled at me to get out of the way." She went quiet again for a moment. "But he wouldn't hit her. I don't think he would hit her."
Stevie had been the one to find their mother. Could her dad have really done all that? Was he capable of that? She didn't know.
"Okay, honey. You've done well. Go see your mom. She wants to see you." Mrs. Carlyle was writing on her clipboard as the McCord siblings walked down the hall to find their mother.
When Elizabeth came to, she found herself in a hospital bed. She groaned to herself. God, not again. Elizabeth McCord did not like hospitals.
She tried to sit up, but her head hurt. She couldn't seem to open her right eye, either.
"Madam Secretary, how do you feel?" A man in a white coat was looking at machines on her right side. She couldn't see him properly with her eye.
"Like I just got beat up by the Russian mob…" She tried to crack a joke. She could tell it hadn't landed at all. A nurse was standing next to the doctor, and the two men exchanged glances.
"Ma'am, do you remember what happened today? Can you tell me?" The doctor pulled a chair up to the side of her bed.
"My husband and I had an argument. He accidentally broke some glass, and I guess I had a panic attack. Breaking glass is… it's a problem for me." Elizabeth didn't want the doctor to know Henry had broken the glass intentionally. No one needed to know that.
"Did he touch you at all?" The doctor had a notepad out along with a pen.
"No. He was just mad. It was just an argument." Why was she covering for him? Why was this doctor even asking? This was private.
"Ma'am. You came in with head trauma, a black eye, and finger marks on your arms. Do you know how you sustained those injuries?" The doctor was direct, but not unkind.
This man thinks it was Henry. "My husband didn't hit me. I must have fallen down and hit my head because of the panic attack."
"And the finger marks?"
"He might have grabbed me a little too hard when we were talking."
"I thought you called it an argument." The doctor was writing on his notepad now. It made Elizabeth uncomfortable.
"It was an argument, but it was fine. He wasn't trying to hurt me. He was just upset."
"If you want us to keep him away from you, we can do that. You have the right to press charges. We can keep him away from you and your children. You don't need to be afraid of him."
Elizabeth tried to straighten up. She needed to face this man down. "My husband is not a threat to me. He is not a threat to my children. I have nothing to press charges about."
"With all due respect, ma'am, your injuries…"
"No. Where are my children? I'm not pressing charges. This conversation is over."
"Your children are speaking with a counselor right now. They'll be in when they're done."
"You have someone speaking with my children?" Elizabeth was furious.
"Ma'am, this is standard protocol when we have a possible domestic violence situation." The doctor could sense her thinly veiled panic and frustration.
"Fine, but I want to see them. Get them in here."
"Yes, ma'am." With that, the doctor turned and left the room.
Elizabeth closed her eyes. On balance, this was most decidedly not one of the good days. She struggled to get herself together for the kids. She knew they would need her to be strong.
Henry, what have you done?