Greater Good
"If you don't want to help, I'll go talk to Conrad myself."
Standing in front of the window, she watched her husband storm out of the room. When she heard the door slam, she sank down onto the cushioned window seat. For a moment, Elizabeth let her eyes slip closed.
Her hands began to shake just the slightest bit.
Earlier, in the meeting room, this was what she'd been worried about. At the CIA, she'd made hard choices, weighing the cost of individual harm against the greater good, but this involved her family. Selfishly, she'd been thinking of Henry's relationship with their asset. With their backs turned toward Maria Ostrov, the president had even said as much.
As always, there was still work to be done, so she took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. Once her hands stopped shaking, she stood. After smoothing down the front of her skirt, she grabbed her blazer and her bag before heading for the door.
Out in the hall, one of the agents on her detail informed her that Jay was waiting for her downstairs.
"Thank you," she muttered, patting Frank's arm.
Later, she settled onto the sofa in their suite to read through the most up-to-date version of a report on economic growth in Central Asia. On her last read-through, she'd vetoed a few passages, so she wanted to make sure that her staff had made the appropriate changes before her meeting next week. God forbid the inclusion of a questionable sentence or two prompted conflicts on another continent.
Flipping to the next page, she tried to concentrate on the words printed on the paper, but her mind started to wander— where was Henry? In the past two hours, she'd called him three times, but he hadn't picked up.
"To strengthen its economic resilience, the region needs a new growth model that leads to more efficient resource allocation," Elizabeth read aloud, trying to refocus.
Another hour passed before she threw the packet onto the coffee table. Her head pounded from squinting, so she figured she was due for a break. Looking up, she nearly jumped when she saw her husband standing in the doorway.
Hand against her chest, she asked, "Where have you been?"
"Like you would care," Henry spit out.
"Of course, I care."
Still wearing his suit, he hovered near the china cabinet, staring into her soul. "When Conrad wouldn't listen to me, I tried to convince Jane to do something about Dmitri." His fists clenched at his sides. "But you're all the damn same! You— you move people like they're chess pieces in your fucking game!"
Usually, her husband didn't use swear words, so her first instinct was to frown, but she kept her face stoic. It was clear that he was hurting. Sure, if he needed to blame someone, he could point the finger at her. And if yelling made him feel better, she could handle that too.
"I'm sorry, Henry," Elizabeth told him, not knowing what else to say.
In a flash, he crossed the room and swooped down, stealing her lips in a bruising kiss. It hurt almost as much as his words. When he bit down on her bottom lip, she tasted blood. Wedging a hand up between their bodies, she shoved him back, but that only seemed to deter him for a moment because he leaned in again, kissing the side of her neck.
Touching his shoulder, she muttered his name in the hope of catching his attention, but he didn't stop.
"I need you," he growled into her ear.
"Henry, you've been drinking," she said, tapping his side with her fingers.
Other than the occasional one or two beers after a hard day, she'd never known him to turn to alcohol. Even in college, he hadn't been in the habit of overserving himself. Tonight, the smell of whiskey was undeniable.
Pulling away, he arched one brow. "So?"
"So, I don't want to do this."
"Do what?" Straightening up, he tugged at the tie around his neck, loosening the knot. "Talk?"
When he leaned down for another kiss, she turned her head to the side, dodging his lips. "No, I don't want to do this." Using her hand, she motioned between them. "Not right now."
If it were any other night, she would melt into him, encouraging him to touch her after a long day, but this wasn't them— accusations, hateful words, and kisses that drew blood. Even in their worst moments, they'd always been able to find a way through without deliberately hurting each other.
"God, can't you just do one thing for me today, Elizabeth?"
And they'd certainly never guilted one another into having sex.
Once he wrestled off his suit jacket, he bent down, boxing her into the corner of the couch with his arms. He swayed forward, leaving them nearly nose to nose. They were so close that she could feel his breath against her face.
"You're scaring me," Elizabeth admitted.
"What I saw today scared me too," Henry whispered, staring into her eyes. Reaching out, he gently cupped her cheek, caressing her skin with his thumb. For a moment, she leaned into his touch, relieved that he was finally acting like himself again. But then, he turned firm. "You and Conrad could have come up with something else. You— Why didn't you push harder?"
Arguing with him while he was intoxicated was pointless, so she stayed quiet.
Suddenly, he sank down on top of her. The weight of his body pinned her legs between him and the cushions of the couch. Without a word, he started to paw at her breasts through her shirt. When he kissed her again, she tried to push him away, but her husband was much stronger than her.
"Stop," she mumbled in between kisses. Instead of listening, his hand slid down her stomach, slipping under the band of her pajama pants. His fingers brushed against the top of her underwear. "Henry, I— I don't…"
In their twenty years of marriage, she'd never feared that he would hurt her, but, right now, she couldn't help but wonder what would happen if she turned him away. Would he hurt her? More importantly, would he even listen if she told him no? Right now, she wasn't so sure.
Just as she had earlier, she found herself weighing the cost of individual harm against the greater good. If she gave in and had sex with him then he wouldn't wander off, raising the risk of waking Conrad for another argument. From experience, she knew that the president wouldn't react kindly to a second tongue-lashing.
But did she really need to oblige him so that he would behave?
As the top of her back hit the arm of the sofa, she noticed that he'd unfastened the buckle of his belt. When had that happened? Now, his pants were around his knees, along with his boxer shorts.
Staring at his chest, she decided that she should just tell him no, but hadn't she done so already?
When he pushed her underwear down, Henry scratched her skin with his nails, leaving red marks on her hips. He wasn't gentle as he pressed her thighs apart either. Once he had access, he slid his fingers through her folds.
"Henry," Elizabeth whispered.
She hissed as he pushed a finger inside of her. Tonight, she wasn't even the slightest bit turned on. Given the amount of pain she'd felt when he'd inserted just one of his fingers, she knew that she wasn't wet at all.
Kissing her shoulder, he pulled his finger out and started rubbing her clit roughly.
She tried to focus on the feeling of him rubbing tight circles against her. In his state of inebriation, his coordination wasn't the best. His touch didn't feel great, but maybe it could feel good if she let it.
"There we go," Henry mumbled after he'd dipped a finger down, testing if she was ready for him.
Grabbing her hips, he dragged her down the couch, so their hips were lined up. Then, he pushed inside of her. Almost immediately, he started a fast rhythm, thrusting into her hard.
"Baby," he breathed into her neck.
Beneath him, she closed her eyes, wishing this would be over already. She knew that she wouldn't come, but she hoped he would quickly. Luckily, it only took another few snaps of his hips before he came inside of her.
Collapsing on top of her, Henry mumbled, "Baby, I love you." He massaged her right breast as he pressed his lips against her hairline. "I'm sorry, 'Lizabeth."
Her stomach churned.
After he pulled out of her, he kissed her forehead, but the gesture wasn't sweet. It felt like she'd been branded as his possession. When he stood from the sofa, she sat up, grabbing for her pants.
"I'm going to shower."
As he walked toward the bedroom, she watched him stumble on the rug.
Once he disappeared around the corner, she curled up on the couch and quietly cried herself to sleep.
In the morning, she woke to a gentle hand on her shoulder, urging her up because she'd missed her alarm. After a night spent sleeping on the sofa, she was sporting a crick in her neck and a headache that matched, but the pain didn't compare to the ache between her legs. When she stood, she realized that she was incredibly sore.
"Ma'am, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Elizabeth said as she walked toward the bedroom. Hesitantly, her chief of staff followed. "Where's Henry?" She asked when she didn't see him.
"I was just informed that he took a commercial flight home," Nadine told her. Clearing her throat, she looked up from her shoes. "I don't mean to pry, but did something happen between the two of you last night?"
Sinking down onto the edge of the bed, all Elizabeth could do was stare.
