"It's done."
Henry played the words over in his mind, time and time again. It's done. It's done. It's done. It seemed to be in synch with the beating of his heart as he leaned against the door of the small apartment he'd been inhabiting for the past six months. He was going home. The operation was complete, and Henry had facilitated the safe return of every American who had been in danger. No one had even been injured. It had been long and grueling and difficult, and now he was going home. He took a slow breath and pushed off of the surface of the door. It didn't take Henry long to pack; he'd barely been able to convince himself to be there, let alone really unpack in the first place. His few possessions found their way back into his suitcase and soon, the apartment bore no trace that he'd been there at all, except for one thing. He crossed the room to the little desk and opened the top right hand drawer. A stack of letters were the only thing in it, and Henry picked them up carefully, transferring them safely to the front pocket of his bag. He took a deep breath and didn't bother to take one last look around before he was out the door for the very last time.
On the plane that would return Henry to his family a few hours later, Henry looked down at a blank sheet of paper. Glancing out the window, he gazed at the clouds and wished he knew what words to say. He would be seeing his wife and children in a matter of hours, and they had no idea he was even alive. He was both excited and so nervous that he thought he might actually vomit. He returned his gaze to the paper and dated it- one last letter to Elizabeth to join the others, he told himself. One final piece of this awful, heart wrenching, terrible piece of their story together.
Dearest Elizabeth,
I'm on my way home to you and I almost cannot allow myself to believe it. I can't recall ever being so nervous in my entire life, which is an odd feeling considering that you have always felt like home. Your presence alone has always been able to ease my nerves in an instant, with just one glance of your eyes or one small smile or the tiniest touch. Yet, the idea of seeing you again elicits a myriad of feelings just now. I can't wait to hold you in my arms again, to wrap you up against me and never let you go. I can't wait to kiss you and see the way you look at me and hear your voice again. I can't wait to see the kids, to see if Jason is taller than I am yet and to give Stevie the letter I wrote for her birthday and just hold Alison. But if I'm being honest, and with you I always want to be, I'm scared. I'ms cared that nothing will be the same. That you will all have moved on or that you'll be different people or that nothing will fit the way it used to. That you won't understand or be able to forgive me for what I've done to our family. It's been on my mind nearly every moment of the last six months, this fear that you will hate me for the choice I made. But Elizabeth, it wasn't like that. I never wanted to leave you. I've been a mess for the past six months and they've been the worst and longest of my life. Even so, I know that you've been through hell in these weeks we've been apart. You've mourned the death of all that we had. The death of your husband, your friend, your family, everything that you believed in. I believe you can come back from that. I believe we can come back from that. I believe that the love we have for each other is enough. But if that's too much for you, I'll understand. If I've gone too far this time, Elizabeth, I get it. If you can't handle it, please don't feel badly. I understand. I understand if it's too hard to move forward with me. I'm going to give you these letters, and by the time you get to this one, you'll have a clear picture of my life for the past half a year without you. As much as I hope this half of a year does not eclipse the thirty before it, I don't want you to suffer anymore. I want you to do whatever is going to give you the most peace. If that's to continue mourning, to move forward without that in your life, I understand. Don't sacrifice your peace of mind for me. Do what you have to do. But also remember that I'm going to be yours until the end of time. I'll love you until my last breath and then some, Elizabeth McCord. You are a force, a gift, and my truest, deepest, most treasured love. You always were, and you always will be, my heart and soul. I love you, more than all the stars.
Always,
Henry
Biting back tears, Henry folded the letter and creased it forcefully, giving it a sense of finality as he added it to the others in his bag next to him. With that, he gazed out the window once more and lost himself to thoughts of Elizabeth and his uncertain future with her.
Meanwhile, across the world in Washington, DC, Russell Jackson closed the door of the Oval Office and waited for the President to speak.
"Henry McCord is coming home," Conrad said. Russell physically stopped in his tracks.
"He's coming home?" he repeated, and Conrad nodded again.
"He's on a plane as we speak."
"When does he land?" Russell asked, emotionless tone not betraying the way his heart was beating erratically in his chest. He flashed back to that night with Elizabeth, and thought of Stevie at her tiny intern desk on the other side of these walls, and he was filled with a desperation to do something, even though he would never admit it out loud. He had come to love the McCords, in spite of and perhaps a little bit because of, their hopeful spirits and inability to be knocked down. It had not been easy for Russell, keeping his mouth shut about this. Every time he caught Stevie gazing off into the distance as if she were living on another planet, he'd wanted to tell her. And every time he walked into Elizabeth's office unannounced and saw the family photos collecting dust behind her, he'd had to bite his tongue. Facilitating their reunion, he thought, was the very least he could do.
"Seven p.m.," the President responded
"I'll get Elizabeth and the kids here by eight," Russell said. Conrad nodded, and just as Russell was turning to leave, he spoke again.
"What if I've destroyed them?" he asked, as if the question was hard to ask. Russell turned slowly back to look at him. Their eyes met across the oval office and Russell sighed.
"Then that'll be on you," he responded truthfully. "But if we're being honest, I don't think it's possible."
With that, he turned and left, and Conrad, alone once more with his decisions, took a drink.
