~~~ Part 15 ~~~
Henry had fallen asleep with an arm draped over her, but Elizabeth was still wide awake, thinking about work, well, thinking about her staff, really. Her inherited staff. With the exception of Blake, they'd all been her predecessor Vincent Marsh's staff. And Nadine had also been much more than Secretary Marsh's staff. She was worried about Nadine. Initially she'd been worried because Nadine was hiding something. Then once Nadine confided in her that she'd been sleeping with Vincent Marsh for years, Elizabeth had worried about Nadine's judgment, but mostly about how Nadine was coping with her dual loss of boss and lover. Now she was worried about how Nadine was dealing with her disillusionment. Elizabeth had assumed Nadine knew Marsh was planning on running for President, or else she would have broached the subject more tactfully. Nadine was reserved in her demeanor, but she'd watched Nadine freeze and then pale as she realized that Marsh had been keeping secrets from her as well, as she realized that he'd intended to cast her aside so he could run for President. Recognition turned to anger and embarrassment, and Nadine fled from the room, calling herself a fool.
Nadine had certainly made some foolhardy choices: getting involved with a married man, getting involved with her boss, getting involved with her boss who was a married man, opening a bank account for him under an assumed name. But Elizabeth felt for her nonetheless. Nadine was hardly unique in having been a fool in love, and she'd had her heart broken in more ways than one. Maybe Elizabeth's sympathy was misplaced, but she felt she could trust Nadine. She was tied to Marsh, but she was also fiercely dedicated to the job, and she was good at it. Frankly, Elizabeth needed her.
And Elizabeth knew all too well that life is complicated, that people's morals are constantly tested in a high-stress working environment, and that no one is perfect. Perhaps she shouldn't have kept Nadine on as her Chief of Staff, but she didn't think Nadine deserved to have her career ruined because she'd been reckless in love. She didn't want to pass judgment on sexual activities between two consenting adults (and despite the power imbalance, it didn't seem that Nadine had been coerced). She didn't want to judge others based primarily on their judgment lapses and worst actions, any more than she wanted others to define her by her own worst moments.
Her own worst moments... She shuddered involuntarily. Those moments were etched into her brain. She could still feel the dry desert heat, the gritty sand clinging to her. She could still hear the screams the mother had made when she identified the bodies of her children, the screams Safeer, who was responsible for their deaths, had made when she left him with Hurst, the screams Safeer made because she authorized torture. Sure she hadn't done anything that was against CIA procedures, but she knew it was morally wrong. She knew it at the time, yet she did it anyway, letting the rage she felt overpower her moral compass. How could violating someone's human rights - no matter how vile their crimes - be considered just? No, she was no pillar of virtue. She had no right to judge, but if she did, she suspected she would find Nadine to be the less morally corrupt of the two of them.
She remembered coming back home from Iraq afterwards. She was a mess, filled with grief for the lives she couldn't save, frustrated that she couldn't get Safeer to crack, ashamed of participating in torture, of condoning something she thought was reprehensible. On the inside, she utterly distraught. But she was used to compartmentalizing, used to keeping "CIA Bess" separate from "home Elizabeth". She'd greeted her family with genuine happiness, telling them she'd been in Jordan the whole time. She'd tried to shake off Iraq and carry on as normal, throwing herself headfirst into family activities - coaching Stevie's soccer team, taking Alison to art classes, cuddling with Jason, who was still young enough to allow it - anything to distract herself from thinking about what had happened in Iraq.
She had tried so hard to push her feelings to the margins, but they kept coming back, most of all the disappointment, the regret, the shame. She had managed to fool the kids, but Henry had known something was wrong. She'd been different, since she'd returned, more closed off, unable to fall asleep at night. He'd tried to help, but he didn't know what was wrong, and she couldn't tell him, not only because it was classified, but because she was ashamed and afraid. It was bad enough that she was disgusted with herself. How would Henry look at her if he knew what she'd done? How could he still love her? She couldn't bear to think of losing him.
After a few terrible weeks of shutting him out, of even lashing out at him to push him away when he tried to confront her, he'd finally dragged it out of her. She confessed to him, as much as she could, although she was terrified that she would lose him by doing so. Maybe, she thought, she deserved to lose him. But Henry, wonderful Henry, had provided her comfort, assuaging her fears by reminding her that he had killed people in Iraq, that he too had struggled - still struggled - to carry that burden.
"War changes the landscape," he'd said, "forces us to face and sometimes do the unthinkable," and the very fact that she was uncomfortable with her actions was evidence of her morality. He had reassured her that one thing she didn't have to worry about was losing him. "Please," he'd begged, "never feel you have to shut me out and deal with something on your own. Even knowing your most terrible moments, I am still crazy about you. You are not one moment; you are the whole package."
So she began to heal. But she was still having trouble reconciling the unethical things that she and the CIA did with her former pride in her work and the Company. Henry had helped her to forgive herself and to channel her remorse into something constructive. He had supported her as she worked long grueling days and then spent night after night writing a scathing internal report on the CIA's practices and their efficacy, a report which led to reforms on their use of torture. (A report which also almost led to her leaving Henry and the kids for a year, and which ultimately led instead to her leaving the CIA.) She couldn't imagine how she would have gotten through all that without him. She had leaned on Henry so much; she still did.
She thought about Nadine again. She'd never mentioned any friends or family, and she didn't socialize with anyone else in the office. Just Marsh, she supposed, for years, and now he was gone. Poor Nadine, processing her grief alone, being reminded of Marsh constantly at work. Maybe she should suggest they go out for drinks one night after work, or perhaps invite her over to the house for dinner. She'd ask Henry in the morning.
She wondered how Marsh and Nadine had gotten involved, who had initiated the relationship. She wondered how they had balanced their "work relationship" with their "relationship relationship". Obviously they had traveled together often. Did they see each other only when traveling? Did they stay late in the office? Did they go to Nadine's? They'd managed to keep their relationship a secret, which was more than she could say for Matt and Daisy, who seemed to think no one had noticed their mysterious disappearances or their incredibly obvious constant banter.
She wondered how Marsh could have been involved with someone who worked for him. Wasn't he worried that the press would find out? It would have been a bad look as Secretary of State and an unrecoverable scandal for a Presidential run. Maybe both he and Nadine were fools in love. Could he have loved her enough that he thought it was worth the risk?
She wondered how she would have reacted if Nadine had approached her about having a relationship. It was far from a direct parallel, since Marsh was a man, and it seemed like his marriage had been an unhappy one. Had his wife really not noticed? She couldn't imagine hiding something like that from Henry, even if she'd wanted to. He could usually read her so well, and he'd know she was feeling guilty about something even if he didn't know what. Though if they had an open relationship, she supposed, there wouldn't be any hiding.
She imagined being alone in a hotel somewhere, maybe Venezuela, ready to go to bed and hearing a knock. She'd pull on a robe and answer the door to find Nadine on the other side. Nadine in a nighty, something silky and elegant. She'd be surprised at her attire, but would have figured Nadine was there for a work-related reason.
"Uh, what is it?" Elizabeth might ask hesitantly.
"What do you want it to be?" Nadine would ask coyly.
Her surprise would turn to shock, and she'd resist, she'd have to resist. "Wow, uh, anything but what I think this is. You need to go back to your room," she'd say firmly, but hopefully also gently enough to not hurt Nadine.
She'd start to close the door, but Nadine would prop the door open and persist. "Or maybe you need to let me in," she'd challenge Elizabeth, looking her straight in the eyes.
Elizabeth shook her head, shaking the vision away. She wasn't even interested in Nadine, was she? How would it work to be involved with someone else? Even if she had Henry's consent, she would feel the need to reassure him that Nadine wasn't a threat to their relationship. Or would the three of them be involved? How would that work? Even then there might be jealousy. And there was her job to consider, the kids, ... It was all too complicated.
"Maybe we shouldn't be doing this," she blurted out, voicing her thoughts aloud without meaning to.
"Of course we should," Henry mumbled back automatically, her words having roused him from sleep. A second later he was suddenly alert, "Wait, what are we talking about?" he asked her, propping himself up on an elbow to look at her.
"I was, uh, thinking about a relationship with Nadine," she admitted. Henry's eyes widened. "I'm not saying I think we should have one," she hurried to explain. "I was thinking about Nadine being involved with Marsh..."
"And you're Marsh's replacement, so you were thinking about Nadine being involved with you," Henry immediately caught on. She nodded, relieved that he got it.
"The more I try to think through the logistics of being involved with someone else... even if we were both emotionally okay with it and didn't have to sneak around or hide anything... it just seems too risky, too dangerous to be playing around." She put up a hand to prevent Henry from interrupting as her thoughts crystallized. "I know what I said before, that I'd rather have an open relationship than give you an ultimatum - and that's still true - but since we started discussing having an open relationship, I've been looking at other people differently, you've been looking at other people differently..." Henry nodded. "Maybe we don't need to change our relationship, so much as recognize that nobody is perfect, and trust that if either one of us loses our way, we'll both work through it and find a way back to each other." She hadn't realized it until she said it, but that was what she wanted.
Henry raked his hand through his hair, thinking about it for a moment. Then his lips turned upward in a smile. "Trust that we can talk to each other, rather than be afraid to confide in one another. Trust that we'll cut each other some slack and be generous in forgiveness. Trust that we both want this - want us - forever, even when our actions might not always do the best job of conveying that."
Thank God she and Henry were on the same page! She scooted closer to Henry, and tilted her head so she could brush her lips against his. He kissed her lightly in return, then wrapped his arms back around her. "I'll always be crazy about you," he whispered in her ear.
"I trust you," she whispered back. "And I'll always be crazy about you too."
