April 24, 2019
"Well, I knew this wasn't going to be easy." She sighs her voice halfway on the teary side.
Henry looks up at her as she walks further into their room. He watches as she sheds her blazer as if she's shedding the persona that has become Elizabeth McCord, the strong politician. There have always been so many layers of intimacy in their relationship. But this one is still new—her ability to drop all pretense in front of him, to be the Elizabeth he has always loved.
"No, it's not going to be easy. And unfortunately, it's not always going to be fair to you," he says. He knows she doesn't like to go there, as if she can ignore the sexism away, but sometimes, like now, he can't stop himself. "This is the kind of stuff you're gonna have to deal with now. People are gonna make comments about you and your abilities, all while disparaging fifty percent of the world's population."
She nods as she removes her earrings to set them in her jewelry tray. "Believe it or not, I was and am prepared for the misogyny, Henry. I've dealt with it my whole life. A previously all-male boarding school, a math major with a poli sci minor, CIA? I can deal with being questioned. It's this thing with Tom. I was naïve enough to think he wouldn't come for me that the world wouldn't know. But of course, he would do this—someone who hates women that much? " she snaps harshly before plopping down on her vanity stool.
She sighs deeply and then inhales a deep breath, "I... I don't mean to snap at you. I know you're just trying to help."
Henry looks at her with a level of compassion she's sure only he is capable of, "I understand."
He comes up behind her and gently kisses the crown of her head. She closes her eyes and lets her tears fall.
"I've been so ashamed, Henry."
He looks at her through her reflection and gives her a soft smile, "I know. You don't have reason to be, but I know you are and have been. I know it takes longer than four months to let thirty years of shame go."
She licks her lips as she tries to gather her thoughts into words. She sighs, "I hate this. I hate that the only way to combat it is to go public with an extremely personal thing and let it be scrutinized and possibly be turned into ammo forever." She looks down, and he's certain she's trying not to cry. "I hate that I might be giving him exactly what he wants."
Henry kneels to be at eye level with her. His hands cup her face gently, his thumb moving to wipe at a stray tear. "How would you be giving him what he wants by publicly calling him a rapist?" He challenges her thought pattern, hoping not to annoy her by going 'full Socrates.'
"What if people don't believe me? Which is a real enough possibility, we see it all the time. But also the sick satisfaction he could get out of me having to admit to the world that I survived him. You saw him that day in Russell's office... He feels this ownership over me because of what he did to me. The whole point of assault is power. I don't want to give him more by having to publicly talk about what happened. I don't want him to be part of this story. He doesn't get to have that."
He nods. There are things about this he will never understand. There are so many things they are able to commiserate in mutually, like combat deployments and waiting at home for your partner to come back safe, intelligence work stressors, and students not turning in term papers on time. But this experience is one he doesn't have a reference for. He can only be compassionate in his responses to her pain and fear. And he can never tell her what to do because he can't navigate her feelings any better than she can.
"You can choose not to talk about it if you want. Or you can acknowledge that it happened and move on. It's entirely up to you. It's your decision and no one else's. Not mine. Not your staff's. It's yours." he says softly.
"The buck stops here," she chuckles, trying to ignore the ultimate responsibility she's going after.
"Exactly," he says with a smile, "and whatever you choose, I'll support you. I know that won't make it easier, but I want you to know you're not alone in this."
She nods, and he can see her mind working a mile a minute, her eyes staring at nothing, her hands clenching, "My staff thinks I should talk about it. I did hire them for a reason. They all have perspectives that fill in my blind spots. I trust their professional opinions. I don't want to screw this up by letting my emotions run the ship."
Henry nods, "That's a valid concern if it were anyone else. You, however, have never been able to lead without emotion."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she challenges.
He smiles, "It's not a bad thing, Elizabeth. It's what makes you human. It's why people like you. You connect with them because you feel. You make compassionate and effective decisions with humanity, not just policy or pragmatism."
"Maybe," she says, her eyes looking away from him again.
"What's wrong?" he asks, his fingers gently turning her chin back toward him.
"It's just, I have a feeling this will blow up and turn into a shitstorm. I'm scared it will derail my campaign," she says, her eyes meeting his. "I can't have him take something else from me, Henry. He took something from me that morning that I've never gotten back... I don't even really know what it was... like a piece of myself was left there on the frozen ground."
Henry swallows, "He only takes this if you let him. So don't let him."
She looks at him for a long time, her eyes searching his face. He's not sure if he said the right thing or not. He doesn't know how to navigate this. This isn't his story to tell, and he isn't sure how he can help her. He certainly can't tell her what to do.
"You're saying?" she drags out her words, clearly needing him to finish the thought.
"Sexual violence is prevalent in the world we live in, and while you may be one of the first women in the United States to make it here, super PAC and all, you are not the first woman in the world. To pretend that rape survivors are not Fortune 500 CEOs, Congresswomen, Prime Ministers, Presidents, Nobel Laureates, or anything else is ignorant. Those women, you, Elizabeth, are not defined by the actions of a predator. So don't let it define you. Admit it happened and move on. Remind people that something that happened to you three decades ago, while awful and not without its effects, does not mean you can't be an effective President. You were an effective CIA Case Officer and an effective Secretary of State, and you will be a great president. Horrible things happen to people all the time, but the measure of a person is how they react. So, react, Elizabeth, in the way a leader should. Without shame, without fear, and without apology."
She's silent for a moment, processing his words, her gaze focused somewhere off to his right. He can practically see her mind working. He's not quite sure if the tough-love approach was the correct one. She doesn't seem mad or upset, only quiet and contemplative.
"Thank you," she whispers. "I know what to do. Thank you."
He smiles and kisses her temple.
April 25, 2019
Staring out at the pasture makes her wonder why she ever decided to leave here, let alone run for president. She holds her mug in both hands on this spring morning and watches the horses graze. She still misses Buttercup and regrets not being around full-time for the last couple of years of his life. She should have had more time to watch him in the pasture, or at least been able to see him every day, to have had a hand in his care. But she was in DC, and he was here with Mitch. Mitch, who is still doing all the chores she enjoys. She had been frustrated twenty minutes ago to find that Mitch had done exactly what she paid him to do: mucked the stalls and turned the horses out right at dawn, beating her by twenty minutes.
She sips her coffee, enjoying the early morning, leaning on the fence. The sun is barely starting to peek over the trees, casting a warm glow across the fields. She closes her eyes and breathes in the smells of a farm waking up: damp grass, manure, and hay. These smells remind her of a simpler time in her life when the world was a little less complicated- before politics and diplomacy had their claws in her and before she worried about polls and popularity.
"Uh, ma'am?"
She turns to Blake's timid voice and nearly chuckles at the way he's looking at his way-too-expensive loafers in the mud.
"Dr. McCord said you were out here," he says, his feet shuffling beneath him, making the mud sticking on his shoes worse.
Elizabeth licks her lips and stifles another giggle at her friend's obvious discomfort.
"Yes, Blake, what can I do for you?"
Blake clears his throat, "You have an 8:30 meeting with the staff, ma'am."
"I remember. Is that why you willingly walked all the way out here in the mud?" she asks with a small amused smile.
"Uh, no. I have found the connection between Thomas Kincaid and the TikToker Ty Bush."
"So quickly?" she asks him, surprised, though she probably shouldn't be. Blake has always been able to meet the challenges she throws his way.
"Ty gave his full name yesterday, and I had the TikTok handle, obviously. Wasn't too bad from there-Harvard Assistant Mafia," he says.
She smiles, "So?"
"His name is Tyler Bush, Jr. He was born in 2000 in Alexandria, Virginia, to Sarah Kincaid-Bush and Tyler Bush, Sr. Sarah is Thomas Kincaid's oldest daughter," Blake tells her.
She nods, "So the coward sent his grandson to do his dirty work. Jesus."
Blake nods and swallows, "There's another layer you should be aware of, Madam Secretary."
She looks at him with a raised eyebrow, her arms crossed against her chest as her heart begins to pound, "What is it?"
"Tyler is a sophomore at George Washington University. He shares an apartment with Nathan Sterling."
Elizabeth's eyes flash with recognition before her face hardens. "Craig Sterling's son, Nate?"
"Yes, ma'am." Blake nods. "I went digging a little further, and it appears that Sarah Kincaid has been very close friends with Heather Sterling, Craig's wife, since childhood. It turns out that Tom Kincaid is the one who walked Heather down the aisle when she and Craig got married, which I found on an anniversary post she made on Facebook. More Facebook and Instagram posts indicate that Tom Kincaid is readily involved with the Sterling family, vacations, dinners, and more."
She licks her lips. She thinks back on all the hell Sterling's put her through. The stupid, knowing smile on his face. The intentional rape jokes he makes in front of her. His misogynistic and sexist comments. The way he would try to talk down to her. Her mind drifts to the first time she met him and the way he looked at her and undressed her with his eyes.
"That fucking rat bastard knew the entire goddamn time." She growls.
Blake seems startled by her language. Sure, a curse slips from her lips every once in a while, but this was uncharacteristic rage. He's not sure he's ever seen her quite this angry.
Elizabeth finds herself laughing, "Craig knew the whole fucking time. Of course, he did. He knew, and he fucking enjoyed tormenting me."
Blake furrows his brows in concern. He remembers when Sterling was the NSA; he was a pain in the State's side, but not more so than the other defense hawks. He can see something deeper than the NSA/State Department rivalry here.
"Are you okay, Madam Secretary?" Blake asks, his voice soft.
"I'm fine. It's a long story, Blake," she waves her hand as she begins walking back toward the house. "Is this everything?"
"Y-yes, ma'am," he confirms, walking after her.
"Find out where Sterling is today."
Her steps toward the house are hard and angry. He knows her when she gets like this; she doesn't have the patience for pleasantries.
"Ma'am?" he questions, catching up to her and matching her pace.
"This ends today. Whatever they think they're doing... they're going to regret it. Tom Kincaid and Craig Sterling are going to realize that it is unwise to push me this far."
Elizabeth can feel the anger bubbling inside her nearly uncontrollably. She can feel the power coursing through her. She knows how to wield it, but she rarely feels the desire. Now, however, the rage is overpowering her. Her heart pounds, and her hands make fists. She tries to breathe, knowing Blake is gauging her reaction.
"Ugh!" she lets out a frustrated grunt and throws the mug in her hand. It lands hard in the mud, the coffee rejoining the earth from which it came. Blake jumps back, startled.
She sighs and looks back, "Sorry, I just, um..."
Blake musters a small smile, "It's me, ma'am,"
Elizabeth swallows and nods, "Yeah, get me that location, please. I need fifteen minutes and I'll meet the senior staff in the kitchen. Just..." she shakes her head. "Get me that location."