Fall, 2011, Charlottesville, VA
Elizabeth crossed her arms on her desk, and laid her head down, fighting back tears again. Grief and anger always smothered her on the anniversary of the terrorist attacks, even ten years later. She understood the stages of grief, at least academically, but never quite could pinpoint where she was realistically in the cycle. Not with 9/11, not with her parents' death. The never-ending circle cracked, and maybe became easier to bear at times, but the anguish never quite disappeared completely. And then it all came rushing back with a vengeance, and she was left shattered and heartbroken.
In hindsight, she should've just cancelled her lectures. Elizabeth knew herself well enough to realize she'd push through, mechanically, but buried the knowledge of the effects on her body somewhere in denial. So here she was, exhausted, in the middle of the day, struggling to gather the motivation to face another full classroom in a few hours.
She tilted her head slightly, without lifting her head, when a knock broke through her overwhelming thoughts, just enough to see her teaching assistant standing in the doorway.
"Hi, Emma," Elizabeth mumbled to the strikingly tall brunette. "Don't mind me." Elizabeth vaguely motioned Emma into the room, shifting her chin to rest on her folded arms.
"Are you alright, Dr. McCord? Emma asked, hesitantly, as she took a few steps toward Elizabeth's desk.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just… it's a rough day," Elizabeth admitted. What an understatement. She pushed her body off the desk, sitting up in her chair.
Emma offered a comforting smile in return. Elizabeth was hauntingly aware the young woman would've been about Jason's current age at the time the world imploded, and for some reason, that knowledge added a layer to her grief.
"I've brought your mail, and those last assignments you needed to be graded. Can I get you anything else? Coffee, maybe?" Emma asked kindly. She set the stack of papers and a large envelope on Elizabeth's desk. "I have another hour before archery practice."
The sincere concern in her voice prompted Elizabeth to respond. "Sure. That would be great, actually." Her voice was flat, despite the cheer she tried to force into her tone. Elizabeth mentally shook herself. Come on, Elizabeth, get with it. "I appreciate the thought," she added, with as much feeling as she could muster.
When Emma left the room, Elizabeth spared a glance at her students' work, barely contemplating the task of reading through Emma's notes. Comprehension was just a monumental effort for the day. Instead, Elizabeth reached for the yellow bulky mailer, glancing at the return address. Cambridge, Massachusetts. Blake? she wondered to herself. She squeezed the thick paper, her fingers squishing slightly. Well, huh.
Curiosity aroused, Elizabeth set the envelope in her lap, and carefully cut a slit in the end with the letter opener from her desk drawer. Sliding her hand into the opening, she encountered fabric, and pulled out a bundle of grey cloth. A white card wafted to the floor, and Elizabeth grasped at it quickly, snagging the note in her fingers. She flipped the card, so the message was upright. "Harvard's loss. They couldn't have handled you," she read, black ink penned in familiar handwriting. A smile teased the corners of her mouth. Blake.
Elizabeth set both the card and package remnants on her desk, along with the letter opener. She shook open the fabric, holding the top edges, shocking herself by bursting into laughter.
"That's the most I've seen you smile in days," came the familiar voice from across her desk. "Henry," Elizabeth gasped, and dropped her arms with a jerk, startled at her husband's seemingly sudden appearance in her office.
"Sorry." Henry apologized with a slight grimace. "I wasn't trying to sneak up on you."
Elizabeth sighed, her smile gone as quickly as it came. "No, it's not your fault. I've been in a fog all week." She ran a hand distractedly through her hair, the other hand folded around the fabric, twisting the soft material in her fingers.
"Understandable," Henry acknowledged, his voice gentle. He paused a moment to observe his wife, her distress radiating through the room. "You know," he began, "Thomas Aquinas once said, 'sorrow can be alleviated by a good sleep, a bath and a glass of wine.'" Elizabeth never shared her thoughts during the first weeks of September. He'd endured the tragedy with her, yet she still had to bear her own unique agony in her role at the CIA. He was never quite able to comfort her, and could only hold her close during the long nights of sadness. "I know you've not been sleeping," Henry revealed. "So in lieu of the rest, I brought lunch. I was hoping you'd at least pretend to eat something with me." He held up a large paper bag so she could see the restaurant logo. "I even went off campus to your favorite Chinese place."
"Dumplings?" Elizabeth asked hopefully, momentarily distracted from her anxiety-driven habits toward clothing. "I might be able to choke down some dumplings."
"Of course." Henry set the bag down on her desk, carefully moving several empty coffee cups and the papers Emma had stacked neatly next to the computer. Elizabeth rose partially out of her chair as Henry leaned over piles of academic paraphernalia to kiss her. "Hi," she murmured against his lips. She lingered in the moment, conveying her silent thank you for his empathy.
Both Henry and Elizabeth looked toward the door as Emma subtly cleared her throat. "Sorry to interrupt, Dr. McCord. Here's your coffee. Hi, Dr. McCord."
"Hi, Emma," Henry stepped away from the desk and reached to take the coffee from her. "Are we confusing, or what?" He grinned broadly, clearly amused at her comment.
"Not really," she responded, matter-of-factly. "Let me know if you need anything else, Dr. McCord."
"Thanks, Emma," Elizabeth replied, as the young woman closed the door behind her, grateful for Emma's perception. She flopped back into her chair with a sigh.
"That's funny, isn't it?" Henry queried, cocking an eyebrow. "The Dr. McCord thing." Henry gestured between he and Elizabeth, indicating the obviously identical monikers. He stared skeptically at Elizabeth when she shook her head. "Blake always found that funny," Henry argued.
"Blake was only humoring me," Elizabeth clarified, with a wry grin. "I wouldn't stop referring to myself in the third person in the months after I successfully defended my dissertation. He never would call you Henry, so somehow, he turned our names into his own personal joke."
"And you laughed, every time," Henry reminded his wife. "I've never seen two more different people have such an identical sense of humor." Henry shook his head in mock disbelief.
"As perfect as you are, babe, even you don't get my jokes. Someone has to. Because I'm damn funny," Elizabeth retorted affectionately, gesturing for Henry to hand her the coffee.
"If you say so," Henry bantered lightly, pleased to see Elizabeth's amusement. He set the fresh coffee behind her computer screen, blocking her easy access. "Seriously, babe, do you really need anymore of this?" he chided, indicating the empty containers already littering her desk. "There are at least 10 cups here," he pointed out, incredulously, checking for any remaining liquid before tossing the cups in her trash can.
Elizabeth ignored his admonition, her attention suddenly diverted by the smells wafting from the takeout bag that unexpectedly had her stomach rumbling. She scooted forward in her chair, intending to open the food herself as he spoke, interrupting her actions.
"Something else has made you smile, though, besides your incredibly perfect husband, and the promise of dumplings." Henry winked at her, and gestured to the bundle of grey she still held on her lap.
"Blake," Elizabeth replied. "His timing is uncanny. Not quite like yours." The emotion swirling in her eyes didn't quite yet match the warmth of the smile she gave him. "But today, he nailed it."
"He was good at figuring out what you needed when you needed it," Henry acknowledged. "I think you did the same for him, too."
"I don't know about that," Elizabeth shrugged, doubtfully. "I helped him with calculus, but he mostly just needed time to grow up and gain a little confidence in himself," she acquiesced.
"One of the greatest joys of being a teacher is the opportunity to bestow upon a student your knowledge and compassion," Henry stated sagely.
"Aquinas again?" Elizabeth asked, sarcasm creeping through her melancholy. "I haven't heard that one before, surprisingly."
"Henry McCord. That was an original." He raised his hands in humble submission, in direct contrast to the cocky grin on his face.
"You do have some fairly impressive ideas yourself, Professor," Elizabeth admitted, laughing more freely now. "Including those dumplings."
"Someone has to remind you to eat, and monitor your coffee intake. We obviously need Emma to do a better job of the latter." Henry swept his gaze to the coffee still out of her reach. "She still hasn't yet learned to thwart your CIA tactics."
"Give her some credit," Elizabeth insisted. "She keeps me in line otherwise. She's no Blake, but no one can quite be Blake."
"So how did he manage to make you smile, today of all days, from nearly 500 miles away?" Henry wondered.
Elizabeth unfurled the sweatshirt in her hands, turning the material so Henry could see the front.
"Harvard Law, just kidding," Henry read, chuckling. "So you told him?"
"I did," Elizabeth confessed, "before graduation, when he came to my office to tell me he was going to Harvard for grad school."
"Did you disclose how indignant you were at the time?" He pushed the armchair closer to her desk, and began to unpack takeout boxes.
"I might've toned that down a bit. He was nervous enough about his own decision," Elizabeth explained. "I didn't want to influence his attitude before he even got there. Although clearly, the school is inferior if they didn't want me," she grumbled.
"Of course they are, babe," Henry quickly agreed. "But it's their loss, in the end. They couldn't have handled you."
Elizabeth's mouth dropped open, dumbfounded. "Okay, that's just creepy. Blake said almost exactly the same thing." She suspiciously narrowed her eyes at her husband. "One of these days, you two are going to gang up on me again."