Blood and State
By Anne Callanan and Kathleen E. Lehew
Part 7/22
Abbey sat on the couch, quietly watching her daughter with concern as the younger woman took a deep breath, rubbing a shaky hand across her eyes to erase the tears. She'd hoped for something more, the sounds of raised voices, her husband's wakened ire as he berated his daughter for her stubborn disobedience. His stubborn and bullheaded thunder would have been a blessing, if not entirely logical. He rarely was when it came to his daughters, probably overcompensation for being the only male in a female dominated household.
Ellie stood frozen in the doorway for a moment, staring off into space before slowly walking across the room and stopping in front of her mother. She looked down at her, not quite sure what to say or do.
Extending her hand, Abbey laced her fingers through her daughter's and drew her down on to the cushions beside her. Gathering her into her arms, she held her snugly, rocking slowly back and forth. The motion was as old as motherhood and gave them both a comfort far beyond its simple, profound beginnings.
Parental hugs were at a dire premium this evening and Ellie accepted this one no less gratefully than she had the first. Both were precious and she couldn't quite stop the frightening thought that one or the other might someday not be there.
Head on her mother's shoulder, Ellie spoke tentatively, "It's bad, Mom."
Abbey nodded. "I know."
"The fatigue?"
"Constant," Abbey replied, dispirited. "Long before this happened."
"There's more."
"You're an expert on multiple sclerosis now?"
The med student's choked laugh was bitter. "You are?"
"Circumstances," - there was that awful word again, one Abbey had truly begun to hate, heart and soul - "have forced it on us both. You would choose the medical profession."
"You needed the help."
"Is that your only reason?" Abbey asked quietly.
Ellie froze for a moment, unable to voice her thoughts. Her reasons were many and varied, not the least of which was a deep, abiding pride in her mother's own accomplishments. There was another though, fiercer and darker.
"He did," she replied in a broken whisper.
She felt her mother shudder as she drew in a sharp breath. Her hold tightened almost desperately and Ellie responded in kind.
A nearly suffocating sensation tightening her throat, Ellie pulled back from that reassuring embrace, looking her mother in the eye. For both of her parents, she'd learned and forced herself, more so than her sisters, to confront the reality of her father's condition. Touch and movement, it all added up. Holding her mother's gaze, watching for a telling reaction, she said the one word that had been hiding like a demon at the back of her mind.
Saying it, she prayed she was wrong. "Dysesthesia."
Abbey went very still. "You touched him?"
All Ellie could do was nod. She wasn't asked what her father's reaction had been. The grief-stricken realization she saw on her mother's face was all the proof she needed that the older woman, the doctor, already knew.
Ellie was shocked when her mother's eyes suddenly filled with a fierce, enraged spark. She could only stare, tongue tied, as that fury which could rival her father's quickly spread across her features.
Surprise siphoned the blood from her face and she dropped her head. Bewildered, Ellie fought to control her own churning emotions. Along with the anger, she'd seen something else that had finally confirmed her worst suspicions.
Fear.
The sound of her mother's voice broke the strained silence and Ellie cautiously lifted her head.
"Damn them." Abbey's tones were cold and exact.
"Mom?" Ellie didn't know how to respond to that. Damn who?
Abbey surged angrily to her feet, followed closely by her startled daughter.
"Henry!" The First Lady's shouted summons carried easily through the closed door.
Vaughn was inside on the double, expression concerned and wary. With only slightly less carrying power and authority than her husband's, when the First Lady bellowed people listened. Observing her enraged demeanor, barely under control, he let his own settle back into a professional mask.
Something had hit the fan. "Ma'am?"
Hands on her hips, Abbey regarded her bodyguard with a decidedly chilly intensity. He didn't flinch. Good for him. "Made out your will, Henry?"
Vaughn blinked. She was furious. Not the most promising of openings when dealing with this woman. "Ma'am?"
"Mom?" Ellie wasn't any more in the know than the poor agent.
Abbey ignored them both. "Where are they?"
Mask cracking, Vaughn exchanged a confused glance with the First Lady's daughter. Her helpless shrug didn't help matters any.
"Your boss and the Chief of Staff," Abbey replied to the unasked question, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes dangerously. "Since this whole nightmare began," - and the beginning had been months ago. This day's events had only been the latest in an ever-growing line of attempts and political fiasco - "those two have been joined at the hip. Where one goes, the other follows. The only council they've given or taken lately has been to each other," she spat the words out almost contemptuously. That was about to end. "Where are they?"
It was a demand, not a request. Technically, the First Lady could demand nothing of the Secret Service. Not bothering to quibble about technicalities, Vaughn lifted his hand and spoke quietly into his transceiver. The response, as always, was instantaneous.
"They're in Mr. McGarry's office, ma'am."
"Thank you." Abbey said gratefully, meaning every word. She relaxed slightly. "About your will..."
Vaughn frowned. "Am I going to need it?"
"You might."
"I was afraid of that." Vaughn sighed, glancing at the closed bedroom door. Emil Torres, the First Lady's detail leader, had warned him about this. It wasn't the first time and it wasn't going to be the last. "Nobody gets in, ma'am?"
"You're learning." Abbey actually smiled. Not long ago, she'd made herself a promise not to be quite so predictable. Apparently, that particular failing had its uses. "Any problems with that?"
"No, ma'am. I'll coordinate with the President's detail, make a few calls." He shrugged and added in an off-the-cuff tone he didn't exactly feel, "Besides, if you've got Agent Butterfield in a head lock, who are they going to complain to?"
"Please," Ellie muttered, only half-joking. She knew her mother. "Don't give her any ideas."
"It's not a bad idea." Abbey turned to her daughter, the small amusement fading from her eyes as she regarded her with searching gravity. "You're back-up, young lady."
"Me?" Ellie squeaked.
"Her?" Vaughn didn't quite squeak, but he came close.
"Both of you." Abbey was already headed towards the door, galvanized by a furious determination that wouldn't be denied. Not this time. Two men in particular were going to catch the brunt of it.
The door actually slammed behind her.
"That's not good," Ellie observed with some trepidation. "Mom's not a door slammer."
"Nope," Vaughn agreed. You learned a few things in this job. "Your father's a door slammer, though."
"Oh, yeah," Ellie muttered with a fond sigh. And she had just admitted that to a total stranger. A blush flashed across her cheeks and she colored fiercely. "So," she stammered weakly, changing the subject. "Now what?"
"Miss?"
Miss? She supposed that was better than ma'am. "About that elbow thing..."
"Agent Haefy'll be fine, miss. Seriously. For all you throw a mean elbow, there was no permanent damage done."
"That's not saying a whole hell of a lot."
The corner of Vaughn's lip twitched suspiciously.
Ellie caught it and despite the evening's emotional upheaval, felt herself smiling shyly in return. "Follow-through, huh?"
"We'll work on it."
To be continued…