A/N: For quite some time, I've been contemplating the idea to flip canon and have Elizabeth freak out and leave Henry, which makes more sense to me, both from her perspective and history, and perhaps because of (my) personal experience. This scene (and my previous drabble Faith over Fear) became the basis for the complete story, set in the summer Henry is stationed in Miramar for flight training. The pieces will all connect eventually.

When she called on the first night, Elizabeth choked out Henry's name, words strangled in her throat. Her fingers gripped the plastic receiver so tightly she later had to massage the cramps from her aching hands. Henry peppered frantic questions against her ear, ones to which she had no answers. All she could say was "I can't" and "I'm sorry" and finally, "I love you".

She hung up the phone carefully, like handling fine crystal, then curled into a ball on top of the faded comforter and willed the tears to come. But her eyes stayed dry, and the bedside lamp blazed through the sleepless hours until sunrise lit the room.

On the second night, Henry switched tactics, attempting to draw her into conversation with soothing reassurances, finally giving up after promising to search every hotel in Miramar, to which Elizabeth meekly whispered "please, don't".

When her body wearily succumbed to sleep, she dreamt of folded flags and solemn condolences, deep, gaping holes in the ground, where Henry lay and she could never reach him. She woke, gasping for air, clawing and shoving at ghosts of an honor guard, and the gut wrenching horror from her nightmares sent her bolting into the tiny bathroom, her knees grinding into the rough tile as she dry heaved into the toilet.

Hours later, Elizabeth crawled on shaky legs to her backpack, digging into its depths for Henry's shirt that she'd grabbed in her blind panic when she ran from their apartment. The soft Marine green smelled of sandalwood and cloves and she stripped down to her underwear to wrap herself in his scent.

By the third night, Henry's patience hung by a thread, stress and confusion eating away at any compassion he could muster for her.

"Elizabeth," he bit out. "You need to come home." He tempered his demand, but only barely, and Elizabeth could hear him catch himself before he said more. "We need to talk."

Her courage faltered as the fear threatened to overwhelm her again, but she grasped at the desperate plea in his voice, faint against the anger.

"Can you come get me?"

Seconds passed, an eternity when Henry didn't answer, and nausea churned in her stomach. Had she imagined it? Henry always had faith, enough for both of them. Had he given up, too?

She nearly hung up, had shifted the receiver away from her ear when she heard his gruff reply.

"Where are you?"

On the breath that whooshed out of her lungs, Elizabeth quickly muttered the address of her hotel.

She had nothing to pack but the sweat soaked clothes she'd thrown haphazardly in the corner. She didn't bother with her bra, shoving that and her tank top into her backpack after pulling on her hopelessly wrinkled shorts. From her vantage point near the window, Elizabeth perched on the edge of the flimsy chair from the desk in the corner, straps of her bag clutched like a lifeline in her hands. Through the blinds- parted slightly for the first time in days- she could see the parking lot, knew the minute Henry's borrowed, battered Jeep rolled over the broken asphalt. The tires crunched on the gravel, muffled through walls and glass and distance.

Suddenly the panic swept in, smothering her in a heavy blanket of memories. Elizabeth clawed her way back to the present, nails digging crescent-shaped welts into the skin of her thighs. She was 21, and in a hotel. She wasn't 15, or at home waiting for her parents. The fear paralyzed her- she couldn't move, couldn't make herself get up to meet him, until Henry's knock shot through the fog in her head, and she bolted to her feet, gasping.

Elizabeth didn't register leaving the room, or walking to the battered, borrowed Jeep. She stumbled over her own feet when they reached the passenger door, and Henry caught her by the elbow, then quickly dropped her arm when she righted herself and slid onto the seat.

On the drive home, they were both silent, lost in their emotions, uncharacteristically unsure of the other. They'd never been this awkward before, this tentative. The radio was too loud, the announcer too cheerful, but when Henry snapped off the dial, the silence was even louder, more harsh. Elizabeth stared absently out the window, the roadside scenery a passing blur, trying to ignore the fervent glances Henry darted her way, to block out his restless fingers tapping against the gear shift. She twisted the hem of Henry's t-shirt- the one still she wore- between her fingers, fisting the material, then smoothing it out, over and over, until Henry turned into their apartment complex.

Before Henry had shifted to park, Elizabeth scrambled out of the Jeep. He got to their apartment before she did, regarding her warily like he expected her to bolt at any second. When he opened the door, Elizabeth brushed past him, tossing her backpack against the wall with a thud.

"I need a shower." She dismissed Henry, needing to compose herself before their inevitable argument.

When Elizabeth was alone in the bathroom, door securely locked, a deep sob escaped before she could bite her knuckle to prevent her tears from flowing. She wrenched the shower nozzle all the way to the left, then wearily shed her clothes. Her naked image disappeared in the mirror as steam filled the air, and she watched herself fade into nothingness.

Elizabeth stepped over the lip of the tub mechanically, nearly scalding her skin before she could adjust the temperature. Even then, she left the water too hot, nearly more than she could stand. She stood in the spray as long as she could, but the water ran cold long before she was ready.

When she emerged into the living room, Henry sat on one end of the couch, nursing a drink between his palms. A beer sat on the coffee table, condensation pooling at the base. He didn't look up when Elizabeth walked in, nor when the cushions dipped as she settled at the end opposite to him. She tucked her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins.

Endless minutes passed, the room so still she could hear the sound of her pulse rushing in her ears.

Elizabeth shuddered slightly as she nuzzled into the warmth of her flannel pants, the faint scent of lavender from her shampoo and dryer sheets strangely settling. When she lifted her head she realized her hair was still dripping, and absently wiped the trails of water from her forearm with a fingertip.

Henry drained the bourbon in one long swallow, then set down his glass with a sharp thud. Those hazel eyes appraised her, long and hard, until he seemed to reach some sort of conclusion. Henry rubbed his palms over his thighs, denim rasping in the quiet. He shifted, dug in the pocket of his jeans, and set something else on the table. A tiny black, velvet box. The one she'd seen in his dresser drawer.

Elizabeth's jerked, her knuckles turning white as her fingers clenched. She took a bracing breath, then looked directly into Henry's eyes. God, he looked old, as if the last week had aged him by years. His stare was flat and cold, absent even of the hurt she'd seen when he arrived at the hotel.

For as long as she'd known Henry, as much as they'd been through, those eyes had reflected so many emotions- but never disdain.

This wasn't the man she loved so much it hurt. Not the man she loved so much she hurt him. Had she done this to him, from being so thoughtless with his feelings when she was drowning in hers?

"That's not fair." Her words cracked like shattered glass as her shoulders curled in to protect her body from the coming onslaught.

But Henry didn't yell, didn't raise his voice. "It's not?" His question was completely devoid of emotion. "It's as fair as you leaving with no explanation."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apologies, Elizabeth. I want to know why." Despair crept into his request, and Henry visibly wrestled with his composure. When he'd regained control again, he ground out. "I want to understand."

"I can't wait for you to die, Henry."

Shock burst through the blank expression he'd so painstakingly struggled to maintain.

"I'm not going to die-"

"I didn't think my parents would die, either. And they did. I know you can. Every day, when you get in that plane, I know you could die. I don't know if I can live with that."

Henry pushed to his feet, snatching the ring box off the table. "This isn't something new, Elizabeth. I've been in the military our entire relationship." He ran his fingers through his hair roughly, cupping the back of his neck while he paced. "You knew I'd end up deploying. None of this has been a surprise. But you've never said anything." Henry whirled, and glared at her accusingly. "Ever."

"I thought I could handle it. But when that plane crashed, all I could think, all day, is that it was you."

Elizabeth scrubbed the heel of one hand between her eyebrows, then pinched the bridge of her nose between a thumb and forefinger. Her mind scrambled for something, anything to distract her from the vivid images of that damned plane. If she closed her eyes, she'd see that plane crashing on repeat, like a broken recording in her brain, but the nightmare didn't stop when she was awake.

"I had no information, nothing. No one would tell me anything. I'm just your girlfriend." Her lips pulled into sarcastic grimace. "The irony, huh?" She stared pointedly at Henry's hand, and the ring he held.

"Until you called, I thought you were dead. All that time waiting, and I didn't know my parents were dead." Every word pitched desperately higher, then faded to a whisper when her chin dropped to her chest. "But I was convinced you were."

Elizabeth forced several deep breaths to calm herself, but she still began to tremble.

"And even when I knew you were safe, the fear was crushing. It could've been you." Her explanation sounded hollow, emotionally irrational, but it was still all she had to offer.

"But it wasn't. I'm not your parents, Elizabeth."

"No, you're not." Elizabeth sighed. And maybe, she'd never get past that- the grief, the desolation- despite his reassurances, despite her logic. They both recognized the familiar echo they'd rehashed and discussed and argued, endlessly.

Her gaze flicked back to his as she hugged her torso, rubbing her upper arms as if to warm her body. "You could be, the next time. Or the next. Or for the months you'll be overseas. It still could be you, Henry."

"So you just left? I thought we were in this together."

Henry's fist tightened. He cocked his wrist slightly, as if he were going to toss the box back on the table. Instead he loosened his grip until it sat flat on his palm, taunting them both with the symbol of promises- some made, some unspoken, all of them now shattered.

"I thought we knew this was it, for both of us." His shoulders visibly drooped, the weight of his emotions too heavy to withstand. His fingers closed again, and his arm fell limply to his side. The turmoil he'd tried so hard to suppress flooded his features.

"We are, Henry. It is. You're everything to me." The tears that had been bottling up finally began to spill down her cheeks. "And that's why I can't."

"What do we do now?" Henry asked through teeth clenched so tight Elizabeth could see the muscles twitching in his jaw. His voice cracked as he finally acknowledged the question that neither of them could fathom.

Elizabeth shoved damp hair out of her eyes, raking the strands off her forehead and over her shoulders.

Stalling.

Tugged at the neck of her t-shirt, smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her pants.

Searching.

Dug her toes between the edges of the couch cushions.

Delaying the inevitable.

Swiped the back of her hands over her cheeks.

And still, she only had one answer for him, the same one she'd had for the past three days- and if she were honest, for the past two months.

"I don't know."