Little White Pills
On his way back to his office, with his nose buried in a file, Daniel Reese, the White House physician, cornered him in one of the hallways of the West Wing. Given the other night's unexpected visit from the Secretary of Defense, Henry could guess what this conversation would be about. He knew that putting in a request for Gordon Becker's medical records would stir up trouble.
"Dr. McCord," he greeted.
Once introductions were out of the way, Dr. Reese politely jumped straight into the issue.
Dodging a staffer, Daniel said, "I just wanted to reassure you that I have no concerns about the Secretary's health."
"Well, I still need to complete the incident report."
When they neared the end of the hall, they both slowed to a stop.
"I understand that you are the new ethics advisor and that you want to follow protocol, but, uh, sometimes a report with all the cyber-security issues we're facing can make sensitive information vulnerable."
"I'll submit everything in hard copy," Henry assured.
After flashing a small smile, he started to turn away, but Dr. Reese asked a question, drawing him back.
"By the way, how's Elizabeth?"
"Uh, my wife?" Facing him, Henry's lips pulled down into a frown. "She's fine."
"Good," Daniel said. "She came to me for a sleep aid a few months back. Actually, I gave her the same medication as Secretary Becker," he explained. "Has she been sleeping better?"
"Yeah, thanks."
"I'm glad to hear it."
Eventually, Dr. Reese walked away, leaving Henry in the hallway to ponder their conversation. Had Elizabeth really been given medication to help her sleep? Why hadn't she told him? Scrubbing a hand over his chin, he turned and headed in the direction of his office.
That evening, after returning home, Henry asked his wife whether she'd been given medication.
As Elizabeth poured two glasses of red wine, she said, "Yeah, I mentioned that I wasn't sleeping well, and Dr. Reese offered me some Ambien." Handing off a glass, she asked, "Is that a big deal?"
"It is when he's dispensing medication without a prescription."
Tipping the glass back, Henry slowly sipped the wine, savoring the taste. After a long day, he preferred a cold beer, but Elizabeth had convinced him to share a bottle of a limited-edition cabernet sauvignon. The junior senator for North Carolina, Michelle Longwood, had brought the bottle back from the Biltmore Estate as an early Christmas gift.
"So, you have to report me too?"
He wanted to ask if she'd taken it, but even after being diagnosed with PTSD, the topic of medication, specifically benzodiazepines, seemed to be a sore subject.
"I'm not reporting you, but yes, I'll have to report that Dr. Reese distributed Ambien to you without a proper prescription." Although he believed that Elizabeth should know better than to accept medication without going through the appropriate channels, this wasn't her fault. "This isn't on you, Babe," he told her.
Finishing her glass, she said, "I'm going to shower before dinner."
When she retreated to their bedroom, Henry made a call, requesting his wife's medical records. He planned to kill two birds with one stone by addressing both Gordon Becker's case and Elizabeth's in his meeting with Russell Jackson. Standing from the table, he prayed that he didn't get ambushed.
Early the next morning, he held his wife's hand as they waited alongside Secretary Becker in Russell's waiting area. He gave the occasional reassuring squeeze. When the door opened, they dropped their hands before entering the office.
While Russell took a seat in his chair, the three of them stood in front of his desk.
Fingering through the pages of the report he'd submitted, Russell said, "Based on my review of the incident and the circumstances leading up to it, I'll be asking Dr. Reese to tender his resignation today."
As Gordon vocalized his opposition, Henry met Elizabeth's eyes.
"Henry, do you want to revise any of the facts in your report?"
With his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants, he told him, "No, but I…"
Looking down at his desk, the president's chief of staff mumbled, "Well, this matter's concluded." After dismissing Gordon, he asked, "Would you two stay behind for a moment?"
Once the door to the office closed, Henry said, "I never meant to hang Reese."
The other man shrugged. "He wasn't following protocol." Pen in hand, he quickly moved on to the next topic of discussion. "I'm afraid this report is incomplete."
"What do you mean?"
Over the top of his glasses, Russell glanced at Elizabeth before his stare returned to Henry.
"You failed to include whether Secretary McCord took the Ambien given to her by Dr. Reese," he explained. Turning toward his wife, Russell questioned, "Elizabeth?"
After taking a step forward, she said, "Yes, I took it once in September."
Swallowing, Henry turned his head and stared at the side of his wife's face. Even after requesting her medical records, he hadn't asked whether she'd taken it. Still, he wondered why she hadn't told him.
"Given the case with Gordon, I feel compelled to ask whether you experienced any adverse side effects."
"Yes," Elizabeth whispered. With a sigh, the tips of her fingers brushed against the top of Russell's desk. "The night I took the medication, I made some phone calls in my sleep," she explained.
Adjusting his glasses, Henry tried not to crack a crown. Oh my God. He knew which night in September she was referring to. And making phone calls in her sleep had only been the beginning.
"Okay," Russell muttered before he handed the report back to Henry. "I'd like you to revise this before the end of the day."
"Of course," he managed through clenched teeth.
Later that day, he met Elizabeth at the State Department. They'd planned to have lunch together on her sofa. Takeout bag in hand, Henry followed behind her assistant as she led him into her office.
"Ma'am, your husband," Nina said as she set a stack of binders on her desk. Before leaving them be she muttered, "Enjoy lunch."
After the door clicked shut, Henry greeted her with a simple Hey Babe, but she didn't respond. Arching one brow, he dared a glance toward her desk. He could feel her bad mood from across the room. As he unloaded the contents of the paper bag onto the coffee table, he stayed quiet, giving her a minute to hopefully finish up her work.
Eventually, he asked, "Is everything okay?"
"Of course."
Meeting his eyes, she forced a tight smile.
"Elizabeth, we've been married for nearly thirty years, I know when something's wrong."
"Fine," she mumbled. Tossing her pen onto her desk, she said. "I already give people in this town enough reason not to like us. With your new position as the White House Whistleblower, we're really going to have no friends." She tilted her head, staring. "Nice going, Henry."
"How is this my fault?" His mouth fell open in disbelief. Waving a hand, he said, "Reese was the one playing fast and loose with the paperwork. You don't see an issue with that?"
Elizabeth shook her head, not wanting to comment.
Crossing the room to stand in front of her desk, he asked, "Why don't we talk about the fact that you lied to me?"
"I didn't lie to you."
"What about that night in September?"
He'd been awake when she'd made phone calls in her sleep. Though, at the time, he hadn't known she'd been asleep. In bed, the conversations had sounded fairly normal, at least her side of them. After he'd fallen asleep, she'd gone into the office. Luckily, Jay had been there working late. Apparently, he'd stopped Elizabeth from SVTC in with Minister Chen.
At 2 a.m., Jay had called him down to the State Department, pleading for his help. When he'd arrived, Henry had found them up on the roof. With one hand gliding along the rail, Elizabeth had been pacing along the edge of the terrace, dodging planter boxes filled with flowers every few feet.
"Did she take something?"
It had taken some convincing, but he'd gotten her home in one piece. In the kitchen, she'd grabbed for the open bottle of wine, but he'd offered a cup of tea. After leading her upstairs, he'd urged her into bed, but she'd refused. Instead, she'd spent the next hour reorganizing the closets.
"I was under the impression that you'd taken a Xanax."
In September, a quick Google search confirmed that any of the benzodiazepines could cause parasomnia.
"I never said I took Xanax."
Henry wanted to roll his eyes, but he refrained. Yes, if he remembered correctly her exact words the next morning were I took a pill. It was a broad answer, but he'd thought she'd only had one prescription. With the amount of alcohol that she'd had with dinner, if he'd known she'd been contemplating taking anything, he would have protested.
"You're right," he admitted.
Leaning forward in her chair, Elizabeth asked, "What's the difference between me taking a sleeping pill and taking a Xanax anyway?"
"One was legally prescribed by a doctor, and one wasn't," he said. Admittedly, having the individual fourth in line for the presidency under the influence of either was a little nerve-wracking. Not because of mental health, but of unpreparedness in the face of the hypothetical 3 a.m. call. Thinking about the what-ifs, that night in September was looking a whole lot more terrifying. "Baby, that's what this whole thing is about," he told her.
"Well, it feels like you're down my throat about medication," she whispered. Elizabeth averted her eyes, distracting herself with the paper in front of her. "You know, it's not unusual for government officials to take an Ambien after a long-haul flight."
"But Elizabeth, what happened in September happened here at home."
And now her behavior seemed eerily similar to the way Gordon Becker had acted earlier this week.
While Gordon had taken two pills, Elizabeth had taken one after drinking two glasses of wine. Maybe she hadn't been thinking, but this brought up a much larger issue. One that needed to be addressed.
Rounding the corner of her desk, Henry squatted beside her, so they were eye to eye.
"You need to be more careful," he told her. "You also need to be transparent with your staff about your medication usage. When you take a sedative, they should know that you shouldn't be involved in any decision-making."
He couldn't believe that this hadn't been brought up before. Especially since at least two individuals in her inner circle knew of her alprazolam usage following Iran. Henry considered that maybe they'd talked about it amongst themselves. Out of curiosity, maybe he would give Nadine a call. Or he could always ask Blake who was just down the hall.
"Are you saying I can't do my job?"
"No," he told her, taking her hand. "I just think that we need to be more cautious." After watching tears build in her eyes, he said, "Tell me what's wrong?"
"I'm embarrassed, okay?" Wiping at her eyes, she repeated, "I'm embarrassed."
"Why?"
"Because it's my fault that I even need to take anything in the first place," she cried.
"Elizabeth, it's not your fault." His knees started to rebel against him, so Henry stood and leaned back against the edge of her desk. "You're under a lot of stress with this job." He reached out and touched her arm. "There's nothing wrong with needing a bit of help to sleep or to calm down sometimes."
"I know you're right, but…"
Nodding, he understood. Even after being diagnosed with PTSD, the topic of medication, specifically benzodiazepines, seemed to be a sore subject. When it came to taking something, she was stubborn. Oftentimes, his wife even avoided taking Advil.
"I know," he told her. Taking her hand, Henry urged her up from her chair. "How about we sit down and eat?"
After this morning's emotional merry-go-round, he was starved.
"Kiss me first."
Smiling, he touched her cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb below her eye before he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She tasted like coffee. When they parted, Elizabeth grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, keeping him close.
"I'm sorry about the whistleblower comment."
"Me too." He ran his hands up her sides. "I told Russell the same thing about building a reputation."
Elizabeth bit her bottom lip before she said, "Well, for the record, I still find your ethics sexy."
"Big turn on?"
"Big turn on," she confirmed.
AN: I randomly decided to watch Winter Garden again and found myself wondering what would happen if Elizabeth had been in Gordon's shoes. Would Henry still go ahead and file the incident report? So this came about. I also found myself wondering if the writers were deliberately taking a stab at Ronny Jackson, the WH physician under Obama and Trump. Most likely, yes. You can look him up, but he was known to practically walk up and down Air Force One, handing out Ambien. I hope you enjoyed!