"I'm not gonna lie to you"

"I'd quit this job in a heartbeat if it threatens what we have"

"I'm not going to let that happen"

"If you're asking me to be the man beside the woman, I'm in"

"This can't be healthy for us"

"We were fine"

"No we weren't, I wasn't"

"You LIED to me!"

"I CANT TALK TO YOU"

"I can't deal with this anymore"

"Every time I see you, it reminds me of how I failed"

As Elizabeth laid in bed that night, she kept running these phrases and parts of conversations over and over in her head. She couldn't sleep, not when it seemed like things were falling apart at the seams. Her world was being tossed around like a rag doll, and the worry she had for Henry was going to consume her if they couldn't talk. Hell, it was consuming him already and she was just waiting for everything to burst.

Finally deciding to get out of bed at 4:30, she stood in the kitchen holding her coffee, letting the warmth on her hands soothe her, the little bit that it could. What was bothering her the most was the fact that, no matter how much she tried, he just wouldn't talk to her — hell he wasn't even looking at her — and the fact that last night he had slept in another room while still in the same house. It was just crushing her.

Who was this man that was yelling at her, so upset almost to the point of being non-coherent? It looked like Henry, but the words and actions coming out of him were not Henry at all. Its like they were losing sight of each other, of who they were individually, and as a team, and that was hurting her more than she was letting him notice. One thing she had learned after her parents died was how to hide her emotions and put up walls around her; now she felt like she had to do that with him — the one person in her life who had broken the walls down brick by brick over 28 years ago when they had first met at UVA.

"Go if you have to, but I don't know what its going to look like when you come back."

"The kids wont even remember you."

"It's only a year…"

The sleeplessness and yelling had taken her back to their argument over her being appointed station chief in Baghdad. That had been their worst fight to date, but now — now it looked like everything was unraveling. Back then she would go out for long rides on Buttercup; he was her escape when things were tough with Henry. When she needed to talk to someone but couldn't talk to her husband about things, she turned to her first baby boy. Horses were incredible animals, they feel you and know your emotional state without even asking. He knew things were rough at that time and would nuzzle her arms, letting her know it was okay to lean on him; he wouldn't talk back or argue, he just loved her unconditionally. Now she feared that whatever was wrong with him would end up being something she couldn't fix, and she didn't know if she could handle that type of bad news on top of this thing that was happening to her and Henry.

He didn't mean those words to come out how they did, or did he? He was struggling, and admitting it was part of the problem. He had pressured her when she came home from Iran and was having trouble dealing, so why was he acting like this towards her now? She didn't deserve this — well maybe a little of it she did — NO she doesn't deserve this. He knew deep down the call she made was the correct one, and he even knew that she had no choice but to agree with Conrad's decision. He feared that he had pushed too far — he was spiraling out of control and didn't know if he was strong enough to stop it or if she would be strong enough to stand by and help. He didn't know what else to say or do, so that night they had slept apart, she in their bed and he in one of the kids' beds. They never, ever went to bed this angry and upset, heck they never didn't sleep in the same bed when they were home together. How he hoped and prayed that night that he didn't screw things up for good.

Walking into the kitchen so early the next morning he watched her for a few moments before engaging. He knew she was hurting, but trying to give him space she had distanced herself from him, and he had no one to blame but himself.

"You're up early."

"Yeah, couldn't sleep."

"Henry, I'm sorry I've been pushing, I will stop. Please remember that I love you and I'm sorry." She had barley been able to say those two sentences without breaking down in tears, so she turned her back to him and just stood there, thinking.

"Baby, I'm sorry too, I just need some time to try and figure out some things." Maybe not his best choice of wording, but he had already dug a hole, so why not dig deeper. He knew she would wait for him, no matter how long it took to come back around. He couldn't even really look at her, he knew her back was turned towards him, but he also was turned looking out the kitchen window.

For the second time that morning, the house phone rang, bringing them both out of their own thoughts. Even though they were sitting together at the little island in the kitchen there was so much distance between them. The air in the house was one of uncomfortable silence—something that didn't happen in their home.

"Vets here." Henry had stated, as he hung up the phone, finally turning to really look at her for the first time that day. He was worried about her and the outcome of the MRI done on Buttercup.

Walking over to the barn, meeting Dr. Sue, he couldn't help but position himself slightly in front of her—almost as a way of trying to protect her from whatever news the vet was about to lay on them.

As the words left Dr. Sue's mouth, Elizabeth clung to Henrys hand as support, not wanting it to be true. The words stung. Cancer. Why was this happening now?! Henry tried to reason, tried to see if chemo would help, but all Elizabeth could think of was her favorite horse being in pain. She couldn't handle BOTH of her loves in pain — Buttercup she could help by way of easing the pain and letting him cross the Rainbow Bridge, Henry she could help by giving him distance, space, and time to heal.

Henry knew she would need him; he wanted her to be able to lean on him as she was hurting, dealing with losing her most beloved pet. He had offered to stay, but she told him to go, that she would be fine there alone with Buttercup. Hesitating he reached around her to pet his muzzle, as his arm brushed hers, and as he leaned in kissing her on the head, he felt her slight wince at his touches. This pained him as much as having to make the decision to put the horse down, if not more than that decision — the fact that his touch now was something she winced at stung deep into his core.

He had a lot of thinking to do and things to make up for—he knew he didn't want to lose the best thing that has ever happened to him—and if he kept it up as he was, he would end up losing her, and that was something he knew he couldn't live with.