AN: This fic is a bit personal, so I'd appreciate if we'd refrain from the negative reviews on this one. I'm wishing everyone happy holidays!
Loop
Calloused knuckles hidden beneath bandages that matched her skin tone, drawers filled with bottles of antacids to soothe a damaged esophagus, and fully stocked cabinets that suddenly laid bare…
His life often consisted of managing a woman who effortlessly handled maintaining peaceful diplomatic relations between the world's most brutal dictators… The same woman who couldn't bridge a decent relationship with stress, self-image, and food.
A shard of glass had bit into his palm as he'd scrambled to clean up the mess before her tears attracted more attention.
The stylist had gone running… Apparently handling the fallout from a grown woman taking her stiletto to the reflection of a dress that fit too snug around her hips was over her pay grade. One shattered floor-length mirror and Kara had decided that talentless celebrities served as better clients than stiff politicians.
The discussion of hiring a new 'Personal Appearance Specialist' was refrained from until Russell had pushed Roxanne onto her.
A week after Elizabeth had decided to take Roxanne up on her services, ploy or not, he and Henry had sat her down to discuss their concerns while still giving as little detail as possible. The conversation had gone much the same as the one he and Henry had shared after the family's move to Washington.
Roxanne had quickly become an ally. She wasn't bothered by the eleventh hour changes to the wardrobe when Elizabeth was lacking the confidence to wear an evening gown with a low cut, a bold color, or a fit and flare design that highlighted her curves. She was supportive and he and Henry both were grateful.
Habits were made, good or bad, in response to stress. It would be easy to blame her, but he knew illnesses such as hers were complex— she didn't choose this, but the loop would continue until she decided to break the pattern.
Henry was still adjusting to it himself, having never experienced one of his wife's relapses before, so they walked this path together.
Trips to the restroom after meals, food wrappers shoved to the bottom of suitcases, and off and on obsessions with over-exercising…
"Her case is mild," Henry had said.
What he'd learned that night over a bottle of cold beer was not to be shared amongst the outer office.
"I think it'll pass quickly," Henry had assured.
They would hide it for years.
Year 1
Blake shifted his weight from his right foot to his left and then back to his right as the tips of his fingers drummed along the edge of the manila folder he had gripped in his hand.
His mornings at the office often began as they did today— waiting, either cup of coffee, plated pastry, or policy brief in hand, for the Secretary's arrival. Though, today, in the morning cold of the parking garage, he was expecting both of the McCords.
On occasion, Henry would accompany his wife on the drive from Georgetown to Foggy Bottom. The detail would then loop around again to drop Henry at Georgetown University for his morning lectures. Although the unnecessary doubling back not only wasted good taxpayer dollars but also furthered the pollution of the ozone, his decision to escort her when he did, didn't come without good reason.
The line of black cars with tinted windows appeared and slowly came to a stop.
His lips curved up into a smile as he watched Elizabeth step out of the second SUV.
"Good morning, Madam Secretary."
"Morning," she mumbled as she pushed past him, headed towards the far end of the garage.
Instead of watching her go, he turned to Henry with a raised brow.
There was a sigh and then a seatbelt was unclipped. The leather strap snapped back to the wall as Henry slid across the seats.
"She binged last night," he said quietly.
"Okay." He nodded, already thinking. "I'll watch her carefully today."
"Call me if she needs anything."
A knot formed in his stomach as he walked towards the elevators.
~MS~
He shifted his weight from his right foot to his left and then back to his right while he waited in front of her desk as she worked through the pile of documents he'd brought in only a few moments ago.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He'd spent months researching, months taking notes on her moods and emotions and mannerisms after a binge.
Her hormone levels fluctuated first after overeating and then again after she purged. The self-induced vomiting left her dehydrated which brought headaches and a foul mood… He'd be busy today plying her with water and electrolytes while he attempted to keep her fed even as she tried to restrict.
"No."
He waited her out, watching as she brought pen to paper and drew her signature across the page and then the next.
"I went to the dentist on Monday."
She paused as her eyes lifted and she stared at him over the thick frames of her glasses.
"Yes," he muttered. He knew. He was the one who'd scheduled the appointment.
"He told me that the enamel on my teeth is worn. He asked if I had acid reflux and I said yes which isn't a lie, but…" Teeth caught her bottom lip.
He could see the guilt in her eyes as she toyed with the pen held in her right hand.
"Elizabeth," he whispered.
The guilt ate away at her. She binged to escape it, purged because the binging caused its return, and then she restricted to chase the numbness she preferred to the shame she felt from the disorder that held her in its firm grip.
Her eyes turned down to her desk and she pointed to the document on top of the pile. "Jimmy and I need to discuss two of these provisions before I sign off on this project. Fit a meeting with him into my schedule by the end of the week."
She forced a smile as she handed over the stack of papers.
"Yes Ma'am," he said as he reached out.
He returned to his desk after telling her he'd make it a point to look into special kinds of toothpaste instead of suggesting treatment that could tackle the root of the problem.
"Her case is mild."
Relapse was a normal part of recovery. She'd find her way back, right?
Year 2
He found her sitting hunched forward, elbows on her knees in a dimly lit office at the end of the hall.
"Ma'am?"
He'd lost her sometime after dessert had been served. Nadine had pulled him aside to discuss the pressing issue of Congressman Lane's sudden change of heart over the appropriation bill being brought to the House floor tomorrow morning. They'd finally wrangled HR4485 out of committee, and they were counting on Dylan's vote to secure the funds for their global health programs at State. He'd returned to the tables ready to relay both Nadine's professional and personal opinions, but the Secretary had been missing from her chair.
"Elizabeth?"
Jay rose from the shadows as he stepped further into the room.
"I was just about to come to find you," he said.
His eyes jumped from Jay to Elizabeth. "What's going on?"
He could hear Elizabeth sniffling as she sat in her silk slip and heels. Her dress was now bunched in her lap, diminishing the evening gown to a wrinkled mess of taffeta.
Jay stepped up to him.
"I should be asking you the same thing." He stared into his eyes. "I was coming back from the bathrooms when I saw her wandering the halls." His voice dropped to a whisper. "She was having some sort of a panic attack and then flipped out about her dress. She made me unzip her."
His lips pressed into a firm line as his eyes looked past Jay's shoulder towards their boss.
"Why don't you step out and try to get a hold of Henry."
They needed to be alone, but Jay hesitated.
"Is she okay? Because I—"
"She's fine."
His words were firm.
He continued to stand tall.
What he'd learned that night over a bottle of cold beer was not to be shared amongst the outer office.
"Okay," Jay muttered, obviously still unsure, before he stepped out of the room.
"I binged," Elizabeth said once they were alone. "I binged and I… I couldn't find the bathrooms and then my dress felt too tight and…" She sucked in a breath.
"It's okay," he said as he approached her. He squatted down in front of the chair she was sitting in and grabbed her hands. "Two pieces of cheesecake isn't a binge."
"But—"
"I promise you, Elizabeth." Assuring her as he'd done just now had become the new norm. "Your body needs fuel," he reminded.
"You're right."
He was right, but he knew it couldn't stop the cycle from repeating.
He squeezed her hands. "Can we get you back in your dress?"
Russell wanted a photo with President Dalton and the handful of Cabinet members that were in attendance tonight.
"I want to go home."
He could hear in her voice how close to tears she was again.
"Jay's getting Henry on the phone." He continued to look up at her. "One more hour and then we'll be on our way, okay?"
She nodded.
"It'll pass quickly," Henry had said, but she seemed to be worse off than the year prior.
He slowly dragged the zipper up her back as Jay handed off his cell to Elizabeth.
Year 3
What he'd learned that night over a bottle of cold beer was not to be shared amongst the outer office, and yet, he'd spilled his guts to Nadine as he'd stood guard outside the women's bathroom.
The trip to Rome was proving to be a bust. Elizabeth was stressing over her husband's involvement with preventing the deployment of a biological weapon and then of course the almost terrorist attack on the G20 Summit hadn't helped matters much… He hadn't slept in two days.
"Hands," Nadine said as she stood in front of where Elizabeth was sitting at the vanity in the master bedroom of the hotel suite.
Without a word, Elizabeth lifted her palms and placed them in the other woman's outstretched hands. Nadine looked the broken skin over silently.
"When did this begin?"
Nadine dropped Elizabeth's left hand as she pressed a cotton ball soaked with cold water against the knuckles of her right.
"Just before my parents died," Elizabeth said. "I… I had it under control, but—"
"You relapsed?"
She nodded.
"It's common, especially after a huge life change."
Nadine tossed the used cotton into the bin before she turned and grabbed the tube of Neosporin from the vanity.
"You're under a lot of stress, Elizabeth," Nadine muttered as she applied the ointment.
He watched from where he sat at the end of the bed as Elizabeth's bottom lip caught between her teeth.
"This doesn't mean I'm not capable of doing my job."
It had rushed out.
Stress, self-image, and food…
He knew now that she often questioned her own abilities to carry out the duties of her position.
"I never said you weren't."
Nadine had kept her voice soft as she finished bandaging her knuckles. Once done, she gently patted Elizabeth's hand and gave a small smile.
"I laid out pajamas for you in the bathroom," he said as he stood from the bed.
He shifted his weight from his right foot to his left and then back to his right while he waited for the bathroom door to close with a soft click. And once the lock had slid into place, he'd turned to Nadine, mouth open and palm raised, ready to defend himself, but she spoke first.
"You should have told me."
"I…" He sighed, voice dropping a notch as he stepped towards her. "I couldn't."
Nadine shook her head as her eyes drifted over towards the bathroom door.
"She'll see a specialist," Nadine whispered. "Outpatient treatment." Her eyes found him again. "I have two or three names of doctors who can be discrete."
"She'll fight it."
The bi-monthly trips to Doctor Sherman for her PTSD were a challenge enough to schedule.
"She can't tough this out, Blake."
"I know."
He'd known that from the beginning, hadn't he?
"I'll speak to Henry once we're back home," she said as she began to clean up.
The path he and Henry had been walking alone had suddenly just gotten a bit wider.
Year 4
After he'd pulled the safety key from the front panel of the treadmill, with one quick tug on the main wire, Elizabeth had yanked the earbuds from her ears.
"What'd you do that for?" Her hands fell to her hips, and she gave him a glare typically reserved for the junior Senator from Arizona.
"You already rowed this morning." They'd been limiting her to thirty minutes of exercise each day. "What are you doing?"
The hotel gym was closed now, though, he knew with one quick trip to the front desk the night manager would have handed over the key.
"I couldn't sleep," she muttered.
…Neither could he. The feeling in his gut that told him something was wrong wouldn't ease.
Her sessions with Doctor Bell, the specialist she'd been seeing for nearly a year now, had proved to be a good investment of their time and money. Elizabeth had been making almost linear progress these past four months. Her binge-purge cycles had been almost nonexistent.
He stared into her eyes.
"Come on." He nodded towards the door.
He'd let himself slip with the monitoring.
Nadine's retirement had created chaos rather than the stability that Elizabeth needed. They'd both learned to lean on her, and now that she was gone, it seemed that Elizabeth had returned to running circles around her team of doctors.
She rolled her eyes as she stepped down. And as she stepped down, she'd stumbled. Luckily, he'd been standing right there.
"Woah," he mumbled as he caught her by the shoulders. His eyes darted to the dashboard displayed on the treadmill. "When's the last time you ate?" He asked as his palms slid down her arms to her hands.
She blinked rapidly, still fighting the wave of dizziness. "Dinner. You saw."
Yes, they'd sat together, but he couldn't remember seeing her raise her fork to her lips.
"Your hands are freezing even after running for the past forty minutes." He kept his voice still. "So, I'll ask again. When was the last time that you ate something?"
She pulled her hands away from his.
"I'm bulimic. I don't have anorexia. I eat."
"Don't lie to me."
Eating disorders were complicated. He knew that. A disorder manifested differently in everyone, creating that overlap between the illnesses.
She sighed. "Before we left for New York," she admitted.
…Help was only as good as the will of the person seeking treatment.
The loop would continue until she decided to break the pattern.
He placed his palm on her upper back and guided her from the room. "Let's get you something to eat."
Year 5
"She's purging more than eleven times a week, Henry."
Jay was worried, Matt was taken aback by the outbursts often pointed towards him, and Daisy had noticed how thin Elizabeth was beginning to appear while on camera.
"She needs proper help," Jay said.
He swallowed, eyes falling to his lap, but not before he stole a glance towards Elizabeth. She sat at her vanity, wiping away makeup as the three men spoke.
Henry's hands left his pant pockets as he crossed the room to stand beside his wife.
"Elizabeth says that the cycles peak before leveling off to nothing."
And now his life not only consisted of managing a woman who couldn't bridge a decent relationship with stress, self-image, and food, but also a husband in denial of the fact that his wife, the same woman who effortlessly handled maintaining peaceful diplomatic relations between the world's most brutal dictators, was wilting away in front of their eyes.
"Elizabeth is sick, Henry!" Blake used his hands to push up from the bench that sat at the foot of their bed. "She is lying to you, and she will continue to lie because she is no longer the Elizabeth that we know," he snapped.
She'd thinned out over the past two months. Her knuckles were bruised and bleeding, her hair was brittle, her eyes dull, and the excessive self-induced vomiting had caused her cheeks to swell.
"I think inpatient treatment would be best," Jay suggested. "There's a treatment center about an hour out from the city."
One too many excuses of food poisoning and he'd caught on quick as to what was going on.
"She wants to run for president," Henry said, tear in his eyes. "If the media finds out about this she'll be decimated."
"Henry," Blake began, looking him in the eye. "If she doesn't get help now, at the rate she's going, she won't make it until when she's supposed to announce in March."
Habits were made, good or bad, in response to stress, and a presidential campaign was sure to land her in the hospital if he didn't begin to take her health seriously.
"We're doing everything we can," Jay told him as they walked to their cars.
~MS~
Calloused knuckles hidden beneath bandages that matched her skin tone, drawers filled with bottles of antacids to soothe a damaged esophagus, and fully stocked cabinets that suddenly laid bare…
Nadine was on a flight to come back East so she could hold their hands.
Trips to the restroom after meals, food wrappers shoved to the bottom of suitcases, and off and on obsessions with over-exercising…
Women were under greater pressure than men to stay thin. Being in the public eye had pushed her to the brink.
…Roxanne had to take a leave of absence and they'd mistakenly become too trusting of the woman who'd replaced her.
Bandages had been captured in photos, hotel staff was sworn to secrecy when cleaning out the garbage bins in the suites, and a few mumbled sentences from a drunk junior staffer had poured the accelerant on the last five years of his life.
They'd hidden it for years…
"Eating disorder," the first reporter said.
He flipped the channel.
"Bulimia nervosa."
It was supposed to pass.
He'd been told her case was mild.
He and Jay had tried to step in once it had turned severe.
Habits were made, good or bad, in response to stress.
He'd been right, but it hadn't stopped the cycle from repeating.
He switched over to CNN.
"Elizabeth McCord, 2020 presidential hopeful, went into heart failure this afternoon due to a rumored eating disorder."
She couldn't break the pattern, so the loop had continued until the pattern had eventually broken her.