Prompt: Elizabeth doesn't love flying, but it's not scary when Henry's the pilot.

The sky was the brightest, clearest of blues on that sunny summer day in June. It was Elizabeth's favorite kind of day, when the air was warm and there was a breeze that lifted the leaves and rustled through her hair just enough to be pleasant, and the sun soaked into her skin without being too hot. Her hand was in Henry's as her shoes marked a continuous pattern of in-line steps on the blacktop under them, but in spite of the beautiful day and her husband of one year next to her, Elizabeth couldn't help the faint, present nervousness that gnawed at her somewhere inside her chest.

In the distance up ahead, she could see the little planes laid out in rows on the tarmac, small pleasure flying planes that she knew Henry loved. The sight of them- despite Henry's nearly tangible excitement as he walked beside her- made Elizabeth anxious. It wasn't that she had ever had a particularly bad experience flying. She hadn't experienced a crash or near miss, she hadn't lost anyone in a plane, or even known anyone tangentially who had. She supposed it was, like many fears, just an irrational idea she'd gotten into her head at some point and never been able to shake. But the truth of it was, Elizabeth just didn't like flying. she had flown before, of course, and she wasn't as anxious about it as some were, but it made her nervous.

When Henry had excitedly suggested going on a little afternoon flight just the two of them, with him at the helm of the aircraft, she had seen the light in his eyes, and somehow she just hadn't had the heart to refuse him. She had been reasoning with herself internally ever since, reminding herself that she was an adult, that it would be perfectly safe and fine, and that there was no reason to be anxious. And that had been working for her, for the most part. But now as she was looking at the planes growing nearer to them with every step, she was thinking that maybe she wasn't so good at keeping her nervousness at bay after all.

"Perfect weather," Henry was saying beside her. He tilted his head back and the sun settled in his young features, and Elizabeth was not a sap but she could almost feel her breath catch at the sight of him there in the summer sunshine.

"It's lovely," she agreed.

He glanced sideways at her, half amusement on his face.

"You're nervous."

It was not a question. Elizabeth shouldn't have been surprised at Henry's ability to read her so well, but it did still sometimes catch her off guard. She met his gaze, and she was sure there was a blush in her cheeks that she had not intended to be present.

"What?" she asked, and Henry smiled, not condescending but affectionate. He squeezed her hand lightly, in such a familiar way.

"It's okay," he said. "I promise I'm a good pilot."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"I didn't say you're not," she argued. Henry shook his head.

"No, you didn't," he agreed lightly. They were approaching the planes now, and Elizabeth squinted at them in the sunshine.

"Which one is ours?" she asked. Henry had rented some time in one of these little planes, and he now consulted the paper he'd been given in the office of the small Virgina airfield.

"Number forty-seven," he said, pointing to the number painted in bright blue on the tail of a nearby plane.

Elizabeth studied it. It looked sturdy enough to her- but how could such a little plane really be that safe? She pushed the thought out of her mind.

"Are you ready?" Henry asked as they approached.

"Yep," Elizabeth answered.

She wasn't sure how honest she was being with him- or even with herself. But Elizabeth McCord- young and feisty and bright as she was- never backed down if she could help it. So she reached for the shining silver handle of the plane's hatch door and started in. Henry watched with something so warm in his eyes. Elizabeth, in her favorite jeans and a t-shirt that she'd had for as long as Henry had known her, looked so familiar and comfortable to him that it almost took his breath away to remember that she was his wife. They'd been married for a year now, and he often wondered if that feeling of stunned amazement would ever fade. He had gotten very lucky with Elizabeth, and he intended to never forget it. When Elizabeth was in the cabin of the little plane, she looked down at Henry and he thought that she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"You coming?" she asked. Henry had never agreed faster.

When the two of them were strapped in, Elizabeth stared, daunted, at the panel of buttons and controls spread out before her.

"Do I have to do anything?" she asked, sounding uncertain. Henry shook his head.

"Not really," he answered. "Just enjoy the view." He grinned at her in a way that made him look young and boyish, but as Elizabeth checked for the third time the tightness of her seatbelt, she wasn't sure how much she'd be able to enjoy anything. Henry to her left was checking controls quietly, and she paused for a moment to watch. He looked at home here somehow, in this little plane, strapped to the seat comfortable and confidently. She liked that, liked seeing him at ease in a thing that he loved to do.

"Ready?" he asked, looking up to meet her gaze with his bright hazel eyes. She nodded.

"Ready," she echoed. Henry spoke through his microphone to the control tower, and soon, a crackling voice on the radio gave them clearance to move, and then the little plane was rolling down the runway. Elizabeth watched the pavement slip by outside the window and her heart raced.

They were cleared for takeoff and she watched the ground fall away. the sight made her stomach churn so she tore her eyes away from the window and turned them instead to Henry, whose familiar eyes were steady and concentrated on the windshield before them, his hands steady on the controls, and elizabeth noticed for the first time how calm the plane was, how it moved so much more smoothly than she had expected. As they climbed higher into the sky, Henry took a little glance at Elizabeth.

"You okay?" he asked, a smile playing tentatively across his familiar features.

And, surprisingly, Elizabeth found that she was okay.

"Actually, yeah," she answered, unable to keep the faint notes of wonder from creeping into her tone.

"Good," Henry said with a grin. The plane had leveled off and Elizabeth turned her eyes back to the window. When she looked down, she could see sprawling green land below her, trees, and tiny specks that were actually cars. It was a sight to behold, actually, far different than viewing the earth from a commercial plane that flew much higher.

"What do you think?" Henry asked. He chanced another look at Elizabeth, thrilled to find her looking very calm and curious as she gazed out the window.

She looked back at him, and when she smiled, she did so with ease.

"It's beautiful," she said sincerely.

She looked back out the window, at the endless expanse of blue sky in front of them, and she was stunned to find herself not nervous at all. The gnawing anxiety had gone, and she was completely at ease, truly enjoying the view, just like Henry had said.

"You're not nervous anymore," he remarked, and she shook her head.

"I'm not," she admitted. She didn't say it out loud, but she supposed that there had to be something different about this, about being in the plane with her husband as its pilot, something that made it easier to fly. Henry, after all, was as close to safety as Elizabeth knew. she trusted him. She wouldn't have thought beforehand that it would make much of a difference, but now that she was in the sky with Henry at her side, she realized that it made all the difference in the world.

"Maybe you are a good pilot," she said, a teasing edge layered into her voice.

"You doubted me?" Henry teased back.

"Oh yeah," Elizabeth answered. "I had absolutely no confidence in you."

Henry laughed, bright and carefree, and Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment, the sun warming her skin through the glass, blue sky and Henry's laughter all around her, and right then, the sky seemed like the perfect place to be.