A/N: Hi everyone! As you'll see, we have Henry POV and Elizabeth POV, and it's marked with the dates.
Hope you enjoy this chapter.
September 7, 1991 | Henry
Henry leans over and looks out at the ground to the best of his ability, the cockpit vibrating and humming from the engines. This Kuwaiti landscape underneath him might be beautiful if he were here on vacation, and if there wasn't a war raging underneath them, but knowing the patchwork of browns and tans were covered with red, too, made it much more depressing.
His heart already feels heavy, like it's weighted down into his stomach. It has ever since Elizabeth told him she was pregnant, ever since he found out he was going to be a dad from thousands of miles away. The urgency of this Kuwait mission demanded his undivided attention, yet all he could think about was how scared his wonderful wife is. The communication blackouts weren't supposed to affect the military phones like this, yet the U.S. Military wasn't always known for keeping up on its word. These blackouts left him feeling isolated from that spectacular woman he loves so much, who is now carrying his child, too.
He wonders what she's doing now. Glancing down at his watch, he's reminded that since it's 16:32 here, it's only 8:32 there. A smile pulls his lips up a little underneath his helmet, thinking about the image of her waking up—she's probably been up for an hour or more, depending on how crazy work it, but the thought is in his mind anyway. She always looked her most beautiful waking up—her blonde hair strung out over the pillowcase, sometimes in front of her face, sometimes in front of his, if he were lucky. If her hair was strung over his face, it meant she was in his arms, probably breathing into his shoulder or his chest, and he would be able to smell the warm scent of her vanilla shampoo.
He lets his mind drift as he banks the Hornet to follow the contours of the desert, thinking about whether she still stretches in the mornings like she always has, or if she has to jump out of bed in the mornings. He remembers when his own mom was pregnant with his younger siblings, and she was sick all the time it seemed like. Henry was of the generation in which parents didn't tell their kids much, so even though he didn't know a new addition was coming to the family until later on, he knew as soon as he'd hear his mother throwing up down the hall. His heart tugs in his stomach again at the thought of her being sick all by herself with no one to hold her hair, no one to bring her a wet rag, and no one to spoil her with everything she wants afterward. She was left to navigate everything alone while he was up here navigating the skies—and the irony was not lost on him. A protector in the air, yet powerless to offer his wife the reassurance she needed.
"Target locked." He hears through his helmet, and he shuts his eyes for just a brief moment, the voice of his wingman pulling him back to his reality.
He takes a deep breath and locks in on his job once more, coordinating with his wingman to ready himself to drop the missile to the ground, hopefully killing his target and not too many civilians. His finger lingers over the button, and finally, he pushes down on it and pulls the Hornet up, flying back off to toward the tarmac.
When he lands and climbs out of the cockpit, the sun immediately hits him and feels like it's burning through his gear. He shields his eyes from the sun and looks at the ground crew doing their job as always, and he takes his helmet off and starts walking toward their food tent. Normally, he would be praying right about now. Praying that any civilians that got tied up in that nasty business are going to make it, and if they don't, then he prays they have a quick and painless death—as painless as they can have. But right now, instead, all he can think about once more is Elizabeth.
He glances over to the communication tent and pauses in his tracks, looking back at the food hall, and then back to the communication tent. Letting out a sigh, he finds himself walking toward the other tent, blindly hoping that, somehow, the comms are back up enough for him to get one good phone call in to his wife.
The satellite phone connects and seems to be working, but no one is picking up. His heart had been racing when it actually worked, but once more, it's being tugged down into his stomach again. He looks down and takes a deep breath, then an image of his mom pops into his head. He wonders how excited she'll be to know she's a grandma again.
He sets the phone back down and walks out of the tent toward the food hall, deciding he would try again a little later. His mind is buzzing again, though, and wondering why she wouldn't have picked up. It's past 9:00 there, where was she?
September 7, 1991 | Elizabeth
The sun shining through her bedroom window blinds her when her eyes flutter open, and she has to shield her eyes with her hand as she groans. It didn't strike her as odd until after she stretched out that the sun was shining through the window—something that doesn't happen until later in the morning with the way this window is positioned. But once she feels her back crackle a little between her shoulders, her knuckles grazing the headboard, her eyes fly open again and stare at the ceiling. She freezes for a minute, then her head whips over to look at the clock. "Damn." She hisses, realizing 9:28 is, by far, the latest she's ever slept in since…God, she can't even remember when. Maybe since she was a teenager, sometime during a summer break maybe.
She sits up slowly and rubs her eyes, twisting her back to try to ease that lower back pain that's been radiating through to her hips and down her legs for the past week or so. At first, it was just when she woke up, but the last few days it's been a nonstop pain, and she assumes she has the pregnancy to blame.
Throwing her legs over the edge of the bed, she looks out the window for a moment, wondering what Henry was doing, and as always, wondering if he was safe. She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath, thinking about the way he would tease her if he knew she had slept in this late—something neither of them do. The only reason either of them slept 'til past eight some mornings is if they were up late doing things in this bed that didn't include sleeping. A little, sleepy smile comes to her lips, and she stretches her neck by putting her cheek to her shoulder, then the other, and opens her eyes again. She lets out a breath and stands up, her eye drawing to the mirror to her right in the corner of the room. With a tilt of her head, she walks toward the mirror and pulls her silky pajama shirt tight against her skin, feeling her breath catch when she realizes she looks…bigger.
She scrapes the deepest depths of her mind trying to think back to her science class days and when women start to show a pregnancy. Surely she was just bloated, right? It was probably barely noticeable, but to her, she feels like she looks like she's already eaten a large meal this morning somehow.
Quickly, she lets her shirt go and walks to the bathroom, trying to take her mind off what she's just discovered—it's like finding out she's pregnant all over again, somehow.
As she's washing her hands, she hears a distant beeping noise, and she frowns. Realizing it's the phone, she rushes in and presses play on the voicemail: "Hey babe, it's me." Her knees go weak, and she has to sit down on the chair next to the phone base. "I think comms might be back up, so I'll be back here to call you later. I hope you're okay. I love you."
She rests her face into her palm, fighting the urge to cry too strongly. The one day she sleeps in, and she misses his call that she's been so desperate to get. She stands up and sticks the phone in the chest pocket on her pajamas, walking into the kitchen and scavenging through the cupboards to look for something other than crackers—she thinks she might be able to hold something down, and she actually feels…hungry. The feeling was so odd to her that she had to do a few re-evaluations to be sure she really was hungry.
Finally, she pulls down a box of Cheerios, pouring them into a bowl and following up with milk. She shovels her breakfast in mindlessly, staring at the phone that's laid in front of her bowl and willing it to ring. With about eight Cheerios left in the bowl, she drops her spoon and splatters the milk all over the counter with the first blaring noise. She picks up the phone and answers, "Henry?" so eagerly that she realizes she sounds like her old teenage-self whenever waiting for a phone call from her boyfriend.
"Congratulations! You've been selected for a thousand-dollar gift card. Press one to—" She rips the phone from her ear quickly and ends the call, tears flooding her eyes as she flops the phone down a little too hard on the table.
Her eyes drift to her bowl, and the sight of the Cheerios make her feel nauseated, so she pushes the whole thing away and leans over on the table, folding her arms up underneath her cheek and resting it there as she feels her arm get wet from the liquid coming from her eyes.
Shutting her eyes, her mind drifts off again to the thought of her mom. She wishes—almost as much as she wishes Henry were here—that she could have a hug from Suzanne Adams right about now. Even a hug from her dad would do, but a mom-hug is what she was desperate for.
She thinks of the way her mom used to scratch her shoulders when she hugged her, particularly when she was most upset. As a teenager, it annoyed her a little—any hug, really, annoyed her. She'd roll her eyes and mumble "mom" under her breath before Suzanne would finally let go, but not until after she'd scratch her fingertips on each of Elizabeth's shoulders. Elizabeth can't remember a time when she was upset and Suzanne gave her a hug that she hadn't done that—it was her thing, she supposes.
She sits up and feels an itch on her shoulder, and she reaches back to scratch it, letting her fingertips linger there and scratch back and forth gently. When she glances over at the clock on the stove, she sees it's already 9:54, and she decides she should at least get dressed.
Her hand grips the phone once more and makes its way to deposit it into her pocket. Just as the base of the phone touches her pajama shirt, that blaring noise rings through her ears again, and she quickly answers once more. "Hello?"
"Elizabeth!"
September 7, 1991 | Henry
"Oh, Elizabeth…" Henry breathes, leaning down against the table and putting his forehead into his palm, taking a deep breath.
"Henry…" he hears on the other end, and he feels like he's crumbling.
"It's so good to hear your voice, babe." He whispers, "I've missed it so much."
He hears her sniffle a little, and he wishes more than anything else that he could be there—that he could hold her and let her cry. But he's here, with an annoying amount of sand in his boot. "I've missed yours." She replies, "So, so much."
He takes a deep breath and swallows thick, "How are you feeling?" He asks, "I called earlier but…" his voice trails off, he didn't know what else to say. He didn't really want to say anything, either, he just wants to hear her talk and hear about her day and hear about everything she has to say.
When he hears a snort on the other end, he furrows his brow, but she goes on before he could question it too long, "I was asleep." She admits, and he can tell she's smirking even from thousands of miles away. He can hear it in her voice and the way she pronounced her e's. "Turns out, pregnancy takes a toll on you."
That word makes him shudder. Pregnancy. It really is real. Even with her letters, even with the calls he's gotten from her, however brief, it was still like a question in his mind. Hearing her say it again made it feel real once more. "Are you feeling okay?" He asks, his mind quickly darting from "taking a toll" to wondering if she's getting enough sleep now.
"Better today." She says, "I actually haven't felt this decent in a few weeks." She admits, and he feels a sense of relief, even if his heart is still hundred pounds heavier than it should be.
"I wish I were there," he blurts out, clenching his eyes shut and kicking himself for saying it, bringing it back to him.
"I wish you were too." She whispers after a moment of quiet, "It's been really hard."
He feels a lump in his throat, constricting him from speaking. His legs are shaking, so he finally sits down in the chair that was beside the makeshift table housing the phone. He leans his elbow on the table and props his head up, the heel of his palm digging into his eye as he tries to keep himself from crying and crumbling in front of the other Marines in this tent. In an attempt to get rid of the lump, he swallows, but it doesn't help, "I'm so sorry." He whispers.
Another silence. This time, the silence was so long that he wonders if the call dropped. But he hears enough rustling on the other end to know that she's still there, "Are you okay?" She asks, changing the subject.
"I'm okay." He answers shakily. "Can't say much more than that though, as usual."
"Got it." She whispers.
He swallows hard again and clears his throat, shutting both his eyes now. "What's it been like, babe?" He asks, "Tell…" his voice breaks so he stops, taking a breath again and forcing himself to keep it together. "I want to know everything…everything I can possibly know from over here."
He hears her lick her lips, and a silence floods his ears again. Well, a silence that's mixed in with all the background noise of the Marines around him and everywhere outside. "It's been a lot of puking." She says finally, "Not much sleeping until last night, and not much food until this morning." She admits. "Isabelle has been cooking dinner for me every night, and she cooks enough to make sure I have lunch for the next day."
"Isabelle?" He asks.
"You haven't gotten my letter yet?"
"No." He says sadly. "Is that the one from the CIA who saw you pass out?"
"Right." She answers, letting out a breath. "Well, I won't spoil the letter for you." He appreciates the little bit of sarcasm she's found, and he lets himself smile. "But…back to me." She says, and he again appreciates the happy little tone of her voice even if it's still thick with sadness. He notices the breath she takes, and it sounds dragged out—he braces himself. "Everything's changing, Henry, and I…" she stops, and he wishes he could rub her shoulders, "Even my body now. It's a lot to handle."
He swallows thick, wanting to know more, "What's changing?" He asks softly, "Tell me everything." His voice is just barely above a whisper, and he feels borderline silly for being so desperate just to know what she looks like. If he were there, he would know every change that has happened to her body—he'd be able to tell every time he looked at her that something was different about her, he's sure of it. He knows that body like his own, and he might even know it better than he knows his own, actually.
When he realizes how silent it is again, he realizes that this might be hard for her, and he's about to tell her that she doesn't have to if she doesn't want, but she interrupts that thought. "I noticed today I look like I ate at Mr. Chen's downtown." She says, "You know how I get whenever I eat too much General Tso's." She says, almost asking him a question, but also stating it more so.
He lets out a quiet laugh, nodding even though she obviously can't see it, "I do." He says, "It looks like your stomach is about to pop open."
"Exactly." She breathes, "So that made it…weird."
"Weird?"
"Weird." She confirms, "It's real, Henry, and I know it's been real…but thinking about the fact that there's something inside me actually making my body grow…it's a weird…sensation."
He smiles a little, thinking about the last time they ate at Mr. Chen's the week that he left. She'd eaten so much food that, yes, she looked like her stomach was going to just pop open. Her otherwise fit body always gives her away whenever she eats a little too much, and he thought it was cute the way she would rest her hands on her stomach and groan about how full she was. But now, thinking about her looking that way because of a baby makes it a little cuter. "I bet you look adorable."
"Adorable isn't the word for it."
"Oh come on."
She snorts, "Henry, I have barely slept, I've been sick every single day for the past few weeks, and the stress has eaten away at me so quickly…it isn't adorable."
"I still think you're adorable." He says, smiling a little, "Even if you have two black eyes and—" he gets cut off by an alarm blaring, "Babe, I gotta go." He says sadly but urgently, hating that his job is once again pulling him from her. "Wait—one more thing." He says quickly, "Can you tell my mom? I want to call her, but…" he swallows thick, "I just…any chance I get to call it's going to always be you, my love." He says, "I really have to go now," he says again before she could answer. "I love you."
"I love you."
With that, he hangs up and rushes out of the tent.
September 7, 1991 | Elizabeth
She lets the phone fall to her shoulder, hearing the dial tone buzzing from inches away. She shuts her eyes and swallows thick, thinking about telling Elaine—the thought of that makes her want to crawl in a hole and never come out, but Henry asked her to. Surely he could find a time to call her? Right? She wouldn't have to do this, too, by herself, right? But it was his one request.
The buzzing in her ear becomes far too annoying, so she ends the call and slams the phone on the table, pushing her hair back with her fingers and pressing her palms into her head as she does so. She swallows thick, licking her lips as she eyes the address book on the stand by the phone. She stands slowly, dragging herself in and grabbing it, flipping over to the M's. When she eyes "McCord House," she sighs and dials the number in. Before it could ring more than once, she hangs up quickly and shoves the phone down onto its base. Not right now, she thinks to herself, taking a shaky breath. Not yet.