A/N: Hello everyone! Hope you had a great weekend.

Here's something to mix it up a little for the tenth (wow!) chapter. As always, I appreciate your reviews so much!

Hope you enjoy.

April 29, 1988 | Henry

He wasn't sure how much he believed fate played a role in life and its detriments or provisions. Growing up as a devout Catholic, Henry was taught a lot about providence, and maybe that's what all this was—God's providence. Either way, he had a lot of thanksgiving prayers to say over the next few weeks after how everything has played out these last couple of days. And really, how everything has played out ever since the night he met Elizabeth. Sometimes he feels like pinching himself to check and make sure it's not a dream, but he can't ever bring himself to do it in case he actually wakes up.

"We're sorry," the leasing manager said, "You have to have this amount of income prior to signing the lease with us." When she pointed to the number on the piece of paper on the desk between she and the couple, Henry's heart fell once more into his stomach.

He simply looked at Elizabeth who was already looking at him with the same expression of hopelessness, both feeling the heavy weight of defeat after being told no for the third time this morning from a third apartment complex. After they told the woman thanks anyway, they walked out and were mostly quiet, unsure of what to really say to each other.

That was a few days ago, and the plan for that day was to stop at the car wash after apartment hunting and have Elizabeth meet Mark—plus Henry's truck needed a good scrub anyway now that spring was really starting to show its face and its subsequent yellow blanket of pollen. As luck would have it, Mark was there with his wife, Lisa, and Henry introduced Elizabeth to the both of them.

Of course Mark absolutely adored Elizabeth. How could he not, anyway? Lisa seemed to really like her too, but she wasn't as adoring as Mark. Henry always had a little soft spot in his heart for Lisa. She was a little too much beauty and maybe not enough brain, but Mark treated her well. Lisa was always strung out trying to wrangle their four monster-ish kids, so Henry really couldn't blame her for being, well, not "all there." Elizabeth seemed to really hit it off with Mark, too. Turns out, they both were on the debate team in high school—something Henry knew about neither of them. He made a mental note to ask her about that later, but even now days later, he still hasn't. Everything has been too much of a whirlwind with finals and the whole housing situation.

Everything was great, totally normal conversations were happening and the two couples were being incredibly friendly with each other while Mark and Henry washed his truck. Then Mark asked a question that changed Henry and Elizabeth's entire day—maybe their lives…he's not sure yet.

"So," Mark said while scrubbing the long-handled brush across the top of Henry's Bronco, "When do we expect ol' Henry here to pop the question?" He asked, gesturing toward Elizabeth.

She just laughed and shook her head, "No time soon," she said playfully, "We did just come back from apartment hunting, though."

"Ahh, apartment hunting?!" Mark exclaimed, shoving the brush back in the bucket, "Henry!" He yelled, and Henry just stared at him when he heard him use his actual name for one of the few times, resting his brush on the hood of his truck to listen for what Mark was going to say next. "This is huge, Hank!"

Henry just smiled, relieved to hear that Mark wasn't actually mad. He could never tell with the tone—he thinks it might have been the thick Brooklyn accent. He's not sure how he's made it this long in Charlottesville without losing at least some of it. "Yeah, if only we could find an apartment to sign us." He explained, going back to brushing the hood. "Some say we're too young, some tell us straight out we don't have enough income. But of course we don't have enough income, we're students. We'll be working our asses off over the summer just to make some money."

Mark leans his arm against the handle, the brush still in the bucket of suds, "Hank," he said, giving him this look as if to say, "you idiot," and laughed a little, "I'd be glad to sign you on in one of my rentals."

"You have rentals?" Henry asked, furrowing his brow and looking over at Elizabeth, "I didn't know you had rentals."

"Do I have rentals!" Mark exclaimed and laughed, and Lisa laughed along with him. "This car wash doesn't keep me and four kids and a wife afloat, Hank. I'm glad you think I do enough business here to make a living." He teased.

"We have rentals all over Charlottesville, hun." Lisa chimed in, looking mostly at Elizabeth but switching her gaze between her and Henry. "There's this perfect little cottage that you guys would do perfect in." She continued, slapping some gum, "That's it, Marky!" She said, "They have to have the cottage!"

"It's not finished yet, Lis." Mark replied, shaking his head, "It still needs a good bit of—"

Thinking fast, Henry spoke up, "My dad taught me some carpenter work a few summers ago," he said, shoving the brush in the bucket quickly and wiping his hands on his jeans. He nodded to Elizabeth for her to spray it down, and she started while he continued talking to Mark, "What if I did the work it needs in exchange for the summer's rent? That would let us earn enough money to keep us going through the semesters too." He asked, pitching this wild idea to Mark.

Mark looked at Lisa who shrugged her shoulders, and then looked back at Henry, "Hank," he said, "I'd do anything to see you and that girl happy and on your feet." He put his hand out for Henry to shake, "You do the work and when you finish it, I'll knock a few hundred off the rent. Friends and family discount, you know."

Elizabeth stopped rinsing and turned the hose off before looking over with the biggest smile on her face, and Henry's heart soared out of his chest before he shook Mark's hand. "Deal." He said, proud to make her happy.

Elizabeth had just taken her last final this morning whereas Henry took his last one yesterday, and he let her know he would pick her up by the cafeteria to go see their "cottage," as Lisa called it. After the initial excitement wore down for the both of them, Elizabeth was the first to reluctantly bring up whether the space was livable. Henry shared some of the same concerns, so it was a mixture of excitement and total nerves today.

"Hey beautiful," Henry says when she climbs in the truck, tossing her backpack into the back.

She leans over and kisses him, then looks out the window, "Oh," she says, looking back at him and putting her hand to her chest, "You were talking to me?" She teases.

He laughs and kisses her again, putting the truck in drive, "You ready to go see our possible money pit?"

She snorts and closes her eyes, taking a steadying breath, "Oh, don't even joke about it…" she groans, "I just hope that you're right."

"I keep telling you Mark wouldn't do us dirty." He says, but deep down, he's wondering if Mark would do them dirty. He's just hoping that he holds up to the standard Henry had set him to.

On the drive there, they discussed how her final exams went this week, how his went, and then went back to talking about how terrible Elizabeth's political science course was this semester. "I hated this class, Henry," she groans, leaning back into the seat more, "I just hate politics. Everyone needs to just…grow up."

Henry laughs from the driver's seat, "Okay, so I'm guessing you're never going to be a politician. That's kind of a relief." He admits.

She smirks and looks over, "Financial analyst, Henry. That's my only plan. Just me and numbers for the rest of my professional life." She says, looking back out the windshield. "Oh!" She says, sitting up and leaning over, "Is this it?"

"This is it, I think. What's the address again?" He asks.

She pulls out the piece of paper that Mark had written the address on, unfolding it and reading, "502 Pine."

"502 Pine." He confirms and pulls into the driveway.

April 29, 1988 | Elizabeth

When she looks up from the paper again, he's already pulled the truck into the drive. From the outside, the little house looked perfect. "Mark probably already remodeled this," she thinks to herself, taking in the pastel blue with white trim around the windows and door. The shutters were a darker steel blue, and although it seemed like a lot of blue, she also loved everything about it. "This is really nice, Henry."

She looks over at him when he doesn't reply, but he's just sitting and staring at the house, "I just hope the inside isn't a complete disaster and that I didn't get myself in too deep." He murmurs.

Her heart drops for a moment, but she opens the door and pushes her way out, "Let's go see for ourselves." She says, grabbing the key from the dash and shutting her door.

Quickly making her way to the door—trying to stop herself from practically skipping—she turns the key and unlocks it. Henry is standing less than a foot behind her as she opens the door and flips the lights on, and when he gasps behind her, she can't help but chuckle. "It's not so bad." She states, giving it a quick glance all the way around the visible parts of the living room, dining room, and kitchen. "Small, but mostly finished."

"Mostly finished." Henry repeats, sounding as though he's in a daze. It makes Elizabeth chuckle again as he is walking further into the living room, looking around at the ceiling and floors—all that she could tell was missing was the trim and baseboards in this room. "Oh my God," he murmurs, "It's mostly finished."

She smiles and walks behind him, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and tugging on him a little so that he leans backwards. When he does, she nuzzles her chin into his shoulder and presses a few quick kisses to his neck, "It's perfect." She whispers, "And ours."

He turns around and wraps his arms around her waist, her arms still holding on to his neck but with her hands now folding behind his head, "It's ours." He replies and smiles, "Our first place."

She bites her lip and blinks a few times, then looks around and clears her throat, "We should go look at the other rooms before we get too excited, but Henry, this is so…" she can't find the words that seem appropriate, so she just shrugs and smiles.

"Perfect. It's perfect." Henry finishes, smiling before taking her hand and walking with her through the rest of the small house.

To her surprise, her pleasant surprise, the house was mostly finished except the bathroom. It was livable and doable for now, but the bathroom had not been touched at all yet, so it was old and a little grimey. "Looks like your first job is to clean." She says.

He turns to face her and raises his brow, laughing, "Me? Cleaning?" He asks, "I though it was the woman's job to clean."

She widens her eyes and tilts her head, wondering if she could strangle him and get away with it or if they would immediately suspect her of the murder. "Henry James McCord," she growls, "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that and sound just like your father for a moment."

Henry smirks, "Or what?"

"Or your family will be the next ones on 20/20 crying about your suspicious murder."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Oh, I have my ways." She quips, "I have friends from Houghton who were trained in military combat since the time they were children. They taught me some things."

"Oh did they?" Henry asks, raising his brow and turning toward her in the bathroom doorway, leaning back against the frame and wrapping his arms around her waist, tugging her body closer.

"They did." She replies, letting her body lean into his only somewhat reluctantly—all play. "I am an out-of-the-box thinker, so I've been told by my math professors who only want in-the-box thinkers." She states, "I can think of plenty of creative ways to make it look like an accident."

He laughs, finally breaking character, and so she's able to laugh, too, since he technically lost this little competition they were having to see who could hold out the longest. "Okay, fine." He says, "I'll clean."

"Good job."

"I'll clean if…" he starts, and Elizabeth purses her lips and tilts her head.

"No ifs," she interjects, "I already told you I'm not buying that French maid apron from the thrift store. God only knows where that's been."

"I already said I'd buy you a new one."

"Debatable." She says and smirks, looking down into his eyes as their bodies are almost horizontal, wedged in this doorframe. She thinks for a moment how dull her life was in comparison to this just a few short months ago—meeting Henry completely changed her life, and that isn't even dramatizing the matter. He really came in and flipped her world upside down, now unable to imagine a life without him. "I love you," she blurts out, seemingly randomly to him.

He laughs quietly, "I love you too, but that came out of nowhere."

She shakes her head, "All in here, McCord." She says and taps her index finger to her temple, "All in here."

April 30, 1988 | Elizabeth

Because of the state of the bathroom, they had immediately gone and bought lots of cleaning products yesterday before scrubbing it together. The other thing they bought on their way home was a mattress.

"Mattresses are such a rip off," Henry had said while putting his wallet back in his pocket.

"I can help pay, too, I just have to get Aunt Patty and Uncle Don to sign off on releasing the funds for my inheritance." She explained. She'd been waiting to get the money that was left to her because she didn't really need it yet—she wanted to use it as a down-payment for a house whenever she finished college. She didn't even really know how much she was owed, but she knew it was a decent amount.

They drove back to UVA and got sheets and blankets, putting two flat sheets over the mattress since neither of their twin sheets would fit this queen mattress, and sleeping under their two comforters for the night. They couldn't resist not staying the night in the new house, plus they knew they wouldn't have been able to stay tonight because they had been planning on going to a kegger for an end of year ordeal.

All day, though, they've been moving their items into their new place, emptying their dorms completely since tomorrow is the final day to be moved out. She's exhausted, and she can tell he's pretty tired, too, but Henry had already promised John he'd go to this party. Why? She's not really sure—he doesn't like John much more than she does. Although John was the one to initially get Henry to go, Isabelle wanted Elizabeth to come, too, so both of them felt a little obligated now.

She walks out of the bedroom where the mattress was still laying in the middle of the floor in a bright red dress. The hem ends midway down her thigh, and when Henry sees her, he widens his eyes and whistles, "Wow," he says, standing there in a stunned state.

Looking down, she tucks her hair behind her ear and laughs quietly, "I'm never sure about red. I feel like it's too much." She says self-consciously, picking at the top of the dress to pull it up some. She wasn't really used to wearing something this low cut, but Isabelle loaned it to her. The poofy shoulders wasn't really her thing, but watching Henry be speechless was worth wearing it anyway.

"Red is definitely your color." He says, walking over to her and wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her lips softly, "And blue. And purple. And orange." He starts listing.

She snorts and pushes his chest playfully, getting him off her, "Okay, Romeo." She teases and walks over to grab shoes from one of the boxes she'd brought from her dorm room. "If you keep teasing me, we'll be late for the party." She says coyly, glancing over her shoulder and winking.

"The party can wait." He murmurs.

"Nope, I told Isabelle we'd be there by nine." She says, tugging at Henry's arm and looking at his watch, "And it's already ten 'til. We need to go, Henry." She says more urgently, turning her body and raising her brows at him.

He sighs, becoming slightly mopey, "Fine." He says and grabs his keys from the little nail on the wall.

April 30, 1988 | Henry

"The death penalty is not justice, Brian. It's revenge." He hears her voice from around the corner somewhere—they got split up whenever John pulled Henry aside and made him chug from the keg. So much for that, though, because John left after Henry's first round underneath the keg. There were at least three other rounds that Henry could recall, but John was off somewhere else. Everyone else was cheering him on, so he just kept going. "And besides, what if there's a mistake and we execute an innocent person? It's happened before, it'll happen again. And for you to tell me who I should be voting for in this election is—"

Henry walks up behind her and takes the drink from her hand, widening his eyes drunkenly, "Babe," he says, "Brian is too drunk to even remember this conversation in an hour, let alone any other time."

She leans over and almost falls into the wall, and he realizes, even in his drunken state, that she's way more drunk than he's ever seen her. "But he keeps telling me who to vote for." She mumbles.

He frowns and sniffs her drink, furrowing his brow and looking at her, "How much have you had to drink?" He asks, "You're really—"

"—just a few beers." She says, moving her hands and fingers around as if to say, "that's nothing."

He sets the drink down on the coffee table behind him and she pouts, looking over his shoulder on her tip toes before falling into his chest. "Elizabeth," he says in a concerned tone, "Babe, you never drink this much."

She's holding her weight up on him, her arms wrapped around his neck as he tries to steady his own drunk self, "I just needed to take my mind off things…"

"I was only gone for, like, an hour?" Henry says, trying to walk with her over to the couch. He shoos a couple away whose tongues, he thinks, were completely down each other's throats. "How did you get so drunk in that time?"

She completely ignores his question, and when he sees her staring off somewhere behind him, he turns his body and looks. He sees John talking with Isabelle and Michelle before he looks back at her. Her mouth was open just slightly, her eyes narrowed. "Babe?" Henry asks, "What are you doing?" Her hand moves in her lap and tucks underneath her leg quickly. Finding this odd, he looks down and gently grabs her forearm, pulling her arm out from between her leg and the couch, "What the hell is this?" He asks, seeing her bloodied knuckles.

"It's nothing." She murmurs, shaking herself out of her staring contest with the side of John's head.

Henry looks back at John again, and as he does, John is turning to head to the front door—with an ice pack on his jaw. "Elizabeth," he mumbles, frowning as he looks back at her, "What the hell happened? Did John do something to you?"

She looks at him again, her expression becoming a little less distanced as she takes a deep breath, "I hit him." She whispers, clearing her throat and looking down at her bloodied hand in shock, not realizing how bloody it was. She looks at her dress and moves around, and he can tell she's wondering if she got blood on the dress—but it's red anyway.

"Why did you hit him?" He asks in a normal tone, but the music was so loud that it sounds quiet.

Her eyes jump up and look at him then back down at her lap, and he notes that she can't even look him in the eye.

"Elizabeth, what the hell did John do?"

"Nothing…it's nothing, Henry." She murmurs.

He stands up and looks at her, extending his hand, "Come on." He says, and when she gives him her hand they walk outside to the front lawn where it was more quiet and there were less people around. "Spill, Elizabeth. What the hell did John do?" He asks, putting his hands on his hips as he waited for her answer. He suddenly felt incredibly sober.

She folds her arms over her chest, her eyes filling with tears. When she does this, lets herself cry in a somewhat public place, he knows two truths he's already suspected: one, she's very drunk; two, John did something. She swallows hard and looks down at her feet while the toes of her shoes tapping around, "Where did you go?" She asks quietly.

"John took me and put me under a keg, Elizabeth, but you're not answering me." He states, getting angry—not with her, but more and more with John. "What did he do?"

She sniffles and looks at her hand again, never bringing her eyes up to him. "I was talking with Isabelle when John asked to speak with me—he said he had something to tell me about you. I thought he was going to be…I don't know, I thought he was planning a surprise or something, really." She admits, shaking her head and trying to not let her voice crack by clearing it once more, "So I let him pull me into Sarah's bedroom," she explains, and Henry immediately thinks of what the bedroom looks like since he had just been in there prior to John pulling him away to use the adjacent bathroom, "When he pulled me in there, he started saying something. I—I don't really remember what he was saying." She says, her voice getting quieter and more distant again. Still, she hasn't brought her eyes up to him, and he's glad for it at this point because he's fuming. He could kill John. "And then when he shut the door, he threw his hands around me and grabbed my ass—before I could stop any of it, he just shoved his whole face into mine." She continues, sniffling and shifting her weight before her toes start doing the tapping again, "When he stuck his tongue in my mouth—I…" her voice trails off and her body shakes a little, and Henry's fuming breaks for a moment.

"It's okay…" he whispers, letting his hand come up to her shoulder and rest there, intending on giving it a gentle squeeze. Instead, she jumped when his hand touched her, and he wanted to kill John all over again.

She looks at his hand and relaxes a little, then brings her hand across her body and puts it on top of his, looking up at him with tears running down her face, "I hit him hard." She whispers.

He nods, "I can tell by your knuckles." He says, taking her other hand in his free one and examining the bloodiness underneath the streetlight glow. He notices the swelling, so he looks up and swallows hard, trying to steady his breathing, "We should get your hand checked out. It's swollen."

She frowns and shakes her head, "I'm fine, Henry." She says, jerking her hand away.

"Babe…" he says, gesturing to her hand, "It's bad."

She brings it up and looks at it, sighing before finally breaking down—completely letting the floodgates open. "Okay." She murmurs, closing her eyes as she cries.

Henry wants so badly to hug her, but he can tell by her body language that she doesn't want that right now. Just the flinch alone made him want to simultaneously hug her and never touch her again in fear that she would hate him for it.

"Henry?" Isabelle calls out from the front door, frowning when she sees the scene in front of her. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

He shakes his head, "Were you drinking tonight? Elizabeth needs to go to the hospital." He says, glancing back at his truck and sighing, wishing so badly he wouldn't have chugged anything. "I can't drive."

She shakes her head and digs her keys from her purse immediately, "What happened to Elizabeth?"

"I punched John." Elizabeth mumbles, looking mindlessly at Isabelle who is now standing beside her.

"You—" Isabelle starts, raising her brow and then looking at Henry. He simply nods, and she tilts her head and blinks a few times before he gestures to Elizabeth's hand. She looks down at it and picks Elizabeth's arm up, and Elizabeth flinches again even with Isabelle's touch. "Oh, oh no." Isabelle says, her voice deepening, "Oh hell no." She seethes. "Did John touch you?" She asks.

Elizabeth just nods, never looking Isabelle in the face, either.

"I'm going to kill him." She growls.

Henry laughs tiredly, "Not if I get to him first." He answers.

"Come on, let's get this checked out." Isabelle says, leading them to her car.

May 2, 1988 | Elizabeth

All yesterday, she's avoided any serious conversation with Henry. He's absolutely pampered her, though, and she couldn't be more appreciative. He nursed her hangover that morning and gave her the pain medicine that the hospital prescribed to her the night before. He let her lay in the bed—well, on the mattress in the floor—all day while he did some of the clean-up jobs around the house.

"Just yell if you need me, okay?" He said, standing in the bedroom doorway.

She looked at him pitifully, "It's just a sprained hand, Henry, I didn't break my legs."

He smiled at her a little and shrugged, "Still, it's been a rough weekend. Just rest."

So she did. With a book in her lap the entire time, completely finishing Tom Clancy's The Cardinal of the Kremlin by flipping through the pages with one hand. Today, though, he's hovering—she can tell he's wanting to ask questions, but he's also trying to make himself give her space. She finally eases his pain and clears her throat, "Henry," she says, looking over at him in the bed. The birds were still singing their morning song as the early-morning sunlight was shining brightly through the windows, "You know I love you so much?"

He smiles a little, his hands tucked up underneath his cheek as he nods. "I do." He whispers, "I love you too." His hand starts to move, but he tucks it back underneath him.

Noticing this subtle move, she gently reaches for his wrist and wraps her hand around it the best she could, pulling his arm over slowly and laying his hand on her side. "It's okay." She whispers.

He lets out a sigh of relief and shuts his eyes, "I want to kill him."

"I know." She whispers.

"I don't know how I won't."

"Because I don't want you to." She replies, "He got his justice." She whispers, bringing her sprained and wrapped hand up to his cheek and gently moving her fingers across his stubble. "And when I'm ready, I'll make sure the entire campus knows what kind of supposed man that he is." She says, adding emphasis to the word "man" as if she were being sarcastic about the term.

He sighs and shakes his head, "Okay," he whispers, "But if you want me to do something, I will."

"I handled it." She coos, her thumb now gently rubbing back and forth across his jawline.