Her fingers curled, nails digging into the vinyl backing of the waiting room chair. She leaned forward, letting out a breath as her fingers tightened around the phone in her left hand.
She'd waited for his call… calls actually because once the first came it felt like her phone hadn't stopped ringing since. But today she wouldn't initiate. Not with him. She knew better than to interrupt what was sure to be going on at home.
Her forearms rested against the back of the chair, taking her weight, and she bowed her head.
Today had been eerily similar to two years ago when the Secretary was unaccounted for in Iran. The waiting at least. The situation couldn't be more different, but she guessed the feelings were the same. Though this time around the anxiety seemed to be exponentially increasing. Why? Because this time it wasn't just the Secretary in harm's way, but one of her oldest, closest friends. She worried not just because of their friendship outside of work, but because Elizabeth had something that Jay didn't… Value. She was protected in a way. He wasn't. He was a US citizen, yes. His death would be picked up by the news outlets for about a week before the ones who even bothered to blink an eye would carry on. But a murdered Secretary of State? Yeah, that one would be making the history books.
Her head lifted and she pushed back curls as her eyes darted to the clock above the window. She sighed. She'd been out here too long.
She straightened up, pocketing her cell before her palms smoothed down her shirt.
She considered brewing a fresh pot of coffee, but she made for the door instead. Her feet ached with each step she took. Mostly from the low heel she'd chosen this morning instead of the flats that matched the color of her blouse, but partly from the stress brought on by today's events.
The nurse sitting at the station gave a smile as the young woman mumbled into a phone. She passed the desk, not having the energy to give more than a nod.
Her eyebrows pulled when she turned the corner. Visiting hours had ended two hours ago, yet she could hear shouting down the hallway that had been otherwise quiet all afternoon. When she placed the American accents, her pace quickened.
She found him arguing with two of the nurses. He was pulling at wires, fumbling with his IV as he yanked at the blankets with his good arm. All while Daisy had her hands out in front of her, trying to calm him.
Nadine pushed past a woman, and said, "Blake this isn't helping anybody."
He stopped at the sound of her voice.
He quieted. "I can't help her from here." His eyes were stuck on his lap.
She squatted by his side. "You can help her by helping yourself," she told him. She re-tucked the blanket around his side. "Listen to the doctors." Her hand covered his. "She'd want you to take care of yourself."
He looked up, meeting her eyes before his stare drifted to the corner of the room.
She turned looking over her shoulder towards the television. Her lips parted. "Turn that off," she said. She couldn't bear watching it again, and she didn't want them obsessing over it either. The cell phone footage from the shooting was blurry, and it wasn't much, but it's what the media had, so it was playing on a loop across the different stations.
She turned back to Blake, squeezing his hand, before standing. "Alright?"
He nodded as he slowly sat back against the pillows. She didn't miss the wince on his face. She had no doubt that his little outburst jostled his shoulder.
"Okay," she mumbled as she stepped back from the bed. One of the nurses moved in, fixing his IV, and checking his vital signs.
She stared as the woman moved the stethoscope over his chest. She stopped, listened, and moved to the next spot. And— "Nadine?"
Her eyes darted over to Daisy. "Did you finish the statement?" She asked as she walked towards the foot of the hospital bed.
Daisy pulled together a few of the loose papers that littered the table. "I think so."
"Good." She pulled a chair over. "Let's go through it." She looked to Daisy before her head turned to Blake. "All of us," she said.