Henry McCord ran forward sliding into the elevator just before the doors closed. He stood panting, glancing around. He tried to appear nonchalant, his panicked appearance had already got him in trouble with security outside the State Department building. Once he'd read the text, he'd left all logic and decorum behind. He had only one thought, and checking in with security and/or behaving calmly were not part of it. He touched his cheek tenderly. It was already beginning to swell.
The Muzak in the elevator made him sick to his stomach and the elevator seemed interminably slow. He pulled his phone out, reading the message again - hoping that it would give more information.
Elizabeth is headed back to her office. You should go there. - Conrad
He had no way to respond to the text - the President could not receive any texts from anyone outside the cabinet. He couldn't ask any clarifying questions and Elizabeth wasn't answering her phone. Conrad rarely communicated with him. He had contacted him once after Iran. Russell and been the one to let him know that she had been found and was alive, and then later had filled him in with the details. But several hours after that - after she was home, Conrad Dalton had called him, checking in to see that she was "alright". Of course, she wasn't but he hadn't told the President that.
"I can't say how much I appreciate what she did." Dalton told him.
"It was important to her." Henry had responded, unable to express his own thoughts on the issue.
"I know this isn't something you . . ." The President hesitated. "I just wanted you to know I appreciate it. I value her, and her sacrifice."
"Thank you." Henry had said before hanging up. Of course what he had wanted to say was more along the lines of, "You ever put my wife in harm's way again, or manipulate her sense of loyalty and I will hand you your ass." But one didn't say that to the President of the United States, even if he was an old friend; even if it was true.
The elevator stopped twice before finally stopping on the 7th floor. As soon as the doors opened, he rushed out, heading straight for her office. He felt someone grab his arm and looked to his left to see the face of an unfamiliar DS Agent.
"That's Secretary McCord's husband." Frank said, approaching the two of them. "Let him go." He turned toward Henry. "She just got back, sir. She's in her office."
But he was already moving rapidly away from them. He watched as Blake looked up from where he sat at his desk, and rising went into her office. She came out then, looking no worse for wear. He stopped in front of her, searching her face for any sign of stress. His heart was pounding and his hands shaking. Her face crinkled into serious concern.
"Henry! What's wrong? Are the kids . . ."
"No." He gasped out. "I . . . they . . . said you . . . were back."
"I was just calling you." She said reaching out and putting a hand on his arm. She pulled him away from Blake's desk and into her reception area. "Why are you out of breath?"
"I ran." He panted out.
"From Georgetown?" She asked shocked.
"From the Metro station."
"Why?" She stepped closer, reaching out to touch his face. "What happened?"
"Elizabeth! What do you mean what happened! I was waiting to hear from you!" He recognized that everyone in the outer office was watching them, while pretending not to be watching them. He didn't care.
"Your face is swollen." She said reaching out and touching his cheek. "Henry! What is going on? Were you in a fight?"
"No." He answered quickly. "Well, technically, yes, but that isn't the point. Elizabeth? What happened? Conrad texted me. He said you were headed back to your office and to get here."
"Oh, geez! He is so old fashioned." She complained. "I'm not some ridiculous damsel in distress who . . ."
"Elizabeth Amelia McCord! TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!"
Every eye was on them now, as he shouted, but he did not care. Blake rose in front of his desk, but then immediately sat back down, unsure how to proceed.
"First of all, we had a deal about the middle name, and now you've let everyone in the office know." She made a sweeping gesture with her arm. "And secondly, I was calling you, Henry, when you came rushing in here looking like something terrible had happened." She crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly.
"Right." He huffed out, recognizing that his fastest route to information was agreeing with her. "Sorry."
"How about we step into my office? Hm?" She raised her eyebrows at him, and winking at Blake who blushed crimson to be caught staring, led him into her office.
"Babe, I'm sorry, but Conrad never contacts me and this morning you were . . ." But he was unable to finish his sentence as she flung herself into his arms, kissing him. "Well, okay." He said between kisses. "Could you give me some info, please."
She leaned back from him, her arms still around him. "No charges." She smiled widely. "They cited 'National Security' and something about 'extreme circumstances' or something. I am NOT going to prison!" She reported gleefully.
"Oh, thank God!" He staggered back and away from her, his legs suddenly turning to jelly. He tried to aim for the chair in front of her desk, but missed, landing on the ground. She fell forward with him, but caught herself.
"Henry!" She called out shocked. She knelt in front of him. "Are you alright?"
He looked up at her, blinking back tears, and pulling her down into her arms, said, "I am now." Neither one of them noticed when Blake pulled the door to her outer office shut, leaving them alone.
***MS***
"So, to recap," Jason said dramatically. "Everything is over."
"Yes." Henry McCord said smiling, his arm around his wife, who stood beside him. They were in the family room, and all three kids sat on the couch facing them.
"Again." Stevie said raising eyebrows.
"I see your point." Elizabeth said. "But this time, it's actually true."
"So they dropped the charges?" Ali asked.
"There were never any charges." Her father explained patiently. "There was the threat of charges, and they are gone now."
"But technically, you did exactly what they accused you of, right?" Stevie asked.
"Not even technically. I did exactly what they accused me of doing. I shared classified information with your father." Elizabeth responded evenly. "Why?"
"Nothing." Stevie shrugged.
"If you are upset about something, you might as well tell us now." Her mother said. "I can tell you from experience that bottling things up is really, really ineffective."
"What's going on?" Henry asked.
"Nothing. I was just thinking out loud. Why is your cheek bruised?" She asked her father.
Henry reached out and touched his cheek gingerly. "It's nothing. It was just a misunderstanding."
"Right." Jason said. "I've seen one of those before, but I'm sort of stunned someone got a punch in. You must've been off your game."
"This wasn't like that." Henry said, and sighing continued. "Look, President Dalton called your mom in today, and we didn't know what he was going to say. It was pretty tense, and then on my way to her office, to talk to her, I didn't . . ." He glanced at his wife, blushing. "I didn't follow protocol. So I was stopped by an agent. It's fine."
Jason burst out laughing. "Must've been one of the new guys! Man, I wouldn't mind seeing that!"
"Jason." His mother said disapprovingly. "Do you have any other questions?"
"No prison. And it's over." Alison repeated, reaching for her phone. "Sounds good to me."
"Yep." Jason agreed.
"Stevie?" Elizabeth turned to her oldest daughter who was unusually silent.
"Whatever." Stevie sighed. "I've got a study group. Is there anything else?"
"No." Elizabeth said, her brows knit with concern. "Honey . . ."
"I'm fine." Stevie said, rising. "I just have a paper due, and things have been kind of stressful so . . ." She smiled at her mother. "See you later."
They watched her gather her bag and coat and leave, and Elizabeth glanced at her husband who shrugged his shoulders.
"Mom?" Alison asked.
"Yeah?" She sat down on the coffee table in front of Alison.
"I don't know if I should ask." She glanced at her father. "I don't want you to be upset."
"You can talk to her, Noodle. It's okay." Henry told her.
"Aunt Juliet." She said. "I don't understand."
"To be honest," Her mother moved to sit beside her. "Neither do I."
"What have you heard?" Henry asked moving to sit across from her.
"Everything." Jason said. "We read some stuff online, and, you know, we live here, so, you know."
"Aunt Juliet betrayed the country." Ali said softly. "She let Uncle George get killed?"
"She had him killed, dummy." Jason said angrily. "She nearly got Mom killed!"
"Hey, knock it off Jason." Henry said.
"We've been talking about this for days! She just can't face it!" Jason said.
"It's pretty hard to accept." His mother told him.
"Aunt Juliet was always . . ." He began but Ali cut him off.
"You were too little! She almost never came to the farm!" Alison burst out angrily.
"What?" Henry asked.
"Nothing." Jason glanced at his Mom.
"I'm okay, Jas." She said to him. "What?"
"I thought she didn't really like you." He said softly. "Maybe I'm remembering wrong. Ali is right. I was little."
His mother sighed heavily. "I don't know anymore, hon. I thought I was better at . . ." Her voice trailed off. "It doesn't matter. You probably read her right."
"I was a kid." He offered.
"But . . ." Alison looked at them with wide eyes. "I loved Aunt Juliet." Her face turned pale as her mother's eyes filled with tears.
"Me too, baby."
***MS***
She was awake at 3 a.m. again. She had tiptoed out of her bedroom and gone downstairs in search of chocolate. She'd been sidetracked, though and found herself curled on the couch with an old photo album.
She wasn't good about baby books or photo albums. For a good chunk of her life photographic evidence of gatherings was frowned upon. They had zillions of pictures of the kids but few of their friends - at least the ones in The Company.
She studied a picture of Juliet holding a newly born Jason trying to see if anything in her face explained the angry, hard edge her voice now held - especially when saying her name.
"Our former college, turned Secretary of State, Elizabeth McCord."
There was such darkness in her tone. She had been trying for weeks now to remember anything . . . Any clues that could have led her to suspect this.
"Babe, it's late. Come to bed." Henry stood beside the couch, running his hand through his disheveled hair. "What are you looking at?" He leaned closer to peer at the book in her hand. A brief smile flashed over his features and he pointed to a picture of a tiny Stevie McCord, all of six years old, pointing straight at the camera. "Look at that. She was stubborn from the get-go." The smile faded as his eyes landed on the opposite page. He stepped past his wife, settling on the couch beside her.
"You aren't going to find any answers there." He said gently. "She was a very good liar, babe."
"It's my job to spot liars." She said with a sigh.
"Outside the office." He pointed out. "You weren't supposed to vet the guy next to you at lunch."
"I guess." She admitted.
"'The lasting anguish of betrayal is that it does not come from your enemies but one you held dear.'" He said gently.
"It makes me question too many things." She told him. He sat beside her and they said nothing as she continued to flip through the pages. He watched her, waiting to see if she would speak. He'd learned to be gentle with her. He couldn't push her too far, since Iran. There was a new fragility about her. It wasn't just PTSD, although that was a big part of it. She'd always responded better if just waited for her to talk, but now he found he often had to wait and then gently, very tenderly open the door for her.
"You haven't said anything about the interrogation." He carefully prodded.
"I just wanted to be happy today." She turned to smile at him. "I'm not going to prison, we've got a peace treaty with Iran and we know what happened to Marsh. I should be really happy."
"Baby, you can be happy and broken-hearted all at the same time." He moved to sit across from her. She glanced away and he briefly wondered if he had pushed too hard, but then she set the photo album aside and squared her shoulders at him.
"She said," She paused and looked down at her hands. "She said that when Marsh decided to run for office, he backed out of everything. They had to get rid of him. They thought he might out them to boost himself politically. So they had him killed." She gave a shaky laugh. "She must have been so pissed that Conrad tapped me. She always said that I was his little pet - I remember that."
"Marsh was in over his head." Henry said.
"Yeah." She reached out taking Henry's hand. "Tell me about the bruise."
"Oh, well that was outright stupidity." He said laughing at himself. "Turns out running like a crazed man toward a federal building is frowned upon." He smiled at her. "It's okay."
They sat together in silence. He waited patiently and after a long silence he said, "Maybe you should talk to Dr. Sherman tomorrow."
"Probably." She sat back releasing his hand, slumping against the back of the couch. "You can ask me." She said very quietly.
"It's okay, sweetheart. I just want you to do what you need to do. It doesn't have to be me you tell. If it's too hard to talk about it, that's okay, babe. You can talk about him when you are ready. I'm not going anywhere."
"No, I just . . ." She swallowed hard. "She said that when George started asking questions they had to do something. She altered his breaks. She did it herself."
"Jesus!"
"I keep thinking about it. Even now, even after everything, I can't imagine doing something like that to her. How could she kill him?" She looked down, her voice soft. "George was so . . . He was like a brother to me."
"He loved you." Henry said to her. "And he knew you loved him."
"When he came that night, I thought he was crazy. I should've listened or made him talk."
"He didn't know it was Juliet, babe."
"We don't know that! Maybe he suspected something. I just wish I'd been kinder."
He considered her thoughtfully, and leaning forward took her hands in his. "The very last thing he did was to come and warn you, babe. Think about that. You would only do that if you loved someone. He was smart too. He understood your reaction, probably expected it."
"Okay." She said softly, processing his argument and nodding her head. "Thank you."
"You haven't said how you feel about Juliet, though." He squeezed her fingers.
"Oh," She sat back, her hands slipping free of his. "I can't even manage . . ." She tucked her feet up under herself, and her face grew tight with stress. "It just hurts too much, Henry." Her eyes grew bright with tears.
"Yeah." He said nodding his head. "Yeah."
A tear escape, and she brushed it back with her hand. She gave a self-deprecating laugh, and looked up at him. "I bet you are rethinking taking that seat next to me in that ethics class. Pretty much attached yourself to a mess."
His eyes opened wider at this, and he moved to sit beside her on the couch, pulling her into his arms. "Well, I would've appreciated a heads up on your lack of cooking skills." He kissed her cheek. "Listen to me, sweetheart, I honestly don't know how you've manage the last few months. The things you've endured, and I can't believe how lucky I am that you are still here. If I even spend a second thinking about Iran, I get absolutely sick. And then when we figure we are clear of it all - you have to deal with this whole stupid thing with Carruthers! It's a lot to take in."
"It is." She agreed, nestling against him.
"And Juliet is very difficult to process. She was family." His voice was soft. "I remember when Lily was born. I was so happy for them, and she was so beautiful right at birth. Most newborns, other than ours, of course, look sort of like squishy old men, but Lily was beautiful."
"She was." She turned to look up at Henry. "I don't understand how she could turn even from her children. Miles and Lily are babies still! How could she take Lily to ballet and then go cut the lines to George's brakes."
"I don't know. But looking at the photo album isn't going to give us the answers. The past was real. We were friends. We loved her like family. But she's always been a little more closed off, babe. That's what she and Aiden fought so much about."
She nodded her head in agreement.
"Juliet is a wound we carry; something that's going to live inside us for awhile. But just because she tricked us - just because she lied and betrayed us, we weren't wrong for caring about her. You weren't wrong to call her your friend."
"It's really hard." She looked up at him. "It's hard to see how much she hates me, and I never even knew it. The sound of her voice when she talks about me . . . Henry, it was terrible."
"I'm sorry." He kissed her again. "If you can avoid it, I don't think you should be involved with her interrogation, babe. It is too costly." He rested his cheek against her head. "I don't know, though. Maybe you should ask Dr. Sherman. I wouldn't want to get in the way of anything that helps you."
He felt her shaking and looked down afraid that she was crying, but was surprised to discover that she was laughing.
"What?" He asked.
"I don't know. It's probably exhaustion and stress. It's just so typically you, Henry. Even when you are trying to protect me, you are trying to protect me from you over-protecting me! It's kind of ridiculous."
"I've got flaws, baby. You are just tired." He reminded her.
"You do, thank God. You are right. You've caught me in a weak moment." She put her hands on his arms, which were wrapped around her. "I just . . ." Her voice constricted with tears. "I just want to be free of it. I am so tired of this heaviness. I felt so good walking into court, and even after. Now it feels like it all crashed back down even harder. Juliet killed George, and is going to spend the rest of her days locked up!"
"You are physically exhausted, darlin'. That's a big part of it, you know."
"I know."
"We should go to bed." He said, but she didn't move.
"Henry?" Her voice was a near whisper.
"What, babe?"
"Do you think if I had gone to Baghdad, the same thing would've happened to me? We would be apart and I would be . . ."
"No." He interrupted firmly. "That whole thing was never about Baghdad, babe. That wasn't what we were fighting about. I mean, I was stupid about it. I should've . . . you can take any job you want. That's what I should have said. I should have trusted you to figure out what you really wanted yourself. You would have."
"I don't know. I wasn't as good about sticking to what mattered to me; to us. I was still trying to earn Conrad's approval."
"Yeah." He agreed. "But you never would have . . .There are some fundamental differences between you and Juliet."
"Like what?"
"She's got a bitter edge. She always has. Don't take this the wrong way, but you never belonged at the CIA. You've got too much hope and faith. You are too open."
"I'm not some princess, and I did some things I'm not proud of - you know that. I was corrupted by it."
"No. When you gave the slightest glimmer of heading down that road, you came home, and a few months later you quit. That's the point, babe. Juliet stayed."
She considered this thoughtfully. "I don't know. I hadn't thought of it that way."
"And you'd never have taken the path she did. I know that you going to Baghdad would've been very hard on us, but I was never leaving. Babe, you know I would never leave."
"I wonder if Juliet and Aiden said the same things."
"I don't know about them. I only know about you and me." He said. "I know you really well, babe. You might just have to trust me on this. You would never have made the decisions Juliet did. It's not in you. You were made differently; at your core, you are different."
"That's what Conrad said." She told him thoughtfully.
"Well, every now and then, he's right."
"It's like that scar on my back." She said softly. "I didn't feel it happen. I didn't even know about it. I think it was in that bunker or maybe Germany. Everything gets confusing." She glanced up at him and saw his face white with stress. "It was the bunker because it was hard to hear. My ears were still ringing, I guess, and one of the soldiers said something about the blood. And I didn't even know it was there. When I lifted my hand, it was red with blood and . . ." She felt his muscles tighten; his body tense with stress. "I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't. . . I don't want to upset you."
"I'm upset you were hurt, Elizabeth. I'm upset that you were nearly killed. You can talk to me about it." He swallowed hard. "Remember How you felt after Khafji?"
"Yes."
"It's the same for me, okay? It makes me sick to think of you as a fellow battle survivor; a combat vet just like me, but that's the truth, and you can tell me."
She slid from his arms and sat facing him. She gave him a sad smile and brief kiss before continuing. "I was so surprised to see that blood - that it was mine and that I was hurt. The first thing I felt was shock and then fear. Even later at Landstuhl, when they cleaned it out and put the stitches in, I was numb with shock. It didn't hurt at all."
"You were in shock."
"Yes, but as it healed, then it hurt. I would get - still get - from time to time these strange pains. As though the healing were worse than the actual wound." She lowered her head. "I don't think I'm explaining it right, but that's how I feel about Juliet. I never felt the moment when everything shifted between us - never saw it coming. I am amazed to see the wound she's carved in me. But it's only now it hurts, and I don't know if that means it is healing."
"Maybe." He offered softly. "Or maybe it is you learning to live with the wound." He considered her thoughtfully, lifting a hand to brush his fingers through her hair. "You are still so good."
"I'm not. Don't do that!" She shook her head at him. "Henry, I'm counting on you to see me as I am - not the stupid glorified hero or villain they paint me to be."
"I do see you as you are!" He sat back offended. "I'm the one who knows you best. Sweetheart, you are completely hopeless in the kitchen and probably one of the biggest over packers I have ever witnessed. You own more shoes than a third world country and have zero ability to let anything go. If I bring it up right now, you'll go right back into your explanation of why the guy at Trader Vic's has to have been Al Pacino, and that was ten years ago."
"It was!"
"See!" He laughed. "You are so stubborn!"
"Bringing me right back to earth, buddy."
"I've never known anyone with a sharper mind than yours and you are so quick. You see every side to an argument and can get me to flip sides on something that I was 100% sure on, and somehow make me feel like it was all my idea. And your are ridiculously beautiful. People always notice you when you step into the room. Sometimes I forget to really look and then I see you and I have to catch my breath."
"Okay, that's enough. . ."
"And you are such a good mother. I look at three of them and I can't fathom how they've turned out so well. But then I think of all the time and effort, and love you've invested in them! Of course they are lovely - they are you!"
"They are us." She said, her face flush with embarrassment and pleasure. "That's enough, Henry, I . . ."
"No, babe." He interrupted. "I just now got to my main point." He leaned closer to her, his hands resting on her shoulders. "You are practical and real, but you are also so filled with hope. You've got no reason for any hope or joy - especially lately. The world you orbit is so dark but it never extinguishes that light inside - even when you were so wounded - even then I could see it." He pulled her close to him again, and felt her relax against him. "That's why I know you would never walk down Juliet's path. You would never give up like that, and just count people out. You are always looking for a way through. It's why you wouldn't let her get the death penalty. You are still hoping for her."
He felt her tremble and knew this time it was tears, not laughter. He ran his fingers through her hair, and rubbed her back as she wept. When her tears subsided, he spoke again.
"If you were without hope, if you weren't good, this wouldn't bring you such deep pain. I'm so sorry, Elizabeth and I do anything on this earth to make it right for you. You know that."
"I do."
"You should sleep, babe. It's so late and you are so tired."
He led her by hand up the stairs and she crawled into bed, sinking into the soft pillows.
He lay beside her, wrapping his arms around her.
"Tell me a story." She requested. "Something that has nothing to do with us."
"A long time ago there was a lonely soldier who returned to his beloved France after a long and difficult war. He was weary from fighting, and longed to gaze on green fields and to rest beneath the shade of the lovely trees of home. But when he returned home, he discovered that his home had been marked by war, too. The trees were gone, and as a result the land was bare and dry."
"Tell me you never told this one to the kids."
"Hush. Close your eyes." He admonished. Sighing she complied, and he ran his hand back and forth over her shoulder as he continued. "For a time he sat, grieving the loss - wishing that things were different. But one day, he decided that he would plant just one tree - so that people could look at it and say, 'Oh, remember?' And so he planted a tree and cared for it. When it began to grow, it was so lovely and so green he decided to plant another. And soon he lost himself inside it - planting tree after tree after tree. At first no one noticed but over the years, the hillside became covered with trees. Others who took notice, began to plant trees as well. Soon the countryside was green with trees - greener than he ever remembered it. When he died, no one knew his name or what he'd done, but he was buried in a lush valley- green with trees he had planted."
"That's a beautiful story." She said sleepily. "I can see all those trees."
"Of course you can." He whispered, kissing her cheek. "Sleep, babe."
"I love you, Henry." Her voice trailed off as she drifted into sleep. His own eyes were heavy with sleep but as often happened to him since her return, he couldn't make himself close his eyes. Instead he watched her peaceful face as she slept in a pool of moonlight. He was filled with both an aching sorrow for all she had suffered, and continued to suffer, as well as a deep gratitude that she was here.
Her face contorted in sleep, no doubt plagued by dark memories - dreams that robbed her of peace. He kissed her cheek and whispered soft shushing sounds until she settled back to sleep. "I love you." He whispered hoping that somehow even asleep she could hear.
He drifted to sleep clinging to hope so strong that he dreamed he saw her laughing, her face lit with joy surrounded by a lush forest; trees of hope that she herself planted.
***MS***
Author's Note: thank you for taking the time to review. It is an encouragement - a tree planted for a lonely writer! :) I originally meant this piece to be a one-shot. I so longed to explore what must have happened after she learned she was free of the threat of prison and after that bleak interview of Juliet. The story grew into three chapters and I am mostly satisfied now. I love the way that Henry remains solidly supportive of her - allowing room for her pain and sorrow. It's nice to see.
And if you've got a story buried inside you, I hope you add to our field of growing trees.