Day 15

Blake Moran squinted in the dim light of the small room. His ears still rang from all the noise. He felt it difficult to breathe and was finding it very difficult not to cry out in panic. He took in a great gulp of air and leaned forward.

"Ma'am." He managed. He leaned forward, and felt his stomach drop at the sight of her hand covering her knee, bright red showing through her fingers.

"I'm fine." She said firmly. "It's just a gash."

"We need a medic!" He called out behind him.

"Blake," She said, keeping her voice even. "I am fine. There are others who need the medic."

He glanced around feeling waves of panic rolling toward him.

"Blake." She repeated. "I need your help."

He could feel everything beginning to narrow and struggled to focus on the sound of her voice.

"I need you to help me." She said again.

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded, turning back to her, and forcing himself to meet her bright, blue eyes. He removed his jacket and ripped the inner lining out, pushing her hand away and placing it over her knee. "Keep the pressure on it." He managed shakily. "What else?"

"I need to keep calm." She told him. "I can't . . . I need to stay calm. Can you help with that?"

He tried to keep his eyes on her, but he kept looking around. They could hear loud sounds above them, and felt shaking from time to time - he didn't know if it were caused by explosions or tanks. His heart raced, and again he felt his control slipping.

"Blake, look at me." Her steady voice drew him back.

"Did you see where . . ." He couldn't remember where Nadine or Daisy were.

"Frank told us, remember." She kept one hand on her knee and the other tight around his forearm. "We are all safe. They are on the other side of this bunker."

"That's right." He drew in another gulp of air, and turning saw his coat, minus the lining in his hand. He reached out, wrapping it around her shoulders. "Matt is . . ."

"He is talking with the commander." She reminded him. "We are all safe."

"Your knee is still bleeding." He said looking down.

"It's okay. Knees bleed a lot."

"I'm so sorry, ma'am. I didn't . . ."

"This isn't your fault, Blake. And we are fine. I am fine. We just have to wait it out." She told him. "Now, can you help me?"

"Yes. What do you need?" He nodded at her, fighting tears.

"I need to breathe slow and even. You breathe with me, okay?" She waited until he met her eyes again. "Blake?"

"Wha . . . yes." He turned back to her. "I don't . . . how did it go?"

"In 1, 2, 3." She said to him, her hand still holding onto his forearm. "Out, 1, 2, 3."

He glanced around once more, before turning back to face her.

"C'mon. I just need you to help with this." She repeated.

"Right. In 1, 2, 3." He found himself breathing along with her. "Out 1, 2, 3." He tried to focus on all the things he had read to help her with panic. "In, 1, 2, 3." He said, his voice growing steadier. "You are in Hungary, but they brought us down into this old bunker."

"That's right." She said.

"There's an at least 200 soldiers between us and them." He continued, drawing in even slow breaths as he did.

"Yes. And it's just a small faction. They got us out in time. We are all safe."

He found her voice comforting, and the slow even breathing fed his panicked brain with oxygen. His vision cleared, and he could feel his tense muscles slowly loosen. The jumbled, frightening noises began to settle into a cacophony of voices, but he began to recognize some of them. He could hear Matt speaking to someone far away. Just to his left, he could hear Frank saying, "I understand that, but you can see she is bleeding. I just . . . as soon as a medic is available.

He turned to look at her again. Her face was pale, but her eyes were clear, and fixed firmly on him.

"Thank you," She said to him. "I'm feeling a little better."

He nodded but then ducked his head, fighting off sudden tears. Overwhelmed by her kindness toward him, he looked down at her knee again, pulling the cloth back. The gash in her knee was deep and he could already see bruising. He was hit again with a wave of guilt.

"The bleeding has slowed down." He managed, huskily.

"It's stopping." She said gently. "It isn't your fault, Blake."

"The medic is coming over in a few minutes."

The both looked up to find Frank hovering above them. Blake took comfort in the sight of the tall head of her security detail. He knelt down to where they sat in a small corner of the concrete bunker, to take a closer look at her knee.

"Pardon, me. Madam Secretary." Frank said meeting her eye but she just grinned at him. He rose and took a step back. "Mr. Moran, are you alright?" He asked.

"Yes." Blake managed.

Frank glanced behind him. "He's just got one other soldier to look after, and then he's headed right here."

"As long, as there is no one else." She said. "It's just a skinned knee."

Frank shook his head, and met Blake's eye. "Pardon, me, Ma'am, but you've got a PhD, right? It's not an MD."

"I am Secretary of State, Frank." She pointed out.

"I am aware." He told her. "You are also the person, who ran away from me - not forty minutes ago."

"Well, I . . ." She began, but Frank cut her off.

"Oh, I know what you were doing; what you did. My point is that unless you want me to pass that little fact along to the other Dr. McCord, you better just sit tight and be unbelievably cooperative until we get you safely back on American soil."

Blake was too shocked to even look in her direction. He waited for her response, expecting an explosive outburst, but she said nothing.

"Blake, keep pressure on that." Frank said, and then stepped back from them. He stood with his back to them, his arms crossed, his eyes watchful. He could feel his stomach churn as he thought about the words ran away from me.

"It is NOT your fault." He heard her say again, but there was no time to respond to the ridiculousness of her statement because just then the medic moved past Frank and knelt beside her. He sat back from where he'd been crouch near her, leaning against the wall, the coldness of the concrete floor seeping up and into his very bones.

He rubbed a hand over his face, realizing too late that his fingers were covered in blood; her blood.

"Renkin!" The medic attending to her said. "Grab this kid. I think he's gonna puke." He indicated Blake with a backwards tilt of his head.

"No, I'm . . ." Blake tried to manage, but he turned from them just in time, throwing up into a helmet that someone slid in front of him.

"Take it easy there, pal." A soldier said, moving closer to him. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

Blake shook his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"It's her blood." The medic glanced up from where he was bandaging Elizabeth McCord's knee.

"Ah." The soldier said, patting Blake on the back. "It's okay, man. Everybody throws up in their first firefight. It's the adrenaline and the stress." He handed him a water bottle. "Drink."

Blake took the water bottle, and the soldier moved away, taking the filthy helmet with him. He leaned back against the wall closing his eyes. It was the stress, and the adrenaline, but more than anything else it was the guilt.

***MS***

They had discovered that although, Hungary's beauty was not as stunning as Croatia, the food was delicious. The breakfast that greeted them all was enormous.

"Good golly!" Elizabeth McCord had exclaimed seeing the table spread with food. "Is there a gym in this hotel?"

"No gym in the world could counteract all this." Daisy said laughing.

"I better stick to the fruit then."

It was as they rumbled through the streets of Pesch, in the SUV's that Blake began to get an uneasy feeling. He wasn't really one to believe in premonitions, but he had awoken that morning from a strange dream - himself trying to run, but with his legs half-buried in sand. He couldn't move, and felt something deadly coming his way. He had brushed it off as too many countries and meetings in too little time. Jet lag did strange things to the brain, but an anxiousness seemed to cling to him.

They had stopped about a half-hour from their expected destination. Blake stepped out of the vehicle, surprised that they were stopping. Her security was always clear - get to each destination and never deviate. He looked around, and found that they appeared to be at an old abandoned army base.

"Why are we stopped?" He asked turning to Matt, who shrugged his shoulders and took a sip from a water bottle.

"They are still clearing the meet." Matt said. "I guess there's a group of protesters headed that way."

"Wait, I thought we were meeting with protesters." Blake pointed out.

"We are. General Fari is from Jobbik - they are adamantly against immigration into Hungary - so they are protesting the government's supposed acceptance of all these refugees. But there are tons of different factions - some more extreme than Jobbik - wanting all the "outsiders" to be killed. And there are other groups protesting these extremists." Matt shrugged. "Eastern Europe is a mess right now."

"And so we thought it would be a great idea to plop the United States Secretary of State in the middle of it?" Blake asked.

"Well, she was in the neighborhood so . . ."

"I don't think a few college kids with some signs and a megaphone, should prevent me from meeting with Fari, Frank." Elizabeth McCord said, stepping out of the SUV. "I understand your sense of precaution, but we can't be late."

"Ma'am, it's not just kids with signs." Frank told her. She sighed, and shaded her eyes, looking around her.

"Do I need to sit in the car?" She asked him.

"No. This is a secure area." He told her. "There are about 150 soldiers just a mile that direction running drills."

"Really?" Daisy asked. "American?"

"European coalition forces." He told her. "They are trying to manage the massive number of people flooding through Hungary."

"Well, it seems like this would be the ideal place for us to meet up with Fari, then, doesn't it?" Elizabeth McCord said with a wink at Frank.

"I believe I mentioned that." He told her.

"A few hundred times. Too bad the General didn't agree with us." She smiled at him. "I'm going to stretch my legs. Any direction off limits?"

"Don't go past that ridge." He pointed. "Unless you want to end up in the middle of a training session."

"I could play the part of a terrorist." She grinned.

"We won't be here much longer." He told her as she walked away. "Twenty minutes to get it under control or we are headed straight back to the hotel."

"It seems like it is safer here than the hotel." Daisy pointed out.

"It is." Frank told her.

Blake leaned against the side of SUV, feeling the warmth of the sun. It was early still and already hot. He kept one eye on Elizabeth McCord who was just about three hundred feet from him. A flat area of dried grass and dirt stretched out in front of them, but about another 500 feet from where the Secretary stood, the ground fell away into a lower valley. Just to the right of where he stood watching her, were a series of buildings - old barracks and offices.

He felt a sudden shift - as though storm clouds were suddenly darkening the sky - but it was nothing truly perceptible. He only knew that suddenly all his sense were alert and he was already moving forward toward Elizabeth McCord, at a half run when the air was filled with sound.

"Get the Secretary!" Frank bellowed. It seemed that everyone was shouting then, and he found himself running toward her.

She must have sensed something was wrong, too because she had turned and was running to meet him. He was never really sure if she grabbed his hand, or he grabbed hers. He just knew that they were both sprinting all out toward the DS agents who were running toward them, when he found himself knocked off his feet by a blast. At first he was sure he was dead, but found himself clambering back on his feet, and moving toward Elizabeth McCord, who had somehow managed to keep her feet under her. They rose and as they continued he couldn't focus on anything; didn't know what was happening - could make sense of nothing. He only knew that the DS agents and the safety of the buildings lay ahead.

He heard a shattering just to his left and looked down to see something burning. He felt another blast, and lost his balance again, realizing that it was some sort of handmade grenade. He gasped for air, and looking around saw Elizabeth McCord, pause in her run, looking back at him.

"GRAB HER!" Frank yelled to one of the other agents - for some reason Blake couldn't remember his name. "Get her now!"

He was struggling to rise again. He could tell by the set of her shoulders, that she would come to him - would try to drag him to safety, if he didn't get moving. He felt clumsy and slow, and he watched in horror as she turned to run toward him, and away from the safe buildings and the DS agents reach.

"BLAKE!"

He somehow rose then, and stumbling ran forward. This time he grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her forward, spinning her back in the right direction as they ran. His forward momentum propelled them across the dried grass and toward the concrete walkways that ran between the buildings. He didn't see the raised bricks along the edges. He was looking ahead, desperate and terrified. He pushed her forward, as hard as he could sending her straight toward Frank, but she was thrown off balance and fell forward her knee hitting the sharp edges of the bricks.

Frank scooped her up, and he felt himself pushed and pulled inside the building. The room seemed to fill with chaos as agents and soldiers poured into the room. He looked up and could see that she was standing upright. He only noticed then that she was barefoot; she must have kicked off her heels to run.

"Get her below!" Frank bellowed. "I want everyone down in the bunker until this place is secure!"

They began to funnel forward into a dark hallway, and down a narrow passageway that led to stairs. He hesitated a second behind, pausing to send a single-word text to Henry McCord.

***MS***

He felt a new wave of nausea wash over him, as he remembered everything. From the time he moved forward to bring her to the buildings until they were down in the bunker was less than ten minutes, but it felt like hours. Time had seem to stretch and bend. If he had known that there would be no way to follow up with another message, he would never have sent Henry McCord the text. Dr. McCord was no doubt frantic with worry. It didn't matter that they had been attacked by a small group of protesters or anti-protester protesters. It was all too complicated and he didn't even really care anymore. He just wanted the whole horrible mess to be over. He was furious with himself, ashamed that his inability to deal with the situation had not only left her vulnerable, but that he'd actually caused her injury. He knew Frank was angry with him. It didn't help knowing that they were no longer in danger - just patiently waiting to make sure that everything was 100% secure. DS was taking no chances now.

"It's too late for stitches, really." He heard the medic tell her. "I'm sorry ma'am, but your knee is gonna have a pretty nice scar."

"Well, they say a woman of my age, shouldn't wear anything cut above the knee anyway." She said with a wink at the young soldier.

"I don't know how old you are, ma'am but these are not legs that should be hidden away." He blushed even as he said it, recognizing a little too late that he probably shouldn't be talking about the United States Secretary of State's legs. "I'm so sorry, Madam Secretary, I . . ."

"Oh, that's alright. What happens in a foxhole, stays in the foxhole, right?"

"Yes, ma'am." He agreed. "Take this." He handed her a pill. "It's just Tylenol. It will help with the pain. We'll have to get you some antibiotics. You don't want that wound to get infected."

"Thank you." She told him.

"Yes, ma'am." He moved away from her.

"I am pretty sure I ruined your suit, Blake." She said holding up the bloody lining. "That was quick thinking, tearing it out." She leaned forward, and he was stunned to see her rise to her feet.

"Ma'am, you should . . ." He rose, and reaching out held her by her arm.

"Frank!" She called out. "What is the status?"

"Just four wounded, not counting you." He nodded at her. "You should sit down, Madam Secretary."

"I'm fine." She said, but she leaned into Blake who still held her by the arm. "We need to find away to reschedule the meet."

"Madam Secretary . . ."Frank began. "I do not . . ."

"There are still three American teenagers being held." She waved her free hand out in a wide gesture. "None of this changes that! This attack had nothing to do with Fari."

"Be that as it may, Ma'am. Things are far too volatile here to justify . . ."

"Things are far too volatile here not to do something about those kids." She said sternly. "The sooner that happens, the sooner we can all get out of here and head home."

If he hadn't been keeping her steady, Blake would've staggered backward in shock. Of course she would insist on keeping the meeting! Of course she would push herself relentlessly forward - focused on those in danger around her. She was unstoppable. He swallowed hard, trying to manage a fresh wave of panic. He wanted nothing more than to be on a plane headed back home - no he wanted to be back at his condo - safe. He knew how it would all play out - the long argument between her and Frank which would end with Frank coming up with some acceptable compromise. He understood he was under tremendous stress but stunned the both of them, as well as himself when he interrupted them.

"Look, Frank. Just figure out a way to make something work. She isn't going to change her mind. Everyone here knows it. If a group of forty kids with molotov cocktails don't stop her - what chance do you think one DS agent has? And she's right. These kids are in serious danger. This place is really unstable right now. Just set something up. It is the only way to get her home safe. She won't leave until this is finished."

"Blake." She admonished, turning toward him. "I don't need . . ."

"No, ma'am. You are right. You don't need anyone speaking for you, but we all know how this is going to play out and . . ." He stopped as Matt caught his eye from across the room, shaking his head.

"You might want to stop." Matt said moving closer.

"Yeah," He agreed. "Ma'am I apologize. I don't know . . ."

"It's been kind of a stressful day." She told him. "I'm willing to overlook it." She turned to Frank. "Can you please, see if there is something we can do?"

Frank nodded, curtly. "Yes, Madam Secretary. Just sit down for a minute while we figure something out." He walked away, as Matt dragged over a couple of empty crates before removing his jacket and spreading it over the top.

"Sit down, ma'am." Matt said.

She looked from Matt to Blake saying nothing, but allowed Blake to lead her to the makeshift seat. She sat down wearily. "Matt, I want this all kept under wraps until we get those kids out. I don't need a bunch of stories about this. Our priority is getting them home, understood?"

"Yes, Madam Secretary. I'll see what we can do." He reached out to squeeze Blake's shoulder before disappearing back down the hall.

"Ma'am, I apologize for earlier. I am really sorry."

"Blake, let's call a moratorium on apologies until we are home, alright." She shivered slightly, pulling the sides of his suitcoat which was still wrapped around her shoulders. He realized her feet were still bare, and thought of the icy cold of the concrete floor. He sat down where he was and pulled off his shoes.

"What are you doing?" She asked. "Blake . . ."

He peeled off his socks, and held them out in his hand - suddenly aware of how disgusting that might seem.

"I know it isn't . . ." He tried to explain. "I have shoes still but your feet must be . . .forgive me, Ma'am, but please put my socks on at least."

She said nothing, staring at him for a long minute with those piercingly bright blue eyes. She took the offered socks and slid one on her left foot but struggled to put the other one on - her swollen, battered knee making it difficult. Wordlessly, he took back the sock, and carefully lifting her icy foot slid on the sock.

"Well," She said, as he put his shoes back on his bare feet. "I have no idea what to say just now."

"Has that ever happened before?" He asked her, rising to stand beside her.

"No." She answered truthfully, and then they both burst into laughter so loud that nearly everyone turned their way. Even as he laughed, he could feel scattered tears forming at the corners of his eyes. His laughter stopped abruptly.

"I am really sorry, I knocked you down ma'am. I can't believe . . ." He said softly, trying desperately to keep his emotions in check. "I am just so sorry."

"I know you are, Blake." She said, reaching up and squeezing his hand. "And I apologize for not following protocol."

He met her eyes then, surprised by this admission.

"I know what I'm supposed to do." She explained. She rubbed a hand over her face. "This has to be the longest Tuesday, in the history of Tuesdays."

"I think it is probably Wednesday, by now Madam Secretary."

"A new day, then."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, then." She said with a wry smile. "Let's see if we can't make it a better one than yesterday."