A/N: Thanks for loving on this story, y'all! Here's another update for you that I hope you enjoy as well as you've enjoyed the first two.
Just a reminder, I have three stories going right now (who am I? Oh, yes, I'm a grad student on a break...LOL) so if you're waiting for updates for this, check those others out. I always am taking prompts for oneshots, too.
It's Christmas (the wee mornings of...aka 1:00 AM) where I am, so if you celebrate, Merry Christmas!
Enjoy!
August 22, 1991
All the boxes were emptied one by one, and Elizabeth stashed away her mother's journals, still safe in the toolbox, underneath her bed.
After reading those few entries a couple weeks ago, she couldn't bear to read any more—she'd gone into a bit of a spiral. If her own mother was scared of motherhood, the mother who could have easily been in the running for supermom, how in the world would she ever become a mother worthy of Henry's kids? She wasn't sure she could.
For one, they had her working so many hours at Langley and even bringing work home—which she wasn't technically supposed to do, but had to start doing it unless she wanted to bring a sleeping bag into her office. This seemed like the better choice, even if it was illegal. Of course, she's exhausted, but it's something to take her mind off of everything else—Henry, a pregnancy, the nagging feeling of missing her mother even more than she does on a normal day. All of it is too much to handle alone, and pouring herself into this CIA work is all she can do to stay somewhat sane.
Like now, it's Thursday, and the last time she checked the clock on the wall it was 8:07. The sun had already settled down behind the buildings and even the horizon, now a navy-blue color filled the sky to create the dusk.
She had folders in front of her, trying to study the persons of interest in this case she'd been assigned, but her eyes kept crossing. This time felt different, though—it isn't her usual tiredness, it's something that is taking hold of her and choking the life from her. Come on, Elizabeth, she thinks to herself, bringing her fingers to her temples and holding some of the pressure off her neck as she leans onto her desk with her elbows.
"Elizabeth?"
She hears the voice, but it doesn't quite register since it's not one she is familiar with. But also, she's half-awake, so maybe she just doesn't quite hear it anyway.
"Elizabeth?" She hears again, and this time she turns around.
Lydia is standing in the doorway, and she forces a smile toward her, "Hi Mrs. Dalton," she says softly, not turning her entire body in hopes of quickly ridding of her. She enjoyed speaking to her, Lydia seemed to be nice enough, but she didn't have time for it right now. She had to study up.
"Why are you here so late?" She asks, a genuine question.
Just as she opens her mouth to say that it's going to be a late night, Conrad walks up behind her with the baby, Harrison, and peeks his head in. "Elizabeth," he says, a bit of shock in his tone. "Why are you still here?"
"Sir," Elizabeth starts to explain, this time turning her chair around to face him, "I have been busy with other paperwork and just haven't had a chance to really work on these POIs."
He tilts his head, "Come back tomorrow and start fresh."
"But sir—"
"I really wasn't asking, Bess." He says, raising his brows and Harrison starts to get fussy in his arms. Lydia reaches for him, but Conrad simply transfers his son to his shoulder and pats his back, doing a little bounce—the parent bounce, she recognizes. Something about seeing her boss like this makes it feel unreal, like he suddenly became something she didn't quite know how to take. "Take the rest of the night. Go get something to eat."
"Right," she breathes, her eyes darting to the clock on the wall when he mentions eating. She's suddenly also not sure she's eaten today—and she wonders if yesterday's lunch was the last thing she tried to hold down. She ultimately threw that up and only managed a few crackers, the only food she could eat without regurgitating.
"Oh," Lydia says out of the blue, "I forgot my purse in your office, Conrad. I'll run back and get it while you go put Harrison in the car."
Elizabeth scratches her eyebrow, trying to not intrude but also wishing they'd leave so that she could get back to work and blatantly ignore Conrad's order. She had made a habit of not wanting to go home to an empty house, and tonight is no different. Once she's worked herself to the point of exhaustion, she can go home and crash and start all over the next day.
Conrad walks off after handing Lydia his keys, and Lydia watches for a moment before Elizabeth hears the door and sees Lydia turn toward her, "Elizabeth," she says, her tone shifting to one of concern. "Have you been alright?" She asks, "I haven't seen you since the first day we met."
Elizabeth just watches her in awe, surprised a woman so seemingly quiet and submissive would lie to her CIA husband—and get away with it—just to stand here and talk to her. It takes her by surprise, so she just stares for a moment before reminding herself she needs to reply, "I—" she stutters, shutting her eyes as she feels a whoosh of dizziness come over her. "I've been okay." She says, and it wasn't quite a lie. She's not bad, but she isn't good, either. Somewhere in the middle is accurate. She hasn't let herself be bad, but she easily could be—especially after crying herself to sleep that first night of reading Suzanne's journals.
Lydia tilts her head, and Elizabeth thinks she's about to argue with her, but she finally just nods and sighs, "Just checking," she says, "Remember, if you ever need someone to talk to, here's my number." She says, "It's hard enough with your husband here." She coos, writing her number down on a notepad from by the door.
She rips it off and hands it to Elizabeth, and she simply nods at the other woman as she backs away to the door. "Thanks," Elizabeth replies, "I'll keep that in mind, and I really do appreciate it." She murmurs, having to close her eyes to will the dizziness away.
When she doesn't hear an answer, she opens her eyes to see Lydia watching her with concern, "Okay," she says wearily, folding her arms in front of her before nodding down the hall, "I really did leave my purse in there," she admits, "I hope it all goes better, Elizabeth." She adds genuinely before stepping away.
Elizabeth just stares where Lydia was standing, trying to get a grip on her whereabouts. She feels nauseous yet again, but not her usual nausea—the room spinning is causing this one. She leans back in her chair and puts her arm to her forehead, closing her eyes and trying to stay stock-still. When she hears footsteps coming down the hall, she peeks her eye open to see if it was Lydia again, but she sees that it's one of her fellow coworkers this time.
"You're still here?" Isabelle asks, raising her brow as she leans her hand against Elizabeth's doorframe.
She opens both eyes carefully, "Mhm," she murmurs.
Isabelle walks into her office uninvited, and Elizabeth closes her eyes again as she feels that wave of nausea pass over her again, hitting her like a wall. "Are you alright?" She asks, pulling up the spare chair Elizabeth has and sitting in front of the blonde.
Elizabeth doesn't move, though, and doesn't answer either. She just swallows thick, trying to steady her now-erratic breathing.
"You don't look so hot," Isabelle says, making Elizabeth want to punch her on top of everything else she is feeling.
"I'm aware," Elizabeth mumbles angrily.
Isabelle is quiet for a moment and then speaks up again, "When was the last time you've eaten?"
"I can't eat." She murmurs, "Not and keep it down at least."
She kicks herself for saying that, clenching her eyes shut more tightly and gritting her jaw. She doesn't need to be telling her business to this woman who is half-stranger, half-coworker. She's known Isabelle, but she's not become close with her at all—she's just someone who did orientation at the same time as she and another woman, Juliet, and they got grouped together one day. Their leader was a kook named George, and they'd joked a bit about it that day, but never really spoke to one another after that. They were each put on different desks and had been loaded with work since.
"Are you pregnant?" It's like an epiphany to her coworker, and she makes it known with her tone.
Elizabeth takes a shaky breath, "Yes," she mumbles, "I guess I am."
"You guess?" Isabelle asks.
"I guess."
"What do you mean you guess?" She prods, "You either are or you're not. Pick one."
Her bluntness was not helping right now, and Elizabeth finally shoots both eyes open to stare at Isabelle for a moment. She opens her mouth to speak, but her words don't come out—it's like they started as Jell-O and fell apart before they could leave her tongue.
"Elizabeth?" Isabelle says, panic rising in her voice. But she still can't answer, she just stares and finally sees everything go to black. "Elizabeth!" She hears once more, but she can't answer—she's out soon with complete silence and blackness all around her.
"Elizabeth?"
"Henry?" She asks, her eyes fluttering open to find her husband staring down at her. "Henry…" she mumbles, furrowing her brow—he's not supposed to be home yet.
"You scared us." He breathes before hugging her, scooping his arms up underneath her body and bringing it to his.
She looks around over his shoulder and swallows hard, "Where am I?"
"You're still asleep," Henry says in her ear, his voice just barely above a whisper. "This isn't real."
She feels like she wants to cry, but she remembers—this is a dream, and she can't cry in dreams. "Oh." She whispers, blinking a few times. "Am I alive?"
"Yes," he whispers, "If you're talking to me here, you're alive."
"But you're not real?"
"In your imagination."
Her eyes flutter open as she looks up at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights staring back at her so brightly that she squints and shies away. Slowly, she lets her gaze go downward, and she sees her feet up in the air. She frowns at that, sitting up just barely—she realizes soon that she can't sit up far, she feels like she's been hit by a train.
The beeping in her ear is bothering her now, and she looks over her arm to see a machine with a cord running down to her finger. The bumping in her throat matches the beeping rhythm, and she realizes that must be her heartbeat. She moves her other arm to try to readjust her upper body a little, a pain starting to be noticeable in her upper back from laying like she is, but something grabs her skin and makes her stop. She whips her head over (or so she thinks, she's actually moving quite slow), and sees an IV in her arm.
"You're awake," she hears, and she looks over to where she heard the voice coming from. At the corner of the room, Isabelle is sitting there with her hands over her mouth, looking as though she's just been told a miracle happened.
"I'm awake." Elizabeth repeats. Those two words could have been a question just as easily as they were a statement, but she's still infatuated with the fact that she has these cords hooked up to her body and no recollection of it.
Isabelle is walking over to her now, "We called Henry," she says, "Juliet is outside right now on the phone with his sergeant so that we can give him updates. He's worried sick about you, Elizabeth, and so are we."
Elizabeth looks up at her, "You have Henry on the phone?"
"He's not on right now," Isabelle tells her, "His sergeant is."
"I want to talk to him." She tries to keep it together, but her emotions overtake her before she could finish saying "I," and her body wracks with a sob. Her face reddens from embarrassment, turning away from Isabelle, "Please…just get him on the phone."
"We'll try." Isabelle answers, staring at Elizabeth for a moment before going out to the hall.
When she comes back, there's a nurse following her, and she works on the phone beside the bed before handing the receiver to Elizabeth, "Here you go, Mrs. McCord." She says.
Elizabeth reaches for it but cringes, realizing her shoulder hurt when she moves. "What happened?"
"You fell out of your chair," Isabelle says quickly, rushing to her side to hold the phone to Elizabeth's ear.
"Henry?" Elizabeth whimpers out, no longer able to even think about keeping it together.
"Elizabeth!" Henry sounds relieved, too, and Elizabeth wonders how bad it was for everyone to be so scared. She also wonders what even happened to her in the first place—she just remembers feeling sick and tired and then nothing.
"Henry," she breathes again, "What happened? Why am I in the hospital?"
"Babe," Henry says, clearing his throat, "I'm just…I'm so glad you're okay."
The service is breaking up so badly that Elizabeth can barely make out what he's saying, "Henry?" She asks desperately, but there was more static than anything now, and soon she hears a disconnect noise.
She feels another sob coming on and is unable to hold it back, and Isabelle gently slides the phone away from her ear and puts it up to her own to double check before hanging up. "Elizabeth," she says softly, "Hey," she says, touching the top of Elizabeth's arm.
It makes her jump a little—touch is something she hasn't felt in so long. She's been so alone for the entire time Henry has been away. "Hey," she says again, "You're here because you passed out and hit your head on the way down. You're a little banged up," she explains, "I won't go into all the details, but you're not broken completely and you'll be sore for a few days. Doc says you have a minor concussion."
"A concussion," Elizabeth repeats, half-question and half-statement once more.
"Right," Isabelle says, apparently realizing Elizabeth is questioning and stating at the same time. "Do you remember when the last time you ate was?" She asks, her tone still soft and nice, something she hadn't ever heard from Isabelle. All three of them—Juliet, Isabelle, and herself—were not all that softspoken in the training. They were all three confident that this was the place for them, and they showed the confidence well.
Elizabeth tries to think, but her thoughts are too foggy. She shakes her head and looks at Isabelle, "All this because I was hungry?"
Isabelle smiles sheepishly, shrugging a shoulder, "Seems like it," she says, "The doctor hasn't told us your bloodwork results since we're not relatives." She explains.
After a beat of silence, a man in a white coat walks in with a clipboard tucked in his arm, "Hey there, Mrs. McCord. I'm Dr. Reynolds," He says quietly, taking care of her concussion no doubt. Her head was pounding, she'd just became aware of it. "You took quite the fall when you passed out earlier."
"I'm aware." She murmurs, "What made me pass out?"
"Well, a few things, from the looks of it." He says, sitting down on his stool and rolling it to her bedside.
He glances up at Isabelle, and Elizabeth just shakes her head, "She can stay," she says, not sure what possessed her in that moment to do so, but it was nice to have someone she knew, even if they weren't all that close.
"We've already given you one bag of IV fluids before you woke up, and this is your second bag." He says, nodding to the needle in her arm, "Mixed with the severe dehydration was also a very low iron level, causing you to be severely anemic. That mix doesn't go well together at all." He explains, "Your glucose levels were awfully low, too, and I'm just surprised you didn't pass out sooner, really." He admits, setting his clipboard down by her leg and looking at her. "Are you aware you're about six weeks pregnant?"
She nods, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back into the pillow with a soft thud. "Yes," she whispers, wishing she felt some inkling of excitement. Instead, she feels eaten up with guilt for not wanting this baby to happen right now. There are women everywhere who would give almost anything to have a baby, and here she is feeling ungrateful. However, this baby almost took her out today, so maybe she has a right to feel this way after all.
"Your records indicate you haven't been to the obstetrician yet, is that correct?" He asks.
She nods again, opening her eyes and looking at him, "I'm not a bad person." She mumbles, and then feels so embarrassed that she just wants to pull her blanket up over her head and scream. Or maybe throw herself out of this bed. Whichever would make the embarrassment stop first.
"I don't believe you are, Mrs. McCord." Dr. Reynolds says calmly, and she feels the weight of Isabelle's hand on her arm again.
She sniffles and stares vacantly at the door, "My husband is in serving overseas." She whispers as if the doctor asked her to continue on explaining herself.
But he didn't, so he speaks up, "You don't have to justify the way you feel, Elizabeth." He says, and she looks at him again, "I have seen many mothers be taken by surprise before, and there's nothing wrong with that." He says, patting her bedside before standing up. "I'll be back in around four to check on you," he says, "Try to get some rest."
When he leaves, it hits her that he's referring to four as in four in the morning. Her head throbs again, and she clenches her eyes shut.
"Light off?" Isabelle asks.
Elizabeth just nods, thankful to have her here right now. "Thanks," she mumbles when she feels a little immediate relief, opening her eyes to mostly darkness with the exception of the TV playing in the corner on mute.
Isabelle sits down in the chair and just stares at Elizabeth, then clears her throat after a few silent moments, "I'm not trying to pry, here, but…I just…I would like to know why you didn't tell anyone you were pregnant."
She shrugs a little, staring at the door and wishing Henry would walk through—wishing he would scoop her up like he did in her dream to wake her up out of that comalike sleep. "I didn't feel like I could yet." She whispers, "I couldn't even admit it to myself."
She feels loopy. She wouldn't be explaining herself on a normal day, she thinks, but her mind is mush. She thinks she would answer any question Isabelle asked right now.
"A surprise, I take it?" Isabelle asks.
Elizabeth just barely nods twice, still staring in front of her.
Silence comes over the room again, and Elizabeth closes her eyes to keep the TV lights from hurting her head.
"I'm glad you're alright," Isabelle admits, "I've seen quite a bit of concussions and people passing out from playing sports growing up, but I'd never seen someone get a concussion while passing out. You looked…" she swallows thick, and it grabs Elizabeth's attention enough that she opens her eyes and looks over at the other woman, "You looked really rough, and really fragile. You still do." She admits, "When they immediately hooked you up to everything, I knew there was something really wrong."
Elizabeth doesn't know what to say, so she lets silence fill the gaps. Finally, she clears her throat, "Thank you for being there, at least." She admits. "I don't know how many people would've seen me if I had passed out."
"Yeah," Isabelle whispers, folding her arms and leaning back. "Well, time to get real acquainted—you're not allowed to sleep with that gnarly of a concussion." She says.
"Doctor said rest."
"He didn't say sleep," Isabelle reminds, "So, what's your story?"
By the time Elizabeth had told Isabelle the happenings from the past two years—the highlights like graduation, getting married, moving to D.C. in their little apartment, having to ship Henry off—the sun was starting to rise again just outside the window. Isabelle gets up after Elizabeth brings them up to current date—almost current date, she stopped at finding out she was pregnant, and hadn't gone into how that has sent her into a depressive spiral in which she can't stop throwing up.
She'd found out some about Isabelle along the way, too, letting her get a chance to speak every so often. She lived alone, had graduated top of her class both in high school and college, and had dreamed of being in the CIA ever since elementary school, too. She hadn't had a serious boyfriend since her sophomore year of college, and she didn't plan on having one, either. Elizabeth admired that, she had to admit, because she wouldn't be in this same predicament that she's in now as long as she stays away from men altogether and just focuses on her career.
About 7:30, she noticed Isabelle started to look exhausted herself, and she prompted her to go home. But Isabelle shook her head, "I already told Dalton I couldn't come today," she answers.
"You what?" Elizabeth asks, "You don't need to do that." She says, "I have a desk full of POIs, I know you probably do too."
"Actually, you have a floor full of them." She corrects, "You took those down with you."
Elizabeth snorts just enough to make her head hurt a little, so she takes a deep breath and shuts her eyes, "Well, you can go if you need to."
"I'm staying." Isabelle says adamantly, and something about the take-no-BS tone she had made Elizabeth so appreciative of this woman she'd barely known before yesterday.
So she didn't argue anymore. She just sat and listened to stories from Isabelle's childhood until she hears a knock on the door. "I'm Katie, your sonographer." She says, pushing a cart in and hitting the door as she walks through. She bumps into it again before it closes behind her, "I'm here to perform an ultrasound. Can you confirm your name?"
Elizabeth has to think for a moment, but then swallows hard and clears her throat, her mouth sticking together, "Elizabeth Adams." She says, then shakes her head, "I mean McCord. Elizabeth McCord." She says, bringing her hand up to rub the bridge of her nose.
"I see here you had quite a concussion," Katie says, smiling sheepishly at Elizabeth. "Names can sometimes be hard after that."
"Yeah," Elizabeth says, brushing it off as a concussion. Instead, she was a fairly new wife and felt, again, as though she were in shock. The sight of the ultrasound machine terrified her, making the situation all more real. "Is the ultrasound needed today?"
Katie pauses her preparations on the machine and eyes Elizabeth, "Well," she says, "Dr. Reynolds ordered one, but I can go doublecheck with him before I do it just to be sure."
"That'd be great." Elizabeth says.
Isabelle looks over at Elizabeth once Katie walks out, "You gotta do it, Bess." She explains, "Why don't you want to?"
"Because right now I can believe it's not real." She says, "I can just…I can think of it as a stomach flu and not come to terms with the fact that I'm all alone, thousands of miles away from my husband while carrying a child I am not sure I'm even ready for." She says, taking a shaky breath, "There's a lot of complicated emotions going on."
Isabelle sighs, irritating Elizabeth for no apparent reason. "Well," she says, "I didn't really take you for someone that would just lie down and give up, Elizabeth," she says, her voice changing to something more cold, "Not after everything you told me. I thought you were a really strong woman, but here you are proving me wrong about it." She says, "You're scared, and I get that, I would be too. But not tackling this fear head on…that surprises me. I guess I was wrong about you."
Coming from a fellow CIA analyst, that pierced Elizabeth's heart. They're notoriously not wrong about people, and to say she was wrong about Elizabeth made her wonder if this really is out of character for her—if this is something she wouldn't normally do if she were already so down about missing Henry. But then again, she didn't want kids. Not yet. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted them even down the road, but she and Henry had always said they'd revisit the subject in five years. It's only been less than a year since that first conversation, and here she lays in this hospital bed, six weeks pregnant and far, far away from Henry McCord.