Champagne Problems

She had her earring pinched between her thumb and pointer finger as she paced by the fireplace. Even with the cracking blazes she still felt the chill. It nipped at her covered toes. Her fingertips felt numb. Maybe that's why she was pressing the point of her earring into the pad of her thumb. Because she would rather feel the pain than nothing at all. Weeks ago, she'd thought that maybe that cold feeling in her chest wasn't just from the winter evenings. Now she was certain.

"I never asked for this life," she whispered. She teetered on her heels as she followed the lines of the patterned carpet. Her eyes glanced up, catching his stare before she looked towards her shoes. "I don't want it." She squinted at the blue diamonds of the carpet. With the walnut paneling and the dark that had fallen outside it appeared almost a black. "I can't take it," she breathed as her heel slapped down against the floor.

"Elizabeth." She listened as his book was clearly set onto the table. He was always reading these days.

She pressed her thumb harder against the post of the earring. "If I knew it would be like this, I never would have told him yes." They weren't kidding when they said this was the loneliest job in the world. Even in crowded rooms where she was surrounded by people who hoped to shake her hand she felt as if she were living someone else's life.

There was a creak of wood as he leant back in his chair. "Baby what are you talking about?"

She tilted her head to the right and slotted the earring through her ear. "I shouldn't have told Conrad yes." For weeks now she'd traced everything that has happened back to that one decision. That one phone call. If she'd never become Secretary of State none of this would be a problem. But it was too late. Her feet stopped at the edge of the fireplace, and her head lifted. "Henry." She found his eyes. "I don't want to be here anymore," she told him.

He pushed back from the table. "Your term is almost up." He stood, and something in her chest sunk. "You don't have to run for a second term." He was walking towards her now, situating his necktie as he went. "We'll be back at the farm before you know it," he said. He flashed a smile as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets. "Though I think you'll miss it once it's over."

She shook her head. She'd tried to tell him three times now. "This will never go away," she said quietly. "It can't." She would always be the president. It never stopped after this. There will always be reporters. There will always be people wanting a picture, a signature… always wanting something.

His eyebrows pulled. The shadows casted on his face by the fire burning in the fireplace only seemed to add to that pit of emptiness in her chest. The candles on the mantle flickered and—

"I don't want to do this anymore." And usually, the tears would begin to build behind her eyes right about now, but a numbness had beaten out the emotions about two weeks ago.

He stepped towards her. "You're jittery." She wasn't. She thought she'd never been more calm. "You always are before these things," he commented. "How about we talk about this later?"

She swallowed. "No," she muttered.

"No?" He asked. His hands appeared at his sides. "Do you really think this is the best time? We have about ten—"

"I'd rather die than do this another day." She peeled her eyes away from his as she turned. She felt him watching as she sunk down into the corner of the sofa. "I want to die," she whispered.

Her chest felt just the slightest bit lighter after admitting it. The silence that had swallowed up the room told her he would be feeling different. She kept her eyes on the floor, avoiding him, as she listened to the popping of the burning wood.

"Elizabeth." Her name was a whisper. She knew he was staring down at her. She could see the tips of his black dress shoes in her periphery.

There's a clatter of wood on wood, and then soft footsteps on the carpet. "About five minutes."

She can't stop her eyes from tipping up.

Henry's eyes were watery. She could see the hurt there. The worry. She didn't want to hurt him too, but she couldn't go on like this. She didn't want to.

"Is there a problem?" Blake asked as he looked between them.

It went unanswered as Henry dropped to his knees, kneeling in front of her. "We can go back to the farm," he said as his hands settled on her forearms. "We can leave right now."

She shook her head. "No." She pushed out of his grip, crossing her arms.

"You don't mean it." He looked up to her, waiting for her to take it back.

"I do," she told him. She'd been thinking about it, obsessing over it, for months now. "I don't want to be alive anymore." She said it slowly.

He leaned up, cupping her cheeks in his palms.

"I can't do it Henry." She pushed away his hands.

He was crying now.

"We can't do this right now Elizabeth," Blake said. Her eyes jumped from Henry to where he hovered a few steps away. "Not tonight," he breathed. He stood tall. He looked stern. "Not now." He flipped up his wrist and pulled back the sleeve of his suit. "Over forty-eight million people are waiting for you."

"She can't do this right now," Henry pipped up from where he was knelt in front of her.

"She has to."

He was right. Skipping this wasn't an option.

She used her hands to push up from the couch, and when she stood Henry was forced to sit back on his knees.

"After," she whispered.

Blake had an arm outstretched towards her.

"Do you hear her?" Henry cried after twisting around. "She needs help," he said as he stood.

She stepped past him.

"And for the next hour and seven minutes… Give or take about ten for applause she can't get it."

She wouldn't need it.

Blake pulled open the door before motioning with his free hand for them to exit. They were ushered out into Statuary Hall.

She fell into step beside Blake and one of her agents. Henry was two steps behind.

Blake leaned into her, and mumbled, "The Chief Justice and associate justices are being escorted. Cabinet goes next."

She'd done this three times already she knew how it worked.

When they turned left down the next hall Blake stopped. She did too.

He turned. "Henry," he called, and her husband stepped up to him. Blake looked him over, straightening his tie, and then said, "Deep breaths."

"How am I meant to—"

Blake threw up a hand. "Not here." He nodded in her direction. "Wish her luck."

He looked weary as he turned to her. His hands found her arms as he stared into her eyes. "I love you so much Elizabeth." The tears were back, coming harder than before. Maybe they'd never stopped. "I hope you know that," he whispered as he leaned in, hugging her. He placed a kiss to her right cheek before he pulled away. "I'll be up top, okay?"

She nodded.

"Alright," Blake said as his left hand fell to her back. She stole one last look Henry's way before they went their separate ways.

As they approached the doors the number of cameras exponentially increased. She must have stiffened because Blake ducked down to her ear.

"After," he reminded. They'd been saying it for a month now. She bought into the lie. "Good luck," he told her as he stepped off to the side.

She rolled her shoulders back and took a breath before the double doors swung open.

She gave a small smile, hoping this would be the last time she had to shake this many hands.

She paused, and— "Mister Speaker the President of the United States." And she stepped forward, moving down the aisle as she met the eyes of those around her.