Henry McCord, rose slowly, stretching his aching muscles. Moving quietly he left the room, blinking at the bright light of the hallway. He paused rubbing a hand over his face. He was exhausted but his nerves were still too raw. He felt edgy and brittle, like he'd just returned from a mission.

Elizabeth was, thankfully, asleep. He was relieved that she'd been able to close her eyes and drift off, but knew it had more to do with the medications she'd been given than a her sense of peace. Even on her best day, she was a terrible sleeper - her mind never quit. He supposed some of his stress was in anticipation of the dawn, and what it would bring. He knew she would start asking questions as soon as she opened those beautiful, intelligent eyes of hers and he didn't look forward to answering any of them. The weight of those answers would lay heavy on her slim shoulders. And he knew, from experience, that when the adrenaline and shock wore off, she would have a lot to sort through.

He decided on another cup of coffee and went to the end of the hall were a small knot of agents were gathered.

"How about instead of another cup, you lie down for a few hours?" Fred asked him.

"I will, if you will." He responded.

"You aren't the agent in charge." Fred snapped back. "Honestly, Dr. McCord, I don't even know how you are on your feet."

"Military training." He answered, taking a sip of coffee as he did. "What else do we know, now?"

"It wasn't ISIS." Fred told him. "It's a lot more complicated and a lot simpler than that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your wife got caught on the wrong end of a blood feud. The attack had nothing to do with her or the United States Government."

"Fred, if I were paranoid, I would think that's exactly what you would tell me if you wanted to cover something bigger up."

"I suppose you are right." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Of course, every now and then it's true. Come on, I'll fill you in so you can be prepared when she finally is clear-headed enough to ask, but I got to warn you Dr. McCord, she isn't going take this lightly."

"I think you can drop the Dr. McCord, Fred." Henry said following the agent to a bank of chairs and sitting down across from him. "And I've got to be honest with you, she hasn't taken a single thing lightly since the day she was born."

***MS***

Hours later, a cold cup of coffee in his hand, Henry realized that what Fred had said was true. The kind of lies that were believable, were the ones that actually happened from time to time. Although, he realized that there was no way that they'd ever convince Jason the whole thing wasn't a massive governmental cover-up. He couldn't imagine how the DNA of an NSA agent and a CIA analyst could produce such a suspicious natured offspring.

The door to the room opened and he looked up expecting to see a nurse but was surprised to see Nadine.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. "I didn't knock but they said they thought you were sleeping."

"That's alright."

"I couldn't get to sleep myself." She continued nervously. "Every time I close my eyes . . .well anyway, I thought I'd look and see for myself."

"I'm not much for sleeping either. You are alright, though?"

"We were inside the building. Nothing happened to us." She bit at her lip nervously.

"I wouldn't say that." He offered compassionately.

"Well, she and Matt took the worst of it."

"It's traumatic all the same. How is Matt?"

"He's still sedated. It's going to be a long and painful road."

"Daisy is with him?"

"Yes." She paused thoughtfully, and then reached into her shoulder bag. "I tried to straighten your hotel room. The agents left it . . . suddenly and I found these. I thought you might want them." She held three leather bound books. "I couldn't decide which you'd want more, so I brought them all."

His eyes widened with surprise, and he accepted the books, rising to embrace her in a brief hug.

"That was very thoughtful, Nadine. Thank you." He stepped back from her aware that his embrace had surprised her.

"How is she doing?" Nadine asked.

"She isn't too happy with the idea of rest, right now." He offered with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I imagine not." Nadine said with a laugh. "She doesn't strike me as the sit on the couch and do nothing type."

"No." He admitted. "I've got a theory that she's still planning things in her sleep." He nodded at her. "Sometimes she seems to wake up with a new idea fully formed."

"She's not an easy person." Nadine said as if thinking out loud. "But I admire her very much. It seems the longer I know her, the more I respect her." She blushed aware of what she said. "I'm sorry, that came out . . ."

"It's alright." He said with a laugh. "I understand what you mean." He glanced at his wife. "It's not like I'm not aware she's got strong opinions."

"Yes, sir. She's going to need them if she's going to survive Washington."

"I used to worry that Washington would be the biggest threat to her." He sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. "She'd never admit it to you, but she's full of hope."

"I'd noticed that. Washington could use some of that." Nadine paused and looking at him added. "You are tired and I should go."

"Thank you for the books and for stopping by." He nodded at her. She smiled and reached out to open the door but paused to look back as he spoke again.

"Turn the tv on - not a news channel. Some cooking or craft show. It will make it easier to sleep." He suggested.

"I guess. . ." She began.

"Lots of people think music or a kids show will work, but kids shows have a surprising amount of violence and music can trigger memories. A cooking show is your best bet or there used to be this lady on that taught quilting. . ." He saw her confusion. "I am a combat vet." He explained.

"I had forgotten about that. Of course. Thank you."

"Good night, Nadine."

"Good night."

He glanced at the clock. It was 3:26 am. He hoped Elizabeth would stay asleep. He pulled his chair closer to her bed, and opened the top book, setting the other two on her bed side table.

"The sun shall not harm you by day, nor the moon by night." He read, trying to find solace in the oldest of texts.

***MS***

"I don't see why they won't just let you wheel me down there." Elizabeth McCord said testily. "I should at least be able to check in on him."

"I'm sure if you continue to throw a big fit, they'll ignore your personal medical safety and let you skip on over to his room." Henry responded, his arms folded over his chest.

"I'm not throwing a fit." She snapped back.

"You kind of are, and from that expression on your face I can tell it isn't helping your headache any. I'll go check on him for you later, alright?"

"Alright." She said with a sigh. He nodded his head at her but wasn't surprised when she added softly, "But maybe later they'll let me go."

There was a knock and he turned from her to open it. Agent Fred Cole stepped into the room.

"Fred! Thank goodness! Maybe you can give me some actual information. All anyone has said to me since I woke up is 'rest' and 'take it easy'" She paused, considering him thoughtfully. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Madam Secretary." He glanced at Henry. "I know you have questions."

"Seven deaths?" She asked, all lightness gone from her tone.

"Yes, ma'am - including the bombers. Both ambassadors, two agents and the bombers."

"That's six." She glanced over at Henry.

"No that's seven, ma'am there were three bombers."

Her eyes grew wide in shock. "The little girl? No! She couldn't have been more than ten!"

"She was fourteen ma'am."

"Fourteen!" She lifted her hand rubbing her forehead. "I don't understand."

"The attack was aim at Ambassador Yamaldi - not the United States, and not you." He paused before continuing, letting her absorb this piece of information, "Ambassador Yamaldi's wife had worked tirelessly to bring women's rights and freedoms to Yemen. It was her life's work."

"But his wife wasn't at the summit." She said slowly, glancing from Fred to Henry's face. "This is punishment?" Her voice rose in pitch. "They killed her husband because she wanted little girls to read?!"

"Honey, sit back." Henry said rising and going to her. "You need to stay calm."

"Calm? What the hell, Henry? Are you listening to this?"

"Madam Secretary, it wasn't a political attack. The change she brought to Yemen resulted in his oldest son's wife divorcing him. He felt his family had been shamed. It was a personal attack."

"It was a threat delivered on the world's stage! And how old was his daughter-in-law anyway?"

Fred sighed. "You know, it would be a lot easier for you if you didn't think so much."

Henry gave a snort of agreement, and said softly, "Tell me about it!"

"I knew it! So some poor little child bride escapes from the horror of her life, and her father in law has to avenge his son's honor?"

"She was thirteen."

"Was?"

"Listen, babe," Henry interrupted, stepping closer to her bed, a hand on her shoulder. "I think that's enough talking. You are supposed to get cognitive rest, remember? And this is just going to upset you and . . ."

"He killed her?"

"Right before he came here." Fred answered.

"I want to talk to my staff." She said, her voice tight with anger. "We need to make a statement of support for the ambassador's widow."

"No." Henry said stepping closer to her.

"No?" She turned toward her husband, her eyes wide in shock. "Henry, I'm not some housewife you can . . ."

"If that's all?" Fred asked, his hand already on the door.

"Yes, thank you. Please try and get some rest." Henry said ignoring Elizabeth, and walking Fred to the door. He turned back to his wife as the door clicked shut. She had thrown back the covers and was leaning forward as if to rise.

"No. No. No." He crossed the room in two long strides. He put the covers back over her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Get back in bed."

"Henry, you are starting to really piss me off. I'm the Secretary of State and you're treating me like some helpless princess from a Disney movie!"

He said nothing for a long minute, the room silent except for the huffing sound of his breathing. He tried to calm himself so that he wouldn't blow up at her. He drew in two long slow breaths before reacting. Despite his efforts to remain calm, he found his control was slipping.

"Well, maybe I'm overreacting - I mean it was less than twenty-four hours ago that you were nearly blown to ten million pieces! I saw the whole damn thing on tv and so did your daughter, so I'm not really all that concerned about the rights of women in Yemen just now, okay?" He responded, bitterly.

"I appreciate that, but this isn't some consulting job! I've got an obligation. . ."

"To me!" He interrupted, his eyes suddenly bright with tears. "You've got an obligation to me, Elizabeth!" He recognized that he was somewhat hysterical from stress and lack of sleep but he found her stubbornness unbelievably frustrating at times. "You and I made promises, Lizzie. We promised not to pursue unnecessary risks, remember?"

"I'm not . . ." She said her tone softening, surprised that he was so angry. "Henry . . . "

"Not what? Not endangering yourself? Did you listen to the doctor? He said the hit you took to the head was more powerful than any hit by an NFL lineman! You have to rest! You have to!" He turned away from her, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Doctors always talk about worse case scenarios . . ." She began but he cut her off.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He exploded at her. "Do you want to leave me? Are you determined to leave me a widow with those three children? Is that it? Stop it! Just stop! Be reasonable for Christ's sake! You heard Dr. Chen. You were sitting right there." He waved a hand at her hospital bed. "You heard him! They are monitoring you to make sure that you don't suddenly have a seizure and die! Jesus, Liz! I spent nearly an hour waiting to hear if you were dead or not - listening to your children sobbing and you can't even stop for one day and rest! Don't talk to me about worse case scenarios! This is it! This is my worse case scenario - some jackass trying to . . . and me too far away to do you any good."

"Okay, okay. Henry, I'm sorry. Honey, calm down." She reached out to him. He had stopped, his face covered by his hands. "Henry, come on. I'm sorry."

"No," He said, his voice calmer, but shaky with the sound of tears buried inside it. He dropped his hands. "I'm sorry. I should've been there. I can't believe I was so selfish! Two hours! I couldn't manage a stupid reception. Babe, I'm so, so sorry. I should have been there. Maybe I would've . . . "

"Henry, stop. Come here." She said reaching a hand out to him. He stepped closer to her bed, his face down, and she took hold of his hand. "C'mon, I didn't mean to upset you. I understand that I'm injured, I do. I will rest. I promise it. I'll stop. I know my concussion is a big deal, okay." She leaned forward trying to see his face. "Henry, c 'mon, look at me. I know you are frustrated but let's think logically, okay?"

"I can't . . ." He began, shaking his head. "I should have been there."

"Stop thinking like that. It wouldn't have changed anything."

"You don't know that." He looked up at her.

"Okay, then. Let's consider it."

"Liz, just . . ."

"C'mon Professor McCord. The Socratic Approach, right?"

"This isn't class."

"If you had gone where would you have been standing?" She asked him.

"Liz, I don't . . ."

"No, I've thought about this. I thought about it a lot. You generally are to my left and behind, right? That would've probably put you beside Annie. It's where you stood at the receptions in Germany and Washington."

"I don't know, I guess so."

"So you would have been at an angle to really see everything. Think about that. I can't remember it now, but Fred told me that I saw him coming toward us - which means you would've too. You would have seen him rush at me with that bomb. What would you have done?"

"I don't . . ." He offered weakly.

"Yes, you do. If you saw him coming at me, what would you have done?"

"You are speaking in hypotheticals! We don't know for sure what . . ." He offered lamely.

"The hell I don't! Henry, this stupid concussion might have me a bit muddled and forgetful, but one thing I know for sure is that come hell or high water, you would do anything to keep me safe - including rushing a crazed man with a bomb. So," She continued her voice breaking. "Don't apologize to me for not being there." She swallowed hard, her hand squeezing his forearm. "I've never been so grateful for anything in my whole life."

"Maybe . . ." He offered lamely, recognizing she was right, but not quite able to allow himself free of the guilt that had gripped him. "I don't . . .I'm so sorry, Babe. I just can't believe that . . ."

"I'm okay, Henry. I'm going to be fine. I'm gonna sit in this bed and rest. And then we will go home together and raise those three children together." She hit the word together hard, each time, understanding that he needed the reassurance just as much as she did.

"Move over." He said, already climbing into the narrow hospital bed beside her. She scooted to the edge, and then snuggled up against him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she rested her bruised and aching head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart beats lulling her back down into sleep. He rested his lips against her forehead, gently, carefully of any bruises. "I love you, Lizzie. I love you. I am so . . ." A sob stopped him, and he squeezed her tighter to him. "I can't ever . . . you are my everything. You are my heart." He said nothing more; could say nothing more. She fell asleep to the soft sound of his tears, and the steady beat of his heart.

When the nurse came into her room, forty-five minutes later, to once again check her cognitive responses, she found them both asleep, Henry McCords, arms still around his wife, protective even in sleep.