Hey… I feel like the updates on this are anything but consistent, so sorry! This is also a bucketload of angst, sorry again. Thank you to Adi (the Queen of Angst) for her help. I know that technically Elizabeth is the older one, but that would kill my timeline, so we're doing business as usual. Please leave reviews, I'm fairly desperate.

Elizabeth didn't know what to do or what to say, so she took Henry's hands in hers and tried to force him to look at her, to calm down.

"Baby, deep breaths, in and out, in and out. It's gonna be okay."

His ears were ringing, the sounds of the gunfight and the screams were too much to process all at once, they blurred together into one big mess of noise that seemed to fill his head to the brim. He really couldn't take any more sensory input, but he had no choice. There were the narrow streets, dusty and worn down from cars and carts that crossed them every day. The crumbling houses, because bombings were part of the routine here, and so there was never time to rebuild, and hell, you could never be sure that your house wouldn't be shot at in the next twenty-four hours. The charred trees, some of the only things that grew in this god-forsaken desert, now reduced to stumps and fallen branches, good metaphors for how the situation was looking as a whole.

And more dust, as if it were invasive and had the sole objective of blanketing everything in a fine coat of powder — another gift the desert bestowed upon all its inhabitants. The dust covered the houses and streets and trees and makeshift soccer pitches local boys had set up. It covered the benches in the local school, the barrels where rainwater was stored, the benches in the town square. Every exposed centimetre was given the same treatment, including Henry's uniform, his plane, the Jeep he rode in…

Now the dust floated through the air, obscuring what little sunlight they had left, leaving everyone gasping for breath. He tried covering his mouth with his hand to prevent himself from inhaling any of it, but recoiled immediately as he felt moisture on his skin. He pulled his hand back to find blood — not his — but who's it was he had absolutely no idea. He stumbled down the streets, trying his best to duck into doorways when he could and make it out alive, find his squadron, anything.

He began to realize the blood on his hand was also on his leg, and he focused on the ground before him. Dead bodies were piling up on the streets and he was fighting a very strong urge to vomit at the sight and smell of them. This was so vastly different from being in a cockpit, from looking at a screen, at green dots and sets of coordinates. These were dead people in the streets. They looked dead, pale, and ghostly, like corpses. Because they were actually corpses. He felt sick. He rounded a corner when—

Henry clearly hadn't snapped out of whatever state he was in; he didn't register Elizabeth next to him, trying to focus his attention. It took a good ten minutes of careful coaxing before the terror left his face and his breathing slowed. Henry glanced over at Elizabeth, exhausted and still shaking. She looked him over, terrified because she'd never seen him in such a state, never seen him so helpless. He was white as a sheet, nearly as pale as the bodies he'd seen piled up on the streets, and he couldn't quite believe he was alive, or here with Elizabeth. He pressed a hand to her heart, needing to feel it beat. The effort it took him seemed herculean. He looked up at her questioningly, like a lost puppy, and she immediately understood.

"You're okay," she repeated, and he nodded timidly. "I'm okay. We're both okay." She opened her arms and pulled him into her embrace, shifting as he let himself slump against her, too weak to do anything else. She settled them against the headboard, letting Henry recover for a little while she tried to inventory her own feelings. She'd never seen him like this: unable to function. It scared the living hell out of her, but that was not her main concern at the moment. Her needs were going to have to take the backseat for a little bit, she had to be the strong one right now.

Henry seemed to have calmed down after a few minutes, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He ran his hands over his face and took a couple of deep, shaky breaths. Elizabeth could see the unshed tears prickling behind his eyelids, and she gave him a weak smile. Beyond the tears, she detected something else in him — shame. Shame for the mess he'd caused, for waking her and scaring her and burdening her with this thing, this weight he'd been carrying. This thing he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge up until now. She saw that, because she knew him better than he knew himself sometimes.

"Hey, look at me, Henry." He complied, eyeing her with regret and so many apologies that waited to spill out. "Don't be strong for me right now. I can handle it. It's okay to let go, it's okay to feel. Even Marines break sometimes."

She hugged him again, let him pull her close this time — she knew he needed that ounce of control, as his body began to shake and choked sobs escaped him. She ran her hands up and down his back, rubbing soothing circles as she wondered what the hell had happened to him over there. Henry was never shy of expressing emotion, but it was rare for him to fall apart like this, to expose himself fully and let everything out in the open all at once.

She held him like that for what seemed like forever, until he was out of tears to shed. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and let out a deep breath. He was so grateful for Elizabeth, for staying and being unwavering but he hated that he did this to her. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

She sat up and looked him in the eyes. "Why? What are you sorry for?"

"For waking you up, for being a mess. You shouldn't have had to see that." He ran a hand over his face again, the exhaustion hitting him full force.

"Don't ever apologize for that, please. I'm here for you, and I can't bear for you to deal with this all alone. Henry, what happened?"

He sighed and rubbed his temples. He didn't want to tell her, burden her further. She didn't deserve this, any of it, not least of all because he hadn't processed anything himself.

"Babe, I can't, you shouldn't… you don't want to know, trust me."

"Henry, I want to help you. Please let me help you."

"I don't know how. Baby, I'm exhausted." It was true, he felt drained, like all the energy he ever had was gone and he was limp and powerless. Elizabeth could see it in his eyes, how he was struggling to keep them open.

"Close your eyes," she said, admitting that tonight they'd done all the talking they could. Henry complied and laid down, facing her. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his lips. She wrapped herself around him, making sure he knew he was home with her and safe. "Now sleep, and we'll talk in the morning."

…

Elizabeth woke early in the morning, while Henry was still sleeping soundly. She was so glad he'd been able to sleep without any more nightmares, after last night. She didn't want to wake him, wanted to let him rest and recover, so she slipped out of bed quietly. She made a cup of coffee and sat down on the couch, mulling the past few hours over in her head. She had no idea what to do for Henry, how to help him, what he needed right now.

Elizabeth felt helpless, so she called the one person who she knew had been in similar situations, and could maybe help her to get Henry talking.

She held her breath as the line rang, and waited for the person on the other end to pick up. "Adams," a gruff voice said, clearly still half asleep. Oops.

"Will, it's Lizzie. Sorry to wake you up."

"No problem, I was napping. How are you? Did Henry get back okay?" Will and Elizabeth hadn't talked for a while, since he was still in Africa.

"I'm good, Henry's back. Will, I need your help."

She told Will what had happened with Henry, and thankfully, her brother understood. Some of his colleagues had gone through similar when they were stationed in war zones, and he told Elizabeth that Henry would open up when he was ready. All she could do now was wait and be there for him. Not the most concrete advice, but she was grateful still.

"Will, I have one more thing." He still didn't know about the CIA, and she figured it was high time she read her brother in.

"Yeah?'

"I got a job about a month ago."

"That's great Lizzie! I'm happy for you."

"It's at the CIA, Will. I'm an analyst. This is me reading you in."

"Wait, what?"

"I was recruited for the CIA, as an analyst. I figured this was as good a time as any to tell you. Sorry it's so out of the blue."

"My sister is a spy? My sister, Lizzie Adams, a spy?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, then I gotta say congratulations Lizzie."

"Thanks Will."

"Have you told Henry?"

"When he came back; he met my boss and colleagues at dinner last night."

"Good. Listen, I have a million questions, because you're a spy and that's insane, but I have to go. I'll catch you later. Love you.

"Love you too. Go save some lives."

She hung up the phone then, and sighed. She reached for her cup of coffee, taking a sip and realizing it had gotten cold. She got up to make a new cup and almost bumped into Henry on her way into the kitchen. He'd surprised her, she hadn't expected him to be up yet.

She awkwardly ducked out of his way and padded into the kitchen. He followed her with his gaze, scratching at the back of his neck, trying to find a way to alleviate the awkwardness of the whole situation. He walked into the kitchen too and leant on the counter.

"Have you eaten?"

"No," she replied, gazing up at him.

"Pancakes?"

"Yes, please." It gave them a task, something to do, something to fill the time and allow them to not talk about what they needed to talk about — last night. Soon, they were sat around the kitchen table with stacks of pancakes, eating in relative silence.

Henry was the first to speak. "I'm sorry about last night." He took Elizabeth's hand in his and gave it a squeeze, looking up at her with an apologetic glance.

"Don't be, Henry. You were in a war, you get to be emotional about this. You have to process somehow."

He nodded at her, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Henry, do you want to talk about it?" She looked at him with nothing but love and concern, all she wanted was for his pain to go away.

He sighed again, moving to clear the plates. Elizabeth was confused, and a little angry he'd completely avoided her. She begrudgingly followed him and waited to place the plates in the dishwasher. Henry, however, had other ideas, and began hand-washing his plate.

So this was the game they were playing.

She joined him at the sink, bumping her hip against his, letting him know she got it. Usually she stress-cleaned, not him, but he'd taken up her tactic and she was fine with it. Whatever he needed to open up and talk.

They washed in silence for a little bit, until Henry spoke quietly. "There was one night where we heard explosions close to base. There were more explosions than usual — gunfire and shouting too. The patrols went out, to go check on what was happening. I'd just come back from flying, and was still in uniform and armed and they took me and a few other guy from my squad with them. We went into the town and god…" he paused, taking a deep breath. "It's one thing to be up at 40,000 feet dropping a bomb on a green target on a monitor, it's a whole other world down on the ground."

He swallowed thickly before continuing, watching Elizabeth closely as he told her why he was haunted every night. He spared the details, gave her a pared down version of events, but nonetheless, he saw Elizabeth's poker face crumble just a little, saw her hands grip the pan she was scrubbing tighter, saw her eyes widen. Yeah, that was the main reason he hadn't told her anything yet.

He finished out his story and dried off his hands, turning to lean with his back against the sink. He stared off into space before angling his head over to a still-silent Elizabeth. "I didn't want you to have to know that," he whispered. "It's bad enough that I was there, but you had nothing to do with it and don't need to worry. I honestly thought I had it all under control."

She dried her own hands and moved to stand in front of Henry, placing her palms on his chest. She looked him in the eyes and her gaze spoke volumes. She opened her mouth to speak but opted out of it, instead wrapping him in a tight hug and burying her head in the crook of his neck. He hugged her back and they pour all the emotion into it that they couldn't seem to convey in words.

When she pulled back, she whispered: "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head, pressed a kiss to her cheek. "No, I am."

"Henry Patrick McCord, if you apologize for this again I'm gonna—" she begun with exasperation in her tone. He silenced her with a kiss, a bruising, drugging one, winding his hands through her hair and slipping his tongue into her mouth. They come up for air, and he was pleased to see he'd taken her breath away.

"Okay," he nodded. "No more apologizing. I love you, so much."

"I love you too."

"What happens now?" He gazed at her forlornly, and she just took his hands in hers.

"We keep talking. And you wake me up in the middle of the night if you have to, and we talk. Or you find someone else to talk too, if you need it. But know that I can handle it. And that you don't have to be strong for me, you just have to be you."

"You're incredible." He dipped down again to peck her lips, smiling.

"I know." She winked up at him, eliciting a chuckle. It was going to be all right, she realized, and she smiled back.