Day 15 (continued)

Elizabeth McCord hung back at a distance and watched Nadine swallow Blake up in a hug with a tender kind of envy. Sometimes, the weight of being at the center of things was heavy. It felt a heavy burden to be the one to manage it all - to keep everything in neat little boxes. Right now, I am Secretary of State. Three young Americans and their families are relying on me. Her internal voice fought to reign in her wildly beating heart. Be the Secretary of State everyone needs right now. Later you can . . . later. From time to time she had to remind herself and force herself to put it all away. She had to manage it and do the job in front of her; no time for anything else. But truthfully, a hug from Nadine looked so comforting.

They had emerged into the brightness of the day and reunited. She had felt such a wave of relief to see her staff safe and unharmed that it had left her momentarily speechless. She had come to rely on her inherited staff and took comfort in the familiar faces and roles. Despite Frank's reassurances that things were completely secure, she couldn't help but glance around nervously. The sight of the troops surrounding them should have been a comfort, but she struggled for control as she remembered a different trip with different troops surrounding her.

"Ma'am," Jay's voice startled her. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I didn't mean to sneak up on you." He squeezed her arm gently. "I'm just pleased to see you are well."

"I am glad we are all safe." She said, keeping her voice even. She stepped forward, but still clad in Blake's socks, she stepped on a rock, and grimaced.

"You were hurt?" Daisy's voice was pitched higher than normal, and her eyes wide. "Ma'am, where are your shoes?"

Elizabeth's face softened, surprised that her sharp press secretary sounded more like Stevie or Allison, than her normal fierceness.

"I kicked them off to run and . . .Look, I'm fine. I just tripped in the rush to get inside. It's just a skinned knee really." She avoided Blake's eyes, understanding that however many times she might try to reassure him, he still felt guilty.

Her desire to rush back to him, and drag him inside with her, had surprised her. It was completely primal and instinctual; it had been the fierceness of motherhood. She had always appreciated his loyalty and his shocking ability to predict her next need time and time again, but hadn't understood just how connected she was to him, until she saw him surrounded by smoke, looking terrified, and trapped. Protocol in these situations was decidedly clear; her job was to go with the DS agents - no exceptions. Get to safety. Ignore everyone and everything else. On paper it was a reasonable policy but in reality it proved not only impossible but improbable. There was no way she was leaving Blake behind.

Looking up she could see the head of her security, Frank, making his way toward them. She was fully expecting to have a LONG debrief about her break from procedure but for now, Frank seemed focused on the problems before them.

"Ma'am, we are ready." He told her.

"Alright, thank you." She nodded at him. She turned to her staff who gathered around her in a semicircle. "We are still trying to reschedule this meet, but I think it best if we keep things very small - it will be easier for DS to manage. So, you are heading back to the hotel to get packed, and then home."

"No." Blake said adamantly. "I'm staying."

She turned to him, surprised. Blake was, by nature, a pleaser, and therefore, never defiant.

"And you can't go without your policy advisor." Jay said before she could respond. "We've already worked this out, Madam Secretary. Blake and I are staying with you and the rest are going back."

"Under protest." Nadine said fiercely.

"Under protest." Jay said with a grin. "But you are going back."

"Jay . . ." Elizabeth began.

"Ma'am, it's getting late. There's no way Frank is going to agree to any kind of meeting after it gets dark, so it would be better if you just went along with our little coup d'etat."

The sudden jangling of Blake's phone startled them all, and after glancing down, he held out the phone to her.

"It's Henry, Ma'am." Blake said.

"I asked that this be kept quiet." She said, suddenly angry. Their eyes widened in surprise at her tone, and they glanced at each other nervously.

"It was." Nadine said, quickly taking a step closer to her. "Daisy made sure. Nothing has leaked out."

"Okay."

She took the phone and, drawing in a deep breath, walked several feet from them before answering. She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice but two decades of history made it nearly impossible for her to fool Henry.

"Hey." She said.

"Babe? You okay?" He asked her.

"I'm fine. What are you and the kids up to?" She bit her lip, frustrated by sudden tears. It was so good to hear his voice.

"The kids? Honey, I heard there was some sort of explosion just outside of Pesch. Isn't that where you guys were . . ."

"Oh, that was after we left. We are fine. I'm fine."

"It happened after you left?" He asked.

"Yes, we left."

Later, she couldn't remember anything else about the conversation. She knew they talked for a few more minutes, and that he no doubt told her that he loved her, but she didn't hear it. She didn't seem to hear anything he said to her, or remember anything she said to him - other than the lie. It hurt her. She was no child, and knew that at times lies were necessary. But Henry was her exception. She never lied to him; not if she could help it.

She stood a moment too long, after she'd hung up the phone, frozen and lost.

"Ma'am?" Blake said stepping toward her. "Madam Secretary?"

She blinked and swallowing hard turned toward the improbable scene of Blake holding a pair of black heels out to her, as Nadine stood barefoot just behind him.

"I'm ready." She said her voice solid and bereft of any emotion. "Let's go."

***MS***

Henry McCord slammed the phone down angrily. He was grateful that he was upstairs in the master suite where the kids couldn't here him.

"Damn it, Elizabeth." He muttered in frustration. He scrolled back through his phone trying to see if perhaps he'd imagined the text from Blake. Yet, it was still there. One word menacingly terse: Genevieve.

She was lying, of course. Blake was not perfect, but he made very few mistakes. He certainly never would accidently send a text like that. No mistake was made there. He studied the phone is hand trying to determine his next move.

Texting her would be pointless. She wouldn't respond or would only respond with lies or half-truths. He didn't want to push her into a corner. Working for the CIA like she had, lies were a necessary part of her life, but she never liked making them and generally had avoided them at all costs. She always said that he was the honest one, which was absolutely true. He struggled much more with lies - it was made his work with the NSA nearly impossible. He couldn't lie to her and sleep peacefully. He couldn't trick or manipulate people without it costing a great deal. And it wasn't that Elizabeth was dishonest or manipulative, but rather that she was far more practical than him. She did what was necessary for the greater good - even when it was difficult, or painful, or even dangerous.

He could feel anxiety pooling in the pit of his stomach. It was a bit too much like Iran; she on the other side of the world and him waiting, worried and unsure. The sound of her voice had done very little to reassure him - other than to make it clear she was alive; for now. He looked at the clock. It was nearly 8:30 p.m. which meant it was just after 2 p.m. He couldn't really expect a call from her until the evening her time - which would be the middle of the night. She would wait until it was early morning. He would somehow have to manage the next few hours; the next few days until he could look into her bright blue eyes and really know that she was alright.

"Dad?" Jason stood in the door of the bedroom. "Dad?"

"I'm sorry. What?"

"You said, you would be right back. We paused the movie. It's been like forty minutes. Are you coming back or not?"

He sighed, pushing himself up from where he sat at the end of their bed. "Yeah, bud. I'm sorry, I was just . . ."

"Talking to Mom. Jez, Dad. Try and develop some independence, dude." Jason shook his head and turned back to the hall.

"Right." Henry said following his son downstairs, to where the girls sat waiting. "You are the expert on relationships. I keep forgetting."

***MS***

Facing General Fari proved to be rather anticlimactic after all they had endured. He was a large imposing man, and was flanked on either side by a couple of bodyguards who looked like they could do some serious damage, but she was either too tired, or had been stressed for far too long, to let it really settle over her. She simply approached him as she would any other meeting.

Getting to the small village where they met, had not been easy. They had to change routes twice due to protestors and fear of violence. They also had to change the location yet one more time. They discovered, upon arrival, that a series of homemade bombs and attacks had also occured at the planned site.

Frank had turned around in his seat and glared her down as soon as he had passed this news along to her.

"So we should pick a different location." She said without actually looking him in the eye.

"Ma'am, perhaps . . ." He began.

"Three Americans." She said tersely. "Three children, really."

"Yes, and I am sure we could send someone else. The Secretary of the United States doesn't have to be the one to handle this." Frank pointed out.

"Who?" She asked with raised eyebrows. "Blake?" She indicated her assistant with a shrug.

"Ma'am," He said shaking his head. "I believe the American governmental system actually has a plan for situations like this." His sarcastic tone nearly made her laugh.

"You mean the Ambassador?" She threw up her hands. "That might be the most ridiculous suggestion I've ever heard. You expect us to leave the lives of those three teenagers in the hands of a beauty queen."

"Former beauty queen." Blake corrected her quietly.

"Blake, I didn't mean to imply that you aren't competent." She heard the ring of hurt in his tone. "I was only pointing out to Frank that I am here, and this is something that falls under my job description - not yours."

"I understood, ma'am. Although, I'm more than willing to . . ."

"See. Frank! Now, I've hurt Blake's feelings and he's going to try and throw himself on a grenade to make up for it. Just find a secure place, please." She told her head of security.

"Fine. But Madam Secretary, we are having a sit down when we get home. We need to talk about protocol, and roles."

"That sounds like it will be a lot of fun."

"Yes," He agreed. "You could bring a cake." Blake laughed out loud at this, and Frank turned toward him surprised.

"Trust me, Frank." Blake said wisely. "That would most definitely not be fun."

***MS***

Negotiating the return of the teens had been relatively simple. General Fari was more bark than bite. Still, seeing the brothers step out into the starlight, their cousin between them, filled her eyes with tears. She watched as they were ushered into the safety of the waiting soldiers. They would be on the next flight home. They would be home before she would be.

Riding back through the darkness to her hotel, she knew she should at least text Henry, but found she had little strength for it. She felt stretched to her absolute limit and couldn't even manage reading any of his texts. She knew just one word from him, and the dam would burst. It seemed as if she had been holding her breath for such a long, long time.

"Blake's asleep, Ma'am." Jay told her softly. He sat across from her, and she glanced to the corner where Blake lay huddled against the window sleeping. A half-smile covered her face as she looked at him.

"Good." She said.

"I'm nearly asleep myself." Jay continued. "So, if you wanted to go ahead and call home, we wouldn't be listening."

She felt her entire body stiffen at this; a forced control washing over her features.

"Oh, no. Thank you." She told him. "That's not necessary."

"Alright. Abby said there was nothing bout you being present during a protest, but she was worried. The news is filled with stories of unrest, and she knew it was right where we . . ."

"I'm sorry, Jay." She interrupted, her tone harsh. "I'm tired. I need sleep."

"Yes, Madam Secretary."

She leaned back in her seat resting her head, but she didn't sleep. She didn't even close her eyes.