Elizabeth leaned her head into her chief of staff's office. "Jay," she said softly.
He started to stand, but she held her hand up. "Jay, go home."
He gestured to the paperwork in his hand, "Ma'am, you and I both know that we've got a limited amount of time to work through the details of this appropriations bill."
"I don't like how you used the word 'we' in there." She said, hoping her joke didn't sound like laziness.
He smiled, then said, "Well, your part in it comes AFTER I've looked through it and dealt with the insignificant power plays by rogue Senators."
"What about Chloe?" She asked, "Do you need to get…"
Jay shook his head, "She's with Abbey tonight." Then, after a pause, he said, "It's late. You should head home." She started to argue with him, but he overruled her with logic, "If anything changes with Russia, it's not like you're far away."
She nodded her agreement. It had been a long day. After insisting that Jay not stay all night, she returned to her office, grabbing her phone and briefcase before walking out past Blake's desk, thankful that he'd actually gone home and not waited for her to finally leave the office.
After dealing with Russia's irrational autocrat, her body felt like she'd just run a marathon. Wondering if it was late enough that Henry would be asleep, she looked at her phone to see the time and noticed a text from her brother.
Hey. You got a few minutes to chat? I'm kinda waiting in my car cause we both remember the last time I approached your goons…
She rolled her eyes, stopping to reply. You looked much more threatening/crazy that time.
Then she said to Matt, "Hey, is my…"
"Your brother is sitting in his car at the carport." Like he already knew what text she'd gotten. Then he added, "Do you want me to let him in?"
It wasn't even a thought. "Yes. I'll wait for him at the stairs."
Her phone vibrated in her hand. You haven't seen me in a while.
Then just a second later. Another text from Will. They're letting me in.
It wasn't every day she got a text from her brother asking to talk. As she walked through the hall, she tried to preemptively prepare for whatever was coming. But maybe her brain had dealt with enough crazy today with Russia. Maybe Will and Sophie had been doing so well for a while. Maybe she'd had her share of family emergencies in the last few years that she wondered if anything could actually surprise her in regards to her brother.
Or maybe she'd felt empty for so long that she'd just deal with whatever problems or news Will came at her with the same way she'd handled the last few months.
As she stood by the stairwell waiting for her brother, she wondered how Henry would feel with Will visiting. Should she text or call Henry to let him know? Would it matter?
It used to hurt. She used to sit in the corner of her office and cry after everyone had left the office. She'd not wanted to go upstairs for weeks. She knew they'd just fight. Walking into a space where the most honorable and moral person she'd ever known – seeing the way he hated what she'd done – knowing how he hated what she'd become – it had broken her for so long.
It still ached. Each time she'd wake up to find the gulf between them had widened. Every time she felt him looking through her, and not at her. Every short "fine" or "I don't care" that passed between them.
Maybe he was right. It wasn't like Elizabeth didn't miss her daughter every single day. It wasn't like she didn't wonder how Emma was doing every time she walked past the picture of her in her graduation cap at her college graduation.
But at least – the only comfort Elizabeth ever found in the world lately – at least every time she walked into the Situation Room, at least every time she was shown a video, at least every time she was handed a file from a grim-faced advisor – at least Elizabeth knew Emma's face would not be in a NSA, DOD, or CIA emergency situation.
That was the only comfort Elizabeth felt anymore. The only one.
"You waited for me."
She pulled herself away from thoughts of Emma, focusing on Will walking towards her. Time to put on her big sister pant. His hair was, as usual, sticking out in every direction. The stubble on his face looked, as it always did, borderline between distracted businessman and drunk who'd spent the last few days in jail.
"I was just leaving the office." She said, pulling him in for a quick hug. "You're up late."
He chuckled as they separated, and she started walking up the stairs. "You're one to talk, Liz. It's past eleven." Then he asked, "You save the world today?"
As if she could tell him that as of the last conversation with the Russian ambassador at nine forty-five, Russia had not invaded any country, which, in her book, was right up there with saving the world for the day. Only time would tell.
"Sure." She replied instead. "You save lives?"
"Meh."
It was her turn to chuckle.
Almost to the top of the stairs, she was both saddened and relieved that, unlike every other night that she walked up those stairs, tonight she wouldn't have to simply sit in the silence of what her marriage had become. Now she had a buffer between her and Henry – someone to talk to that didn't think she was a failure as a mother. Someone with problems that didn't involve her cold-heartedness that Henry's cold nature drilled into her being.
"How's Sophie?" Elizabeth asked, reaching the landing and walking towards the door, "And sweet Annie – how's she?"
"They're both good." Will said. "Sophie's helping with an interexchange program, which, she loves. And Annie, well, she's celebrating being in high school by buying enough makeup and clothes to put me out of house and home."
"Teenagers." Elizabeth said, "They'll do that to you."
She checked off the two major things that could be problematic for Will – marriage wasn't falling apart at the seams – and no red flags with Annie.
She walked into the Residence to find Henry sitting on the sofa. She took a deep breath and headed for the drink cart against the far wall. "Scotch?" She asked her brother.
"Will!" Henry said. She paid her husband no mind but listened to the two of them exchange pleasantries while she poured both her and her brother a drink. "What a surprise!"
She kept her back to them for as long as possible. Listening to the, "How're things?" "How's work?" And "Keeping busy?" "Too busy" exchange. She knew it would be hard to hide the deterioration of things since Henry was still up and awake and interacting with their guest. But she would try.
Plastering a smile, she walked past Henry and handed the tumbler to Will, and then hinted that they all sit down.
Will pulled no punches. He hadn't been in the chair more than two seconds before he cleared his throat and said, "Well, I'm glad Henry's here too."
"Oh boy." Elizabeth said, taking a seat across from her brother in the other armchair. Leaving Henry to sit alone on the couch. She shouldn't have felt the joy that she did at that moment. But. Well. This was their life now. "Please tell me you're not contemplating going back into the field?"
Her brother took a sip of his drink, and shook his head, "Oh, there's no possibility of that."
"Grown accustomed to the semi-regular hours and having a semi-normal life?" Henry joked.
"My medical license has been suspended."
Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair, absolutely stunned as she loudly asked, "What?"
"What happened?" Henry asked.
Elizabeth just looked at her brother, her brain trying to think of some reason that would account for… "Did you get sued? Or… like… I don't…" She searched for the words, "You're like the best trauma surgeon that, well, you TEACH at Walter Reed, for God's sake. How on…"
Will just held up his hand. "I know you'll just keep going with your grammarless sentence structure and questions that actually have no end, so… "
Elizabeth swallowed, nodding her head, forcing herself to stay quiet.
"Apparently," He said, looking at the glass in his hand, "I'm suspended until the investigation into my prescribing history has been investigated."
"What?" Elizabeth asked. "Your pre…"
"After suspicious activity, the DEA is running an investigation into how many painkillers I've prescribed in the last few months."
Elizabeth couldn't sit still. "That's not you." She started pacing, trying to get her brain to put the pieces together. "You're like, the most informed about making sure you take care of your patients while NOT overprescribing." It didn't make sense. "It's something you've talked to me about so many times." He had. She'd even recommended him for a place on a committee about the opioid crisis. "It must be…" She turned and paced the other direction, thinking out loud. Talking with her hands, she ranted, "… it's because of me. Someone's targeting you because of who I am. And they…" She turned again, spilling a bit of scotch as her gestures grew. "… are trying to put you in the spotlight to derail policy. But what policy, I don't…"
"Liz?"
She barely heard him, "No, I mean, is there a new initiative that we've put out in regards to prescription drugs? I don't think so. But,"
"LIZ!"
She heard that, and turned around to look at her brother, who was now standing. "What?"
Will waited a second. Like he knew she needed to take a few breaths before she would actually hear what he was about to say. "It's not about you."
"You don't know that."
"It's not about your presidency or policy or scandal or anything like that."
"Sometimes I don't think you understand how many people would love to get their hands on a story like this." The brother and sister dynamic was always at play between the two of them. And she slipped back into her role of combative older sister quite easily. "Politics are complicated."
"Fuck, Liz." He said loudly. "Will you just SHUT UP?"
She inwardly recoiled. Clenched her jaw. But she didn't say anything.
She did look around, wondering if Henry might just be enjoying watching Will snap at her the way he'd wanted to for a while, she imagined.
But the couch where he'd been sitting was empty. And she curled her fingers around the glass in her hand, throwing back the rest of the burning liquid. He couldn't even sit here and listen to her brother – who came to her late at night, needing advice or help or something – but Henry didn't care enough to at least pretend to act like a family.
"I had my prescription pad stolen a few months back." Will explained. "I didn't notice because, well, most things are done on the computer now, and we only use the scripts on rare occasion."
Henry's refusal to even be in the same room with her was eating away at her. As she listened to her brother, she walked back over to the drink cart and poured another drink, resisting the urge to down it all in one gulp.
"But two days ago, the number of times I'd allegedly written a script for an opioid was flagged, and they froze any attempts to fill anything I'd written." Will paused, and Elizabeth turned to face him. "They caught a break today when someone tried to fill yet another script of oxycodone."
"Do you know who?" Elizabeth asked, knowing that he would suggest some name that would ring a bell connecting someone trying to destroy Elizabeth's career to this whole thing. Then she'd let him know who'd told him so.
Will bit his bottom lip. She knew it was serious. That was one of his tells. And she watched his eyes. Moving back and forth along the ground.
"Emma."
She closed her eyes and, without thought, said, "What? No." No. "No." She said again, setting her glass down and walking toward him. "She's not like… that's not…"
She couldn't understand why he would pull this. Why he thought this was a funny way to joke.
"She's mad at me, I know." She started to rationalize. "But she's not… that's…"
As she walked toward him, she noticed something she'd missed before. She'd missed the light on in a room that had been dark for what seemed like forever. The door was slightly ajar. But she could see the light.
"Liz, I know it's…"
She held her hand up as she walked towards the door. Emma's room.
The door creaked as she gently pushed it open. She wasn't sure what she'd expected. She wasn't sure what she'd wanted.
Well, actually, she did know. She'd love to see her daughter, sitting there. She'd want to run to Emma and fall on her knees and beg her daughter to forgive her. She'd lay her head in Emma's lap and cry tears of relief and utter regret. Elizabeth would give almost anything to see her daughter there, safe in her bed.
Almost because she'd put her daughter's safety before her mother's desire.
But she found none of that.
Instead. She found her husband. Sitting on the ground. Knees pulled to his chest. Head buried in his hands.
Weeping.
Shoulders shaking. Long gasps for air followed by a soul-wrenching cry of pain.
A cry that dug past her anger. Burrowed beneath the protective walls she'd built. Clawed through the façade. The arguments faded into her periphery vision. The fights. The silence. The apathy. The pride. They did not disappear. They were there. And still held value.
But something else was more important.
Her soulmate's soul was breaking.
She knelt down beside her husband, setting her hand on his shoulder. With trepidation, like a child with a burn on his hand reaching yet again for the burner, she asked, "Henry, what's wrong?"
You're what's wrong.
You've taken me away from our daughter.
You're the reason she's not here.
Her brain filled in the space between her question and her husband's answer. The answers she'd heard throughout the last few months. The answers that kept her from sleeping at night. The answers that she worried Henry would give for handing her divorce papers. Her worst nightmares were wrapped up in the answers that could come from her husband.
He wiped his eyes, and turned his head, his bloodshot eyes looking deep at her. At her. Not through her. His lips quivered. Her strong husband, the man she'd not seen any emotion from in such a long time. He was broken.
His eyes searched hers.
Fear.
Guilt.
Emptiness.
All things Elizabeth had lived with inside herself. Alone.
Then. Quietly. Like, if spoken too loudly, they would both splinter.
"Emma's in trouble."
She took a sharp breath. And held his gaze.
And the fear – fear of the unknown, fear of the worst case, fear of loss.
The guilt – she'd pushed Emma away. She'd refused to stop her daughter that day.
And the emptiness – the insatiable, never ending, bottomless wormhole that swallowed her entire being.
If they could find no other common ground, at least Elizabeth knew someone else knew her own pain.
