A/N: Hi all! School has been crazy, teaching has been crazy, and I'm soooo ready to be finished. Halfway there!
I needed a moment to write something fun though, so here's an update.
Hope you enjoy!
December 21, 1990 | Elizabeth
"We came here to tell you that we're just having a small, family-only wedding at the courthouse because we don't want a big, fancy wedding with people we don't even know that well. But never mind—none of you are welcome."
Just under three weeks ago, Henry and Elizabeth announced their change in wedding plans to the McCords—of course it came with the expected pushback, however, and a good share of embarrassment for the both of them as well. Elizabeth still cringed every time she thought about how red her face got at the table. How could his mother possibly not think they were having sex anyway? Somehow, they'd kept it from her all this time and even kept it a secret of them living together.
She picks up her criminal justice textbook and sets it on the dresser, looking at their bed that they've shared in this little Charlottesville house they've made into a home, thanks to Mark and Lisa. Looking over her right shoulder, she glances out the window and squints at the sunshine trying to blind her. The ice on the window gave it an extra glare, causing her to bring her hand up to her eyes to try to block some of the harshness. Somehow, even the ice had a little extra glimmer today.
Turning back to the bed, she looks at the white dress she and Isabelle picked out this past Monday at Dillard's.
"You're sure it's not too…"
"Elizabeth," Isabelle had said, leaning against the doorway in the dressing room and looking in on her friend, "It's beautiful."
Just a simple, white, lace dress that scraped the floor when Elizabeth twirled. She'd picked up the edge of it and turned to face the mirror again, away from Isabelle, and then made eye contact with her friend as she realized she could still see her face.
"Oh, Bess," Isabelle said, letting herself into the dressing room and wrapping her arms around her friend, reaching around to the front of her body and grabbing Elizabeth's hands before giving them a good squeeze.
Elizabeth sniffled, trying to shake it off, trying to pretend her face wasn't red with embarrassment. This isn't her usual—she doesn't cry like this in front of people, not even Isabelle. Henry is the only one she lets herself go in front of, and even that is rare. "I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her palm.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Isabelle said, "Why are you crying? Aren't you happy?"
Shrugging, Elizabeth shook her head and dabbed at the mascara running down her cheek, "The whole Mom thing…it's hard." Elizabeth answered, and that's all she could get herself to say.
And that's all she had to say.
She slides it over her head and lets it fall down her body, watching as it just barely drapes on the floor. Turning to look in the mirror now, she smooths the material out over her hips, tilting her head just slightly and smiling to herself. She thinks of her mother's wedding pictures, wondering what it would be like to have her here helping her today.
Looking down, she glances at the shininess of her engagement ring—she'd just gotten it cleaned last week with Isabelle after their finals were over. That icy sunshine glaring through the window really makes the colors show in the diamonds, and she just stares at it in awe for a few moments before coming back to reality when she feels a draft down her back.
She contorts her arms behind her back to reach the zipper that was resting just above her rear, pulling it up as far as she could until her shoulder would no longer stretch further. She reaches behind her, reaching down for the zipper, but is just able to graze it with her fingertips. Groaning slightly, she bends her body, hoping somehow that it will make the dress slide up her body. She grabs at the material, trying to pull it up some to reach the zipper, but ultimately it makes the zipper slide down again.
Blowing air from her mouth, she pushes the hair out of her forehead and tucks it behind her ear, feeling a bit sticky with sweat. "So much for being a glowing bride," she mumbles as she reaches backwards again, contorting her shoulder in that awkward way she had it first.
The process is repeated, and she finds herself in the same position—bent over and reaching over her neck and upper back to reach that damned zipper. She lets out a little growl and jerks her body upright, staring at herself in the mirror and feeling a little more disheveled than she previously had. Looking a bit more disheveled, too.
"Damn it, Bess, get it together." She murmurs, whipping her arm up over her shoulder again and stretching to her absolute max to reach the zipper, but still, her fingers just brush the cool metal.
She looks in the mirror once more, her face red, sweaty, and on the verge of tears. There are few times she's wallowed in her loss, but this is something her parents should have been here for. This is one of those times that she hates how they died and who they died for. She hates everything about death right now. End of story.
Yet, what is the point in wallowing? It was years ago now, nothing she can go back and fix or change. They didn't get to see her graduate or Will graduate, and they won't get to know their grandkids or know Henry, and isn't that already hard enough without wallowing in the fact that Suzanne Adams isn't here to zip this dress up for her?
She's regretting telling Isabelle to just meet them at the courthouse now.
"Liz?" She hears a knock on the door and whips her head around to lay her eyes on it.
"Yeah?" She calls back.
The door cracks open, "You decent?"
"Except for this damn zipper that I can't reach, yeah." She confirms.
Her not-so-little brother comes creeping in after the go-ahead, shutting the door behind him so that Henry wouldn't accidentally walk by and see her. That, they agreed on, was one wedding day tradition they wanted to keep. He would drive the Bronco there, Will would drive Elizabeth in her car to the courthouse.
"Liz…" Will says softly, and at first Elizabeth is confused by his tone.
She furrows her brows and thinks about how she must look—she hasn't looked at her face in a little while. Turning back toward the mirror, she sees that the tears have made little streaks down her face—and she's now just grateful she hadn't put any makeup on yet. "I'm fine," she says, "Just…an emotional day."
Will looks in and walks a few steps toward her without saying anything, and she watches him approach her through the mirror. She jumps just slightly when she feels the coldness of his fingers against her skin, but then she hears the zipper and feels the dress tighten up around the top of her chest. "Thank you," she breathes, realizing that she should have just asked him all along.
Before he replies, she just stares at him for a few moments in the mirror, realizing he's not the twelve-year-old boy anymore who lost his parents. She's twenty-two, he's nineteen, and they've been in this chaotic mess all along together.
She turns to face him and wraps him in her arms, pulling his chest to hers as much as she could. She used to be able to cradle his face in her arms, but now he's a good head taller than her, and she takes what she can get.
The silence fills the room before Will's hands slide up to hug her, too, and they stay there for a few moments in complete quiet. When they finally pull away, Will is misty-eyed, "Mom would have done it without a second thought." He says, "And Dad would have told you how beautiful you looked."
She smiles a little as her body shudders, a half-laugh and half-cry, "And what would Will say?" She asks him.
He pulls one corner of his mouth up into a smile, so much like their dad used to do, "Will would say that his sister did a good job in picking a baby daddy."
With the sweet moment interrupted, she reaches out quickly and punches him in the bicep before he reels in and rubs it, "I hope it bruises." She says dryly before turning back to the mirror and smiling at him finally, "But I did pick a good one, didn't I?" She asks, "Seriously, I mean…do you think he's the one?"
Will smiles and nods behind his sister, still rubbing his arm as he shrugs one shoulder, "I see this lasting a lifetime, Liz." He says quietly, nodding a little. "I'll go warm up the car—there's ice all over the windshield."
"Tell Henry I want to—"
"No," Will interrupts.
"You don't even know what I was going to say." She says as she turns around and goes to get her makeup bag out of the bathroom.
He stands there and crosses his arms, "You were going to say you want to see him."
"No I wasn't," she lies, thinking quickly on her feet, "I want to talk to him. Just through the door."
It's quiet for a moment so she peeks around the bathroom doorframe, seeing Will stand there and look at himself in the mirror. She wonders what his thoughts are in that moment. Does he know how much he looks like Dad? Does he know how happy she is that he helped her in this moment? Does he know how much she loves him?
"Fine," Will says, unfolding his arms, "If I come back in here and he has unzipped that dress, I'm—"
"William," she snaps, "Don't make me bruise the other arm."
With a smirk, he simply walks to the door and out of it before she hears him tell Henry he's going to warm up the car and that "your wife wants to speak to you." Her heart leaps a little when she hears him say that—it became very real just then.
She walks to the door and shuts it all the way, leaving her hand on the doorknob as the other rests flat against the door.
"Babe?" Henry says.
"Henry," she whispers with a smile, "I wish I could see you."
"I wish I could see you," Henry says, and she can tell he's smiling—or maybe he's holding back tears. There's something up. "I'm sure you're stunning," he whispers, and then she can tell his voice is breaking.
"It's nothing super special," Elizabeth reminds him gently, and she suddenly feels the doorknob move. She freezes and looks down, realizing that he must have laid his hand on the other side of it. "Are you holding the doorknob?" She asks.
"Yeah," he replies.
She twists it and opens the door just enough to stick her hand through the crack, reaching to hold his hand. She gives it a squeeze before he does the same for her, and she feels her arm being stretched before his lips graze the back of her hand, then her fingers.
"I love you, Elibet." He teases.
"I love you," she replies with a smile, taking a shaky breath. "I'll see you soon."
December 21, 1990 | Henry
"She's coming, Dad." Henry groans, standing just inside the courthouse doors with his hands tucked in his pockets. If he pulled them out, he was afraid he might throw them at his father if he said one more word about how cold it is or how late they are (five minutes and counting) or how this chair is too hard for his delicate ass.
"Maybe she stood you up," Shane teases, and Henry tucks his hands further into his pocket as he thinks about holding Elizabeth's behind that door earlier. He simply closes his eyes, trying to practice some deep breathing before he practices his martial arts on two of the McCords in this room.
"You two," Elaine complains, shooting a look at Shane first, then starting to do so in Patrick's direction before stopping herself. Henry's heart aches a little, and he thinks to himself how he'll never be that husband. He'll never make his wife scared to give him a look like she was about to do. Elizabeth would kill him before that happened anyway, he's sure of it. "Stop bickering just this once, would you?" She tells Shane, but also speaking in Patrick's direction. "We're gaining another daughter! Be happy for Henry." She says sweetly.
Maureen rolls her eyes as she bounces the newest baby, John, patting his back, "Like we need another daughter in this family," she mumbles.
"Maureen—" Henry starts, but Elaine snaps before he gets the chance.
"Maureen, your brother is getting married. He's been nothing but good to you, and to Amanda and Bryan and John." She says, "Be happy for him."
Instead of saying anything else, Maureen just sits down with her husband, handing the baby off to him and sighing as she waits.
Elaine walks up to Henry and kisses him on the cheek, "I, for one, am so happy to be getting another daughter," she whispers, "She's a good one."
"I know," Henry whispers, feeling a bit breathless and impatient all of a sudden. He felt like his bow tie was too tight, like his sleeves were crushing his wrists, and like his shoelaces were smothering his feet. "I don't know how I got so lucky."
Elaine just smiles and pats him on the cheek, letting her hand slide down to his chest just over his heart, "You have a good heart, too, Henry," she whispers, "You two were made for each other. Remember that. Always cherish her. Always show her how much you love her, even on the days when it's a little hard to do so." She whispers, her voice a bit reminiscent of her own struggles in her own marriage.
He glances at his father who had finally calmed down a bit, wondering how she loved him even on his worst days. If Elaine could do that for Patrick, Henry could surely love Elizabeth on all her worst days. They were nowhere near as bad as his father's worsts.
"They're here," Isabelle says, rushing through the door and rubbing her arms. She had snow in her hair, but Henry only briefly noticed it because Elizabeth opened the door right behind her friend. She had a simple veil over her face with a small bouquet of red roses, and he's pretty sure his heart is about to beat out of his chest now.
He takes a deep breath and stands there, completely stunned at the fact that this woman in white, this perfect, beautiful woman with snowflakes resting so sweetly in that honey blonde hair, is about to be his wife. Mrs. McCord. His Mrs. McCord. He was going to be her Mr. McCord. How in this world did he get so lucky? He swallows thick as the lump in his throat starts rising closer and closer to the top, realizing that he might start bawling his eyes out right then and there if he lets it come up too far.
"You look beautiful," Henry whispers, taking her hands when she passes off the bouquet.
She smiles at him through the veil, and he squeezes her hands a bit more before they walk to the little alter. "You look very dapper in that bow tie," she coos quietly.
He rubs the back of her hand, "Your hands are cold," he whispers, all the nerves washing away with the sudden concern for how cold she must be. All this snow and she wasn't even wearing a coat.
She glances over at him and shakes her head, "I have you to keep them warm now." She whispers before the judge starts speaking.
December 21, 1990 | Elizabeth
"How long do you think it'll be until your mom figures out we've been living there together?" Elizabeth asks as Henry drives, their hands intertwined across the bench seat.
Henry laughs, "Well, they're just staying there until tomorrow, but I have no doubt she'll do her detective work." He replies, "And what's she going to do at this point? Shun us?" He teases, "I love my mother, but this is the only Mrs. McCord whose opinion I care about for now." He says and squeezes her hand.
She smiles, feeling her chest rise with excitement when she hears that name. She'd dreamt of this for a while now, being called Mrs. McCord, but hearing it coming from her now-husband was something that didn't even feel real. "Good," she says lightheartedly, looking forward at the road. Their drive to the mountains really wasn't long, but it felt like it had been long enough.
Just as she was thinking how long this short trip was, she sees the most quaint little cabin ahead of her as his—their?—Bronco is bumping along the driveway. "Here it is," Henry says, and she realizes his tone is a little nervous. She stares out the windshield, her brows raised as the little, unlit building stares back at her. In the glow of the sunset, it looked like it was probably warm at least, even though there was snow all around it.
"It's cute." She says finally, truly meaning those words. When she finished her sentence, though, her face got hot as she thought about what they'd be doing in that cute little cabin, "I believe you're supposed to carry me across the threshold." She says softly, her nose going in the air a bit.
He smirks at her before getting out and walking to her side, moving to open the door. When he grabs the handle, however, she hears a thud and he slips from out of her view. She gasps and looks down out the window, or tries to, and bumps her forehead on the cold glass. "Are you alright?!" She yells through the door.
"I'm good," he says as she's pulling the handle, being careful to not hit him as he's sprawled out on the ground. "A bit of ice." He says and laughs, and then she laughs, too, and gets even more tickled when she realizes she can see his breath.
"A perfect start to our honeymoon." She says jokingly, carefully reaching down and helping him get to his feet. "I think I'll get out on my own." She says, gingerly stepping out of the vehicle as he holds onto the door and onto her hand.
The ice was slick, obviously, but they made it to the front door before he suddenly swept her up into his arms, "Now I can carry you across the threshold."
She smirks and wraps her arms around his neck, giving him a good kiss before reaching down and turning the doorknob, "Go ahead, Mr. McCord." She whispers, looking right into his eyes.
When he steps in, she's incredibly appreciative of whoever started the fire for them because it's warm and dimly lit. Henry is stumbling into the little bed area, laying her down on it and kissing her lips again before she giggles, "Wait, wait," she says breathlessly, pushing him away and biting her lip. "I have something special for you."
"If it's in your suitcase, I'm—"
"Please?" She coos, batting her eyes, "It'll be worth your while."
He pauses and sighs, raising his brow and pursing his lips, "If I slip on the ice again, it's your fault."
"I'll take good care of you if you are too incapacitated to take care of me yourself." She says seductively, then snorts at how ridiculous that sounds outside of her head. "Go, go." She says.
When he goes outside, she quickly hops up and reaches for the zipper—but damn if she can't reach it again. She twirls around a few times in desperate attempts to somehow stretch her arm a little further, feeling much like a dog chasing its tail. Alas, her arm did not grow, stretch, or contort any differently than when she was standing in their bedroom trying to zip it up.
"I got the suitcase." Henry says, walking back in as Elizabeth is still struggling to reach the zipper.
He snorts, and she groans, "I was trying to be ready for what's in that bag, but I can't reach."
He smiles a little and lays the suitcase down in the floor, walking over to her and putting his hands on her shoulders, "Babe," he whispers, "I got it," he says softly, sliding his hand around to the back of her and tugging at the zipper before leaning in and kissing her lips.
Immediately, her body relaxes into his chest, her hands coming up and resting there.
Although they've been together for a few years now, there was something different about this. There was a hunger, but it was different. This wasn't a ravaging, raging thirst that needed to be quenched. They had all night. They had all weekend, actually, and they weren't going to leave this cabin unless they had to. It wasn't curiosity, either, they know each other pretty well by now. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she didn't have to, because he was laying her backwards on the bed. "I—"
"I just want you," he whispers, "You know that…you know you don't have to do anything fancy for me just because this is our wedding night." He whispers. "That's not you."
She smiles a little and looks into his eyes, wrapping her leg around his hips, "Good," she whispers, "But I'm wearing it at some point this weekend. I look hot in it." She teases before pulling his face down to hers, letting his lips crash almost painfully into her mouth.