A/N: Hey everyone! Here's a little longer of a chapter than I've been putting out, finally. Hoping this is a trend again haha.
As always, if you have anything you'd like to see or have wondered, "I wonder how the young Elizabeth and Henry handled _," let me know! I'd love to put my spin on it.
Hope you enjoy!
December 15, 1988 | Elizabeth
"Love you."
Those words played over and over in her mind, and the silence she received after lingered even louder and echoed between her ears. The door closing behind him without him even acknowledging her made her heart drop into her stomach. He'd been like this all week, but this morning—she'd had it. That was all she could take. He wasn't going to treat her like this. He wasn't going to give her the silent treatment and act like a child. They were adults, for heaven's sake, they're engaged. They're supposed to communicate like they are more than thoughtless teenagers.
She'd paced around the living room a few times, trying to figure out if she'd done something to him. "Did I forget his birthday? No, that's not until January." She rubs her head as she closes her eyes, sitting down on the couch and sighing, "Damn it, Henry." She murmurs to herself, her elbows resting on her thighs as her hands hold her forehead.
A thought pops into her head—she immediately knows it's wrong, but she can't shake it. She stands from the couch, facing the bedroom as if she were going to walk in there, but she makes herself turn around and go to the kitchen. Her hands come up to her hair and run through the blonde locks, "That's an invasion of privacy." She thinks to herself, but turns around to the bedroom again, "Why won't he talk to me?"
She can't stop herself from walking this time. Before she even truly realizes it, she's at his bedside, reaching for the knob on his nightstand. Her hand jerks away as she bites her lip, letting out a little breath that she'd been holding too long, and she groans out loud, "Just…do it." She murmurs and yanks the drawer open, quickly grabbing his journal out of its resting place before she could have a chance to change her mind again.
With a hop, she sits down on the edge of the bed, flipping the pages quickly to the last entry.
December 14, 1988
I'm scared of it all.
She almost set it down and stopped reading—the invasion felt too real, too personal. But then her ears started ringing and she wonders what he is scared of. Her curiosity, and her concern for his wellbeing, urges her over that metaphorical cliff and makes her look down into her lap and start reading where she left off so abruptly.
I'm struggling again to not be so angry all the time. After the issue with my dad at Thanksgiving, I just can't stop thinking about if I lose it again. If I lose it on Elizabeth, I know she'll leave me, and I'm scared I will. I keep trying to work through this with Dr. Mitchell and I think the theology really helps. I've really gotten into Aquinas. But I don't know if I trust myself. I don't know if she should always trust me the way she does. What if I'm just like my father after all? What if my mom was always wrong about me having her temperament? All my other siblings have my dad's temper, why would I not, too? It just scares me.
It's far down the road, but what if I'm the dad to my kids that my dad was to me? Any kids of Elizabeth's deserve better, I know that for sure. Now that I've lost it once, I just don't trust myself. I'm scared of losing it.
Dr. Mitchell said it would maybe be beneficial to me to start listing the things that make me upset or angry in this journal. I think it's probably a waste of time, but here it is:
-My dad and his treatment of my mom.
-Maureen's treatment of Elizabeth.
-The fact that I can't provide enough money to buy this house. I guess the idea of Elizabeth having to put it in her name before we get married really makes me upset, too. How am I going to support her as my wife? How am I going to support a family? I know being in the military isn't going to get me far unless I go up in rank, and I don't know that I want that. I don't know that she wants that. I just don't know about any of it. I'm feeling a little lost.
She stops reading, closes the book abruptly, and takes a deep, shaky breath, as she closes her eyes and tries to focus. As she shoves the book back into the drawer, she wonders why he didn't tell her any of this was going on. And what issue did he have at Thanksgiving with his dad? She thought, for once, Maureen and Patrick both were on their best behavior. It was shocking to her, even. Henry seemed to be in a good mood the entire time, so she's not sure when it even happened or how it happened or where it happened.
And the whole ordeal with the money? He'd never mentioned this to her. She knew it made him uncomfortable when the broker that Mark and Lisa were using to sell them the house—one of the topics discussed at the lunch the weekend after they were engaged—told them that Elizabeth would be the one on the deed until they were married. She had enough money to cover the entire purchase, and if things happened to go south in their relationship (which, at the time, Elizabeth had laughed at. Now she wonders), Henry would not be able to get the house when Elizabeth had paid the money for it. But she had no idea that it was something this upsetting to him, this frustrating to see his fiancée somehow "outdoing" him financially. In reality, she earned none of this money. She was simply a survivor of a terrible act done to her parents, and the United States Government felt it necessary to pay her and her brother back for the sacrifice her parents made. She had done nothing to get it herself. Grief, though, was something in itself, she supposes.
She rubs her hands across her eyes, trying to steady her breathing and not get upset. There was no point in that—she didn't need both of them to be upset. She knows she simply needs to talk to him and communicate to him that his feelings are valid, but that she also doesn't think he'll turn out like his dad since he's so concerned now about turning into his dad. She thinks about the fact that he's so worried about kids they don't even have, and it makes her heart break a little. "He'll be a good father. I know that." She thinks.
She clears her throat after slurping down some soup she'd made for them. The term "made" is used loosely, of course. It's canned, and she managed to heat it on the stovetop without burning anything. "I have something to tell you."
He looks up at her, still looking a bit foggy and dazed like he had for the last few days, "I hate it when you start conversations like that. I don't know whether to jump for joy or go bury my grave outside." He says, scooping more soup into his spoon.
She looks down into her bowl, suddenly feeling a bit guilty for invading on his privacy, "Maybe I shouldn't tell you."
He scoffs, "Babe, you've kind of already started this. Spill it." He says, still looking down into his soup.
Either he doesn't care much, or he really is out of it and lost in his mind. She wipes her lips with a napkin and sets it down on the table, pushing her bowl of soup away before leaning over on her arms a bit, "I did something that I'm not proud of," she starts. She's gotten his full attention now, he's looking at her with the spoon still in his hand and waiting for her next statement, "I read your journal and—"
"You what?"
She swallows hard, "I read your journal, and I—"
"That's what I thought you said," he interrupts, his spoon falling down into his bowl with a clang, "I can't believe you would do something like that, Elizabeth."
"Henry," she says, "We're a team. And you're not communica—"
"Communication?" He laughs and pushes his bowl back, too. "Is that a joke right now?" He asks, "You read my personal diary, Elizabeth!"
She looks down, her tongue grazing her lips as they suddenly feel like an Arizona desert may hold more moisture than they do right now. "Henry, I was concerned about you." She says quietly.
"That doesn't give you a right to read my personal journal, Elizabeth." He says. She can tell he's trying to not jump out of the chair and yell, and when she looks up, she sees him rising to his feet slowly. He sets his own napkin down with a little toss beside his bowl, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, "I need some space."
"Space?"
"Space."
"What kind of space?"
"The kind of space that involves you not in it for right now, Elizabeth." He seethes, walking to the living room, "I was gone for what, an hour? To go talk with Dr. Mitchell about what I was going through, even!"
"You didn't even say goodbye to me this morning. Did you realize that?" She asks, looking up at him while staying seated. Her fists are balled up, wrists resting on the edge of the table in each side of her bowl.
He turns around in the living room and looks at her, and for a second she braces herself to be yelled at, but he stops himself and turns away from her. His hands come to the back of his head, linking his fingers together and arching his back as though he were in pain. He turns around again, throwing his hands down, "You're not getting the point that what you did was wrong, Elizabeth." He says, "I would never look through your diary. Never."
"I would—"
"Don't tell me you'd allow it. You might allow it, but you wouldn't feel comfortable about it. There's some things that are supposed to be kept private, and that's one of them. Even in a relationship. Even in a marriage. There's things that you have to work on alone and this is where I write that down to work on it." He says, taking a breath, "You violated that. And you violated my trust, most of all."
She looks down and closes her eyes. That one hurt, but mostly because she knows it's true. Even if she would let him read her own diary willingly, she knows that most of all, she didn't ask. She did violate his trust. Her hands relax from the balled up fists she was making and she looks up, opening her mouth to speak again, but sees him walking to the door.
"Where are you going?"
"I know this isn't a reason to break up," he says, turning back and looking at her while putting his coat on, "But damn it, Elizabeth, this…this isn't you. I know I haven't been myself lately either, but this was…" he shakes his head as he tries to find the words.
She stands up and walks closer to him, stopping at the couch and leaning on the back of it, "Can we at least talk about what it said?"
He laughs and looks at her wildly, "You actually want to talk about what you read in my personal journal? Really?" He asks.
"I just think we need to talk it over, Henry."
"I think I need some air."
"Where are you going?" She asks once more.
He turns the doorknob then slides his other glove on, "Home, I think."
"You are home." She says, squinting her eyes at him.
"Not this one. This one feels a little like…I don't know. Even my mom, as strict as she is…she never did that." He says, "She never penetrated the deepest, most vulnerable part of my life."
She cocks her jaw to the side, trying to not just go ahead and spew apologies at him. He's acting a little dramatic about it, but she's not about to tell him that. "Henry…" She says, just trying to get him to not go out in this frigid air. "Come on. Stay. We don't have to talk about it right now."
"I'm not staying, Elizabeth." He says, looking back at her again and stating, "I need to go," before walking out the door.
She rushes over to it and grabs the knob before it the door completely shuts, yanking it open and staring him down, "How long will you be gone?" She asks, her own anger and frustration bubbling up in her chest.
"I don't know." He says.
She doesn't blink, she doesn't move at all, just stands at the windy doorway while watching the snow cover Charlottesville. This image, she thinks, will be forever burned in her mind—watching him climb into his Bronco after clearing the snow from the windshield. Watching him look at her briefly through the passenger window while he drives away. Watching him through blurry eyes as he never waves, as he never honks, never hesitates to leave this street.
When she shuts the door, she knows she didn't do this right. She knows there were probably other ways to handle it. But now all she knows is that she wants him here in this freezing cold house with her, even if he's upset with her for doing something so damaging. She wants him here where she knows he's safe. Not off somewhere else. Hopefully he's going to his parents' house, but who really knows? With his mind being this cloudy, he could be headed anywhere. And that's what scares her.
December 17, 1988 | Henry
"Listen," Mark says, leaning over the counter, "I'm glad you're here and all, but Henry, what is going on?" He asks. As soon as he finishes his sentence, his youngest kid starts screaming her head off.
"Mark! Can you get her?" Lisa calls out from the other room.
"I'm busy!" Mark calls back.
"I have Mikey right now," she says, but now the screaming has stopped.
Mark just stares ahead for a moment and takes a deep breath, looking at Henry again, "As we were saying," he says, "Why won't you tell me anything, Hank? This isn't like you."
Henry shrugs and sits down on the barstool that was pulled away from the countertop a little, "I just needed some time to think things through."
"Think what things through?" Mark asks.
Henry looks at him again and squints his eyes, "Are you going to kick me out?"
"Did you murder someone?" He replies, his version of "murder" sounding more like "murduh," though, and it makes Henry want to laugh. But the weight of the rest of his thoughts are pulling him down too much.
"No."
"And where's Elizabeth?"
"She's at our house."
"Why are you not there?"
"Because I didn't want to be," Henry replies, becoming exhausted from this conversation, "Listen, Mark, if you don't want me here, I can find somewhere else to go."
"It's not that," Mark says, shaking his head, "It's not that at all. I'm just…confused, I guess. I saw you two a few weeks ago and you both were giddy with all that teenage joy from getting engaged." He says, "Did something happen?"
"Nothing until yesterday." Henry murmurs.
Mark squints, "Okay, not even going to ask what that was about because I doubt you'll tell me," he sighs and almost rolls his eyes, "Hank, if you can't even bring yourself to realize what the problem is—"
"I know what the problem is."
"Then tell me." Mark says, becoming a little more stern. "Because I don't think you are making a good choice right now."
"What choice do you think I'm making?"
"I think you're running away from something good."
"How do you know?"
Mark looks down and laughs, shaking his head, "When I met Lisa, it wasn't love at first sight like it was with you and your girl," he explains, walking around the corner of the counter and pulling up the seat beside Henry. Henry shifts to look at him, turning his body so that it's facing him fully. "It took a while. I don't think we were any less in love when we finally realized we were in love, but it just wasn't something we felt right away. Maybe we were oblivious, I don't know." He mutters, "But when I really fell for her—God, that was terrifying. It was great at first. We were having lots of fun. Lots of s—"
"Please don't." Henry groans.
"Secret rendezvous." Mark recovers, giving Henry a smirk, "And then one day she came and told me the news. She was having a baby. My dumb ass," he pauses to laugh again, looking down. Henry can see his face turning a shade of red now, "My dumb ass asked if I was the father. After I recovered from the slap I got across the face, I dropped to one knee and immediately asked her to marry me." He says, shrugging one shoulder as his thumbs play together. He's becoming more distant, Henry can tell, "Telling her parents was terrifying. But that's the only two people who knew anything before we got married at the courthouse. She was already two months along, so I think people knew when Shelly came along what had happened," he smiles again, "But telling her parents wasn't the most terrifying part. The worst, scariest part was when I realized I was responsible for Lisa. When I realized I had her life and now this little baby's life to take care of. Back then, the expectation on women wasn't as much as it is now to get jobs and whatnot. Lisa isn't really the working type, you know?"
Henry thinks about this briefly, and he thinks Mark is certainly right in that area. He's not sure Lisa could hold a job down if she tried, but he had to hand it to her, she's a damn good mother to all those kids.
"I suddenly found myself having to make sure I had enough money to pay for things like a roof over our heads and food in our mouths. And when Lisa got further along, all the doctor's appointments and hospital stay—it all gave me a chunk of debt. I thought I was going under, Hank, I really did." He stops and looks at Henry, turning his head and resting his chin on his arm, "But God, when I laid down next to her at night, I knew…I knew this girl was my forever. I knew she was the one for me. And I knew I'd kill someone if I had to in order to support her."
Henry perks up a little at that, widening his eyes.
"I never have killed anyone over it, Hank, don't worry yourself." He adds, "But I would. I'd do it in a heartbeat. Join a mob to keep a roof over that woman's head? Sure. Become a hitman to put food in her mouth? Hell yeah." He says, "I'd do anything for her."
"I'd do anything for Elizabeth." Henry mutters.
"Then what the hell are you doing in my house, Hank? Why aren't you with her?"
Henry looks down at his hands, taking a moment to answer, "Elizabeth came into a large sum of money, which is how we got enough money to buy the house from you." He explains, never turning to look at his friend, "It has to go in her name because of it, which I agreed to—I would never want to put her in a compromising position that meant her losing money or something. I'd never do that to her anyway." He mumbles, shaking his head and taking a deep breath, "Anyway, it hurt my pride, I think. Which, I know, before you say anything, that it's stupid to feel like that."
Mark doesn't say anything, but he's still eyeing Henry closely.
"And I'm scared I'm going to end up resenting her for it or something, or turn out like my dad and get angry at every little thing."
"Things like what?"
Henry laughs, "It's more like what did my dad not get angry about."
"And you think you're just like him or something?"
"No," Henry answers quickly, then shrugs, "I don't know. Maybe I am. All my siblings are like him. They all got his temperament. Why would I be the only one?" He asks, but doesn't leave time for Mark to answer, "I already lost it once on Elizabeth. I got physical with her."
"You what?" Mark asks, obviously unsure he just heard him correctly.
"It got physical." Henry repeats, looking over at him.
Mark stands up immediately and grabs Henry's t-shirt sleeve, dragging him off the barstool.
"What the hell, Mark?" He's asking as he's being hauled through the house to the back door.
He never answers, but when he gets to the back door, he opens it and steps outside with Henry, slamming the door behind him. When they get out into the yard, he turns around and faces Henry, putting his fists up in the air, "Come on." He beckons.
Henry just looks at him in bewilderment, "What?" He asks.
"Come on." Mark repeats, throwing a punch into the air, "If you want to be a man and fight, fight someone who'll fight back."
Henry feels his blood start to boil again as he watches Mark parade around and taunt him, "I'm not—"
"No," Mark interrupts, "We don't fight women around here. We don't lay our hands on women, and I thought you knew better than that. I thought you were more of a man than that." He says, "So come on, Hank, fight me."
Henry just stares at him, staying still for a while and thinking Mark will eventually give up. When he sees that he's going to be quite stubborn and just keep taunting him with air punches and skips around his own body, Henry puts his hands up and balls his fists. "This is ridiculous." He mumbles.
"Come on, McCord." Mark taunts.
Henry watches him a while longer before finally throwing the first punch, but Mark dodges it and instead punches Henry right in the side of the head. It was a hard enough punch that it immediately knocked Henry sideways, but he stayed on his feet somehow. He just stumbles over into the snow a few steps away, grabbing his face, "What the hell, Mark?" He yells. He can feel his face throbbing, but that's not from the punch yet. It's from his own anger.
"You fight someone who'll fight back, Henry." He says, and it startles Henry. He almost never hears his real name being used from Mark. "Not women. If you want to think you're some kind of man who needs to throw punches, then you go to the boxing gym and throw them there. Or you find a punching bag."
"I never said I hit her."
"I don't care what you did to her, you don't lay hands on your woman." Mark seethes, stepping dangerously close to Henry again. "Now, come inside and I'll get you some meat to put on that."
Henry watches as he walks inside, just standing still in this spot of snow that he's dripped blood into. He looks down and sees the little drips, then looks up to see Mark waiting on him.
When he makes himself move, he realizes he's probably in shock. Some state of shock, at least. He's confused, for sure. What the hell made Mark think he could do that? But then again, what the hell made him think he could do that to Elizabeth? What makes him think he should be doing this to Elizabeth now?
He walks over to the back door and Mark goes inside, getting some meat from the refrigerator and wrapping it in a napkin before handing it to Henry. Henry pulls it up to the side of his face, watching Mark carefully. "Jesus, Hank," he says, "I'm not going to hit you again."
"I never would've thought you'd do it in the first place."
"I never imagined I'd have to," Mark says, leaning against the counter on his back, "But you're not in your right mind, Hank. Go home, go to Elizabeth and tell her you love her, for God's sake." He says, shaking his head, "You're scared. That doesn't mean you get to run away from your fear."
"I—"
"You think she's not scared?" He asks, "She doesn't even have parents to guide her along. She's just been swept off her feet by you and then told you'd be there forever with her, and then you did the worst thing possible—you left."
"I didn't leave permanently." Henry answers, finding that it hurts to move his jaw much.
Mark shakes his head, "No, but I don't know you were planning to go back." He says, "You've told me enough about your dad for me to know he's a coward, Hank, and you're better than that."
Henry looks down at the counter, swallowing thick as he feels his face pulsing—now it's from the punch, not the anger. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, peeling the meat away from his face, "Here," he says.
"You going home?" Mark asks, his arms still folded over his chest as he leans back against the counter. He never moves to grab the meat.
"Yes." Henry manages, gritting his teeth so he wouldn't have to move his jaw.
Mark shoos him off, "Take it. You're gonna need it." He says, looking at his own knuckles now to be sure they're fine.
December 17, 1988 | Elizabeth
"You want some ice more ice cream?" Isabelle asks from the kitchen.
Elizabeth is sitting on the couch with the empty pint she'd just finished off. "I'm good." She says back, feeling as though it were too much air to even say that.
Henry had called the night he left to let her know he was okay, but he'd be gone a few days. He wouldn't tell her where he was. But she was just glad to know he was okay, wherever he was. She knows what she did was wrong, and she expects him to be a bit sore about it all. Who wouldn't be? She knows that now. She just let her worry get her caught up in something she'd normally never to do him—to anyone.
She sets the pint down on the table beside the couch and is moving to cuddle under the blanket some more, getting ready to settle into watching another movie. Isabelle made her go out with her yesterday and buy a television and VCR so that they could watch movies together. At first, it took everything out of her just to get out of the house, but Elizabeth, ultimately, was glad Isabelle made her do this. It got her mind off things, at least.
Just as she rests the side of her head against the back of the couch, the door pushes open. She jumps up and looks, immediately worried that someone had somehow found out about her parents being confidential whatevers and were coming for her. "Did someone just open the door?" Isabelle asks from the kitchen.
"Hey," Henry says, holding a piece of steak to his face.
She looks at him and frowns, "What—Henry? What happened?" She asks, jumping to her feet and rushing over to him.
He pulls his suitcase in and shuts the door so that the snow wouldn't keep blowing in. She hears Isabelle walk in behind her, "Oh," she says, "I—I'll be in the other room." She says quickly, going back to the kitchen.
"Henry?" Elizabeth asks, immediately putting her hand on his chest and bringing the other up to the steak, pulling it away to see the nice bruise that was forming. "What happened to you? Where were you? Did your dad do this?"
"No," he says quickly, shaking his head a little. He presses a kiss to her forehead and swallows thick, "I just need to sit down for a minute." He says, sounding like he was dazed—but in a way that was different from the other day.
She follows him to the couch, half afraid he'd fall over on the way there since he seemed like he's out of it again. When they sit down together, she leans over and rests her cheek on his shoulder, letting out a loud breath, "I was really worried you weren't coming back."
He looks over at her and she feels his lips linger on the top of her head for a moment before he kisses there, "I'm sorry." He admits.
"I'm sorry, Henry." Elizabeth blurts out, "I never should've looked in your stuff."
"I shouldn't have gotten so mad about it."
"I had no right to do what I did. I was worried about you, but I should've just asked you what was going on."
Henry shrugs a little, looking down. She can tell he wants to agree with her on that, he wants to rub it in a little more, but he amazes her by staying quiet and just catching his breath from being out in the cold. "Before I tell you who did this, just know I deserved it. And that I maybe even needed it." He murmurs.
She frowns and shakes her head, getting ready to say, "You didn't deserve this," but he cuts her off before she's able to get any of it out.
"Mark did it. I don't really want to go into why, just know that he was right to do it." He admits. "I was staying at Mark and Lisa's."
"With all those kids?" Elizabeth asks, almost laughing.
Henry gives her a look and lets out a tired little laugh, "Yeah, it was kind of miserable."
She feels her stomach tighten a little, wondering how that was better than being here with her. "Oh." She says, pressing her lips together and pulling herself off him.
He sighs and looks straight forward, "He basically told me I'm scared. And I knew that I was." He admits, "I just…I needed someone to tell me to not run away from it, is all, I guess."
"What are you scared about?" Elizabeth asks before really thinking, then looks down, "I mean, I get that your life is changing, but mine is too…and I thought you wanted this."
"I do want it." Henry says. "I just…it's a lot to explain, but Mark got it." He swallows hard and sniffles, wincing when he does so at the throbbing in his head that was amplified by that one little force of air going through his sinuses.
Elizabeth reaches up and just barely grazes her fingertips over the steak, letting out a breath, "Henry," she whispers, "You didn't deserve this."
"I did." He says, and he sounds stern enough that she decides to leave it alone.
She just swallows hard and nods, letting her fingers slide down gently with a feathery touch to his shoulder, resting her palm there.
"There's just a lot of stuff I have to learn about in life still, babe." He admits, "And I was scared. I am scared. I'm scared that…that I won't provide for you like you deserve. I'm scared of what my life will be like once I'm out of the military. I'm scared of what it'll be like in the military, too, because we both know I probably will be deployed, just like you say."
She shakes her head, "I don't want to think about that right now. We'll get there when we get there." She says softly.
He looks down again, sighing a little and moving to take his coat off, "There's just a lot of things getting to me."
She leans down again, resting her cheek on his shoulder, "I'm just glad you're back." She whispers, "Please don't do that again."
"I won't." He says, turning his head to kiss her head and then adjusting the steak.
They are quiet for a few moments before he clears his throat, "Isabelle? You can come in now." He says.
She walks in immediately after having been so quiet, biting her lip and looking at the two of them. "God, Henry, you really got socked." She says.
He nods, "Yeah, I did."
Elizabeth smiles a little at Isabelle, "You were listening to everything, weren't you?"
She smiles a little, "You know me…"
Elizabeth sighs and sits up, wiping at her tired eyes, "If you don't go into spying, I will be shocked."
Isabelle just laughs and starts gathering her things, "I'm going to head back home."
"Oh, please, you can stay for dinner at least." Elizabeth says.
She laughs a little as she picks her things up, "Elizabeth, Henry is incapacitated and I've seen your cooking. While I do believe it's getting better, I don't think I want to eat anything of yours yet."
Elizabeth wants to feel offended, but unfortunately she just knows that Isabelle is right and nods her head, "I'm probably ordering pizza."
Isabelle smiles at her, "Good," she says, walking over to hug her friend tightly, "I love you, I'll see you some time before Christmas, right?"
"Definitely." Elizabeth answers.
Isabelle smiles and waves to Henry, "Hope your face feels better." She says awkwardly as she walks to the door.
Henry just laughs a little and answers "thanks" before she walks out the door.
Elizabeth gets to her feet to order the pizza, grabbing the phone and starting to dial, but Henry just reaches up and gently places his fingers around her wrist, "Let's go out tonight."
"With your face like that?" She asks.
He laughs quietly, "Yeah," he says, "I'll tell everyone I fought off a mobster." When he smirks, Elizabeth wonders what irony was playing in his head, but she decides to not ask.
Instead, she just nods, "Okay," she says, "I need to go get dressed."
They hadn't been to the diner in a long time, but Elizabeth was glad they went tonight. It was the refresher they both needed, and it felt like some sort of renewal. Now, Henry's pulling off the road somewhere and she's squinting to try to see where they are, "Where are we going?" She asks.
"It's a surprise." He says.
"Henry…you know I'm not great with surprises."
She groans when she hears him laugh, but nonetheless, they round the corner, and she sees the glow of a bunch of lights against the snow. "Ta da." Henry says from the driver's seat, and it makes her giggle a little at his high-pitched voice.
"What is this?"
"A Christmas tree farm." He says.
Elizabeth whips her head around to look at him, her eyes wide, "I—" She has to stop and swallow back the lump in her throat, taking a steadying breath, "I haven't had a Christmas tree since my parents died."
He smiles a little and lays his hand on top of hers, "Then I think it's time we got one."