Day 17 (Continued)
Henry dropped Jason off at school with every intention of going into work, but instead circled back to the house. As angry and frustrated as he was, he couldn't shake of the look on his wife's face as she stepped through the door; home at last. He recognized that part of his anger, and even his reaction to her return was overlaid with the all too recent memory of another trip. One of the reasons that she'd withheld information from was probably because of Iran. She didn't want to open that wound for him, and probably didn't want to admit to herself how truly frightened she had been. Or maybe she wasn't frightened at all - maybe her avoidance and eventual outright lies were just an attempt to keep him calm until she could return home - a way to keep her unreasonably hysterical husband pacified until she was back.
There was a part of Elizabeth that was like steel. It wasn't just that she maintained a strong image in public. She was strong. It wasn't an act or denial. There was a part of her that could remain unaffected and unmoved. He understood that it stemmed for the deepest of hurts and her early understanding that life could deal the cruelest blows to the most innocent of people. She had learned very young that sometimes you just had to get up and keep moving - even if your heart was shattered; even if you had nothing left; even if you were all alone.
It had bothered him at first. He didn't know how to process this impressive unyielding strength. He had told her very early on, "You don't have to pretend with me; you can let go." She had simply stared at him with those brilliantly blue eyes and said flatly, "I'm not pretending, Henry. I really am fine." He hadn't understood it - not really. After all, his parents were living - had been with him through his entire childhood and well into his adulthood. It wasn't until they'd had Stevie that he had begun to even remotely understand how much this loss had shaped her. "She depends on us for everything." He told Elizabeth as he held a tiny, sleeping Stevie on his chest. "She's so little and helpless, and the only thing she knows about this world is that we are here and we love her." He studied his wife's face in silence for a long minute. It was as if he were truly seeing her for the very first time. "You lost the earth beneath you." He said as understanding dawned on him. "You lost your center."
"Yes." Her response was a whisper but it felt more like a prayer to him.
"I didn't understand it." He said, his brow furrowed in shame. "I thought I did, but I didn't."
"It's fine." She said, as he reached for her hand. "I don't expect people to understand. It isn't something that . . ." She sighed, and ran a hand over Stevie's forehead. "I don't want to be in the field anymore. I want to be at a desk."
That practicality was so typical of her. Here was this deep emotional moment - a revelation for him, and a moment of true connection for the both of them, but she could immediately move to the conclusion of that moment. She could be practical about her own pain. She would never put her own child in a position to feel that same wounding loss. She would sit at a desk in a building because that was safer - never imagining that a group of terrorists would one day choose buildings as their target.
He pushed open the door to the house, relieved to see her security detail still waiting outside. She hadn't gone into the office. The house was silent Stevie had left for class, dropping Ali off at school on the way. He climbed the stairs feeling the weight of gravity with every step. He expected to see her curled in bed asleep, and was surprised to find the bed empty. He was about to turn and head back downstairs to search for her, when he realized she had fallen asleep in the chair beside their bed.
His shoulders sagged, and he couldn't fight the wave of protectiveness that washed over him. She seemed smaller when she was asleep - especially tucked into the chair like that. He went to her then, first throwing back the covers on their bed and then turning to slide his arms under her and lift her into bed. She stirred, wincing as his hand brushed against her knee.
"Henry?" Her eyes didn't open.
"Yeah, babe. Just sleep."
He set her down in bed, noticing for the first time that she was wearing his t-shirt and his pajama bottoms.
"Henry, I'm really sorry."
"I know you are. Just sleep, okay. We can talk later." He sat down beside her, intending to pull the covers up and around her, but needed to see she was truly alright. He slid the pant leg of the pajamas up and was horrified to see her knee - swollen, black and purple with bruising and wrapped with a bandage. He felt sick to his stomach. He slid the pant leg back down, and pulled the covers up around her. He brushed a light kiss on her forehead before heading back downstairs.
He should have crawled into bed beside her; He should have stayed where he was and waited for her to waken. He could've gone into work or run five miles to burn off his restless anger. He had plenty of options. Hell, he could've called Dr. Sherman - she was always willing to take a call from the McCords, but he was exhausted and his nerves were frayed, so he was prone to bad decision making - which is how he ended up unleashing his fury on an innocent, kind-hearted twenty-nine year old assistant.
***MS***
Blake Moran had gone into the office, despite the fact that Secretary McCord had specifically and clearly given him the day off. He had slept late, and didn't make into the office until nearly nine. He figured that a day with the Secretary home would mean he couldn't finally get caught up on all his paperwork. He also figured that it was a good way to make sure she didn't come to work.
He was not surprised to see Nadine in the office. He sometimes wondered if she ever went home.
"I thought she gave you the day off?" She asked as he passed by her office.
"I thought she gave us all the day off." He responded.
"Looks like some of us don't take orders very well." Nadine said with a wink. "There's coffee."
"Thank you, ma'am." He nodded at her.
He hadn't been at work very long when she sent him a text.
-Good morning. I hope that you are resting today.-
-Yes, ma'am. Feels more like good evening, though, doesn't it? How are you feeling?-
-You are at the office, aren't you?-
Blake sighed. Having a boss who was ex-CIA made life exceedingly difficult sometimes.
-I just stopped in to catch up on some paperwork.-
-I'm sure. Well, at least your insubordination is useful to me. I left a stack of files on my desk. Would you mind bringing them by the house?-
-Yes, ma'am. Do you need anything else? I could get some of that soup from that place over on 6th street.-
-It's 9:30 in the morning.-
-Oh, I know the chef's number. He wouldn't mind it.-
-The files will be fine.-
He found himself on the steps of the McCord residence an hour later, with the files tucked under his arm, and a bag that held the soup, fresh bread, and some of her favorite tea. He'd learned early on that Elizabeth McCord's only weakness was food - particularly baked goods, English teas, and anything made with cream. He was relieved that it was Dr. McCord who opened the door, and not the Secretary.
"Oh, good. I hope this means she is actually resting." Blake said with a smile.
"Why are you here? She's not going into to work."
Dr. McCord's unfriendly tone should have given him pause, but he was still jet-lagged and exhausted. They hadn't been home for even eight hours. He imagined he was still hopped up on the entire experience.
"Oh, she sent me a text and asked for these files, and I picked up some soup for her . . ."
"What is wrong with you?" Henry McCord stood in the doorway, his hand on the door. "She just got home! For God's sake! Can't you just leave her alone."
"I . . . well . . . yes, sir, but . . . I was . . . she . . ." Blake was completely flustered.
"What even happened? I understand everyone else ignoring her safety, but c'mon Blake! I thought I could count on you! Why did you let her stay there! It was dangerous! She could've been killed! Don't you even care?"
Blake stood frozen completely at a loss for words. He waited expecting Dr. McCord to continue his tirade or maybe even hit him.
"Henry."
They both turned to see Elizabeth McCord standing on the landing of the stairs.
"Get back in bed." Henry said angrily.
"Blake, this has nothing to do with you." Elizabeth said, as she limped into the entry way. "Thank you for bringing me those files."
"Fine." Henry said turning to glance at her. "Do whatever you want." He pushed past Blake and went out the door and down the steps.
"I . . . ma'am . . . I'm sorry if I . . ." Blake glanced around. "I'll put the files on your desk, alright?"
"Blake, I'm sorry. Thank you, that would be fine."
"Oh, uh, here." He said before turning to leave. "I brought some soup and some other . . . ma'am, I am very sorry."
She took the bag from him, smiling sadly as she did. "No, Blake we are the ones who are sorry. Don't give this another thought, alright? Thank you for everything. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yes, ma'am." He nodded and went back to the office, but he wasn't able to get much work done. He spent most of the day, sitting and staring at his computer.
***MS***
The icy cold winds were impossible to ignore, and Henry McCord had stormed out the house without grabbing a coat. As much as he wanted to indulge in his unreasonable rage, the illogic of wandering the streets in his shirt sleeves proved to bring his temper back in check. He slowed to a stop, and shaking his head, recognized that he had pretty much screwed things up. He knew he needed to go home and make things right with Elizabeth, but either too ashamed or anxious, he choose instead to hop on the Metro, and see if he could catch Blake.
Blake Moran was sitting staring at his computer screen, and was uncharacteristically unaware of his approach.
"Blake?" Dr. McCord said, and the poor kid looked up startled.
"Dr. McCord." He said rising. "I just want to apologize for . . . I know you must be angry - especially because she got hurt. I swear, I was just trying to get her in the bunker faster. I didn't mean to . . ."
"No, no. No, Blake, sit down. I came here to apologize to you. I haven't slept much these last few days, and been so . . . well, it's no excuse. I treated you terribly. Please, forgive me. You just got caught in the middle of something that has nothing to do with you. I am very sorry."
"Oh, well," Blake stammered. "Of course. I understand. The last few days have been pretty difficult."
"Yes." Henry agreed. "And why aren't you home? You must be so tired, too. I know you . . ." He paused suddenly registering Blake's earlier worlds. "You were trying to get her into a bunker? I . . . she hasn't told me what happened."
"Oh," Blake said blushing. "I thought that was why you were so angry at me. I froze up. I didn't know what to do at first, and she doubled back to get me. She put herself at risk and . . ." He paused looking up at Dr. McCord. "I should let her tell you. But I am sorry about that, and then I was trying to get her inside, but I pushed her too hard, and she fell - that's why her knee is hurt. I did that."
"I thought a radical group claimed responsibility." Dr. McCord offered.
"I see your point, sir." Blake nodded. "It's very generous. Still, I'm the one who pushed her down. I'm the reason she wasn't already inside that bunker."
"Well, you've known her a long time, Blake, but I've known her longer. And I'm pretty confident, you didn't call out to her, or beg her to come and help you. She's got a protective instinct a mile wide, and both of us know that no one on this earth can stop her from doing something she's decided to do." He collapsed into the chair next to Blake's desk. "You'd think working for the State Department would be a lot calmer than working for the CIA."
"Well, you can take the agent out of the field but," Blake offered, and Henry laughed.
"Yeah, I see your point." Henry agreed, rising back up. "I am sorry for earlier, and hope you can overlook my behavior."
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"That's a good man." Henry held out a hand, and Blake shook it. "Thank you for all you did. I do trust you, Blake."
"I appreciate that, Dr. McCord."
"Good. And you should go home. She'd be angry to know you spent your day working, and you look terrible. Go home. Eat something, and then sleep for at least 10 hours because you and I know that she's going to be here bright and early tomorrow."
"Yes, sir. I will." Henry nodded at Blake and made his way back to the elevator. He was surprised when Frank met him at the lobby.
"Dr. McCord, can I give you a lift?" Frank asked.
"Elizabeth is . . ." He felt his heart rate pick up instantly.
"Secretary McCord is home and fine." Frank responded soothingly. "Matt noticed you left in a bit of a rush, and thought you might appreciate a ride home."
"Thank you. That would be great."
He sank back into the seat as the car manuvered through the busy streets of DC. He felt much better having apologized to Blake, but he still felt a pit in his stomach as he thought of Elizabeth. She was going to be furious at him, for yelling at poor, innocent Blake and for running off. She hated that more than anything. She'd told him the very first year they were married, "Stomp around the house furious! Go sit in another room and refuse to speak to me. Just stay home! I can't manage you running off. I don't like it. I don't like sitting in an empty house feeling nothing but regret."
He ran his hand through his hair. You screwed this one up, McCord. He told himself, wanting nothing more than to rewind time backwards so that he could start the whole day over remembering how very good it had felt to have his arms around her again when she'd first stepped through their door.