Prompts: Elizabeth is drowning in guilt, and Henry is being too gentle. + "Remember when I said I support you in all your decisions? I'm excluding this one. This is a terrible idea."
"Remember when I said I support you in all your decisions? I'm excluding this one. This is a terrible idea."
Elizabeth looks up at her husband, a little taken aback by his semi-rant. She has made a lot of decisions in the course of her career and she always instinctively knew when he would disagree. But this? This was simple. And none of her decisions are ever simple. But helping to stop a civil war, she didn't even give it a second thought. And she didn't have to spend a whole lot of time taking Conrad and Russell into it, either.
"What about it bothers you?" She tilts her head slightly in genuine confusion.
"You want to corkscrew your way into a war zone, and you're asking why it bothers me?" He looks at her incredulously. Does she not remember when she almost died two years ago? Or has that been erased from her memory due to a blow to the head he doesn't know about?
"Seriously, Elizabeth. I get that I put my life at risk, too. I really get it. And do you realize how often you fight with me about that? But when you decide to do the same, there is never even room for discussion. You're going to do it. You do realize that it is just as hard for me to wait on the ground for you as it is for you to wait for me?"
Elizabeth listens as his voice steadily rises throughout his rant.
"You almost died in Iran! And then it took you months to be okay. For months, I held you while you had nightmares that you never spoke about, and yet here you are, ready to go and do it all over again. Don't you realize that it's not just about you? Do you realize what it would do to me if you didn't come back? What it'll do to the kids?"
She swallows, "We've um... We never talked about how you felt after..." She says quietly. She is just making this realization. She had sat on a therapist's couch for six months and talked about it. She had identified and worked through triggers. She had developed coping skills. And Henry had been there. He had stoically stood by her side and helped her through. She had never stopped to think about how he had coped. She had been so wrapped up in her recovery that she had forgotten that he was going through nearly losing her. And though she can't decide why her decision to go to Libya is what has finally sparked this conversation, she can feel that maybe they have taken too long actually to have it.
"I yelled at Conrad," he admits. He doesn't know why he starts there; it feels like a weird shift. Maybe it's because he still blames Conrad for most of the pain Elizabeth has been through. There was no reason he ever should've recruited a seventeen-year-old high school senior to the CIA. And if he's honest, that is only the start of his issues with the man.
"You did?" She encourages. She wants to hear him. She wants to bear witness to what he went through. She wants him to know that she does care about his feelings and that she is not ignoring them. She had never meant to ignore them.
"When Nadine called to tell me that communications from your security team were not coming through. And they had found Javani dead, with no sign of you or his family. Elizabeth, I can't even explain to you where my head went... I was so scared, and I saw red. I wanted to kill him." He shakes his head at the memory. He had been a loose cannon, and he was not sure what he would do if she hadn't made it home.
"I don't really remember driving to the White House. Or even what I said. But I do remember thinking... That if they didn't find you dead... That you were alive... I remember thinking about what was happening to you... We had all thought at the time that you had been taken. It was like I had completely forgotten that you used to be in the CIA and knew how to conduct yourself in a warzone. So many thoughts went through my head. I was so scared," He admits.
He takes a deep breath, and she waits. She observes her husband. Twenty-nine years provides a person intimate knowledge of another person, and she knows his tells. And right now, the way he is fiddling with the earpieces of his reading glasses tells her how nervous he is to have this conversation.
"Henry, you know I wasn't lying. Nothing like that happened. I went from Javani's house to the bunker with his security team after the initial explosion and firefight. The not at all fun ride to the bunker, honestly, everything was rather smooth" She feels the need to reassure him.
"I know that now, but I didn't then. You were gone. For fifteen hours, no one knew where you were. No one knew if you were safe. I kept picturing our kids watching your execution on YouTube," he admits.
"Henry... I am so sorry," she whispers. She still hasn't fully gotten over the guilt she feels over the entire thing, and this has added another level. Which she is sure was not Henry's intention, and most likely was the reason he has kept these feelings to himself. Which in turn makes her feel even guiltier, as if it is one big spiral. Guilt begets guilt begets guilt.
"It's not your fault. I didn't mean to make it seem like that." He runs a hand down his face.
"I didn't even realize how much it affected you until just now. And I should've."
Henry swallows, "You were going through a lot. And then I was going through a lot. And then we were going through a lot..." He trails off.
"That... Is one way to describe the last three years, a lot." There is a small, sad smile on her face, "I should've been more present for you. I should've pushed more and made sure you were seeing someone. Iran and the Dmitri hit too soon after. It was too much, I'm sorry."
"Elizabeth. Please stop apologizing. There's nothing to apologize for. I'm fine."
"Clearly," she retorts. She doesn't know where her sudden flash of anger comes from, but it's red hot, "I don't know why you keep all of these things from me and then explode once every six months or so. It is so unfair,"
"Elizabeth, calm down. This doesn't have to be a fight. I'm fine, babe."
"No, you are not okay! And you aren't even trying to fix it. And instead of letting me help you, you push me away. You're right when you say the last few years have been a lot. They have been. But have you actually taken any time at all to process any of your trauma? And I don't mean the five sessions of marriage counseling. That was about our communication breakdown, not your trauma. Because you refuse to see a therapist, and you won't talk to me. So, you hold it all in, and then when it's too much, you blow up. And you're not okay, so stop saying you are."
Henry swallows. He remembers how long it took him to open up to her after Desert Storm. He had vowed never to go silent on her again. He had made a promise to himself that he would let her be his sanctuary the same way he is hers. He had kept that promise. It was easy to keep in Charlottesville. But now, life has gotten complicated again. And he has lost sight of that. He doesn't know what he should say or how much he should let himself open up. He is used to being her rock, not the other way around. And these last few years, she's needed to be propped up. He knew that before she ever took the job. From the first conversation they had about it, he had promised to be there for her. He promised her she would have the room she needed to do this job well and not have to be worried about the balls dropping at home. And then he went back into government work, too.
He knows he doesn't handle the spy stress well. But he didn't realize how much this had weighed on him. It's easier to keep it in than it is to deal with it. If he doesn't express it, it doesn't exist.
"Elizabeth," he sighs. He's out of words, and he doesn't have the energy to argue. Plus, he knows no matter the outcome of this argument, she'll be on her way to Libya soon.
"You've been through a lot. It's more than you let yourself process, and I know how hard that is. Believe me, Henry, I know how hard it is to admit you need help processing shitty things that have happened to you. But Henry, you are not alone. And I am sorry that I have made you feel that way."
"This isn't you... You didn't do this," He tries to reassure her. He has a feeling the guilt is going to eat her alive, and he can't have that. He needs her not to feel guilty for these things. He knows that his wife doesn't do well with guilt. Guilt, she wasn't in the car. Guilt for 9/11. Guilt. When she feels it too deep, it starts to drive her decisions, and that is when she makes mistakes. That's when she gets reckless. That is when she feels the need to put her life on the line.
"I did a lot of it," she whispers. She decided to go to Iran, and there was no talking her out of it. She decided to give Dmitri up. She was the target of the dirty bomb he almost died in. The only thing she had no part in was him getting shot. But then again, she did have him help with Covenant of John the first time around. She falls heavily onto the chaise lounge in the corner of the room. Her head spins with every single major life event that has been stuffed into the last three years. And to prevent all of them, all she would've had to do was so no to Conrad. She is overwhelmed and exhausted.
"I'm sorry," She mutters as tears begin to run down her cheeks. She feels stupid for crying. But she can't help it. This is a lot. A lot. That's how they've been describing it tonight. Dancing around each event, each awful blow to their lives and marriage. She feels guilty. Guilty. Another word she is tired of. She is tired of all the things she is feeling and all the words she is saying. She is exhausted, and she hasn't even gotten the fucking plane. All she did was ask him what a corkscrew landing was.
"Hey," Henry soothes. He is by her side in an instant, "It's okay. It's just been a really long few years. We're going to be okay." He reassures her, pulling her against his chest in that gentle way he is known for. His fingertips trace up and down her spine in the pattern he has repeated thousands of times, and she finds her breathing syncs up with the movement.
"We keep saying that. We keep saying we're okay or that we will be. And yet, we find ourselves here every few months. At a new crisis or a new argument. This isn't how our marriage is supposed to be."
He nods. He usually falls back on the line, 'We've been through worse,' relying on the argument about Iraq and its ultimatum always to be worse. But it wasn't. It was painful. And he regrets ever giving her that ultimatum. And those six months following it were terribly hard on both of them. But those last seven years on the farm and at UVA. That was bliss. They weren't perfect. They had their share of arguments and disagreements. But it was simple. Their life was easy and uncomplicated.
"I miss it. I miss how it used to be," she admits, "And there are days that hate that I did this to us."
"You didn't do this to us alone," he whispers. He can't take anymore of her feeling guilty. And he can't deny the fact that the last three years have been a lot for him. And he has done a piss poor job of communication, "I'll... Go to therapy. I'll go for real this time, with a psychologist, not a priest. I'll stop holding things in and not talking to you. We'll be better."
She nods at him. She supposes she's supposed to meet him in the offer—extend an olive branch to meet in the middle. Maybe to work on her guilt. Maybe to work on the issues she has with the decisions he has made. Maybe to figure out why she's so reckless with her life sometimes. But she is tired, and all she can offer is a nod.
"You can go," He relents. He doesn't like the idea of her going back into a war zone. But he knows he is fighting a losing battle, "I know you have to go,"
She looks up at him, "I do... And for what it's worth, I know you have to do your job too," she offers, "I should quit yelling at you about it,"
He smiles softly, "I like it. It reminds me every time why I need to be as careful as possible."
She smiles. She knows why he has to do his job, too. They both have a desire to help and change the world, even if the two of them can be reckless with their own lives.
"I love you, Elizabeth," he whispers, cupping her cheek and leaning in for a kiss.
"I love you too," she whispers.