Prompt: For most of his life, Henry's faith has made him curious and intrigued about the afterlife. Only on his deathbed is he truly afraid, and it's up to Elizabeth to soothe him.
TW / non-graphic character death
It was raining and cold on that day in February. The forecast was calling for ice and snow later, but for now rain fell in sheets over Virginia as Elizabeth McCord sat at her husband's side, his hand warm in hers, and gazed out the window while he slept. She was grateful that they had made these decisions- that they were able to bring Henry home to their little downsized house away from the city. They had moved back to the farm after her successful two-term Presidency, but eventually it became too much upkeep for them. Now, Stevie lived there with her own family, a decision which Henry and Elizabeth had been thrilled with. Stevie's three children, now all in their twenties save the 19-year-old youngest, flitted in and out as they found their wings, and family gatherings held there were something to behold with Alison's one adopted teenage daughter and Jason's now thirteen-year-old twins. Elizabeth remembered fondly the days when her grandchildren were all a little younger and the farmhouse was filled with rambunctious, happy children each holiday season.
Days when she and Henry had been a little younger, too.
She pulled her gaze from the dreary weather outside and settled it on Henry instead. He looked peaceful right now, sleeping in their bed. Peace was not a given for Henry these days; she knew that he'd been struggling, knew that the time to say goodbye was drawing nearer with every passing day. She reached over and gently brushed her fingers through his hair, thinner and grey now where it had once been thick and brown. But it was still soft and familiar under her touch, and she reveled in that feeling, wishing that she had so much more time to do it.
She'd had a very full and beautiful life with him, and she knew that. But a hundred lifetimes with Henry could still never be enough for her.
As she watched him, Henry stirred, blinking his hazel eyes at her. She reached over to the bedside table and picked up his glasses, placing them gently on his face. He'd taken to asking for them lately, every time he was awake. They both new why- Henry really just wanted to spend the last waking moments of his life looking at Elizabeth- but neither of them could bear to say it out loud.
"Hey, handsome," she said softly, bringing a little smile to Henry's face. His eyes still brightened at the sight of her, love and tenderness etched into every line on his face. She was grateful, at least, that it was happening this way- Henry was still Henry, every bit as sharp, thoughtful, and bright as he'd always been.
"How you feeling?" Elizabeth asked.
"I feel okay," Henry answered, and she could tell that he meant it. He just looked at her for a minute, taking in the marks of age on her skin and the white of her hair, faded now from its once-honeyed hue. But the brightest blue eyes Henry had ever seen still sparkled when they met his, and Elizabeth had retained her natural elegance and to Henry, she was, as she had always been, the most beautiful woman in the world.
"Elizabeth?" Henry asked. He sounded vaguely hesitant.
"Yes?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"You just did," she countered, and he smiled, but wasn't deterred, so she nodded for him to go on.
"What do you think happens next?"
There was a silence in the room following his words. They'd had a very communicative marriage, but this was a subject that Henry and Elizabeth hadn't touched in decades.
"Oh, Henry," Elizabeth sighed. "I've been trying really hard not to think about that."
It wasn't the answer Henry wanted, and Elizabeth knew it; she just wasn't sure she could face having this conversation with him. But then she looked up and Henry had his head down, his once-agile fingers slowly picking at a thread on the comforter. Truthfully, it had been a long time since she had seen him look so troubled, and it pulled at her somewhere deep in her chest. She swallowed hard, knowing that this was the moment to suck it up and be what he needed from her. She would never be able to forgive herself if Henry died with something like this troubling him, some fear or concern that she'd had the opportunity to assuage. She squeezed his hand and said his name tenderly, and he looked up to meet her gaze, his eyes familiar as ever behind the lenses of his glasses.
"What's wrong, babe?" she asked gently.
Henry sighed, and glanced down again, as if it were hard for him to speak about this and look at Elizabeth at the same time.
"I've always...thought that there was something," Henry began. "Somewhere to go after this. At different times in my life I guess I thought different things but I was always sure that there was something."
Elizabeth watched him quietly, letting him go at his own pace and get the words out. The rain outside lashed against the window and if they had looked, they'd have been able to see the bare tree limbs whipping in the sharp wind against the gray backdrop of the winter sky.
Henry looked up at Elizabeth, and there was unmistakable fear on his features.
"Elizabeth, what if I was wrong?" he asked, and his voice shook. Elizabeth felt a tightness inside her that she could not name. He looked so young right then, despite the obvious signs of age that covered him from head to toe. His eyes were opened wide and his expression called to her; Henry was scared.
"Henry," she breathed. "Honey, what would ever make you think now that you'd be wrong?"
"Because- I'm dying," he admitted. He knew it, and she knew it, though they'd been careful not to say it so clearly. The words, spoken so bluntly by her husband, took Elizabeth's breath away.
"And-" he continued, biting his lip.
"And what?" she prompted softly. He met her gaze.
"And you don't believe that I'm going somewhere else," he whispered, and looked away. Elizabeth's heart sank so low that she would swear she could feel it in her stomach like a deep, dark pit.
"Oh, Henry," she breathed. "Henry. Look at me."
He forced himself to do as she had asked, hazel eyes meeting blue as they had so many times over the course of their life together.
"Henry McCord, you are the kindest, gentlest, most careful and wonderful person I've known in this lifetime or in any other," she said quietly, leaning in toward him, settling both of her hands on his against the blanket. His eyes were glued to her now, riveted, like he couldn't get enough of her voice.
"If anyone is going somewhere better than here, Henry…" she began with a tiny smile and a little shake of her head, "it's you."
Henry felt tears sting the backs of his eyes and Elizabeth's expression turned, if possible, a shade more tender.
"Oh, baby," she whispered, moving one hand to rest it against his cheek. He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes, sending tears rolling slowly along the lines of his face. Elizabeth fought back tears of her own.
"Elizebth, I'm scared," Henry admitted, his voice breaking. Elizabeth moved a lot more slowly these days, but it didn't take her very long to crawl into bed next to Henry and wrap her arms around him. He nestled into her, and the position made her body ache, but she didn't care. She wouldn't have moved from this spot next to him now if her life depended on it.
"Shh," she soothed as she felt Henry's breath catch under her hand on his back. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay."
And she found that somehow, right that moment, she really believed that. Elizabeth was not a religious person, and she never had been. But she'd always been comforted in a certain way by the fact that Henry was. His faith informed her life, too, more and more as they aged. More as the Secretary of State than as a professor, and more as the President than ever before, and more now even than then. She took comfort in Henry's faith, as if he were a divine extension, a buffer between her and religion. But there was also the fact that Henry was what she had faith in. And if Henry believed in divinity, well- that was enough for Elizabeth.
Now, as he cried in her arms and that next life loomed close like the heavy dark sky outside the window, Elizabeth was struck by the nature of the situation, by the way her faith in Henry was the faith that was taking the front seat when it had been his faith in divinity which had been driving for so many years.
"I thought-" Henry started, his voice muffed against the fabric of Elizabeth's sweater. She very gently rubbed his back; his skin was sensitive now, but he had always been soothed by her hands on him.
"Thought what?" she asked him.
"That I would be ready."
He looked up at her, looking so small and so afraid that she wanted to weep like a child. But she just looked back at him.
"I'm not ready," he whispered. "I want to stay with you."
And Elizabeth ached in a way that was much deeper than the aches of old age, deeper than the chill in her bones due to rain and cold weather. She ached for how desperately she wanted that, too.
"I know, babe," she breathed. "Me, too."
"I'm sorry," he said, and Elizabeth was sure that her ribs were cracking the force of it all, that she would simply break into pieces and fall limp just to avoid the feeling that was creeping through her veins with every word out of Henry's mouth.
"You don't need to be sorry, Henry," she assured him. She was not sure how she was still functioning enough to calm him, with the raging grief in her chest that was tearing shreds in her lungs. It had arrived early, and she thought that it was probably there to stay, taking up permanent residence in the chambers of her heart.
"I don't want to leave you yet," he said, his breath on her neck as he clung to her in a way that he had not for a long time. Now that they were curled up here together, Elizabeth felt as if she would never want to leave the bed again.
"Hey," she said, encouraging him to look at her again. She looked tenderly back at him, resting her palm again on his cheek, swiping away a stray tear with the pad of her thumb.
"You asked me what I think happens next," she said. He nodded slightly, his gaze hungry on hers, hopeful, desperate for solace.
"I don't know," Elizabeth said honestly. "I- I don't know what happens next, Henry, but what I do know…" She leaned in, and pressed her lips hard against his forehead, hard enough to feel it, for the first time in a while. Then she met his eyes again.
"What I do know," she repeated, tangling her fingers with his, "is that wherever you're going, Henry McCord, I'm going with you."
And just in that moment, Henry believed her with every fiber of his being. Something in him calmed, like the stillness of a lake when a big storm has ended, and he knew for the first time that his faith, all along, had been in more than than God, more than religion, but also in Elizabeth.
And on that night in February, when Henry fell asleep for the final time holding hands with Elizabeth, he was no longer afraid, for wherever he ended up, he believed that she would be beside him, and having Elizabeth at his side had always been enough for Henry.