The only light in the room comes from the flames flickering in the fireplace. She doesn't know why she lit it. This is not something she usually does when she can't sleep. Actually, she's pretty sure this fireplace is only ever lit on Christmas Eve when Henry gets a romantic bug up his butt and insists that a crackling fire adds ambiance. The rest of the time, the fireplace is merely for show, much like the one in their brownstone.
There is no one here to see the ambiance. Just her. Not that she's alone in the farmhouse tonight. Henry is upstairs, sleeping in their bed. She couldn't get it out of her mind that he didn't want her next to him tonight. Not when he had told her twenty-four hours ago that he couldn't talk to her. That he couldn't even look at her. And her favorite horse died today. So she got out of bed, made some coffee, and turned on the fireplace.
Not for the first time in the last few months, she fears the end of her marriage. But worse than that, she fears the loss of her best friend. Because the truth is, she can't lose Henry. She'll do anything, give anything, to make sure that doesn't happen.
She wishes she knew what it would take.
She's staring at the fireplace, watching the flames, thinking about all the things that led her here. Was it Geneva or before that? And if it was before, when? When Russell offered him the job at the War College? When Conrad had the NSA reactivate Henry? When she accepted her job? Or maybe before any of that. Maybe it was when she was a spy when she was still with the Agency. When she had threatened to leave in one way and, he countered with leaving of another kind.
She's been asking herself these questions for weeks. Henry hasn't been sleeping for weeks. He tosses and turns. Sometimes, he gets up, and she hears him pacing downstairs. She's tried to talk to him, but he won't talk to her. He used to talk to her about everything. Now he won't. And she doesn't know what to do.
"Baby?" His voice startles her. She hadn't heard him come down. She looks over her shoulder. He's wearing only boxer shorts. His hair is messy from restless sleep, and his glasses sit haphazardly on his face, fulfilling his need to see. He doesn't tell her about his dream. The one that made him startle awake and reach for her to know she was still breathing. He thinks about the RPG in Geneva a lot lately. It mixes up with all of the other things that happened there.
"Hey." She says quietly. Henry watches as the fire lights up her profile, the way it plays on her face. He takes a breath. She has always been breathtaking, especially in the firelight. But there's a sadness to her tonight. He's afraid he put it there. Actually, he knows he put it there.
"What are you doing down here?" He asks. She shrugs and turns her head back to the fire.
"Couldn't sleep." She tells him. Henry watches her for a minute and then crosses the living room to sit beside her on the couch. He needs the closeness as much as she does.
"I love you." He says. He feels the need to tell her that. He never wants her to doubt that fact. He loves her. He is mad at her. And he is mad at the President. But mostly, he's mad at himself. He wishes he had expressed that more clearly in the beginning. That he can't reconcile his own actions. It's not about her, not really. If he tries hard enough, he can separate Elizabeth from Secretary McCord.
"I love you too." She whispers. He reaches his arm around her, his hand stroking her back. She doesn't relax into him. Her back remains stiff. It alarms him.
"How did we get here?" He asks. He can't help it. He needs to ask. Dancing around it is part of their problem.
"I don't know." She replies, and she really doesn't. "But I wish we hadn't."
He nods. Because his throat constricts and he doesn't want to cry. He wants to remain strong. Because if they can't figure this out if he can't work this out, he's not sure what they have left. He doesn't want to consider the possibility that it may not be enough. Because though he's angry, he can't lose her. He came back today because he could not imagine being without her. And her pain is important to him. And his is important to her.
"I miss you." She says with tears in her eyes.
"I'm right here." He tries.
"No, you're not." She looks him in the eye. He can't confront her accusation because it's the truth. The distance between them is growing vaster every day this goes on. He doesn't know how to fix it.
"What can I do?" He pleads. She sighs. She doesn't know either.
"Tonight?" She asks, "Make love to me."
"Baby, I don't think..." He starts. He knows sex can be a Band-Aid, but it's only that.
"Make love to me." She cuts him off. She's desperate, and she doesn't care. They are so far apart. If they can't bridge the distance, at least she can pretend that it's not as bad as it seems tonight. He takes her coffee cup out of her hands and sets it on the coffee table. He leans over her and kisses her. It's soft and gentle. He wants to convey to her what he hasn't been able to do lately. What he hasn't been able to verbalize. But he does the best he can with his mouth on hers.
He pushes her back, and his tongue slides into her mouth. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him to her. She wants to feel loved by him tonight. She wants to know that underneath the weight of their jobs, their love is still there. Because she has doubts, and she thinks Henry has too.
He lays her back on the couch and kisses her. He doesn't say anything. There's nothing left to say. His hand moves from caressing her face to her neck and then to her breasts. Her fingers thread through his hair as he kisses his way down her body. He pulls her shirt off and presses kisses to her chest.
She closes her eyes, and her head falls back. She holds him against her, and his lips make a trail across her skin. He's slow and deliberate. She feels worshiped and adored. His tongue and his lips are on her stomach, and she sighs.
He stands, and she whimpers at the loss of his body against hers. But she watches him look at her. His eyes move from her face and slowly travel her body. The way the fire plays across her skin. His eyes darken, and his boxers tent.
"I love you." He says again. She nods.
"Show me." She begs. He reaches down, grabs the waistband of her pajama pants, and pulls them down her legs. She lifts her hips to make it easier, and then he pulls her panties down.
He captures her lips once more and then kisses her jaw. She arches her neck for him, and he trails kisses down the column of her throat. He's gentle. His lips press against her skin.
She slides her hands down his sides and pushes his boxers off his hips. He kicks them away and settles over her. He's hard and throbbing. He slides against her, and her hips roll into him. He pushes her legs further apart, and he slides into her.
Their foreheads rest against one another. His fingers laced with hers. They're connected as intimately as two people can be. He moves slowly. Her hips move with him. She doesn't want to let go of him. There are no words that could describe how much she loves him. And right now, she is overwhelmed with the desire to hold on to him, no matter what.
"Please, baby." She whimpers. "Don't leave me."
"I'm not going anywhere." He says. And he means it. But he can feel it, the change. She's crying. Silent tears are slipping down her cheeks, and he kisses them away.
"Promise me." She breathes.
"I promise." He says, emphasizing his words with a long thrust.
"Henry..." She whimpers.
"Shh... I'm right here." He hushes. She pulls him closer. Their bodies move as one, and she knows he's promising more than just tonight. He's promising to stick this out. He's promising that they will survive this. She whimpers as her hips move faster, her body fighting for release, though she isn't ready for this to end. His fingers tighten around hers, and he kisses her.
"Let go, baby. I'm here." He promises. His thumb moves between their bodies and finds her clit. He presses on the swollen nub, and she cries out. Her head presses back into the pillow.
"Henry..." She pants. Her muscles tighten around him. He keeps moving, keeps circling her clit. Her body bows, and she explodes. Her walls are gripping him and pulling him deeper inside. He can't stop the way his body jerks, and he twitches inside of her. His release washes over him.
She's panting, trying to catch her breath. Henry doesn't move. He's still buried inside of her. His weight pressed to her. He's not going anywhere. Not now, not ever. His mouth presses to hers, and he kisses her. It's tender and slow. They have a long way to get back to them. But tonight, he's promised her to try. And he will. And she will, too. And they will not let their jobs, or their friends, or the world destroy them.
They kiss until their breathing evens and their hearts slow. Until Elizabeth's lips are swollen and red and her skin is flush.
"Whatever happens. You and I are together." He tells her. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
She nods. It's a start. It's a tiny step in the right direction. And she can breathe again. He pulls her up with him and walks her back upstairs to bed.
"I love you." She reminds him as he lays her down and climbs in next to her.
"I love you, too." He assures her, tucking her back into his side.