A/N: Hello! A speedy update because I did nothing productive today :-)
Enjoy!
Elizabeth
The leaves rustle and crunch below her, a sure sign there's ice on the ground. Her knee scrapes against something hard and she stifles a sound, biting her lip to keep from making any other noise as she crawls away from the water. Knee, hand, knee, hand. Repeat, Elizabeth. Stay quiet. Stay quiet.
As she crawls across the ground, the sound of the water rushing is getting quieter, and she can no longer hear footsteps. A new sound comes through her ears and startles her, causing her to stop. Drip, drip. She hears that and recognizes it as her sopping, freezing wet clothes raining down onto the leaves. It's the other sound that is concerning her. Tik-tik-tik-tik. An odd, rhythmic clattering that was soft yet distinct and sounded like pebbles rolling across a patch of ice. She turns her head to the left and squints into the darkness, trying to get an inkling of where she might be. And then she hears the noise again and whips her head to the right, and her breath catches in her throat.
She stays totally still, afraid that the noise signifies someone is nearby. Her mind is racing, trying to map out a plan to get herself out of here and away from that noise—and then she feels her jaw quiver, causing the truth to hit her. The sound is coming from her. It's her own teeth.
Pressing her lips together and clenching her jaw tight, she continues crawling, but she can't help the chattering. She pushes herself against a tree, trying to blend in with it the best she could in the darkness. Quietly, she rips the coat off and pulls her sweater over her head, getting stuck in the heaviness of the water seeped through it. She glances at it, barely able to see under the moonlight, and sees the large bloodstain—the reminder of what had just happened and the body that had fallen on her.
She places it to her side silently and decides on whether she should ditch her pants, too. They're lighter, they'll dry quicker. She rubs her hands down her thighs and flinches when she catches the gash on the side of her hand. Thinking only briefly about studying her hand to see how bad the damage is, she quickly makes the decision to look away, unable to take in anymore right now. With a deep breath, she draws her feet underneath her as silent as she can with the skin on her back rubbing against the bark of the tree. Once she's standing, she looks down at her coat and thinks again about leaving it, but it's too wet. She'll get hypothermia if she wears something that wet and cold, and her chances are better if she's just bare and cold.
So she looks left and right again, but she's not sure why—she has no bearing on her direction. She looks up, trying to find a glimpse of the moon, but the trees are too thick or the clouds are covering it—she can't tell. As she takes a step, she gets a pain in her side and winces, putting her hand just above her hip where Adnan had kicked her. She forces her legs to move, though all she can think about is how her nightmare has probably come true. Though she'd never imagined it to end this way, she'd always seen the ending.
Henry
Standing near his vehicle, he listens in on the search team's planning. One team was going east, one west, and Henry was supposed to stay here with some other agents. But as soon as the larger teams left, Henry slinked behind his car and quietly ran off in the direction away from both teams, and away from the road they'd come in on. "Henry!" He hears someone yelling, and he swallows thick and freezes. They don't need to be looking for me too, they need to be looking for Elizabeth.
He turns around and clears his throat, "Right here," he says, "But listen, guys, I'm going. I can't stand here and wait around—"
"You have orders to stay here," a man says, and Henry has to turn his flashlight on to see the patch on his uniform.
As he squints, he reads off the last name, "Harper," he says, "Listen, Harper, are you married?"
The man looked to be no older than nineteen, so Henry had already assumed he was likely not married. He shifted a little, "No sir," he says. "But your orders are to—"
Henry cuts him off, though Harper is still trying to talk, "Then you don't understand," he says.
"—and my orders are to watch over you."
"Then come with me or go against your orders. I don't care which—you decide." He says, walking off in the direction he'd planned on walking in the first place. After he walks about a hundred feet, he hears footsteps behind him, and he looks and points his flashlight to see Harper catching up.
They walk in silence for a while as Henry focuses the flashlight on the ground, and Harper is doing the same. Finally, Harper speaks in a much smaller voice than before, "How long have you and your wife been married?" He asks in a hushed tone.
Henry swallows thick, "Fourteen years," he says quietly, taking a shaky breath.
A short stretch of silence ensued, and Harper is speaking again, "You got kids?" He asks.
Clearly, Henry realizes, Harper had not read the file at all. He just came out here guns blazing, and something about the Marine inside of him really appreciated that. He just was saving, not trying to learn who he was saving. "Three of them," he says, then reconsiders his statement. Four, he thinks to himself, blinking wildly. The reality sometimes had still not quite sunk in that he, after a vasectomy, has fathered yet another child and made his beautiful, beloved wife go through all this again. He takes a shaky breath, "Oldest is thirteen. Youngest is six." He explains quietly, keeping his eyes focused on the path in front of him and moving his flashlight around side to side to catch anything else.
Harper doesn't speak again, but Henry hears him breathing not far behind him. He wonders what had sparked his curiosity, but he doesn't ask. He just appreciates him breaking his orders, though technically his orders were to keep an eye on Henry and following him to help find Elizabeth. That was his only priority right now, and he's glad that Harper is helping.
"What's your first name, Harper?" He asks after a few moments, cocking his jaw to the side as he starts to get frustrated that they're not finding anything but leaves.
"Evan," he says, "But everyone calls me Harp."
Henry smiles a little, "Everyone called me Hank." He admits, reminiscing briefly on his military days. "I picked that up in college and it—" he stops, his flashlight catching something off in the distance. "Elizabeth!" He yells, running toward the object. "Elizabeth!"
As he nears the object, he realizes it's just a coat. He picks it up and realizes quickly that it is her coat, and then he sees the sweater beside the tree. "Oh my God," he whispers, kneeling down and looking at all the blood soaked into it. His hand brushes over the sweater and he looks around frantically, "Elizabeth!" He calls out desperately, and he feels a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't get loud," Harp whispers, "We don't know who else is out here." He reminds, tightening a hold on his gun that he's been carrying in his other arm.
Henry looks back at him and blinks a few times, then looks at the sweater and feels a tear drop down his cheek. "What if they—"
"We don't know that." Harp reminds, patting him almost on the neck. Henry takes that as a sign to stand up, but he can't find the strength in his legs. He just grabs the sweater and clutches onto the sleeve, feeling a rush of emotions. Anger for whoever did this to her. Confusion as to why. Sadness—well, that's obvious. But mostly anger.
His anger fuels his legs and he shoots up, turning around and seeing the creek off in the distance. He swallows thick and walks closer to it, Harp following him, and he investigates the bank. "Look," he says, pointing down at the mud. "Handprints," he says, following the prints all the way into the leaves where they disappear.
Harp looks closer and kneels down, investigating it further, "It looks like someone was crawling."
Henry looks back at the sweater and takes a shaky breath, "She's free," he whispers, mostly to himself. He turns to Harp, "She hid in the creek," he realizes, "She's out here somewhere." There's only one set of handprints, Henry. It could've been anyone. But he pushes that thought away and runs in the direction of the sweater again, then tries to study the leaves to see if there's any clue as to where she may have went.
As he shines his flashlight down on the ground, he realizes that ice has formed from the dew. But when he shines it closer to the tree, he sees more glimmers, more ice. "Look, Harp," he says, pointing to the ice, "She was sitting here."
"How do you know?" Harp asks.
"The ice," he says, "There's more of it. If she hid in the creek and had wet clothes, it would make sense that there's more ice wherever she has been." He thinks aloud, desperately looking for a trail of some sort past the tree. As he's searching the ground beside the tree, he hears footsteps running past, and he shines his flashlight in that direction with Harp. "You heard that right?" He asks.
"Yeah," Harp whispers, then steps in front of Henry and pulls his gun up with the flashlight to be eye level.
Suddenly, Henry wishes that he were also armed. He looks around the periphery while walking behind Harp, checking for anyone following them or to their sides. He felt like he was playing a bad game of hide and seek, or manhunt as they used to call it, and he got an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Even worse, he remembers the sweater and the amount of blood. She could be dead. Anywhere, and dead.
He tries to shake the thought as he looks over to his left, Harp still leading the way quietly. When he turns that way, he sees something move behind the tree, and he taps Harp quickly on the left shoulder for him to turn. His flashlight is shining in that direction, and Harp immediately takes action.
"Behind the tree! We are with the CIA—come out with your hands over your head now!" Harp shouts, both their flashlights shining there.
Maybe I should've left this to the team, Henry thinks briefly, but then he sees the figure step out from behind the tree.
"Elizabeth!" He shouts, dropping his flashlight so that it shines up on his face.
"Oh my God," she cries, "Henry!"
He's running toward her already and their bodies collide with a thud. He wraps his arms around her, his hand reaching behind and holding her head as it buries into his shoulder. "Shh," he whispers, "It's okay. We're here."
"God, Henry," she whimpers, "I'm—"
He looks down to assess her, then pulls away gently from her and blinks the tears out of his eyes. He sees the faint remnants of blood across her body and he startles again, "Were you shot?" He asks.
She shakes her head, "No," she whimpers, "But I was kicked and—" Henry shines the light on her face, interrupting her by accident. But then when he sees the cut on her cheekbone and the bruising around her eye, he feels the anger bubble up inside him again.
"Who the hell did this?" he seethes.
"I'll explain everything later," she whispers, "Please just get me out of here."
He hears Harp talking on the radio, and when he hears footsteps, he grabs Elizabeth again and holds her tightly to his body. But then he turns and sees a team of military coming up to them, and in no time, they were being whisked out of those God forsaken woods.
Once on a paved road, he pulls her body into him and she falls over limply. Only a blanket is wrapped around her, all they had, and her pants are still soaking wet. But he's hoping his body heat is helping—something minute that he can do to help her right now. When her cheek falls into his chest, she lets out a sob, and he makes eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror. Without exchanging words, the divider raises between the back and front seats.
He cradles her head as it bobbles from the few bumps in the asphalt, and he holds her waist tightly with his other arm. "It's okay," he whispers, "You're safe now."
"The kids—"
"The kids are all safe. Conrad immediately put security up for them and Stevie is at Langley." He explains quietly, his hand pressing into her wet hair and holding her head steady in his chest.
She sniffles and he feels her body shiver, "This wasn't supposed to happen anymore," she whimpers, her whole body snuggling into him harder as though she's trying to crawl inside of him.
He would do anything to be able to let her.
He rubs her side gently, afraid that he's going to hurt her if he touches her wrong. When she winces, he immediately stops. "What happened?" He asks quietly, his hand a feather over the spot that made her jump. His fingers are barely touching it, and he's afraid of the answer she's about to give.
When she doesn't say anything, he almost asks again, but instead she just lets out a little cry. "I told you—I knew that this would happen. I knew." She whispers, "I saw it. I just didn't know how."
"What, babe?" He asks, wondering now if she's a little delirious from the cold. They'd refused an ambulance back in the woods simply because of the amount of time it was going to take to get there—they wanted out of there as quickly as possible while the military teams stayed back and hunted the others down. Now, he's wondering if they should've waited it out, if she's going to be okay.
"The baby," she finally whimpers, and with those words, his heart feels like it's being crushed. The few little shreds that were left of his heart, that is, because everything else was crushed when he saw Elizabeth all bloodied and bruised, though she's since explained most of the blood wasn't her own. Now, he thinks of the fact that she has to carry this guilt with her, and it makes him want to scream.
But instead, he cups her head, holding it to his chest gently, "We'll get you to the hospital," he whispers, "We don't know anything yet."
"I saw it, Henry. I knew it was going to happen."
He doesn't answer her this time because, really, how can he argue? How can he give her a false sense of hope when she's known this entire time, when her mother's intuition was trying to tell her and warn her against something she never could've guessed would happen? His mind races again to the thought of who the hell did this to her, and he feels his entire body tense up. Whoever it was, he wanted to kill them.
Elizabeth
When she hears sirens other than the ones in front of their SUV leading the way, she realizes that they must be close to the hospital. She picks her head up off Henry's chest and looks around, shivering as she sees the emergency room doors. The SUV stops under the awning and the door nearest Henry is opening, and she jumps when they fling it open.
"Female, thirty-five," the driver is telling the nurse who is coming outside, "Possibly hypothermic." With those words, the nurse kicks into war mode, rushing to the vehicle with a wheelchair and shouting orders behind her. Elizabeth's head feels like it's spinning, but she realizes that Henry is trying to help her out of the vehicle now.
Somehow, she'd crawled basically into Henry's lap on the trip over. After she'd told Henry her fears about the baby, she'd fallen asleep—or some kind of unconsciousness, she wasn't entirely sure. Though she was no longer quite so cold, she still shivers, and as she sits in the wheelchair, a nurse is wrapping another blanket around her.
"Where's Henry?" She asks, almost frantic as she looks around.
"I'm right here," he says, his voice no longer calm. She can hear his footsteps and when she glances over her right shoulder, she sees him trailing one of the nurses down this hallway. Her head falls over to the side as she feels another overwhelming wave of emotions, and she looks at the nurse drunkenly.
"I'm pregnant," she whispers to her.
The nurse doesn't stop moving, but she does look down at Elizabeth and furrow her brows. "You're what?"
Elizabeth isn't sure if the woman hadn't heard her or if she was being coy, but either way, she didn't want to have to repeat it. She looks at Henry and feels her body shake, and then she hears Henry's voice as she closes her eyes. "She's pregnant," he says, "And she's been beaten pretty badly and is concerned about the baby."
"We're concerned about her," the nurse reminds him.
"Just ease her mind," Henry barks, and Elizabeth's eyes can't reopen right now. She just lets her head lay and flop on her shoulder as they get her into a room.
She opens them long enough to see herself being transported from the chair to a bed, and then she feels poking in her arms and jumps at the thought of being hurt again. "We're just giving you some IV's, Mrs. McCord."
When she wakes, she blinks her eyes open and tries to avoid the harsh light of the fluorescents above her. Her head moves to try to shield her eyes from them, but nothing's working.
"You're awake," she hears, and immediately notices it to be Henry.
She follows the sound of his voice, feeling as though she's awoken in a bowl of Jello. "Henry?" She asks, looking over and blinking her eyes a few times to focus on him. She can't see clearly out of one eye and she blinks a few more times, frustrated that it's not clearing. "I can't—"
"It's okay," he whispers, standing up and walking to her bed. He gently scoops her wrist into his palm and rubs his thumb across her arm, "You got a little bit of a black eye," he explains.
She blinks again, trying to remember what would've done that. She doesn't remember being punched, but she remembers Adnan slapping her a few times. That must've done the trick. She tries to swallow, but her throat is so dry that she chokes instead.
"Here, here," Henry rushes, grabbing a cup of water from her table and bringing it quickly to her lips. As he tips it back, she carefully drinks it in and then signals she's finished by moving her head just slightly. He takes it away and sets it down, and she looks at him again.
As she stares at him, her vision goes completely blurry, and she feels her eyes get hot. Her body wracks with a sob, and she feels his hand wrap tightly around hers, then him picking it up, then his lips on her skin. She cries out again and looks at him, attempting to see him through the tears.
The way he doesn't say anything tells her so much, and it feels like her heart is breaking into little pieces. Her breath quivers and her body sinks further somehow into the bed, the sterility of the hospital room making her feel like she's in an asylum with the way everything is spinning around her.
He's rubbing the back of her hand still with his thumb, his other hand cupping his and hers both. He brings it up and kisses her fingers, and she notices that it's all wrapped. She still hasn't ever looked at the severity of the gash, but she's seeing this wrap all the way down past her wrist and realizing that it must have been pretty serious to warrant all that.
Henry's voice startles her when he starts speaking because she was so lost in thought, so on the brink of being unconscious again. "They did an ultrasound while you were asleep," his voice is heavy, and Elizabeth's eyes try to focus on him, but she just shakes her head, unable to hear the rest. "No, no," he whispers, "The baby is still here. Just…just barely."
Elizabeth feels her heart stutter inside her chest, feeling like her ribcage is crumbling in. "How?" She whispers, her voice so fragile and barely audible. "How can it be alive after all that?" She asks, remembering the freezing creek and the way it felt like her body was shutting down when Henry had found her hiding behind that tree. She'd been running for what felt like forever, though she didn't know she'd just made a large circle.
She watches Henry's jaw tighten, and he shifts his gaze from her eyes to her hand as he stares into space, "The doctor doesn't know if it'll…" he swallows thick, and Elizabeth knows the next word that was supposed to come out of his mouth was survive.
She mouths it, and he closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath.
"Right now, all we can do is wait." He whispers, pressing his lips to her hand again.
Her other hand inches closer to her body, closing the gap that had just been sheets between her abdomen and her fingers. She touches her side and winces, remembering suddenly the force that she'd felt from being kicked there. She closes her eyes and lets her hand come up her skin, her finger dipping into her belly button before splaying her hand across her stomach and crying. She has no sound left in her to let out, so everything comes out silent, though she's crying the hardest she has the entire time she's been here. "I should've—" she whimpers.
"Stop," Henry warns, and the sternness in his voice almost startles her.
"I should've done—"
"Elizabeth, stop." He warns again, and she looks at him to find him glaring at her. "You can't blame yourself for this. You were kidnapped." The word feels like a stab to the chest.
How could she have been kidnapped? She was supposed to be working in the private sector—this wasn't supposed to happen anymore. She and Henry and the kids were always supposed to have been kept safe. No one was supposed to find out about any of their work from the past. Yet…Adnan did.
"This isn't your fault," Henry says, "You fought."
"Not hard enough." She breathes.
Tears spill down her cheeks and she looks away from Henry, the overwhelming guilt topped with embarrassment and shame from not being able to fight back and keep their baby safe felt like it was drowning her. She couldn't bear to look at him.
"Mrs. McCord," she hears, and she peeks over to see a doctor coming through the doorway with a clipboard tucked to his chest. After he makes his introduction to her, though she can't even remember his name already, he sits down opposite of Henry. "I've already explained all this to your husband, but I saw you were awake and wanted to explain to you as well." He says. The sobriety in his voice makes Elizabeth's stomach sink. "You were exposed to extreme cold," he says matter-of-factly, "Which triggered what we call cold-induced vasoconstriction. Essentially, the blood vessels in your body narrowed to preserve heat and maintain circulation to your vital organs—your heart, brain, and lungs. Unfortunately, this response can limit the amount of blood flow to less critical areas, including your extremities and, in some cases, the uterus."
She swallows thick, feeling dizzy once more. Though Henry had already known this and he warned her that the baby was just holding on, somehow hearing it in clinical terms made it feel more real.
"This vasoconstriction reduces the oxygen and nutrient supply to the fetus. Your body is prioritizing survival, but it inadvertently compromises blood flow to the pregnancy. In situations like yours, where hypothermia is a factor, there is a high risk of fetal hypoxia, or oxygen deprivation to the baby." He explains, and she closes her eyes this time. "The ultrasound showed that the fetus is still alive, but the heart rate is concerningly low. Fetal bradycardia is often a sign of fetal distress and indicates that the baby is struggling to compensate for the reduced oxygen and blood flow."
She shivers again though her body is warm now. Henry's hand gently squeezes her fingers, and she can barely feel it at all. She looks over to him and sees him squeezing, feeling the pressure, but doesn't feel anything more. She swallows thick and makes some sort of mental note to ask why she can't feel her hand, but she just looks back at the doctor sitting at the end of her bed.
He explains that her body is in a precarious state, that the risk of miscarriage is high, but that there's also no sign of full placental abruption and that her hormone levels are still highly elevated. "We're doing everything we can to stabilize your body and ultimately the fetus," he continues, and she feels her hand grasp at her stomach tighter in some desperate attempt to save it. "Along with the IVs and antibiotics we've administered for your wounds, we've also administered tocolytics which are designed to relax the uterus and prevent any contractions from occurring." He looks at Elizabeth and softens from the doctor mode to more of a human level, and he swallows thick. "We can't make any promises, but we're doing everything we can." He admits.
The doctor straightens up slightly, his expression still grave. "For now, rest is the best thing. We'll keep monitoring you and the baby closely. We'll also be running some blood tests to check for any clotting issues, just to make sure there's no additional risk."
He nods at Henry, his eyes softening again. "I know this is overwhelming, but please—both of you—try to stay calm. Right now, every minute we buy is important."
She closes her eyes and hears the doctor leaving the room, and she manages to mumble thank you before she hears the door shutting. She flickers her eyes open to look at Henry and lets her head fall to the side, looking in his direction. "What if this is all because I never wanted it?"
"Stop that," he whispers, scooting closer to her bed and holding her fingers still. "Stop. You can't blame yourself for any of this."
"Why not?" She asks, "You blame yourself for it."
She had noticed that he seemed guilty about this entire situation ever since she'd told him she was pregnant—well, after he got over the anger of thinking she'd cheated on him. She watched his body language every time she said something about her own guilt, and she knew he was more guilty than she. She hadn't gotten the chance to ask him why yet, or what about this situation makes him think he should be guilty. But now seems like a great opportunity to at least tell him she knows.
And the way he's looking at her, she knows she's struck a chord. "I do," he admits quietly, "It's my fault."
"You couldn't have known," Elizabeth says.
"And you couldn't have done anything to prevent this."
When he throws it back at her, she closes her mouth and swallows thick, pressing her lips together slightly. He's right, she thinks, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. But it doesn't help the ache she feels in her chest any.
After some time passes, she asks about calling the kids, and she talks to Stevie first and apologizes for missing picking her up from basketball, but assures her she's going to be okay. Then Ali and Jason came next, and they were both so worried that it made Elizabeth cry at one point. "I promise I'll be okay," she cooed to them before they said their I love yous and Goodbyes.
When they hang up, she looks over at Henry and at her hand that she can't seem to feel. "Why is my hand numb?" She asks quietly.
He looks down at it, "You tore some ligaments in your wrist," he says softly, "And you have a gash about three inches down the side of your wrist. But they had to repair the ligaments with surgery, so—"
"How long was I out for?" She realizes, looking around for any date or time.
Henry smiles sheepishly at her, "It's Sunday evening," he explains softly.
Her mind isn't very clear still, but she does remember leaving the school on Friday. That means she's been out almost the entire day today and definitely the entire day yesterday. She sighs and shuts her eyes, her other hand still resting on her stomach. "Can I eat?" She asks quietly.
He nods, "The doctor said you can eat if you're hungry." He says, standing up. "I'll go see about getting you some food."
"Thank you," she coos, watching as he walks out.
When he rounds the corner, she puts her bandaged hand down on her belly, too, and spreads her fingers out around her abdomen as she fights back a cry. Her throat tightens up as she tries to hold it all in, and her knees raise a little as though she's creating a barrier around her. "I'm so sorry," she whispers into the ether, closing her eyes and feeling a tear escape the corner. "I am so sorry."