A/N: Happy new year in the Becoming the McCords-verse! It's only July, of course, but...

So weird writing 1989 after writing 1988 so. freaking. much.

Hope you enjoy!

January 6, 1989 | Henry

He'd handed her the piece of paper as soon as he got home, right after he kissed her on the side of the head and sets his backpack down on the couch like he always does. Without words, she took it and just eyed Henry closely, and Henry chose not to say anything to her. He didn't really even know what to say about that piece of paper with the USMC emblem stamped on the front.

She's standing in the kitchen now, one hand holding the piece of paper while the other is bent behind her, her palm resting on the small of her back. He thinks, from this distance, at least, that he sees the paper shaking—she surely knew it was something bad when he would barely even look her in the eye.

He watches as she takes a shaky breath, folding the piece of paper back up and setting it on the counter before pinching the bridge of her nose with her now free hand, letting her head droop forward a bit as she clenches her eyes shut. Carefully, he walks into the kitchen and leans on the counter across from her, looking up at her and waiting patiently for her to say something. What was actually only about a minute felt like an hour to him, but he waited until she made the first noise. He knew this would be hard on her, just as it had been hard on him to find out.

"The whole summer?" She asks finally, never looking up at him, never opening her eyes, even. She just stayed frozen there, the only thing that moved was her mouth—and that was just barely.

He stands up straight and rests his palms on the cold countertop, watching her closely and trying to understand if she's mad or upset or none or all of the above. He desperately wishes she would move or say something else to show him how to move forward, but she doesn't, so he clears his throat, "Yeah." He manages to get out of his throat, though it sounded more like a croaking noise than anything.

He swallows the lump in his throat and waits for her to say something, but she still is in that same damned position. He feels his jaw starting to hurt and realizes that he's been clenching his teeth together, so he takes another breath and shifts his weight over to one leg, "Say something, please." He says, trying to not sound mad at her, but even if she would just yell at him, he would be fine with it. He needed her to say something to him.

She picks her head up after another moment and looks at him, her eyes looking tired from being pulled shut so tight for so many minutes. She puts her hand down on the counter, the other still resting on her back, "What do you want me to say, Henry?" She asks coldly.

It takes everything in him to not yell at her now, wanting her to show a little emotion other than this…this blankness that she has on her face right now. "What do you mean 'what do I want you to say?'" He asks, his voice becoming crisp, "I don't care what you say about it, Elizabeth, just say something!" He raises his voice, but his fists clench up against the top of the counter when he does it. He immediately feels annoyed at himself for getting frustrated with her, but it was already done.

She drops her gaze down to his fists and then drags her eyes slowly up meet his, "Do not yell at me right now," she says in a low tone. That sandpaper in her voice turned from her usual light, scratchy noise to a deeper one that almost made his ears vibrate when she spoke. "We knew this would happen."

"I didn't know it would happen like this, not this long, not this soon." He says, calming his own tone since she used that dangerous one with him.

She turns away from him and starts fumbling through the cabinets, and he just stares at the back of her and shakes his head in disbelief. She's hungry at a time like this? He watches as she just seems to be aimlessly searching through the cabinets, staying gravely quiet the entire time she does. Finally, he can't hold it in any longer, "What the hell are you doing, Elizabeth? How can you eat at a time like this?" The last part makes him cringe when he says it out loud, but he's truly wondering how she could. Whenever he's this upset, he wants nothing to do with food—he can barely even look at it.

"Are you wanting me to fight with you about this, Henry?" She asks, whipping her body around quickly with a box of cereal in her hands while tears start to form in her eyes, "Because, quite frankly, I don't have the energy to fight you on this right now. I don't. I don't want to think about something that won't happen for another five months but will rip my heart out as soon as it does happen." She seethes, growing so angry that she throws the box down to the ground, making Cocoa Puffs explode everywhere.

Little chocolatey pieces roll from around her feet across to the island where Henry is standing, down to the fridge beside them—everywhere. She doesn't even seem phased by her own anger, either, he realizes as he examines what just happened. She's just staring at him, looking as though she could cry in his arms and also cut his head off all at the same time.

"It's not deployment." She says, her tone still a little heated, "And we knew that was coming. Do you want me to cry? Do you want me to say that I'm happy for you that you'll be gone and flying F-18s at training camp while I'm stuck here doing God knows what?" She asks desperately, her voice never cracking, but continuing to raise at him. "What do you want from me?"

Henry straightens his back again and stuffs his hands in his pockets, swiping the paper from the countertop, "Forget I brought it up." He murmurs as he turns to walk out of the kitchen, stepping over the pieces of cereal on his way out.

He hears a scoff from behind him and footsteps, along with crunching noises, coming toward him, "You're just going to do that and then get upset and leave?" She asks. "Because I think that's a real cowardly move, Henry, and you know it too."

He turns around just as quickly as she did with the box, "Elizabeth!" He snaps, "I don't know what I wanted from you," he starts, trying to keep his fists from balling up at her. He'd never hit her, but he also doesn't ever want to make her think he would, "I just wanted something. Some…some kind of emotion or something to say we'll get through this. It's not going to be easy for me either!"

"You're the one who's leaving, Henry!" She yells, the muscles in her neck starting to protrude a little, the skin around there getting all red as she gets angrier, "I'm not the one who feels like I need to fulfil some kind of…some kind of—"

"Some kind of what?"

She glares at him and clenches her jaw for a moment, waiting a few breaths, "Some kind of masculine calling of joining the Marines and bombing down women and children in foreign countries." She spits out, turning away from him immediately and going into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

He lets his fists ball up now as he stares at that freshly painted door—something they'd done over the Christmas break right after Will left. "Masculine calling?" He thinks to himself, deciding it was best to leave her alone for now.

He tosses the USMC paper down on the dining room table and brings his hands to his face, rubbing his palms up and down and trying to just think for a moment. Logically, what had he expected from her? He's not even sure. Pensacola is far. It's an eleven-hour drive, actually, he's already checked. And Pensacola? Why there of all places he could've been sent for training? Florida is not somewhere he'd imagined being stuck in, especially if it meant being that far away from Elizabeth.

Although, he supposed, it was better than being sent somewhere on the west coast where he would be even further from her, where possibly driving to see her wasn't even an option. But would Pensacola be the thing that drove a wedge between them? All the distance between that sunny beach area and Charlottesville?

January 6, 1989 | Elizabeth

She's curled up on the bed, her toes curled up tightly and her jaw clenched just as badly. Another searing wave is rolling through her, and this one, she swears, goes all the way down to her knees.

Some days, she loves the feeling of being a woman. Sometimes she enjoys feeling objectified—just by Henry, though—knowing her body can turn him on just by being. Sometimes she likes to tease him by reminding him in casual little ways that she has breasts; like when she sometimes flashes him in the truck or throws her bra on the bed when she's undressing, knowing exactly what she's starting and exactly how she wants it to end. There's a certain power in that, she thinks.

Times like these, though, when she's curled in a ball and trying to keep from being nauseous, she just wishes more than anything she was born to be a man. She could be clueless about this level of pain, then, and would never have to buy a tampon for her entire life. Does the good outweigh the bad of being a woman? Mostly, yes, but damn the days when she can barely move.

And damn the days when she can barely move and when Henry comes in and acts more emotional than she is.

She has the blanket between her teeth, trying to silence herself as her body lets out little uncontrollable moans. Sometimes it's this bad, other times it's not, but this is the worst it's been in a while. She's letting air out, making a hissing sound as it blows past the material and into the vastness of the bedroom, but at the end another little moan makes its way out of her throat.

Just as she's stifling one more, she hears the doorknob and picks her head up to see Henry. He isn't looking at her, so she drops her head pitifully back to the pillow and grunts in an attempt to keep from crying, squeezing her body even tighter into that little ball.

She thinks she wasn't loud enough for him to hear, but now he's walking over to her side of the bed with a frown on his face, "Babe?" He asks softly, leaning down over her a little.

She opens her eyes and squints at him, blinking a few times before swallowing more noises coming up in her throat, "Come in here to be mad at me again?" She asks quietly.

He squats down and rests his arms on the bed beside her, reaching out for her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, "What's the matter?"

"What do you think?" She snaps unintentionally, then huffs a little and closes her eyes, "I'm sorry," she says, "I'm just hurting."

"Oh." Henry says, looking down and at her body that was curled up.

Without saying anything else, he just stands and leaves the room, shutting the bathroom door behind him. She hears the water running in the bathtub and she groans a little, rolling her eyes. Men…they're so unaffected.

She lays there a while longer before she feels like she can roll to her back, finally. The ability to breathe without wincing was coming back to her, slowly albeit, but coming back. Just as she thinks she might be able to even stand up without her knees feeling wobbly, she gets another round of waves rolling through, and she balls up again on her other side, facing the bathroom door.

Henry comes out of the bathroom after he turns the water off, walking silently over to her side of the bed. She doesn't follow him as he walks, but she simply shuts her eyes again until she feels his hands scooping underneath her body. "What are you doing?" She mumbles, feeling as her sweatpants are being slid down her body.

She opens her eyes to see him toss the pants on the bed away from them, then extends his hand. She frowns, taking it and sitting up, but wincing and breathing air through her teeth, "What?" She asks again, a little more to the point.

"Just trust me." He says softly, helping her sit up as he takes her shirt off from over her head. He tosses it over on top of the sweatpants and puts one hand underneath her thighs, then one hand behind her back. Before she even realizes what's happening, really, he's got her in his arms and is carrying her in to the bathroom.

When she looks over her shoulder to the tub, she sees steam rising from the water and bubbles that are resting on top. The candles that were placed back there once Will left (she'd already been embarrassed once by their sexcapades—she didn't need any other incriminating evidence) are now flickering, dancing along with the steam from the water.

He helps her to her feet once they reach the rug, but she doubles over and takes a sharp breath. Grabbing her hand immediately, he helps steady her, and she looks up at him and smiles a little, "Thanks," she whispers, still a little mad with him even though he was doing this for her.

She strips the rest of the way from her clothing and he helps her step into the bath before stripping his own clothes. "What are you doing?" Elizabeth asks, slowly sinking to sit in the tub as she holds the sides carefully.

He doesn't answer, though, and just steps in behind her. She sees his legs scoot on each side of her own and feels one arm gently wrap around her chest at shoulder height, pulling her back against his chest.

The water rushes up her back, taking her breath momentarily. She closes her eyes and bites her lip, trying to not groan and sound as primal as she feels when another pain comes along. His other hand is coming up from the water, dripping steaming liquid on her shoulder as he wraps it around her chest like the other was.

He's holding her back against him, now, and she relaxes a little in his grasp. She feels as his stomach rises and falls behind her, and she's able to match it, steadying her own breathing mostly. Sometimes there was a little hitch in there from what she thinks might be a terrible pain again, but it mostly passes.

After a few moments, his hands slide down from her shoulders, keeping contact with her skin the entire way. From her shoulders to her elbows, down her hands that were resting on his thighs, and to her lower back. He cups his palms around each of her hips, putting his thumbs in the muscles just above her rear and rubbing little circles there.

She grabs at his thighs a little and he jumps, making the water splash just slightly. He starts laughing first, and she looks back and can't help but smile at him, "Sorry," he says, "Your fingernails got me."

She bites her lip and looks down, unable to see anything for the bubbles, "Sorry," she says softly, resting her head backwards again to lean on it on his chest while he continues to rub those circles.

Once a few more minutes pass, he starts rubbing upwards, getting every inch of her back that he can before making it to her shoulders, just beside her neck. By now, her muscles are starting to relax, stopping their incessant cramping, and she's able to think a little clearer once more. She opens her eyes and stares at the drippy faucet, watching as it drips water into the steamy vat. "I'm sorry for not saying anything earlier," she whispers.

"Don't be," he says, "I don't know what I was wanting."

She cranes her neck to look back at him a little while he works at her shoulders, "You know that will do everything but kill me, right Henry?" She asks softly, her voice trying to crack a little as she speaks, "I don't know what I'm going to do without you for the entire summer. You're…" she pauses and shuts her eyes, letting out a breath whenever he hits a knot in her right shoulder. Her head falls to the side a little and gives him easier access, "You're my best friend. I don't know what I'm going to do without my best friend for three months."

She doesn't hear anything from behind, but she knows he's obviously still there—she can feel his breathing (she's matching it, still), and she can feel his fingers working their magic in her tired muscles. "Henry?" She finally says after a few moments of silence.

"I know," he says quietly, sounding as though his voice were cracking, too. "I know it'll be harder on you, too. I don't know what I was thinking when I said that earlier…it was really just…selfish."

She straightens her head again and looks forward, watching the faucet drip twice before taking a breath, "You'll be busier, that's for sure. It'll probably help keep your mind off things." She says, "So yeah, it might be harder on me. But I know you're doing this for me ultimately. Not…I shouldn't have said what I did about it being…" she tries to think exactly what she said, but she's drawing a blank.

Henry provides it for her, thankfully, "My masculine calling, I believe."

"Oh," she says, sounding a bit sheepish, "Right. That's what I said." She sighs and lets her head fall deeper into his chest, becoming completely relaxed against his body now, "It wasn't right of me. I know you joined because you wanted to—"

"I wanted to prove a point and stick it to my dad," he interrupts.

She looks back at him again and twists her lips, "I think that's what you say…that's what you say about joining. Yeah. But I think deep down, Henry, you want to be a part of something bigger than yourself. Bigger than…bigger than any one person can be, or even bigger than any two people can be." She explains, keeping her tone gentle, "And that's okay. I understand that," she says, thinking about her desire to be a part of a family. "I think you want to help, too, and that you can be valuable in that area. And I hope…I just…" she takes a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. Whenever she was in this much pain, she became a little too weepy for her own taste sometimes, "I just hope that it doesn't cost your life, Henry." This was just training, but she knows how close deployment is. She knows that there are too many wars being fought for him not to be deployed right now.

He wraps his arms around her again slowly, and the sudden warmth around her shoulders feels good. She closes her eyes and feels a tear stream down her cheek, and then another on the other side. "I will do everything in my power to come back and live the rest of my life with you, Elizabeth Adams." He whispers, pressing a kiss to her cheek from behind. "We're going to grow old together. Don't you feel that?"

She thinks back to last year before she'd met Henry, before she'd completely fallen in love with him, to the time when she thought she would die young because her parents had. She still wonders sometimes if she'll die young, but she also knows now that her parents were involved in external factors that caused their early demise. She rests her head backwards again, almost more of a limp fall than anything, "I don't know how old I'll get," she whispers, "But I know I want to do all of my aging with you."

He wraps her a little tighter and subconsciously starts rubbing where his hands are resting, which just happens to be on her breasts. She lets her head fall to the side and takes a deep breath, "How do you know to do all this?" She asks, not meaning to make it sound like an accusation, but she suddenly realizes how much it sounds like one after she hears herself say it. "I mean…I know you have sisters, but you can't know to this extent."

She sees him give a smile out of the corner of her eye, "You're definitely right, I didn't know to this extent." He says, "Growing up in my family, well…with Maureen…you always were aware whenever her emotions were a bit…uh…stronger." He says delicately. "And she would straight out announce to the whole house sometimes so that whoever was listening would work around her, basically. She never did it in front of my dad, to my knowledge, but she made sure we knew." He explains, "And she'd take baths a lot. I'd go in there afterwards and the mirror would be so steamed up that I couldn't see for another ten minutes or so. So I knew it was hot water she used."

"But this?" She asks, gesturing down to where he was rubbing now.

"This?" He shrugs a little and gives another little grin, "Something…I don't know, it sounds silly when I say it out loud."

"What?" She prods, "I won't laugh. Just say it."

He shrugs again, and she's pretty sure his face is turning a bit more red aside from just the heat of the water they were sitting in, "I just…felt like…I don't know. It's like I just had this weird instinct to think that it would feel good. Does it?"

She smiles a little and pulls her head back slightly further, puckering her lips. When he leans down and kisses her, she nods, "It does." She whispers, "Scientifically,"

"Oh, here we go." He teases.

She laughs and bites her lip, "Scientifically, it releases hormones that help." She says, "So it does feel good, extra good." She clarifies.

He smiles down at her and continues to massage her until she takes his hands and stops him, just holding his hands in hers and squeezing them a little whenever she feels just a little bit of pain. She pulls his hand up to her mouth and presses a kiss to it, then sets it down on her breastbone, "I love you," she whispers, "And I know we'll get through that training together. It won't be easy, but we'll get through it."

January 7, 1989 | Elizabeth

When they'd gotten out of the bath last night, they dried off, got dressed, and went straight to bed. He'd held her and massaged her until she announced, "If you touch me one more time like that, Henry, this bed is going to look like a crime scene," and they stopped there. Neither of them really wanted to figure out the logistics of that, so they just held each other and went to sleep, settling for their legs to be tangled in each other's.

She woke up this morning to him already out of the bed, which was unusual—she typically woke first. The sound of plates rattling had woken her up, and just as she's sitting up to go to the bathroom, he's coming through the door with a tray. She eyes the tray and smiles at him, looking at the plate of chocolate chip pancakes and the smaller plate beside it that was layered with a few strips of bacon.

"I made breakfast," he says, "I wasn't sure if you wanted coffee or milk."

"Milk would be great," she says sleepily, rubbing her eyes and standing up. She walks over to him and presses a kiss to his cheek, "Thank you,"

"It's just breakfast." He says and shrugs it off gallantly.

"Not just for that," she says, "For last night. For helping me." She coos, laying her palms on his chest, "You didn't have to do that. I know I made you upset before that, and I—"

"It's all behind us," Henry says softly, wrapping his hands around her wrists lovingly.

She shakes her head, "It is, but I still want to just say that…that I wanted to yell and cry at the same time when I read Pensacola on that paper." She admits, "My first thought was to just burst into tears, but then I got angry at that thought because I didn't want to break down. I want to be…I want to be stronger than that and not let myself just fall apart whenever you leave because that's our reality, you'll be leaving more than I want you to, and I have to get used to that." She looks up into his eyes, toying with the skin on her bottom lip, "I know I've said it a thousand times, but I'm really scared of losing you. And not just to death, Henry, but losing your sweet soul to…to war." She whispers.

He takes her hands and brings them to his lips, kissing each one of them before pressing a kiss to her forehead, "I have you to come back to and anchor me every time, my love."

She nods and looks down, trying to keep those burning tears from escaping her eyes before turning and using the restroom, coming back and crawling in the bed to enjoy their breakfast together.

Make each and every breakfast count, she thinks to herself, You won't have many more with him before he leaves. Five months of breakfasts before he was eleven hours from her seemed like not nearly enough mornings.