Spring 2009, Charlottesville, VA
Like so many other mornings, Blake Moran stood at the familiar door, one hand poised to knock, the other hand holding a tray of coffee. Nausea churned in the pit of his stomach. He didn't want to disappoint her, and yet, he assumed doing so was inevitable. Blake dropped his hand, and nervously glanced down at his clothes. He inspected his blazer again, the buttons fastened just so, his pocket square lined up perfectly. He brushed imaginary lint from his sleeve, and settled the strap of his bag on his shoulder. Even during finals week, Blake dressed impeccably. He saw no reason to slouch on appearance in the midst of such chaos.
Suddenly, the door flew open and Elizabeth McCord barrelled out of her office. She skidded comically to a halt just before plowing into Blake. He shifted the coffee above her head to avoid a potential disaster.
"Blake, hi!" She exclaimed, breathlessly. "You are seriously uncanny. How do you know what I need before I even do?" She waved enthusiastically at the coffee in his hand. "I was just going to get more coffee. Finals are killing me." She combed her fingers through disheveled blonde hair that looked as if she'd been doing so for awhile. Two yellow pencils haphazardly secured most of the tresses in a loose knot, but strands had escaped to hang in her eyes and brush her collarbone. A red pen was tucked behind her ear and glasses perched on her nose.
She stopped short of reaching for the coffee to do a double take. "Blake, are you alright?" Vivid blue peered at him, her eyebrows furrowed above dark frames. Elizabeth swiped at her hair again and indicated his face, all in the same gesture. "You look like someone ran over your dog."
"I don't have a dog, ma'am. I'm allergic," Blake responded, seriously, his expression marred with a confused frown.
"Yeah, I know," she smirked, and rolled her eyes. "We'd planned to have lunch last week, ya know?" She paused at his lack of recognition. "Huh. At least you brought a peace offering." Elizabeth wrestled one of the coffees from the tray, while Blake observed warily, holding it steady. "Although I'm not really mad you cancelled," she reassured him. "I assume you were studying for finals. But I'll forgive you for not giving me a heads up if you brought food, too.
"I brought muffins." Blake confirmed. "If you have time. I'm sure you're busy." He gestured with the paper bag in his other hand, almost hoping she'd be too overwhelmed with her academic responsibilities to take a break. Blake knew better, though; Elizabeth always made time for him, with or without the accompaniment of baked goods.
"What kind of life would I be living if I didn't have time for a muffin?" Elizabeth asked, matter of factly, as if even the possibility couldn't exist in her world. "Here, I'll lighten some of that load for you," she offered, gleefully, and reached for the muffins as well.
Elizabeth sipped from the cup, then glared mockingly at Blake, lip wrinkled in disgust. "Blake, we talked about decaf," she admonished him gently.
Blake stared at her, flabbergasted. "You can tell just by tasting it?" Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, duh."
Blake handed her the other coffee, swapping the two cups in the tray. "Here, this one's for you. I'm trying to cut back."
"Why on earth would you do that?" she exclaimed, shocked.
"My blood is pretty much caffeine at this point, thanks to the stress of finals," he divulged, with a shudder. "I can't handle much more."
After another disbelieving glance at him, Elizabeth took the coffee from Blake and stepped back into her office, gesturing him in with a wide sweep of crinkling paper and sloshing caffeine. "Come into my office, said the spider to the fly." She cackled at her own joke, then turned to precede him into the room.
"So are you excited for graduation? Is your family coming? At this point in our relationship, it's probably time I met your family, huh?" She rapidly tossed those questions over her shoulder, oblivious to Blake's subsequent grimace.
"Um, graduation is, well, it's a bit much. My parents have insisted on attending, but that might just be difficult," he asserted, rather forcefully. "My mom is making a huge deal out of the ceremony."
At his tone, she turned back to look at him, stopping just at the corner of her desk. "Parents can be a little challenging, sometimes, or so my kids tell me," Elizabeth admitted with a sheepish grin.
"Challenging is an understatement. Sometimes they make me so mad I want to rip the skin off my face."
Elizabeth's grin faded at the vehemence of his declaration. "Is this just about graduation? You know it's supposed to be a big deal, right?"
Her question was met with silence, as Blake stood stock still in the middle of her office, staring out the window. He'd dropped his bag beside his foot, almost absentmindedly. Elizabeth discerned the foundation of his dismay wasn't just graduation, or his parents, or even finals. She'd seen Blake frustrated with calculus, paralyzed with embarrassment, and exhausted from studying, but never quite this unsettled.
"Spit it out, Blake," Elizabeth insisted. "You're shaking like a chihuahua who peed on the carpet, and I'm starting to twitch ."
Blake's face maintained the trademark impassive expression Elizabeth had become all too familiar with over the last four years.
"Oh, come on," she prodded. "That was supposed to be funny."
"I did something, ma'am," he finally mumbled.
"You're drinking decaf and you keep calling me ma'am. I know it's serious." Worry crept into Elizabeth's voice. "Blake, what's wrong?" She focused intently on his face, searching for an answer to his obvious anxiety.
"Let me just say you've inspired me," he began, haltingly, gaze darting everywhere but at her.
"Well, you don't look very inspired. You look terrified. So I'm afraid to ask how." Elizabeth crossed her arms and cocked her head. You didn't decide to drop finance and become a chef, did you?"
Blake inhaled shallowly, then took another, steadying breath. "I'm leaving, ma'am," he blurted out.
"Well, yeah, I didn't expect you to camp out in my office after graduation, Blake," Elizabeth concurred. "Ha. Camp. Like you'd camp. In that." She waved her hand, indicating his clothing, as she snickered at her own joke.
"No, I'm leaving, leaving." Blake corrected her assumption. "I mean, I'm sorry, but I had to get away, and Boston seemed like far enough, and I just applied on a whim, but they actually accepted me, and I don't want you to think I didn't want to stay here, because you're the best professor I've ever had the honor of learning from," he babbled.
"Blake, stop," Elizabeth interrupted, sharply. She laid the bag of muffins on a pile of papers and books, and then a hand on his arm, all traces of amusement vanished from her tone. "You realize you're talking out loud, right? That's not just stream of consciousness in your head. Just take a breath." Her maternal instincts kicked in, and she approached Blake as she would one of her children who'd woke screaming from a nightmare. Slow and steady.
"Give me that coffee." Elizabeth gingerly took the cup from Blake's hand, as if she expected him to bolt suddenly. She put both cups back in the tray, and wedged it in the only clear spot on her desk.
"Sit down." She squeezed his other arm, reassuringly, and guided him into her office chair. Once she was convinced Blake was settled, she perched herself on the edge of her desk across from him.
"Now, one sentence at a time," she encouraged, nourishment completely forgotten amidst her concern.
"You've talked so much about the U.S. isolationist sentiment growing due to the disillusionment with our presence in Iraq. The country still has no clear foreign policy agenda coming out of this last Presidential election. The Doctors Without Borders report for 2008 listed overwhelming humanitarian crises throughout the world." Passion rang in Blake's voice as he spoke. "I realize foreign policy and humanitarian issues can be completely separate discussions, and I'm lumping them all together, but it seems like we could be doing so much more."
"That was way more than one sentence." Elizabeth was slightly taken aback at his sudden intensity. "Are you sneaking into my classes, again, Blake?"
"Well, yes. As many as I can attend," Blake admitted. "I thought it if I was too obvious, I'd look like a stalker or something."
"Obvious to whom?" Elizabeth inquired. "Didn't we determine a long time ago you weren't very good at subterfuge?" She laughed.
"Well, you have the distinct advantage of being former CIA. I'm not sure any future commodities trader has any 007 ambitions," he stated, dryly.
"You've been welcome at any time, without the not-so-stellar tradecraft. You are my best audience," Elizabeth revealed. "Don't tell Henry that," she quickly added. "You bring me food. And you don't quote Thomas Aquinas at me." She curled her hands on the edge of the desk and leaned back, crossing her booted feet at the ankles.
Blake continued his explanation, a fierceness lighting his eyes. "After the last seminar you moderated, about the founder of the U.S. Fund for UNICEF, I thought maybe I could affect some change on a global scale. I know that's rather ambitious, and I'm just me," he trailed off, struggling with his confidence amidst his humility.
"Wanting to make a difference isn't to be scoffed at, Blake," Elizabeth insisted.
"You said once that if you believed in something strongly enough, you had to follow through yourself to make sure change happens. I'd been considering graduate school, and Harvard Kennedy School boasts the best public policy program in the country. It's still on the east coast, and close enough to make my mother happy, or at least think she'll be able to come visit when she wants."
"I just really needed to get away from here. Not from here, here," Blake clarified, pointing to the floor in front of him, "but here," and gestured to the campus outside her window. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Blake apologized. "I wasn't really sure I was going until I got the acceptance letter."
"Blake, you don't need my approval to succeed in this world, although you certainly have my support," Elizabeth assured him. "I'd have no problem writing a glowing recommendation if you needed one."
"I know," he acknowledged, sheepishly.
"I thought about going to Harvard law school. Briefly," Elizabeth mused, her gaze trailing to the window.
"Why didn't you?" Blake asked.
"I realized I didn't want to be a lawyer. I just liked to argue. Too many bad lawyer jokes, anyway. No one would get mine." Elizabeth's answer was laden with sarcasm, and something else entirely.
She paused, tapping her fingers against the edge of the desk, lost in thought, and in the past. Then her fingers stopped moving, and she looked into his eyes. "The truth? I wasn't accepted," Elizabeth confessed. "I thought I'd be devastated, but I was more annoyed they didn't want me. So maybe I really didn't want to be a lawyer that badly," she conceded. "Henry was on the verge of deploying, and I was in love but had no idea what our future held." Her eyes softened at the memory. "I decided to come back here, to come back to what I knew. Then Desert Storm happened and the world changed. I met Conrad Dalton, and found the CIA. Or the CIA found me. I might have ended up on an entirely different career path had I gone to Harvard," she concluded, thoughtfully.
"I'll probably still end up on Wall Street," Blake realized, ruefully. "My parents are private sector people, and, well, I'm a powerful people pleaser."
"We all have things we need to work on, Blake," Elizabeth reached over to pat his hand in solidarity.
"My mother thanks you for believing in me. She's still questioning my decision. And my relationships." Blake winced.
"How can they," Elizabeth wondered, "if you someday help save the world?"
"Well, I haven't done that, yet." Blake rubbed his hands on his pants. "Right now, I'm just a pile of bad decisions." Elizabeth observed his nervous gesture with amusement, waiting for his reaction when he realized what he'd done. "She also doesn't understand why I don't want them at graduation."
Elizabeth recognized the need to tread carefully through this part of their conversation. "Well, as a parent, I can certainly understand their excitement to celebrate your success," she ventured.
Blake focused intently on fixing the creases he'd just flattened, as Elizabeth knew he would. She sensed another underlying issue to his anxiety, but refrained from commenting. In the four years she'd known Blake, he'd mentioned his family, but never any friends or relationships. He never acknowledged his personal life outside academia.
When Blake didn't respond, Elizabeth changed tactics. "You haven't given yourself nearly enough credit for the success you've already achieved. Even with calculus." She nudged the tip of his shoe with her worn riding boot, smiling to herself when he automatically checked for smudges in the pristine shine.
"Here's hoping I have that success with my Intermediate Investments final this afternoon." He looked at his watch. "In 30 minutes, actually." Blake rose from his chair, and gathered the bag he'd dumped on the floor. Once again, he inspected his attire for perfection, pausing to straighten his cufflinks.
"I have no doubt you'll ace the exam," Elizabeth encouraged, shifting off the desk to stand next to him. "I'll be here, grading much more happily, thanks to you." She indicated the coffee and muffins, forgotten during their discussion. "Tell your parents you'll be in good hands at graduation, if they don't come," she offered. "I'll cheer loudly enough for all of us."
Blake's smile bloomed, full and genuine. "I'd like that, very much." Elizabeth stifled her sudden urge to hug him. She didn't think he wasn't quite ready for that display of affection, yet. Another time and place, perhaps.
Elizabeth followed Blake to the door. "Congratulations, Blake," she said, as he stepped out into the hallway. "Harvard is lucky to have you. Whatever you do, you'll always have a place with me. The sky's the limit for a guy like you."