A/N: Hello! Hope everyone is having a good weekend.

I've been visiting family out of state and such, so I've only had the energy and time to update this, but don't worry, I haven't forgotten about young Elizabeth and Henry in "Becoming the McCords."

I also start back with grad school soon, but I'm hoping I can find the time for these. These are my happy writings, whereas grad school papers are not my happy writings :'-) I also have been writing nonfiction again, and boy oh boy, has it been rewarding. Your girl is trying to be published within the next two years, so keep me in your thoughts/prayers if you would!

Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

December 12, 2002

The file in front of her is strewn out across the floor, the papers glowing in the light of the Christmas tree behind her. It's much too dark to be doing this now, much too late, but she'd been wrapping a few early presents for the kids and decided to scoot her briefcase over and do some late-night work. Henry had already gone to bed, of course, after the kids had all been tucked in. It's just her, this file, and a mechanical Santa Claus moving in her line of sight in the distance.

Her hand is propping her head up via her chin, and her jaw is starting to hurt. She looks up at the clock and notices that it's almost midnight already, but she looks down again anyway, "Abu Musab al-Zarqawi," she thinks to herself. Her eyes zip quickly over to the paper laying next to this file, showing a picture of her agent and his CIA-crafted name, Karim Haddad. His real name is James Turner, and Elizabeth has been his handler ever since October of 2001, as soon as they were able to get a taskforce together to send qualified agents out into the field.

She stares at his picture for a few moments, wondering how someone so young can be so mixed up in something so big and terrifying. When she started in the CIA as a spy, she had to put her skills to work for the Cold War, but somehow, this War on Terror felt so much more dangerous and way closer to home. Too close to home, she knows, because she and Henry had visited the World Trade Center just one year before the catastrophic event that would change many Americans' lives forever, including hers and Henry's.

James has experience as a nurse, having started in nursing school and eventually being handpicked for the CIA by some recruiters who had feelers out. Being in the medical field was convenient, and the fact that James is of Middle Eastern descent helps his case. Helps Elizabeth's case, too. And ultimately, helps America's case.

"Al-Zarqawi was here yesterday," he had whispered into the secure line earlier today, "I think they're onto me because I was listening a little too closely."

"Karim," Elizabeth breathed, bringing her hand to her head, "You have to be more careful." She tried to not sound disappointed or too motherly in her scolding, but she felt like he should know better, "Lay low for a few days. We'll see what they're planning, and I'll continue to go over what you've sent over so far."

That was the last she'd heard from him, which isn't unusual. Sometimes he goes days without being able to contact her, but she had this terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. Just thinking about it now and seeing the happy little Santa Claus animatronic in front of her made her want to throw up. How is this the most wonderful time of the year when there's so much terrible going on out there?

She stares for a while longer, trying to find some connection, some missing piece, but she finally just brings her hands to her face and sighs in her palms. That feeling of needing to cry bubbles up inside her, but she can't bring herself to actually release any tears. She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs, hugging them tight. A few moments like this, an almost-peaceful time, and she hears Jason crying down the hall.

"At least someone can cry," she thinks to herself as she stands up, heading to him.

Once she calms him down and gets him to go back to sleep, Henry meets her in the hallway, "Everything alright babe?" He asks sleepily, his voice a bit groggy.

She nods, "I was just up working and got him, sorry that he woke you too." She says without even thinking.

He looks at her a little too hurt, "You know I don't mind getting up with the kids, Elizabeth. I never have." He says, "They're my kids, too."

She looks at him, "I know that," she says defensively, too tired for this conversation. She swallows hard and looks back at her feet, "I have to go into the office tomorr—"

"It's our anniversary," Henry blurts, looking at her with this disgusted expression on his face. "You're really going to be gone on our anniversary?"

She folds her arms across her chest, "What do you want me to do, Henry? Put the War on Terror on hold because it's our twelfth anniversary?" She asks, "You know I can't do that, and you know how crazy this all is—"

"Elizabeth," he shakes his head and rubs his palm across his cheek, trying to keep his calm, "It's our anniversary. It's a Saturday." He says.

She shakes her head, "I can't." She says, "I can't do that. I have to keep working until we figure this out, Henry, and you know that. If there's another bombing or God only knows what else, I will never be able to live with myself." She explains, feeling a lump rise in her throat, "We missed the mark before 9/11, we didn't catch it. We didn't see the signs."

"We, Elizabeth. Not you. It wasn't just you." Henry says.

"But I'm one of them who should've caught it," she snaps, "It fell on me and my team."

Henry just stands there, eventually shaking his head and rocking back on his heels a few times like he does when he's about to say something he might regret, "You're working too much, Elizabeth, and you're going to let this kill you. In one way or another, or your kids are going to forget who their mother is."

She stares at him for a moment, trying to decide whether she wants to hit him or scream at him, or just forget both of those options and fall into a puddle right here in the hall. "That was low," she says in a quiet, dangerous tone, "That was really low."

Elizabeth pushes past him and heads back to the living room where her file is waiting for her, and she doesn't even look back to see if he's followed her. She just sits herself down on the floor again, scouring over the papers upon papers.

"Elizabeth," Henry says behind her, "Come on, babe, please, you know I wouldn't say that unless I was genuinely afraid of what it's doing to you. I…" he stops, and she almost turns around to see if he's still there because it takes him so long to continue, "It's not just about our anniversary. I'm worried about you, and I'm worried about the toll it's taking on your mental and physical health."

She looks down into her lap, feeling once again as though he had delivered a low blow. They'd just gotten into it last week because he noticed her pants are falling off her hips, and they argued about how she's not eating enough and eating a well-rounded enough diet. She'd wanted to agree because she knew skipping breakfast (and most days lunch, too) was bad for her. Somedays she'd forget to eat dinner and wouldn't realize she hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. It really was eating at her body.

"Let's just drop it," she says quietly.

Henry sits down next to her and turns away from the file, knowing it's confidential, "Please just listen to what I'm saying, really listen. I don't…I know you have to do what you need to do, and I love you so much for that and for what you're doing for this country and our futures, Elizabeth. I'm scared. I'm scared of what it's doing to you." He says softly before standing up, walking back to bed.

February 18, 2008

She throws the last scoop of horse manure into the wheelbarrow, walking out with it and placing the scoop on its hook outside of the stall. The iciness is seeping through her gloves this morning, and quite possibly even creeping into her lungs through her big jacket. "It is too damn cold for this," she thinks to herself as she wheels the wheelbarrow out of the barn and to the manure pile, tipping it over on its end and dumping it.

After bringing it back into the barn, she does one last look-through to make sure everything is all set to put the horses in tonight when they get home from the university, turns the light off, and leaves the radio on for the horses to listen to from the pasture if they like. "It makes them happy," she'd told Henry the first day she left it on for them, "They like to stand right up close to the barn out of the wind and listen to whatever I leave on for them."

"Are they country horses?" Henry teased, "Or are they more of the Guns 'N' Roses type? Maybe a little Aerosmith?" She'd smacked him on the chest before he could continue naming off genres, bands, singers, or even musical theater artists. She knew if she just let him run with it, he'd never stop. That was only last October, and she'd been doing it ever since.

"Are you ready?" Henry asks, grabbing Alison and Jason's backpacks and handing it to them both as they make their way out to the bus.

Elizabeth grabs both of their head simultaneously, pressing a kiss to Alison's first, then to Jason's, "Mom…" Alison groans, and Elizabeth wants to actually stick her bottom lip out at her daughter at how old and sassy she's getting. She already had noticed that she's starting to not have to lean down much to kiss either of them on the top of the head, and it made her want to cry a little.

"Love you guys," Elizabeth says as they start making their way through the door, "Have a good day!" Stevie is already outside, and Elizabeth had given her the same kiss on the head and received the same type of "Mom…" that Alison had given. But she was used to it with Stevie by now, she'd been doing this for the past three years. Alison, however, is picking it up early from her sister, she supposes.

Henry just chuckles a little and hands her the thermos of coffee while she's changing out of muck boots and into her work shoes. "They're growing up on us." He says.

"Don't remind me," she says softly, dramatically sniffling as she zips her second shoe up on the inside of her calf. "Jason is already up to my chest. How the hell did he grow so fast?"

"I hit a growth spurt when I was about eight, but then I stalled out a few years." Henry admits and laughs, grabbing his own thermos and his work bag, "But then I hit another when I was thirteen, the summer between seventh and eighth grade." He says.

She looks over at him as they make their way to the door, "I feel like I never really hit a spurt, I was just always growing. But I was a tall kid to begin with. And gangly." She says, locking the door and shutting it behind them.

As they trudge through the too-deep snow, Henry shrugs, "I was relatively short and Maureen always used to pick on me," he says, "But then I finally got taller and bigger than her in the eighth grade, and she was in tenth. I looked like I was the one who could drive a vehicle while she was the one who could but looked like she should still be in elementary school." He says and laughs, "I think it's my mom's genes."

Elizabeth smiles as she gets in the car and sets her coffee down, "Crap," she suddenly blurts out, "I forgot to add all the grades to everyone's papers yesterday." She realizes, digging through her work bag and finding the stack of Poli Sci 418 papers that were going back to her students today. She gets her blue ink pen—she has never been one to use red—and her gradebook out, setting it on the console. Henry has to reach around it awkwardly to put the car in drive after backing out of the carport, but he manages, and it's a good thing because she's already absorbed in her students' papers.

"How were they?" He asks.

She looks up at him and frowns, then realizes, "Oh, the papers?" She asks, "Lacking depth for many of them," she admits, "But there's this one student who just kind of blew me away." She says, digging through and finding the set of papers held together by a little staple, "Blake Moran—" she stops herself and looks over at Henry as he's driving, "Do you know him?"

"Can't say that I do," Henry replies, keeping his gaze fixed on the road.

She nods a little, looking back at the paper, "The title of his paper honestly is one of the best things I've ever seen. 'The Art of Organization for Diplomatic Success: Fostering Effective Global Engagement.'" She drops the paper to her lap and looks over at him, "Isn't that just—"

"Wow," Henry says, glancing over at her, "And he's a Poli Sci student?"

"No," Elizabeth breathes, "That's the crazy thing. He's taking this class as an elective."

"Wow," Henry repeats, laughing at his own redundancy. "Sounds like he has a knack for writing good papers at the very least."

"It was a really great paper." She continues, "He started with a background of the importance of diplomacy in global politics, moved into streamlining decision-making processes and coordinating interagency collaboration. It seriously blew me away." She says, writing "A+ 100" on the top of his paper before circling it and adding, "Great paper! See me after class."

She manages to get grades slapped on the other papers just as Henry is pulling into their parking spot, and she shoves everything neatly back into her bag before getting out quickly. As soon as she steps down, however, her foot makes contact with a layer of ice and she falls to her back, groaning as her body feels the aftershocks of something so unenjoyable.

"Elizabeth!" Henry shouts from the other side, "Are you alright?"

She's slowly sitting up as he's rushing over to the passenger side, "I'm fine," she says, grabbing the door to steady herself for a moment, not even thinking about putting her feet under her too quick. Suddenly she starts laughing and she looks up at him, "You would think after all these winters that I would know better than to just step out like that," she says hopelessly, but still keeping her sense of humor.

He smiles and lets out a tense breath, reaching down to help her stand on her feet. "No hospital trips for you today, please." He warns, making sure she's steady on her two feet before shutting the car door behind her.

When she turns to walk to the side of the building where the entrance is, she sees two professors standing outside in the freezing cold, and they suddenly turn away from her. "Well, that was obvious." She mumbles. Her staring makes Henry look in that direction.

"What?" He asks, not having seen it apparently.

She laughs quietly and raises her brow, "Apparently rumors are spreading to faculty, too." She says.

Henry looks over at her and then back at them, who were still awkwardly trying to look away from the couple, "Do you think we should just come clean?"

"After coming this far?" She whispers, "Definitely not." She walks up to the sidewalk where they were standing, "Good morning," she says coyly, grabbing the door handle and yanking a little too hard—especially since this side, as always, is locked. She feels her face heat up immediately and sees Henry's hand quickly reach around her, grabbing the other door handle and opening it for her. Once they're inside, she turns to him, "Well, that was great." She says dryly.

As they walk through the hall together as they often do on cold mornings (since Henry's office is in the building next to hers, he skips the cold outdoors and walks through the building with her sometimes), they start a casual conversation about their hospital trips in the past.

"Remember when you were at the hospital to have Stevie?" Henry asks with a snort, "We were both so nervous and so excited at the same time. If you were to go to the hospital today because you broke a bone on the ice, I don't think I'd feel either of those things." He admits, chuckling to himself.

She smirks, "I would have to agree." She says and shrugs, continuing their walk down the long hall. She bites her lip and looks over at Henry, "But gosh, Henry, we were so excited, weren't we? I just couldn't wait to have that baby girl out and in my arms."

"I know," Henry says and squeezes her hand, "Those were fun days."

"Well, it wasn't fun for me," she says and gets to the end where Henry goes out to the next building. She quickly pecks his cheek, knowing that no one was in the hallway yet, "See you later," she says, "Have a good day at work."

He smirks, "You too."

When he gets outside, she watches him through the glass for a quick moment and sees that he makes it safely into the next building, then makes her way back down the hall to her office. She sets her things down and gets her class items together, then walks across the hall to her first class of the day, "Good morning everyone," she says, picking her head up and looking for Blake Moran.

He's normally very quiet, and she hadn't read any of his work yet other than his pop quizzes which he'd done spectacular on, and she wanted to really put a face to the name. She knows all her students' faces, but now she wants to be sure of him. "Good news! I have grades." She says, "But also, bad news, I have grades. And I'm giving them out after class." She continues a little less excitedly, but smirking as she digs through her bag and grabs the stack of papers out, setting them to the side before she starts her lesson of the day.

After she's finished teaching, she grabs the stack again, "When I call your name, come on up and grab your paper back. If you have any questions about your grade, please see me or email me and let me know you'd like to see me during office hours." She instructs.

She notices, once again, that there's a buzz in the room. Briefly, she picks her head up and looks, but goes ahead and decides to start calling out names, "Burke," she says, going by last names in alphabetical order. As each of them come up and get their paper, another leaves the room while reading over their remarks on the sheets she handed back. "Little," she says, getting to Cassie's name. Cassie comes up and takes her paper, not saying a word, but Elizabeth notices that Cassie is actually blushing. When she gets to Molly's name, she hands the girl hers as well, and she's blushing just like her friend. She makes a mental note to ask what in the world they're up to now, but she continues, "Moran," she says, and Blake stands to get his paper.

"This was an outstanding paper, Mr. Moran," she says quietly so that the rest of the class doesn't hear her, "I really feel like I should ask what your major is since I know it's not Poli Sci?"

He smiles at her, looking a little unsure of himself, "Accounting," he says, "I'm going into the world of finance after I graduate."

She nods, her eyes widening a little as she lifts her brow, "Wow, okay," she says, "Not what I'd expect from you, but best of luck to you if that's something you want."

He takes the paper gently from her hand and just gives her a tiny little smile, "I just thought you should know," he says suddenly, almost startling her when he whispers it so sharply and bends down toward her face. She had heard nightmare-ish stories of students trying to pull one over on their professors by embarrassing them in some way, and she was afraid that's what was happening until he spoke again, "Some people overheard you and a man, and there's now a rumor going around that you're pregnant."

Elizabeth's eyes almost pop from her head when he whispers that, and she backs away from him, "Are you serious?" She asks.

He just nods curtly, gripping his paper a little too tightly, "Yes ma'am." He says softly.

She isn't able to say much, and then she realizes it's awkward, "Thank you, Mr. Moran." She says, "I appreciate you letting me know."

She's wracking her brain as he goes back to get his backpack from his desk, wondering what in the world she and Henry were talking about in order to make them think that? And of course, they were both already gone for the day, and she didn't want to make this Henry's problem, so it would have to wait until Wednesday to be addressed.

"They what?" Elizabeth hears through the speaker of her Blackberry, slumped over on her desk tiredly.

"Yeah," she says, "They think I'm pregnant now. How am I getting myself out of this one?"

"We have to come clean," Henry says.

"I don't want to. Not yet, especially not now that they're literally eavesdropping. I have to find some way to get back at them."

"Elizabeth," Henry says in a warning tone, "Don't do something that'll get us in trouble."

"I'm not," she says, "But I also don't know what I'm going to do. Maybe I should just let it slide?" She asks, "I mean, it's not like I really have to address it, right? They'll figure it out sooner or later that I'm not pregnant and that they just misheard me."

Henry sighs through the phone, "It's up to you, babe," he says, "I'm down with continuing this thing if you are."

"Great," she says and smiles tiredly, "Meet me in my office for lunch?" She asks.

"Sure," he says, and she hears his brown-bag lunch crinkling in the background. "See you soon."

When they hang up, Elizabeth goes out of her office and heads down to the lounge with her own brown-bag which has a cup of soup in it. She sees Vivian, the professor whose office is right next to hers, and she's flagging her down. "Elizabeth!" She says, and she's wearing this smile that's either fake or drug-induced. "I hear congratulations are in order?" She says happily.

Elizabeth's bag slips from her hands and splats on the floor. She doesn't realize her mouth is hanging open until she has to lean over to get her lunch, "For what?" She asks.

Vivian smiles and nods toward her, "You know," she says with that too-cheeky smile.

"What?" Elizabeth asks, not backing down and becoming a little more stern.

Vivian starts to lose her smile as she shrugs, "On becoming a mom." She says, now unsure of herself.

Elizabeth's eyes widen, "Where did you hear that?" She asks.

"Oh, I heard some students talking about it." She says, perking up again as though she thinks she's right in what she heard, "Who's the lucky guy?"

Elizabeth just stares at her a few moments again and re-grips her bag, "I need to get going," she says, "For the record, I'm not having a baby, and I'm already a mom." She says, pushing past her without being too impolite and heading for the microwave.

When she gets back to her office with a cup of hot soup, Henry is already sitting in the chair with his food, "It's spreading," she says, as if she were talking about a deadly rash.

Henry cranes his neck back toward the door and frowns as she shuts it, "What?"

"The rumor. It's spreading. Those two are talking about it on campus."

"Oh," Henry says and takes a deep breath, "Well, we may as well just keep doing what we've been doing, right?"

She sits down in her chair and sets her food on the desk, "Just telling our students we have kids and that we're kind of flirting, but not letting them in on anything else?" She asks.

He sets his fork down and smirks, "Yes, that," he says and stands up, walking over to her side of the desk and crouching down to his knees, turning her chair toward him. He works on the button of her pants even as she's halfway protesting, pulling them down her legs a bit, "But we've also been doing this, too." He reminds.

She bites her lip and finally gives in, letting her fingers run through the back of his hair, "I like your thinking, Dr. McCord."