A/N: don't quite know what this is! wrote it in a night when i definitely had other things to be doing! those things did not get done! set sometime in early season 1 and in blatant disregard of multiple details from the show! woohoo!

title from taylor swift's "marjorie." let me know what you think!

…..

It'd been quite an adjustment, having the new Secretary appointed. Vincent was—well, he was self-serving. In his career, in his marriage, in their affair, even in bed. When he'd gone, Nadine could admit that she perhaps romanticized things a bit, a small part of her hoping all along that part of him might have had bigger things in mind, grand plans that might actually further diplomacy, cultivate peace, help people.

The day Dalton proposed Elizabeth McCord as the next Secretary might have been the first time Nadine had so adamantly agreed with Russell Jackson, who had begun suggesting other candidates— other better, older, more qualified, less idealistic candidates— immediately. In the end, though, they had both agreed to serve at the pleasure, and if Dalton was pleased in bringing on the blonde from the horse farm who penned black-and-white ethical op-ed's in her spare time, well, so be it.

It would be down to Nadine to make sure the State Department didn't burn in the wake of Vincent's death.

And then, to her shock, it hadn't.

Elizabeth McCord had been different, alright, but Nadine hadn't had to extinguish any more fires than usual. Perhaps fewer, even. The new Secretary was competent, capable. Intelligent and compassionate (enough to not fire them all on her first day and bring in her own staff, at least). A little naive and young and all too clever for her own good but strategic and effective. She was perhaps a little too prone to tradecraft for Nadine's comfort, but the methods were efficient, to say the least. Nadine had thought her questionable at the beginning, but then had come the banquet with the King of Swaziland and his multiple wives. It had been time to offer her boss grudging acceptance.

Nadine Tolliver has never been one to give credit where it is not due, but Elizabeth McCord furthers diplomacy, cultivates peace, and gives her best to actually helping people, unhindered by her own self-interest. She was owed some respect.

That was not to say, though, that Nadine's sure she particularly likes her new boss. Mutual respect is one thing, but alliance is another, and friendship is a third entity entirely.

Nadine wasn't looking for any new friends, not in this godforsaken city. Friendship in DC was dangerous, she'd found out long ago. It led to affairs and scandals and blackmail and all sorts of career-ending destruction that was never worth the comfort of closeness to begin with. Vulnerability and trust were foreigners deemed unworthy of visas, and Nadine's not one to argue with Homeland Security (often, that is). Add in the regrettable breakdown she'd had in front of the Secretary when the affair came to light, and a friend in her was out of the question, particularly when Elizabeth McCord had never been anything less than perfectly composed in front of the staff and for all Nadine knew, behind closed doors as well. The Secretary could blackmail her if she needed to, Nadine realized, and she had nothing on the other woman to discourage such a thing.

She'd thought she had, for a split second a few days before. Nose in a policy brief, Jay hadn't waited for the Secretary's perfunctory acknowledgement post-knock before entering the office, and the two of them had walked in on two people with their arms around one another, mid-kiss. For a split second, Nadine hadn't been able to tell to whom the second pair of arms belonged. She hated to admit it, but she had been genuinely surprised to find them attached to the Secretary's husband. This was DC, after all. Immediately after the hasty apologies from all parties involved, Nadine had felt a pang of shame at the relief she had felt before she recognized Dr. McCord. The playing field had almost been levelled.

Nadine wasn't above admitting to herself, in the solace of her apartment after three fingers of scotch, that her wariness of Elizabeth was at least partially jealousy. Maybe, she'd mused, even a small bit of internalized misogyny, an artifact of women in government being made to fight one another tooth and nail for so long. Those implications aside, though, Elizabeth McCord jumped to the top of the ladder politically without touching the rungs. Without ever feeling compelled to so much as glance at the rungs, apparently. CIA analyst to college professor to Secretary of State was an unmerited jump, if you asked Nadine. Not to mention the things far more personal: the husband who had stayed, the children who still spoke to their mother, the home that Nadine was sure bustled with energy and family. And though she was nothing if not proud of the life she's built for herself, of the successful career and the tasteful apartment and the nest egg for retirement, Nadine knew that envy had drawn the line between respect for and friendship with her boss.

It'd been a long evening, and a long trip to Ireland before that, and Nadine was more than ready for a nightcap and a novel in her quiet apartment. Like most nights, she was the last one on the floor, and in the usual fashion it was merely an effort to avoid being underfoot the cleaning crew, rather than a dent made in her stacks of work, that was enticing her to leave the office.

She was doing just that, rifling through her purse to make sure she had her car keys, when she noticed the light seeping from beneath the Secretary's office door. Blake, the only new floor member added after Elizabeh took the post, was nowhere to be seen. The young man is loyal to his boss to the point of sappiness, almost protective over her in a way (though Nadine doesn't see why the invulnerable would need protecting from anything other than bullets and faulty planes) but tonight the office is notably lacking a guard dog.

She knocked quietly on the mahogany, thinking perhaps the Secretary dozed off over a brief, but when she cracked the door open and slipped in, the scene was something else entirely. Elizabeth McCord was annotating some paperwork, hunched over her desk. The late hour didn't seem so odd all of the sudden; it was the silent but steady stream of tears dripping down her face that became first priority.

"Ma'am?" she said quietly, wary of startling the other woman in a moment of distress.

Elizabeth glanced up at her, smiling tiredly despite the state of herself. "Nadine. Headed out?"

Nadine was taken aback by the way the Secretary makes no effort to hide or swipe away the tears. "Ah," she stutters, "just about to, ma'am. Where's Blake this evening?"

"Managed to roust him out an hour ago," Elizabeth replied dryly, mouth twitching into a grin, "practically had to threaten his family, I swear. He'd left his tie askew, though, which is a sure sign he needed to get some sleep."

She hadn't a clue how to respond to the lightheartedness of that. Was this a piece of tradecraft? Did the Secretary assume her to be blind? "Ma'am, I—" but she really doesn't know how to phrase the question.

"Something on your mind, Nadine?"

That was enough. "Forgive me, but is anything the matter?"

Elizabeth looked downright confused. "Not to my knowledge. Do you know something I don't?"

"Madam Secretary, you're- well, you're crying. Is there something I can do?" she inquired bluntly, gesturing to Elizabeth's face.

The other woman looked downright confused, bringing a hand up and marvelling at her fingers as they came away damp. "I don't—I can't imagine why."

It must have been disbelief flashing across Nadine's own face, because the Secretary began to insist. "I'm fine. I really haven't a clue why I'd be crying," but there's a tinge of desperation and defensiveness, as if she thinks she'll be judged for her tears. Worse, Nadine knew firsthand that in most circles she would be.

"It's alright, ma'am. Lord knows I have no right to pass judgement on tears," Nadine murmured conspiratorially, glad to hear her boss's rueful chuckle as she no doubt remembered the recent revelation of Vincent's unsavory extramarital activities. "Would you like me to call Blake? Or Dr. McCord, perhaps?" As soon as she said the latter, it struck her that the husband might be the cause of the tears. In her own experience, that was often the case.

"No, no, no need. Like I said, nothing's wrong, really," but the tears kept coming, silent but determined to escape, it seemed.

"Well, the tiredness gets to us all at some point, ma'am. Why don't you let me see you home?" she asked carefully, weighing her options. Let the Secretary sit here and cry in peace, or get her out of the office, away from the possibility of maintenance's prying eyes, and make sure that her home was safe. Frankly, Nadine wasn't sure she had enough of a read on her boss to know whether her confusion about the cause of the crying was feigned, and she wasn't willing to risk that it was an effort to subvert questions about her distress. Nothing upsetting had happened at Truman recently, and the trip had been an unforeseen success, and that left an issue on the homefront. They might not have been friends, but Nadine wouldn't have wished a domestic hazard on her worst enemy. She'd been there.

"I wouldn't want to disturb your evening. I'm truly fine, Nadine. I'll be heading out soon, as soon as I've finished this brief—"

"It's no inconvenience. I lent my car to a neighbor before we left the country, so it's no trouble to catch a cab from your house. I'll just see you in, Madam Secretary." And when Nadine makes up her mind about something…

"Fine. Let me get my things."

…..

The ride to the McCord's Georgetown townhouse was awkward, the thick silence interspersed only by the Secretary's sniffs as the tears continued to trickle. Nadine wordlessly handed over the tissues from her purse.

"I swear to God," the Secretary finally muttered, "if this is some kind of early hormonal menopause, I'm going to hit the roof."

Nadine, startled, actually laughed. "You're not quite there yet, I wouldn't think."

"Hope not. I'm sorry about all this, nonetheless. It feels unprofessional, you were right about that."

"Madam Secretary—"

"I think we're well past that, Nadine. Call me Elizabeth."

"Perhaps just for tonight, ma'am—Elizabeth. But I think I may have been wrong, though I'm swearing you to secrecy. Whatever this is, you'll feel better when you've gotten it all out. I know I did."

And at that the tears flowed faster. "Maybe so, but I hate this," Elizabeth said bitterly, swiping beneath her eyes, "I'm not a frequent crier, I swear. When I was pregnant with Jason I was like this, though. Couldn't control it for the life of me. The smallest thing would set me off; poor Henry was walking on eggshells."

"I was the same way with my son," Nadine replied knowingly. Maybe there was something to be found in common, after all. "It was always over something silly, too, right? Not so much the apprehension about giving birth or being massive as it was… they were out of the right brand of something at the store or you couldn't find the shirt you wanted."

"I never knew you had a son," Elizabeth remarked amazedly.

Maybe she was going to regret it in the morning, but something about the vulnerability of uncontrolled crying enabled her to share. "I do. He's twenty-seven, now."

"What does he do?" and it's innocent, interested, but the question sends a pang through her heart nonetheless.

After a stilted pause: "I'm not entirely sure, these days."

"Ah."

"We're estranged. I'd like to repair things, but he won't return my calls," she admitted.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth answered sincerely.

The few minutes were made up of a silence much more comfortable, then.

Elizabeth seemed to be thinking on something. Finally—"I worry, sometimes, that I'm headed that direction with my eldest. We were at odds quite a bit before she went to college, and then… well, then I took this job, and she was thrust under media scrutiny for just being my daughter. I'm worried she'll resent me. And now," Elizabeth bit her lip, tears still tracking down but voice perfectly steady, "she's learning a bit more about me than maybe children should ever know about their parents."

The only thing that prevented Nadine from believing this conflict to be the cause of the tears is the way talking about it didn't seem to upset Elizabeth any further.

"I certainly know how that feels. I'm sorry. I hope the two of you can work it out."

"Thank you. I hope the same for you and your son."

And then they talked. Really talked, Nadine thought in bemused wonderment later, about everything from policies to office gossip to the books on the pleasure reading lists for which neither of them really had much time. The two of them talked not as rather stiff coworkers, a new boss and a long standing employee, but as friends. As the motorcade pulled up alongside the curb adjacent to the townhouse, Elizabeth met her eye again, swiping away more tears. "And I'm definitely not pregnant, just so we're clear." And together, they actually laughed.

…..

The house was expensive but not extravagant. Tastefully decorated but not garish, a rarity amongst newcomers to DC, Nadine thought. As Elizabeth, still crying, though Nadine had almost become accustomed to the oddness of it, shed her coat and offered to take that of her guest, Dr. McCord rounded the corner toward them.

She remembered suddenly that she was there under partial suspicion that something was awry in their home, and to see whether or not the Secretary would need any help. It wouldn't be the first time she had taken a woman home with her or to a shelter so late in the evening.

Tonight, she could tell immediately, would not need to be another of those nights. Thank God for small miracles.

Dr. McCord met them at the front door, expression going from relief to sympathy in an instant as he opened his arms to his wife. She didn't hesitate for even a moment to stumble into them, resting her forehead against his shoulder. Without his prompting, Elizabeth began to try to explain.

"I don't know why I'm doing this—crying, I mean. I didn't even know I was crying until Nadine—" but her husband had pulled back just enough to look down at her, eyes laden with confusion and worry.

"Babe," he whispered, clearly conscious of Nadine's intrusion, "tomorrow's the thirteenth."

There was dead silence for one, two, three…

"I... I forgot? Henry, how could I forget? I've never forgotten. How could I—"

The Secretary's husband swiveled the two of them so that she couldn't see much of Elizabeth on the other side of him. "You just started a massive job, babe, and with the move… it was a major life change. Not to mention you've been in a different time zone for nearly a week. I think they would understand. I think they'd be proud, even."

"I'm unbelievable. How could I possibly—"

"Elizabeth, it's alright," the man soothed. "You didn't even forget, really. You knew, deep down; that's why you're crying."

Nadine could sense her hesitancy without seeing her.

"I have to—I think I'll go… change out of these clothes," Elizabeth muttered, and when she stepped around to her husband's side she looked fairly devastated. "Thank you for pushing me out the door, Nadine," she managed politely, "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Of course," Nadine answered gently. "Goodnight, Madam Secretary."

The blonde smiled wanly. "Elizabeth," she corrected, and then she started off up the stairs.

Nadine herself was turning to excuse herself when Dr. McCord stopped her with a "Wait. Would you like a cup of tea, Ms. Tolliver? Elizabeth says you don't drink coffee."

…..

It was achingly familial, standing in the McCord's kitchen that way. As Dr. McCord brewed the tea, Earl Grey and strong, the way she liked it, she took in the space.

A report card and a soccer game schedule pinned to the refrigerator. A toed off pair of cleats tangled up with a pair of stilettos in one corner. Family photos on the bookshelves, one depicting three young children on horseback. One of Dr. McCord with their eldest on his shoulders, the Secretary's arm slung around his waist as the two of them beamed at the camera and the little girl pointed at something out of the frame. The third, the one she stopped to study, was a very young Elizabeth, posed in a decidedly staged way next to a young boy.

"Her brother, Will," Dr. McCord said, offering the information and the mug in one go.

She nodded as though she had known apart from the obvious guess. She gestured to the other pictures. "You two have a lovely family."

He smiled, broad and warm. "We like to think so," he replied easily as he led her back through to the sitting room.

"Dr. McCord, is the Secretary—"

"Henry and Elizabeth," he interjected.

"Alright," Nadine agreed graciously, "is Elizabeth alright?"

She watched him weigh something in his head in much the way she's seen his wife do, and then—

"My wife lost her parents very young. It was thirty-one years ago tomorrow."

"She was…" Nadine attempted the math.

"Fifteen," Henry supplied.

"I can't imagine," she replied genuinely.

He sighed. "Nor can I."

"That never came up in the confirmation hearings. I didn't know," she murmured, wondering at what point she'd stopped knowing nearly every personal detail of the Secretary of State. She almost laughed inwardly, would have if not for the tragedy of it, thinking that perhaps it was when she was no longer sleeping with them. And even then… but that was a rabbit hole for another night.

"She doesn't talk about it often," Henry explained, "even with me. She was so relieved when it wasn't a topic of conversation in the media."

"I won't share it with anyone," Nadine told him matter of factly, thinking of her own skeletons best left private.

Henry smiled. "She'll appreciate that. I know the two of you don't see eye to eye quite yet."

"Did she say—" Nadine knew she'd been strictly professional, but she hadn't meant for any dislike to come across.

The man shrugged. "Not in so many words."

"I suppose I could have been more welcoming," she admitted ruefully.

"Your longtime boss had just died when Elizabeth was appointed. Your reluctance is understandable, I think," but Nadine was busy interpreting the beginning of that. Longtime boss, meaning that Elizabeth hadn't seen fit to share the sordid details of that relationship with her husband. Or perhaps he was just too kind to say it.

"I'll make more of an effort. After tonight, I think perhaps Elizabeth and I have some things in common after all."

She rose to go, stopping suddenly outside the open French doors of the office. "Szymborska," she exclaimed, pointing to a volume on the shelf and looking to Dr. McCord in question.

"Elizabeth's," and he grinned fondly, "she's learning Polish in her spare moments to read Map in its original form."

"I have the entire collection. It's some of my favorite poetry."

Henry McCord watched her thoughtfully for a moment. "I think," he said slowly, "that the two of you should really sit down together sometime."

"I'm inclined to agree with you there, Henry."

…..

Elizabeth woke slowly, stretching leisurely and fumbling for phone and glasses on her nightstand. It must have been early still; she hadn't been woken by the incessant—

"Fuck!" she exclaimed, jerking upright at the sight of the timestamp on her lockscreen. What happened to—

"It's okay, you're okay. You're not late, babe, I turned your alarm off."

She whipped around to see him reclined next to her, book open in his right hand as he reached for her with his left. "Henry, why in the world would you—"

"Nadine and I spoke last night after you went up and she arranged to have your meetings pushed to start at noon today."

She processed that, frowning. "Oh. How long have I been asleep?"

"About twelve hours. You were out cold when I came upstairs."

"I did not sleep that long," she said in disbelief, staring at him through eyes that felt swollen and hot.

He smiled gently. "You did, babe, I swear. You needed it, I guess." His grin at her confusion faded. "You cried most of the night, though, in your sleep."

"I can't believe I forgot, Henry. What kind of daughter am I?"

"A busy one," He murmured, tugging her toward him. "And technically, it's today, so you did remember. How are you feeling?

Elizabeth hummed, considering that as she tucked herself into his side. "All out of tears, at least. You talked to Nadine last night?"

"I did," he answered, brushing a kiss to her hair. "She was concerned about you. I told her it was the anniversary. Was that okay?"

She contemplated that for a moment. "Yeah, that's okay."

"Good. I think you two should talk. Sounds like you have a lot in common after all, could maybe even be friends."

Against her will, Elizabeth felt one side of her mouth tug up into a smile. "I'm starting to hope so. After last night, what choice do we have?"