A/N: envelope, from the february one-word prompt list.

The patter of raindrops beat a steady rhythm on the roof above Henry's head, loud and close. When he reached for the box nearest him and prised open its folded flaps, a small puff of dust swirled through the air and tickled Henry's nose; he rubbed it away, impatient, instinctive, and squinted down at the box before him.

He supposed he had been putting off sorting through this stuff, but he didn't want to take too much time to dwell on the reasons why. Any season of change was difficult, and the older Henry got, the more he found himself wanting to stave off change as long as he could.

Still. The boxes needed sorting through, and Henry knew that he could only put it off for so long, which was what brought him here to the dusty attic on an otherwise lovely Sunday. He was resolved to make his way through at least some of the boxes of stuff that had accumulated here, and he had been making good progress.

Until now.

On first glance, this latest box was very much the same as the ones he'd already worked through; there was a stack of books, a folded up blanket that he couldn't remember the origin of, something breakable wrapped in an old kitchen towel. But there, in the corner just behind the books, something else caught his eye- the bright white corner of a piece of paper. Intrigued, he reached for it, tugging it free from where it was wedged between the spines of the books and the flat side of the box. And when he pulled it out, he found that it was not a piece of paper at all, but an envelope.

A standard rectangular envelope with a single word scrawled across the front.

Henry, written right in the center with smooth black ink in Elizabeth's unmistakable slanting cursive.

His heart picked up its beat a little at the sight, rather like the way the horses used to always rise to a canter at the sight of his wife, like they knew how important her presence was.

He turned it over in his hands, and found it unsealed. He hesitated a moment, but ultimately his curiosity won over; he lifted up the flap on the envelope, pulled out the tri-folded paper inside, and unfolded it. Elizabeth's handwriting stared back at him, and his heart stumbled in his chest as he took in the date, and the words The Oval Office in the top right corner of the page. Unable to stop himself, he started to read, beginning with -

Dear Henry,

I guess the first thing to say is that I really hope you never have to read this.

His breath caught in his throat, but he pressed on anyway, unable to look away now that he'd started.

But if you are, the letter continued, I guess I feel like I should apologize.

Neither of us signed up to marry a couch potato, I know that. But I also can't imagine that, when you asked me to marry you, you ever imagined what our life together would be like. And I know what you're thinking- that it was noble, and worth it, and all of the usual. But I guess I have to wonder- if you're reading this- whether it really was.

It feels like it now, but- I've been wrong before.

Anyway. I'm not sorry for the ways that I've put myself in harm's way over the years to effect change in the world- to make it a better place for you, for our children and grandchildren and all of the children of the future. But I am sorry for the ways in which it's caused you hurt.

Henry hesitated, torn. Part of him felt like he shouldn't even be reading this. But her words called out to him, clear in the way they carried her voice, and the warmth of the pages that she had touched drew him in. So he kept going.

When we first met, I was almost immediately crazy about you. You were so handsome and kind, and you had this spark about you that I was drawn to from the very beginning. But I also felt like I was being unfair to you by letting you into my life- like I might only make things worse for you if I allowed you to attach yourself to me. You know the rest, of course- you're a persistent man, Henry McCord, and catastrophically charming to boot. I never stood a chance, and in all the ways that matter, I've never looked back.

Henry could just hear her now- that teasing lilt, the sparkle in her eye, the grit in her voice as she spoke his name in a way that always left him feeling a little bit breathless.

But there have certainly been times when I've wondered- though it hurt me to imagine it- whether you'd have been better off without me. Only to name a few- more than once while I was with the company, Baghdad-

Though it had been decades, Henry's chest grew faintly tight at the mention of the word.

-Iran, Code Night Watch, and now this. Assassination attempts were certainly never part of our plans when we were just young and starry-eyed and in love.

Henry stopped reading. His gaze flickered to the top of the page again, and he recognized the date to be one day after the first credible attempt on Elizabeth's life during her Presidency.

He wasn't quite sure he wanted to continue listening to Elizabeth apologize to him on paper- the finality of ink to page suddenly struck him as painfully real. But Henry was no stranger to painful reality, and he felt somehow compelled to finish the letter.

After all, he thought with a glance at his own name on the envelope, it was written just for him.

I hope that if you're reading this, Elizabeth's words went on, you still feel that it was worth it. I guess that's my main hope in all of this, the hope that prevails each time we find our way through one of these - what would you call it when one of us has a near-death experience that more or less ends up feeling like just another day in the life? You're better with words, you can fill in the blank.

Henry paused for a moment to think about it. He supposed that he'd call them- scares, maybe, though that felt a little hollow. Close encounters, he thought. Then he continued.

All of this to say- I hope you don't have regrets, Henry. I hope that at the end of this, you look back and you still believe you did the right thing when you committed to being the man beside the woman. And- maybe more importantly, or at least equally so- I hope you know that I don't have regrets, either. Except- maybe that there wasn't more time. If anything, I guess I regret that there weren't more hours in every day. Enough to accomplish everything we've done and still be together as much as we wanted to.

And I hope you know that I wanted to. I hope you know that no matter how many policies I've enacted or deals I've worked, I was always most proud of us. Of you.

Henry blinked, hard; hot tears spilled over and splashed onto his cheeks, settling themselves in the lines of his face. The page had gone blurry, and he swiped at his eyes until Elizabeth's penned words came back into focus, though the sight of them sent a sharp ache through his chest.

I am so proud of all you've accomplished. In all of your years of being the man beside the woman, you've found so many ways to be even more- to help people, to stand up for what you believe in, to serve your country. You've been the soldier, the scholar, the student, and the teacher all in equal measure. You've been every bit the spectacularly kind and patient father that I always knew you would be. You've been a perfect husband, friend, lover, confidante, challenger and partner in all things.

It has been the greatest privilege of my life to be the woman beside the man that you are, Henry McCord.

Henry drew in a breath and thought that his chest might split clean open and expose his tattered and patched heart to the open air, setting it free from the cage of his ribs as it strained against the words that echoed in Elizabeth's voice within his mind.

But he'd glimpsed her signature at the bottom of the page. The end was drawing close now, and somehow he felt he owed it to Elizabeth- or maybe just himself- to read the rest. Henry forced his gaze back to the paper to finish.

Well, she'd written, if that's not a closer I don't know what is.

He breathed a laugh in spite of himself, though it came out watery and soft.

I don't want to stop writing, but I think that's all there is left to say. Everything else, I've told you already. I hope I get to keep telling you for a long, long time. But I guess this is my just in case. I've learned the hard way that it's good to have a failsafe. In all of my life, you -our marriage- was the only thing that never truly felt like it needed one. So, if there is one more thing to say, it's thank you.

I've loved every single minute. And I love you, Henry, in the present tense always- here and wherever we end up next. You have been, and remain, my heart.

Okay. I'm going to go before this gets worse. Take good care of yourself, McCord.

Yours, forever and ever,

Elizabeth

Henry could barely make out the words by the time he reached the end. He took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes; the image of Elizabeth's familiar smile, coy and delighted and conspiring and beautiful, rose immediately to dance against the back of his eyelids.

If Henry was sure of anything, it was that there had never been, and would never be, anyone quite like Elizabeth Adams McCord.

Behind him, there was the soft scuffling sound of the attic's trapdoor, and when he turned and looked, it was as if sunlight had flooded the room in spite of the relentless rain outside.

Elizabeth.

She smiled ever so brightly at him, an absolute vision in a periwinkle blue cotton button down, her light blonde hair tumbling to her shoulders, and the force of it lit up her face with boundless life.

Henry felt whole at once, just with the sight of her.

But as their eyes met and she took in the scene, her smile fell into tender concern and she frowned slightly at him.

"Hey," she said. "What's wrong?"

"It's-"

The pages tumbled from his fingers and slipped onto the open surface of the box, the movement drawing Elizabeth's eyes to them. She squinted at them for a second, and then she caught sight of the discarded envelope and a rush of understanding washed over her features, chased with a quick flash of something like regret- there and gone in an instant.

"Ah," she said- before Henry could speak, she had pushed herself from the last rung of the ladder into the attic with him, and she was sitting carefully on the floor at his side.

"I hadn't meant for you to find that," she said gently.

"I just found it in this box," Henry answered, a note of apology layered into his voice. Elizabeth shook her head.

"No," she said. "I should probably have just gotten rid of it."

She shrugged, and when she looked at him, her eyes sparkled.

"It was a little busy," she said, and he couldn't help but laugh lightly. She wasn't wrong; the end of her successful two-term Presidency had brought on a flurry of activity that rivaled the start of her time in office. They had been swamped with the responsibility of closing out an eight-year legacy and residence in the White House, packing up their things both from there and the Georgetown house that would now belong to Stevie, and moving back to the horse farm in Virginia.

Not to mention navigating the public and life after the Presidency.

"I'm glad you didn't throw it away," Henry said softly, glancing from the now-discarded pages of the letter to his wife. He'd always understood that the Presidency was meant to age a person, but he'd found that it had softened Elizabeth. In the presence of new lines on her face and the once-honey tones of her hair that were slowly fading to a lighter shade, he found her more beautiful than ever- smarter, kinder, more compassionate, and stronger.

He found himself more in love with her than he had been at the start. More understanding, and most of all, more grateful that she was still here at his side.

"Really?" she asked. Henry nodded.

"As much as I would have hated having to read it," he said against the faint wave of anguish that rose up at the mere thought, "I am glad I got to anyway."

He flashed her a smile that was reminiscent of long-ago summers, and just for the briefest moment she saw him as he'd once been- a handsome young fighter pilot with a heart that blazed for all that was good. Her own heart ached at the tug of the memory, and she could not resist reaching out to brush her fingertips over his cheek.

"I guess I just wanted you to have something," she said, glancing over at the letter. "If that day ever came around again."

For a moment, they both remembered the assassination attempt, and then they each put it aside.

There had never been a second one, and the letter had slipped into unimportance.

Henry looked at her for a long moment, taking in the softened line of her jaw and the sparkle in her eyes, the sharpness of her slender wrists and the glint of gold from the rings she wore faithfully on her elegant hands.

"I love you, Elizabeth," he said.

And for her part, Elizabeth heard it for what it was in its entirety.

"And," Henry added, as his hazel eyes darkened with the burn of sincerity, "I hope you know that I would choose to be the man beside the woman a thousand times over if I had the chance."

Elizabeth smiled, full of sun.

"Me, too," she said.

And then she leaned in and kissed him, and all was well, and the letter and the boxes were swiftly forgotten.