He hugs her close to him. Her arms cling to his body as he inhales the scent of her hair. She smells of shampoo, hairspray, and sweat. After several moments she allows freedom from her embrace.
"I just don't understand why you let all of this fester for months without telling anyone. Certainly you are past all of the shame, and guilt you may have felt all of those years ago."
She purses her lips, and subtly shakes her head, "All of my guilt is felt anew."
He squints his eyes as she pads off to their bedroom. She furrows beneath the safety of their duvet. She flips off the lamp resting on her bedside table.
"What are you doing, exactly? Aren't you heading into the office?"
"No."
"What about all of the matters of national security?"
"Nadine cleared my calendar for the day."
"To what end?"
"I believe it is called a sick day," she counters.
"I have literally never seen you go back to bed on a sick day."
"I'm exhausted. My apologies."
"Why do I feel as if I am missing half of the story?" He queries as he sits on the edge of the bed next to her. She lies on her side, and looks at him.
"I did not have the GI virus that my co-workers contracted."
He furrows his brow, "You were faking? What an act. I heard you vomiting rather violently in our bathroom. It seems to be a quiet elaborate way to avoid work."
"I was definitely vomiting, but it was not in any way due to a virus."
"You certainly didn't celebrate on your birthday, so it couldn't have been that."
"I am very much infested."
"Now you are just trying to make me late for work," he rolls his eyes, certain that she is taunting him.
"Perhaps infestation isn't the appropriate term for this class of symbiosis."
"You are delirious," he postulates.
"Delirium is highly probable. I am also most definitely to my total alarm, pregnant."
He begins sputtering, nearly choking on his own saliva. He tilts his head.
"You have always had a really twisted sense of humor, but this is low even for you," he growls, as he storms out of the room.
She listens to the front door slam. She rolls over, and closes her eyes in hopes that she may actually catch a cat nap before her phone begins violently, and incessantly ringing. The second round of slamming doors shifts her into a sitting position. Henry is fuming, and also slightly panting as he returns to the room. At the end of the bed he grips the footboard.
"Elizabeth McCord, that was months ago! You can't be serious!"
"What a way to celebrate number forty seven, huh? I eat stress for breakfast, and live my life in the public eye. Talk about high risk."
"There is no way!" His voice hits its highest possible octave.
"Okay," she shrugs too exhausted to be baited.
"I was really beginning to believe that our marriage was coming to an end. We have not had an easy year. I thought all of it had just become too much for you, and you wanted out. You avoid me every chance you can. We haven't been in the same bed together for weeks… and… you have intentionally been avoiding intimacy? Why would you go to such lengths to keep me in the dark if what you are saying is really true?"
"I am admittedly totally, and utterly petrified at this prospect."
"After nearly entering into world war three?"
She grimaces, "Don't try to minimize this, Henry. Part of me was not planning on telling you at all. The cynic in has been struggling to find the objective in sharing such news when it could, or rather likely will end it utter tragedy. It is one thing for me to relive it. The whole charade seems bitterly unfair, and it is completely unnecessary for you to endure the ugliest time of our lives a second time."
"You have been keeping this from me for four months. How long were you honestly prepared to keep me in the dark?"
"I did not anticipate making it this far," she solemnly admits.
"How far are we talking, here?"
"Twenty two weeks on the nose."
He vehemently shakes his head, "There is no way."
She shifts into a sitting position. In silence her fingers expertly unbutton her pajama top. The garment is tossed aside without much thought. A thin t-shirt joins the pile of garments. Removal of the form wear camisole proves slightly more difficult. By the time the Secretary of State is down to her bra her hair shows signs of a struggle. Her husband stares at her in utter silence as she sits on the edge of their bed. Without a single word she presses the palm of his hand against her abdomen.
"How do we proceed?"
"We tread very lightly," she replies.
"By that you mean that we are telling absolutely nobody?"
"There are too many unstable variables."
"How does the… asset look?"
"There is concern it may be an extraterrestrial," she attempts to make light of the situation.
Henry shoots her a look. "Please be serious."
"The asset appears to be developing appropriately," Elizabeth confirms as she begins to re-apply her layers of clothing.
"At what juncture are you prepared to reveal the developing asset to your boss?"
"Based on policy I cannot wait until the anticipated date the package is due to arrive. Nadine is combing through all of the loop holes as we speak."
"I should get to work, and you should catch a cat nap before the world is engulfed in flame again. We will discuss this in depth at a later time."