A/N: Hello everyone! Hope you've had a great week. I've been a bit under the weather the last few days and have had more time to write, but also have ended up sleeping more than writing!
This is a sweet chapter, a little NSFW...but just a little ;-)
Enjoy!
November 24, 1988 | Elizabeth
She's been looking down at her hand the entire ride home. Although his hand is covering the top of hers, she's looking at the foreign piece of jewelry gracing her left ring finger, watching it glimmer underneath the streetlights whenever they pass by. When Henry puts it in park, she looks up out the passenger window and tries to stifle a gasp—she'd been so lost in thought that she hadn't even realized they were already at his house.
"What is it, babe?" Henry asks quietly, giving her hand a little squeeze.
She turns her head and looks at him, taking a deep breath and giving him the tiniest smile, "I'm fine." She chokes, shrugging and starting to move her hand out from underneath his, tugging at her jacket with her other hand before she realizes he's squeezing her hand down to the seat, unable to move it. "Henry, I'm fine." She says again, looking up at him. She curses silently when she realizes she's looking at him through blurred version—she told herself the whole way home she'd wait to cry until she was by herself. She didn't want him worried about her.
"No, you're not." He whispers, bending his right knee to turn and face her, taking her hand and putting it on his knee between his two hands, "Is it your parents?"
She looks down at her arm, away from the ring, away from his hands, away from him. When her eyes close, she feels her cheek get wet, and she bites her bottom lip to keep from letting out a pathetic little sob. "I just wonder what they would think, you know?" She asks.
He nods, "I get it." He whispers, "I mean, I get what I think it'd be like. And I'm…" It was obvious that he was struggling to find words, and Elizabeth is secretly glad when she hears him stop talking on that subject. "Do you think they'd like me?" He asks.
She looks up at him, the corners of her lips pulling up from that frown, "They would love you." She whispers, "I'm not just saying that, either. Dad wasn't a big sports guy, but he was a car guy—he would love talking motors and everything with you. Golf, on the other hand…he would drag you out to the course and make you play a few rounds." She babbles, smiling down at her lap when she hears Henry laugh a little. They both know golf isn't his thing. "And Mom? She would love that you can cook these gourmet meals like you've made me." She says, "She'd be shocked that you actually have the patience to try to teach me how to cook pasta."
Henry laughs quietly, "It's just pasta, babe."
"And she would laugh and tell you about the time that I almost burnt the house down just trying to boil a pot of water." Elizabeth murmurs, her brow raising as she drags her gaze out the windshield, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. She smiles a little again, shaking her head, "They would call you their son, I know that." She continues after a few moments of silence, "Will would probably try to spy on us at any chance he got—and honestly, it all makes a lot more sense now." She quips, opening her eyes and sighing, thinking about the ridiculousness that her parents could be some sort of spies or something. "They would make sure we slept over on Christmas Eves, and we might have to fight about it between Elaine wanting us there and Suzanne and Ben wanting us at their house. And oh my God, Henry, they would've made amazing grandparents." She says, looking over at him and squeezing her hand in his, "They always had candy of some sort. They wouldn't let us have sodas when we were little, yet Mom and Dad always had those little caramel candies in their pocket or in their purse." She lets out a sad laugh, shaking her head and pressing her lips together, "They would probably give in and let Elaine have Thanksgiving, though. Mom liked cooking, but not that much, and Dad wasn't all that great at dinner speeches and that kind of thing."
She pauses when she feels Henry watching her from the side, but she can't bring herself out of these thoughts yet. Of these "what ifs."
"They would've shown you all the best trails whenever we rode horses. And I know for a fact they would've made you ride horses."
"I like horses," Henry says.
"Oh no, you would've had to love horses." She says, looking over at him and giving him a smile, "I mean, we lived on a horse farm. Our lives revolved around horses." She says, then looks down and bites her lip, "Until they didn't." She whispers, trying to keep her shoulders from wracking but failing and finally giving in to letting her body take over. Her emotions, that is, not her body.
He leans over and wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him, "I would've loved horses if it meant getting to love you." He whispers.
Her face is buried in his shirt, and she doesn't want to get the cloth wet and have everyone inside know something had happened, but she can't really help it. She can't help but think how lucky she is, even after the terrible cards she'd been dealt as a teenager, to get a man like this. To have a man who loves her, who holds her and lets her cry, who gives her a family she can love like her own—even if they may not always love her back. She closes her eyes, thinking about what her dad might have to say to him. Henry is traditional enough that she knows he would've asked her dad for permission to marry Elizabeth, and she's pretty sure her dad would've given some sort of speech about being good to his daughter, then he might've wrapped him in a hug and said something like, "Welcome to the family, son." Her mom wasn't much of a crier, but she might've cried when her dad would've told her, had they gotten the chance to live that long and know Henry. They might have cried together, even, about their little girl growing up. They might have gone through some stages of grief about losing their daughter to another family, in a sense, but they would've had each other to hold and love and know that their daughter is loved, too.
She sniffles a little when Henry's hand starts rubbing her back, and she looks up to try to get a glimpse of him, but his cheek is laying on her head. She can't see much, besides, it's too dark. The glowing streetlights don't provide much in that area.
Making herself peel her body away from his, she wipes at her eyes and pulls the visor down, looking in the mirror at her makeup running down her face. She tries her best to wipe it away from her skin, trying to look presentable, "Maybe Maureen won't have anything mean to say about my makeup." She murmurs, half laughing, but half telling the truth.
Henry laughs, too, rubbing her shoulder, "With any luck, she may be passed out on the couch."
Elizabeth puts the visor back up and clears her throat, "Was she this miserable with Amanda?"
Henry snorts, "Oh, we kicked her out of the house one time." He says, raising his brows when he starts to think back to that time, "Dad got so sick of her that he sent her home, told her to go be with her husband."
She smiles and bites her lip, "Your dad? He actually said something to her?"
"I know, I was shocked." Henry explains, shrugging, "She was bad, though. This is mild in comparison."
Elizabeth looks down at her ring again, still biting her lip as she wonders what her future will be like. "Maybe I won't be that bad."
He smiles, and she looks over at him to see him staring wildly at her, "You've really come around to the kid thing, haven't you?"
She shrugs a little, contorting her lips as she looks at her ring, "The more time I spend with you, with your family…the more it makes me want a little piece of you forever out there in the world." She explains softly, somewhat distantly. She was in deep thought about this, and she couldn't really pull herself out—those views of her future were too precious right now. "I like the idea of there being a little piece of us, I guess, who brings the McCord fire and the Adams determination into this world. Don't you?"
When she looks at him, he's leaning against his door and smiling, "I do." He answers quietly, "I do."
November 24, 1988 | Henry
He walks in the house first, Elizabeth trailing behind him quietly as they take off their coats and hats, ensuring there's as little snow as possible left on their boots before taking them off just inside the door. Elizabeth bends over to pull her wool sock up her leg, and Henry watches as the ring glimmers a bit in the dim evening light of his family's home.
Somewhere, probably in the kitchen, he hears Elaine telling Erin that the table needs to be reset. "Honey," she says, "The dinner fork goes closest to the plate, and then the salad fork goes next to it."
"Don't we just use one fork?"
"Not on Thanksgiving."
"But that's ridiculous," Erin argues, and Henry looks back and snickers to Elizabeth, trying to stay as quiet as possible as to not stir the rest of the family up, "That just means there's more dishes to wash."
"That's how it always will be on Thanksgiving," Elaine says, "Get used to it."
Elizabeth snickers behind him now, and Henry is trying to keep from laughing, too. "No more complaining, missy." Elaine is still barking as she is messing around with the oven—Henry can tell because the oven door has squeaked for the last ten years of his life.
Henry reaches back and takes Elizabeth's hand, finding the ring on her finger without looking and toying with it as they walk into the living room, "We're back." He announces.
"Oh, good!" Elaine says from the kitchen, walking to the edge of the living room so she can see him. "We were worried you two were stuck in the snow somewhere." She says.
"Well," Shane pipes up, "Mom was. The rest of us weren't."
"Glad to see you care," Henry quips.
Shane shrugs, "Maureen said you two were probably just—"
"Do not repeat what your sister said," Elaine snaps, "It was tasteless then and it would be even more tasteless coming from you."
"Having sex." Erin joins in from the dining room, "Maureen said you two were probably just having sex."
"Erin Miranda McCord!" Elaine yelps, "Get upstairs right now!"
"Anything to get out of setting this table again." She mumbles as she rounds the corner and goes to the staircase.
"Mrs. Elaine, we weren't—"
Elizabeth's pitiful attempt to stammer out a sentence was interrupted by Patrick barreling in, "Is that turkey ready yet?" He asks.
Elaine is fuming, but for him, she takes a deep breath and turns around to the kitchen, "The timer says three minutes." She answers, then turns back and eyes Henry. "This isn't the first time that I've been told you two were off somewhere doing ungodly things." She warns.
"Mom," Henry says quickly, "I can promise you, Elizabeth and I were not doing that." He says. When she's still eyeing him, he starts laughing and looks over at Elizabeth whose face was, quite frankly, as red as a tomato.
"We actually were doing this," Elizabeth speaks out, sounding as though she'd found a sudden bout of braveness in her as she forces her left hand out in front of her, showing Elaine the beautiful diamond ring.
Elaine gasps, grabbing her fingers and pulling her entire hand closer to her face. Elizabeth stumbles forward and giggles a little, glancing over at Henry. As he watches Elaine's face turn between joy and some kind of sadness, he feels a swelling sensation in his chest. He reaches out and wraps his arm around Elizabeth's shoulders, smiling big, "See? Not sex." He teases
Elizabeth shoots a look at him, widening her eyes and pushing her lips together as if to silently tell him, "And you're not getting any ever if you don't zip it."
"Oh," Elaine finally manages to say, and Henry sees now that she has tears running down her face, "Oh," she says again. Henry laughs, wondering if she's able to even say anything else. "Oh, I'm so happy for you two." She finally sputters out, looking up at Elizabeth, and then at Henry. She adjusts her glasses and smiles as a tear drips from her jawline, watching her son until it makes him feel a little uncomfortable.
He shifts, "What?" He asks and laughs nervously.
She shakes her head, sniffling and wiping a tear that was about to drip from her jawline again, "I'm just so happy you've found the one, Henry." She whispers, still holding Elizabeth's hand in both of hers. She pulls at it again, giving her fingers a kiss and then stepping over to Henry, giving him a tight hug.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, feeling her tears soak through his shirt. He wraps her a little tighter, "This is for Elizabeth's mom," he thinks as he rubs her back, "This extra squeeze is for her."
Elaine is the first one to pull away surprisingly, and she goes and hugs Elizabeth tightly. Henry is still standing close enough to hear, even though he's struggling to hold back tears of his own after seeing his mom become so emotional, and he listens as she rubs Elizabeth's back, "I couldn't have picked anyone better for my son," she whispers, "And I couldn't have asked for a better woman to have as a daughter-in-law." She says as she pulls away.
He glances at Elizabeth's face and sees that she's having a hard time holding her tears back, too, and she takes a shaky breath before speaking, "I couldn't have asked for a better mother-in-law, Mrs. Elaine."
Henry steps toward them both, wrapping them in his arms and laying his head on Elizabeth's, "I love you both so much." He says softly.
"What's the love fest for?" He hears Maureen say, then looks up to see her shuffling into the kitchen.
They both pull away and turn to her, "See for yourself." Elaine says, tugging at Elizabeth's hand again.
Maureen eyes the ring on her finger, raising her brow, "So he finally popped the question?" She asks Elizabeth.
Elizabeth just smiles, nodding slightly, "He did." She says, then looks back at Henry with a much larger smile.
"Good," Maureen says, "Welcome to the family," she says before turning and heading to the table.
The timer goes off in the background, and Elaine rushes off to the oven and starts getting the turkey out. "That went well." Elizabeth mumbles when Henry hugs her again.
"So far, so good." He says quietly from the side of his mouth. "Hey Dad," he calls out, looking at Patrick as he's walking into the dining room, "Come see." He says.
Patrick turns his head that way, knowing exactly what he was looking for. He sees the ring immediately, and his eyes lock with Henry's, "Congrats, son." He says, and that was that. Nothing else was said from Patrick McCord, but Henry somehow knew he approved of Elizabeth—he'd had the conversation with him in that old factory and it confirmed that Elizabeth was the one for him. Even Patrick McCord thought so, in his round about way.
"Thanks, Dad." Henry says before taking Elizabeth's hand and walking over to the table with her.
Shane and Erin finally come waltzing in, and Elaine is just setting the turkey on the table when they're sitting down.
Henry looks over and smirks, "Hey, dweebs," he says, getting their attention. He always laughed when that got their attention because they didn't necessarily like being called those names, but they always looked anyway. "Look here." He says, pointing to Elizabeth's finger.
She holds it up with a smirk, and Erin gasps. Shane doesn't say anything and just huffs, but Erin is excited, "I always wanted a sister!" She exclaims.
"Hey!" Maureen says.
Erin looks at her and shrugs, "A nice one."
November 27, 1988 | Elizabeth
"I thought Mark and Lisa were going to lose their minds when you showed them the ring," Henry is saying as he lathers his hair with shampoo in the shower.
She's been quietly watching him through the glass door from the bed. Sometimes she would look down at her ring, sometimes she would watch him—mostly when he didn't know she was looking, though. He caught her once, but obviously didn't think much of it. That was when he was stepping into the shower, but he was still babbling on about their lunch with Mark and Lisa this morning.
Elizabeth smiles as she replays—for maybe the twentieth time since lunch—the moment Mark noticed. It was much like Elaine's realization, actually, a mixture of happiness and sadness all at once. Lisa couldn't stop talking about how beautiful the ring was, and Elizabeth couldn't do anything but agree. It truly is the most beautiful ring—the most beautiful piece of jewelry she's ever had. She loves the way it glimmers whenever it catches a certain light, and right now while she's sitting on the bed with her knees to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs, the bathroom light catches it every so often and the ring grabs her eye once more. It was finally starting to feel real, like this wasn't just some fairytale that she had been dreaming of. This was actually happening. He actually had asked her to be his wife.
But also, the fear began to set in. Fear of being a wife, because really, did she know how? She only had fifteen years with her parents and hadn't really been studying up on what being a good wife looked like. She was sure that her parents' marriage seemed great, but she also had no idea what went into making it work. So many other marriages weren't working these days, and she wanted to be sure that wouldn't happen to them. She would be Mrs. McCord, and she wanted to be Mrs. McCord forever. Not just a few years of her life. The entire thing.
She looks up at him again while he's babbling on about Mark and Lisa, about how good they've been to the both of them. She agrees with that, too, that they have done a lot for them. Mark was a lot like Henry's second dad, and Elizabeth was happy that he had that in his life. Patrick wasn't the worst dad ever, but he certainly wasn't the greatest, either.
When he stops talking and finally starts singing, she stands up and takes her tee off, tossing it to the bed behind her as she walks into the bathroom. She gets to the rug that is lying in the floor in front of the shower before Henry notices she's standing there, and he smirks and cleans the glass free of fog before pressing his lips to it. He switches from singing "Every Rose Has Its Thorn," a song that had been clearly stuck in his head for a few days now, to Percy Sledge's "When A Man Loves a Woman."
She bites her lip and tries to keep her smile at bay as she pushes the rest of her clothes into a pile on the rug, grabbing the handle on the glass and pulling the door open. He's belting out the song: "When a man loves a woman, can't keep his mind on nothin' else. He'd trade the world for the good thing he's found."
Stepping up to his body, he places his wet hands just below her waist, resting there on her hips as the water runs down his body. She feels the steam rising up and takes a deep breath, looking up into his eyes while he's still singing, "When a man loves a woman, spend his very last dime, tryin' to hold on to what he needs…"
Their bodies are swaying together, not even a piece of paper could fit between their skin. Her skin is starting to collect waterdrops, and he pulls her forward gently so that they're both underneath the shower. His hand reaches up from her waist and pushes her hair back out of her face, her bangs starting to fall down from the water and stick to her forehead.
"You really know how to wow a man, you know that?" Henry pauses his singing and asks her.
The corners of her lips just barely creep up as she wraps her arms around his neck, loosely holding her thumb with her other fingers behind him, "Oh yeah?" She asks, being a little more promiscuous than she needed to be—she could tell she didn't need to be promiscuous at all, not anymore than she'd already been doing. She could feel him against her leg, but she was pretending to not acknowledge that fact. "Why do you say that?" She asks.
He's swaying with her again, his hands resting on her hips before he slides them around to her backside, grabbing a bit of ass and lifting. It makes her giggle, and she's pretty sure that's what he was going for—she knows that he can tell she's trying to not be giggly anyway. She's trying to be serious, smooth, and sophisticated. "You just waltz right in here…" he says, shrugging, "No asking, no timidness about you. You just came in like it was your turn in this little space," he explains.
She shrugs, tilting her head slightly, "It is my turn."
"It's my turn." He quips.
"It's our turn." She whispers, her eyes dropping down to look at his lips. The water is dripping down his face, down to his chin and then jumping off to slide down his chest and further, further, further. She thinks about where it goes briefly before she sees him leaning in to kiss her lips, his hand coming up to her jaw and cupping it. He pushes his fingers backwards toward her ear, running them through her soaking wet hair as she closes her eyes and kisses him.
She presses her body closer to his, trying the best she can without even realizing it to make their bodies one, to feel his as much as she can. He's doing the same, but he's pushing down whereas she's pushing on her tip toes. With any luck, their bodies will melt together in this hot water with the steam rising around them.
Her hands are grabbing onto his arms just below his shoulders, digging her fingers in before he pulls away. The water is dripping from his face onto hers, and she's bent back entirely too much, but the twinge of ache in her back doesn't matter right now. It'll matter tomorrow, maybe, but right now all that matters is that his body must be touching hers. Must be consuming hers. She must consume his, too.
"I'm on fire." She breathes, her lips barely able to move.
He doesn't say anything in reply, just leans down and kisses her once more. His hands are holding her back as they dip down, and she wonders quickly if they could fall down in the shower, but she knows he won't let that happen. His hands are holding her, his arms have her—she's not going anywhere.
Instead, she turns her body and leans against the wall, picking one leg up and wrapping it around his hip. She looks down at where they're touching and bites her lip, amazed that she pulled her leg that high without straining—even though she was no dancer, she still had some flexibility to her, apparently. He's grabbing her by the calf and steadying her slippery leg against his hip when she looks back up into his eyes, "What are you going to do about it?" She asks, referring to her earlier comment about her being on fire.
He's peppering wet kisses down her neck, making it arch to the side while her back does a similar arch, pressing her chest up into him. When he doesn't answer, she almost says something again, but he feels his fingers going where she wants them, feels his mouth trailing kisses down to her chest.
The funny thing about fires is that most people want them to be put out. Elizabeth likes to watch things burn, likes to watch them consume. If they're too dangerous, too hot, then maybe they should be put out. But like the McCord family fire, she never wants that flame to die. She always wants to feel the heat—feel that they're real, they're alive, they're chaotic and unpredictable. This fire, she wants him to put it out and start it over and over again, desperately wants gas on the flames while also begging for it to be extinguished. She never wants this fire to die. She always wants it to burn, to be reignited too many times to count. Maybe she has pyromaniac tendencies, but she can't think of it as her head is falling back and hitting the wall after he's lifted her up onto his hips.