AN: Angst to balance out the fluff.
Insomnia
He was sitting at his desk, anxiously tapping the tip of his pen against his desktop calendar while he carried on a conversation with Kayla, Under Secretary Cushing's assistant, over the telephone.
"His schedule has been cleared for the next two weeks. Though Jim and I were wondering about the event at the White House on the twenty-fourth of the month."
His eyes bounced from his computer screen down to his calendar. "No." That particular Wednesday had a big bright star in the corner. "Russell Jackson wants Secretary McCord there." He let out a breath. "But between you and me…" His voice dropped. "I don't think that will be happening."
"I'll keep that day open then."
He could hear fingertips clicking against computer keys.
"How is she?"
It was a loaded question, and now more than ever there was no simple answer that could be given.
"I…" Words were forgotten when his eyes lifted, and he saw her walking down the aisle between the rows of desks. "I'll have to call you back," he murmured into the receiver. He quickly placed the phone back in its cradle and threw down his pen before he pushed up from his chair and followed her.
"Madam Secretary."
She slowed, but she didn't turn around.
"Elizabeth," he said as he stepped in front of her.
"I have to go home, Blake."
She stepped around him and turned the corner, heading for the elevators.
He sighed, struggling to shake off the amount of actual work that he needed to catch up on— He was already about six days behind on filing, and the paperwork only seemed to grow. The senior staff was doing their best with taking on his usual responsibilities but babysitting her around the clock was a job in itself.
"Ma'am," he called after her.
She was moving slow, so it only took him about four steps before he fell in line with her pace.
"I'm so tired," she whispered.
She hadn't slept in three days, him in two.
His hand found her lower back, stopping her. And there was no need to usher her someplace private because it was lunch hour on a Friday. The office was low on ears to eavesdrop.
"Let's get your stuff together."
Her eyes were glued to the floor as she nodded.
"Henry doesn't have afternoon classes on Friday, so he should be home. I just want him to hold me."
He swallowed over the lump that had quickly formed in the back of his throat… She had begged to be held the night before. Trying to comfort her as she'd sobbed had been the most devasting thing he'd experienced in all thirty-two years of his life.
"I'm so tired," she repeated.
His chest tightened as he walked with her back to her office to gather her things and his.
"I'll ride along with you," he said as he held open her coat.
"You don't have to."
He did, actually. Where she went, he went. It had been a request of Russell, but he hadn't needed to ask.
He'd been sleeping at their house, watching her like a hawk, all while trying to help out with the kids as much as he could… He hadn't seen his own apartment in the past eight days.
"I insist." He smoothed down the fabric over her shoulders before he took her briefcase from her right hand.
And he encouraged her to lean into him in the car. It hadn't taken much heckling.
~MS~
Stevie popped up from the sofa when they were through the front door. She continued to put on a brave face for her mother and younger siblings, but he knew she was hurting just as much as Ali and Jason.
"Hi, Mom."
Elizabeth stood still as he helped her out of her coat.
"Hey, Baby." She threw her purse into the chair in the corner. "Is Dad home?"
He looked over at Stevie as he toed off his shoes near the door. She met his eyes for a moment as her arms nervously crossed over her chest.
"Um." She shook her head. "No." Her eyes fell to the floor.
Elizabeth's shoulders hunched. "Oh." She turned, kicking off her heels. "Okay. I— I guess I'm…" She pointed towards the kitchen. "I'm going to make some tea before I lie down."
Both he and Stevie watched her as she disappeared into the dining room.
"You guys are home early." Her fingers toyed with the loose threads on the sleeves of her sweater.
"It's been a really bad day," he said as he walked towards her.
She leaned back on the arm of the couch. "Her forehead looks better."
He nodded, shoving his hands into his pant pockets. He'd been redressing the wound each morning and then again before she laid down for the night. It was healing. Today she'd gone without a bandage.
"It does."
Before he knew what was happening Stevie was in tears.
"Hey." He stepped forward and pulled her up and into a hug.
Her arms looped around his middle. "Ali insisted on going into school for a half-day. She had a project she wanted to turn in."
"It's good for her."
Over the last few days, he'd watched Alison grow antsy sitting around the house. She needed something to distract herself, so last night after dinner, he'd encouraged her to give school a shot.
"I know, but I—"
"I know." He pushed Stevie back and gave her a soft smile. "You should get out too. Maybe a walk around the block? Your mother could benefit from some fresh air too."
She shook her head as she wiped her eyes with the tips of her fingers. "The press…"
"Take an agent with you." He chewed his bottom lip. "How about you pick up something for a late lunch?"
She straightened up. "I can do that."
She liked to be helpful.
His hands rubbed up and down her arms. "Okay. I'm going to check on your mom."
He found her sitting on a barstool at the far end of the island, hands underneath her chin, keeping her head up as she leaned her elbows against the granite countertop. She stared at the kettle, waiting for the water to boil.
He stayed quiet, pulling up a seat for himself so he could sit with her.
His mind drifted as his eyes focused in on the falling leaves of an oak tree he could see from the kitchen window. And for the first time in eight days, he let himself think of the friend he'd lost.
"Something happened to him, didn't it?"
Her words jolted him from the memory of him and Henry sharing a beer out on the patio. His head turned, and his heart sank when he noticed the tears running down her cheeks.
"Blake?"
He swallowed. He had been dreading this moment ever since he'd gotten the call from Matt… This was the moment where he would break her whole world.
"Yes," he whispered.
The doctor said her memory would come back in about a week.
"He's dead?"
She'd walked the floors at night. Even without her memory, her body, her mind, her being… her subconscious had known.
"Yes."
Her face turned down as she fought back a sob.
"There was an accident," he said. "A truck hit the SUV you were riding back in from New York. The impact was on his side." He could feel the tears building behind his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth."
He didn't know how she was meant to get through the next three days. The visitation was tomorrow evening with the funeral the following morning. Family and friends were sure to linger until at least the day after.
Her breaths came in gasps, and he took that as his sign to step in.
He pushed up from the stool and rounded the side of the island. And when he laid a hand on her back her face turned up to his.
"I— I don't know how to live without him," she cried.
He stared down at her, waiting to see her next move. A few moments passed, but when she stood, he opened his arms and she'd just about melted into him.
"What am I supposed to do?"
He held her tight and rubbed circles around along her back.
"I'm asking you to protect my wife when I can't be there," Henry had said as he'd taken a bottle opener to their beers. He'd invited him over their first Saturday in DC for a talk. He'd arrived in Georgetown already with his own expectations of being the personal assistant to the female Secretary of State and had left with a completely new understanding of his job.
"I can't do this without him."
The arm wrapped around her tightened.
She could, but it would be a hard adjustment to learn how to do so.
"I'm here," he whispered into her hair.
Her fingers curled into his chest, fisting the fabric of his button-down, and the kettle on the stove began to scream.