She expected to be content to be released from the hospital. Of course, she also expected to be allowed to fly home the same day. It was disappointing to have to spend a few more days away from her family; away from home. That Matt was cleared to fly before her both relieved her - to know he was going home to his family and familiar surroundings, and filled her with jealousy. She wanted nothing more than to return from this terrible trip - to put it all behind her.
She glanced around the large hotel suite, and climbed out of bed, reaching for her glasses as she did. She had just settled on to the couch when Henry stepped back into the room.
"Uh, uh, uh!" He said shaking a finger at her. "We had a deal."
"It isn't polite to point." She said looking up at him. "And you said two hours in bed." She pointed to the clock.
"It isn't polite to point." He said laughing.
"Sore loser." She turned back to the papers in her hand. "It doesn't matter anyway. There's no way I can read through all of this."
She rubbed her eyes, careful of the bruises and scratches on her face. Now that she had started to truly recover she was much more aware of how much the concussion had slowed her. Reading was difficult, and remembering things a challenge. She had no memory of the actual blast at all - remembered nothing except opening her eyes in the hospital. She hated with every fiber of her being the way it had impacted her ability to think clearly and do her job.
"Here, babe," He said sitting down beside her. "Give me one. I'll read it and summarize."
"You hate these kind of reports," She said, but handed him some papers.
"Yeah, but I love you." He kissed her forehead before to turning to the papers in front of him. "You know, some people have their staff do this."
Without looking up she remarked. "Why would I do that? I have to pay them. You'll do this for free."
He shook his head at her. "Don't push it, Mrs. McCord."
She studied the papers in front of her, but it was nearly impossible to read. Frustrated she tossed them aside and rose, quickly; too quickly. She staggered a half-step but recovered, knowing that, despite pretending to read the sheaf of papers in front of him, he was really watching her.
He showed tremendous restraint and remained silent. In an attempt to cover up the fact that she was unable to read and unable to focus, she wandered out onto the balcony. Pushing himself up from the couch he followed her outside.
"You think they made it home?" She asked from where she stood looking out over the city.
"Nadine said she'd call." He answered crossing to where she stood and leaned against the balcony wall, watching her.
She sighed saying nothing. It was late afternoon and the sun was already beginning to sink. He looked out at the city beyond her. It really was beautiful, and he was still thankful that they'd agreed to have the summit in a neutral city. The nearly immediate medical attention that both she, and Matt had received might not have been possible in Yemen - the site they had considered using there, had been miles outside the city. And while a twenty minute drive had seemed an eternity at the time, he knew it probably would have been closer to hours if they had travelled to Yemen. He shuddered inwardly thinking of all the possible outcomes.
"It's too late to call?" She asked him, again.
"Yeah, it's not quite midnight." He told her.
"I just asked you that earlier, didn't I?"
"It doesn't matter."
"I wish we were home." She said softly. "I'm worried about Allison."
"Me, too, but the day after tomorrow, isn't too bad. I know it's hard, but . . ."
"It's just for now." She sighed. "You keep saying that." She turned to smile at him. "That I can remember."
"I'm trying to remember it myself." He confessed.
***MS***
She expected the flight home to be challenging. The doctors had warned that in many cases, the symptoms of a concussion were greatly intensified during flight. She had discovered this was an understatement. She found herself fighting a battle against nausea. She closed her eyes, hoping she could drift to sleep and avoid the waves of sickness, and Henry's watchful eye.
She found herself in a bright green field. The sun was bright. A peacefulness settled over her. She glanced around to discover she was alone. In the distance, voices called to her, and she could see them, waving to her with joy - a look of utter trust across their bright faces. Stevie, Allison, Jason and just a step ahead of them, Henry, a grin on his face. She moved forward at a near run to meet them. The first bomb was located between the girls, launching them through the air, screaming. Jason stepped on the second bomb - one second he was there and the next, he was obliterated. Henry turned from the destruction a look of shock and terror. He lifted his arm, and pointed at her; a clear accusation and then third explosion hit - as pieces of him flew in every direction.
"Wake up! Elizabeth!"
She could just make out his voice. It was being drowned out by screams; someone was screaming.
"Babe! Wake up!"
His voice was higher now. He sounded slightly panicked. If only the screaming would stop. It took her another full minute to realize that the screams were her own; that she was screaming. Her eyes fluttered open and she was horrified to find herself surrounded - Blake, four members of the airline staff, Fred along with four agents, and even the co-pilot were watching her with frightened worried faces.
"It was a dream." Henry's voice was gentle. "It's alright." He glanced around behind him. "It's okay."
The crowd left, leaving behind only Henry, who keep rubbing her shoulder and arm, trying to ground her in reality and away from the nightmare. She could see the form of someone standing just behind him and knew it was probably Dr. Chen, who had insisted on accompanying her on her trip home.
Tears stung her eyes as waves of shame washed over her. Her heart still hammered in her chest and she found it hard to breath, and nearly impossible to talk. A hand reached forward, gently grabbing Henry's shoulder, pulling him out of the way.
"It's a panic attack. Madam Secretary, you are alright." Dr. Chen said softly. She tried to calm her own racing heart, but felt control slipping away. The doctor spoke soothingly to her, as he reached down into a bag and prepared to give her a shot.
"Wh . . wh . . what's that?" She struggled to find her voice again.
"It won't make you sleep, just help bring your heart rate down."
She wanted to protest but the pinch of the needle told her it was too late. She turned her head trying to see around Dr. Chen.
"He's still here." He smiled at her. "Just give yourself a few minutes. How about a glass of water?" Dr. Chen asked. He smiled warmly at her, squeezing her shoulder and disappeared from view.
"Honey?" Henry asked, sitting down beside her on the wide airplane seat. "Why don't you go lie down?"
The plane was equipped with a bedroom, of course, which is where they had all wanted to her to spend her flight, but stubborn as ever she had refused. Now, she deeply regretted her choice, knowing that although flying in bed would signal she was still injured, at least it would have given her privacy.
"That was humiliating." She confessed, her heart rate finally beginning to slow. Whatever the doctor had given her had clearly had a nearly immediate effect.
"It was just a dream." He reassured her.
"How long was I . . ." She began but he immediately cut her off, squeezing her shoulder gently.
"Don't worry about it, Babe." He leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "It's no big deal."
Right! She thought bitterly. Nothing says capable of command, like a scared girl crying from a nightmare. She could only imagine what everyone was thinking about her.
"Elizabeth?" He asked. "Honey?"
"I'm tired." She said turning away from him and looking out at the sky beyond the plane. "I wish we were home already." She said nothing more, too angry at herself for being too weak to manage the bombing, and too shaken by the memory of her nightmare for any more words.
***MS***
She expected to be able to truly relax once she was home. She had imagined collapsing into the soft familiarity of her own bed, and shaking off the events of the bombing. She somehow imagined returning to life as she knew it.
The faces of her children brought a flood of emotion, and she fought hard not to weep at just the sight of them. Opting for a private reunion, the children had not met them at the airport, but rather waited at home. Stevie immediately launched herself into her arms, nearly knocking the wind out of her.
"Take it easy." Henry said, and she was surprised at the harshness of his tone.
Jason joined the hug, but Allison hung back, looking unsure. She swallowed hard, brushing tears out of her eyes, "Noodle! Come here."
Allison hesitated but then wrapped her arms around her mother. She shook with heaving sobs that nearly knocked Elizabeth backwards onto the ground. She felt Henry's strong arms reach around and lift Allison, up into his arms, carrying her over to the couch.
"Easy, honey. Everything is okay. Let mama, sit down." He said to Allison huskily, kissing her forehead.
She followed them to the couch, sitting beside Henry, who still held Allison on his lap and Jason, who clung to her other side. Stevie sat down on the coffee table across from the couch, violating house rules, one hand holding tightly to Elizabeth's.
It was overwhelming, and good, but almost too much. She felt the weight of their anguish, as well as their relief, and so there was a tremendous amount of guilt mixed in with all the joy. She could still see, in her mind's eye, Henry's long arm stretched out pointing at her in accusation.
***MS***
She had expected, without the constant noise and hospital procedures, she would finally be able to sleep, but hours later, after the children had finally gone to bed, she lay awake staring at the familiar ceiling of home, wondering how she was ever going to manage an ordinary day. Her emotions felt raw and she felt brittle - as though she were a delicate piece of glass - stretched so thin that it was on the verge of shattering.
"You could take a sleeping pill." Henry offered. His voice startled her out of her thoughts. She had thought he was fast asleep. "The doctor gave you a prescription."
"No." She said tersely. One word answers had seemed to be all she could manage, since she had awoken screaming from the nightmare.
"There's no shame in it." He told her, his hand reaching for hers.
"I know." She said, thinking he was speaking of the sleeping pill.
"It was just a bad dream, Lizzie. It doesn't mean anything. And the only person from your staff who saw it was Blake, and you know he's loyal to you. He won't talk about it."
"I'm tired." She said, turning her body away from his, surprised by her own reaction.
"You are exhausted." He said sitting up, and clicking on the lamp. "But you've got to talk to me."
"Not, now." She bit her upper lip, attempting to keep the tears that threatened at bay. "Please."
"How much longer do you want me to watch you suffer?"
"Henry," She didn't even try to hide the frustration, her tone communicating volumes.
"I won't sit here pretending you aren't torturing yourself over . . ."
"Please, I'm just tired."
"Remember Khafji?" He asked her.
"Henry . . ."
"It was so damned hard to shake. I kept thinking that if things could just get back to normal, I wouldn't have to think about how close I came to never coming home."
He looked down at her. "And I couldn't sleep at all, remember? I would just lie awake staring at the ceiling trying not to think about it."
"You were so thin." She found herself being pulled into the story, lulled by the comforting familiarity of his voice. She turned toward him, and watched the familiar lines of his face as he continued the story.
"You kept trying to feed me." He grinned at her. "All those milkshakes." He let out a slow sigh. "And then we went to that party of your cousins, remember?"
"Henry, that wasn't . . ."
"It was such a great sunny day, too. And it was Alex's 1st birthday, or was it Peter's? I can't remember anymore - one of the 2nd cousins, right?" She nodded her head silently. "And then he let go of those balloons and they floated right up into the trees."
"Henry, you don't have to . . .it wasn't your fault and no one thought." She sat up, facing him.
"And suddenly it wasn't a sunny day anymore, I was somewhere else entirely ducking for cover to avoid gunfire. Your uncle had to drag me out from under that picnic table." He shook his head. "It was humiliating."
"No one thought any less of you. Everyone there understood." She clung tightly to his hand.
"I still feel a little ashamed thinking of it even, now." He shrugged his shoulders. "It was twenty-five years ago, Liz. It still haunts me." His warm brown eyes shone in the dim light of their bedroom. "Do you think that makes me weak?"
"Henry," She sighed heavily. "You aren't . . . this isn't fair."
"I am a captain in the Air Force, Babe, you don't think I was terrified that I would be unable to lead? I mean a goddamn balloon made me dive under a picnic table at a park! And I was supposed to go back there and lead good men into a fight?"
"But . . .I've been in a firefight before. It isn't like I've never seen a bomb."
"You were blindsided, Liz. That's a whole different experience, and most of the bombings you saw were after the fact, right?"
"Yes."
"Its one thing to see the effects and another to be the one at the center of it. And that was a long time ago. We aren't living that life anymore."
"I . . ." She began, but felt her throat tighten with tears and stopped herself.
"Shutting everything out won't work, babe. You know it. You can talk to me." She heard the desperate worry in his tone, and knew he was right.
"I feel afraid." She whispered. "All the time."
He nodded his head at her, his hand holding tightly to hers.
"It's not like I keep thinking about it. I can't remember it at all. But I just feel so anxious." She looked up into his face with wide blue eyes. "And I don't want to sleep. What if I dream?"
He lay back down, sliding his arms around her, pulling her tightly against his chest. "I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere."
"You gonna go to work with me?" She asked him.
"I can. I'll take a leave of absence."
She laughed at the pathetic ridiculousness of his offer. "That will inspire world confidence in my abilities."
"I don't give a damn about the world. I only care about you. And you can't try and shut me out like you've been doing. It isn't fair to either of us."
"I just feel so . . . don't you have some inspirational story or quote for me just now?" She looked up at him with wide, blue, trusting eyes.
"Looking for a magic elixir?" He asked.
"Yes. Something that will speed up time, make me not so feel afraid all the time, and allow you to stop worrying about me."
"Oh, that story!" He said with a laugh.
"Yes, you can quote me Thomas Aquinas or Descartes, or anyone at all if they can pull that kind of magic off."
He ran a finger along the side of her face, and gave her a gentle kiss, and sitting back from her said very softly, "Sometimes you just need to go ahead and cry."
"Who said that?" She asked him.
"I did."
She smiled at him, thankful down to her very core that he was here and at her side. She still felt completely terrified, and ashamed of her fears, but the stony wall that had separated them - that she had put up - was gone. She folded herself into the comforting safety of his arms knowing that even as grief and tears washed over her, he would be there, as faithful as the rising sun.