A/N: OOF. My heart.
Hope you enjoy!
Henry | Post-Extraction – 164 Hours
"ON YOUR FEET, MARINE!"
The sudden shout yanked Henry awake, causing him to jump up and out of the bed. His body jerked into motion before his mind caught up and he had a painful stitch in his side immediately after he landed on his feet.
Getting his bearings, he looked around to see Sarah—the voice that yelled—and he glared at her for a moment with his fists balling up. His eyes locked onto hers as she smirked at him, wearing this smug look of amusement. Before he could retort, he heard someone giggling from the other end of the bed.
Henry turned to see Elizabeth snickering behind her hand, her blue eyes being framed by crinkling in both corners from how big she was smiling. His heart gave a strange and painful twist, radiating from his ribs, likely, as he looked at her and tried to shake off the remaining panic he'd felt lingering in his body. Her smile, no longer quite so frail looking, warmed him, yet it also made him painfully aware of how much he wanted to protect her from the world. He wanted to never let her lose her smile.
He exhaled slowly, his ribs protesting the movement with their aches. "Oh," he said, shifting his gaze to Sarah as she also had begun to snicker, "You're so hilarious." His arms crossed over his chest as he attempted to regain his composure, but his voice was thin and tight and still groggy from the hard sleep he'd been doing.
Jordan's eyebrows flicked up, and she stared at him the same way he was staring at her, "Why are you in here at 6:30 in the morning, McCord?" she demanded, her voice cutting through his fogginess quickly.
He swallowed thick, his mind finally coming around to realizing he was still in Elizabeth's room and it was morning. He looked at Elizabeth and saw her looking a little more shy than she had a few seconds ago. "I guess I fell asleep here," he said, remembering their conversation they'd had about sleeplessness last night. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and cleared his throat, "Sorry about that."
"I didn't want to wake you," Elizabeth breathed, a little smile coming to her lips as she looked at him and then down and away, a fluttery movement.
Henry couldn't take his eyes off her, unable to help but notice that she looked so pretty. Her hair had been up last night and now it was down, flowing around her face in this tousled way. It was a little greasy, sure, but she'd been in the hospital for too many days now and yet she still had this glowy, angelic look about her. Somehow, her hair framing her face that way made her look more vulnerable, more like someone who is just a twenty-four-year-old woman who is from Virginia and just put her life on the line for her country.
Sarah Jordan cleared her throat like she was reminding him that she was still there, "I was just getting her ready to leave today," she said, walking over to Elizabeth's IV pole and starting the process of disconnecting her.
He stared at Jordan for a moment before the weight of her words finally hit him like a punch in the gut, "What?" he asked, frowning deeper.
Elizabeth was looking at Jordan, too, with wide eyes and a furrowed brow, "I'm leaving?" She asked, her voice heavy with confusion, "I thought it was just time for debrief today, I—"
"Your debrief will be Stateside, ma'am," Sarah said as she carefully removed the tape from Elizabeth's hand.
Henry cringed as he watched her soft skin being pulled underneath the adhesive, and he turned away when she started messing with the needle. He couldn't bear to see her in any more pain.
"Stateside?" Elizabeth asked, and Henry didn't like how she seemed like she hadn't been told any of this until now.
He looked at her with his face tight, his lips pressed together and his jaw cocked. "I'm going Stateside today? But what about…" Elizabeth's voice trailed off. There was no other "what abouts," she wasn't needing the Marines' assistance any longer.
He knew, too, that she didn't need any extra help from the infirmary anymore. She was healed as far as the infirmary cared, and the States had better help for her anyway. The IV, at this point, was just a small amount of pain medicine to get her through the nights, just like they'd done for him his last night in the infirmary. Of course she was cleared to fly home.
He swallowed hard and looked away, and Jordan was explaining to Elizabeth that she'd received word from her director that she would be flying back today and to get her ready for her flight. Henry watched Elizabeth tense up every time Jordan would use the name "Eleanor" instead of Elizabeth, and he wanted to just yell at Jordan to use her real name. They all knew it in this room—but he also knew they would be in big trouble if they did use her name. He watched the way Elizabeth was trying to swallow something down each time the word "Eleanor" was used, swallowing something more than just simple disappointment.
It hit him: she was pulling away, closing up. She looked like a flower in full bloom just moments ago and now she had closed in on herself like a bud at the end of the day.
As Jordan continued to work with efficiency, Elizabeth was scooting her legs over the edge of the bed carefully. She slid down and landed on her good foot. Her left foot touched the floor and she winced, and quickly, he reached for her crutches so she didn't have to lean to get them. "Here," he murmured, handing them to her carefully.
She put one arm over each and looked at him, her head tilted down slightly, "Thanks," she mumbled back, swallowing hard.
He didn't stare, but he could have sworn he saw her eyes glistening.
She hobbled her way out of the room on the crutches and he looked over at Jordan, "Does she really have to go back today?"
"Straight from Conrad Dalton," Jordan answered, throwing things away in the container on the wall.
The silence weighed down on the room and pressed in on Henry's chest, so much that he just stayed quiet and thought about that Conrad Dalton for a few moments.
Jordan was taking her gloves off and finally looked up at Henry, swallowing thick, "McCord," she said finally, letting out a quiet exhale, "Why were you in here all night?"
Henry didn't answer immediately because his sudden rush of thoughts made him feel dizzy. The pain in his side was more bearable than the ache in his chest, though, and he noted that it was the first time something had hurt more than that broken rib. He swallowed hard, "I'm sorry—"
"I don't want to hear you're sorry," Jordan answered, throwing her gloves away too and stuffing her hands into her pockets. When he got a look at her face, he saw that her expression was completely unreadable, her usual cool and collected medic face. "I just want you to remember who you are and who she is."
She turned toward him and eyed him for a moment, and he tucked his arms around his chest a bit and touched his fingertips to the sore spot in his ribs. His breath was sharp, but something about the pain made him feel less of a heartache. "She has to go back home, and you're not supposed to know her name. Period." Her tone was so serious and firm, like a final warning. She was rolling the IV pole to the wall and looking away from Henry, "I don't want you to get hurt," she said, her voice softening this time, though she still sounded like she was commanding and not pleading.
Henry wanted to argue, but he stopped himself. The quiet finality of her words stopped him, really. "Don't get soft on me now," Henry murmured instead, moving his hands so that they're in his sweatpant pockets. His gaze was fixed down on the floor near his shoes, and he took a shaky breath.
She was right, ultimately. They were all right. Elizabeth was a CIA spy and he was a U.S. Marine with time to still spend in Kuwait. It didn't matter that he only had a month left on this tour of duty, it only mattered that he wasn't supposed to know who she was. And it mattered, too, that he didn't even know her full name—he just knew she's Elizabeth from Virginia and that she likes chocolate pudding.
And that she had a laugh that could light up even the dimmest of Marine infirmaries.
And that she had a brother, Will, who she seemed to have a rocky relationship with.
And that she's stubborn, that she's not a good patient because she wants to be up and moving.
And that she struggles going to sleep, though he didn't know the exact reason, he could easily assume.
But he had to push all these things to the back of his mind, all of it going away in some file that had to be locked away in a drawer somewhere in his brain. Because Sarah Jordan was right, he didn't need to get hurt any more than he already had been. Too many people had gotten hurt because of this CIA op as it was.
By the time she came back into the room, Sarah had gone out to get her papers ready and to contact the CIA to ensure Elizabeth's safety medical-wise while on the plane.
Henry watched Elizabeth come in silently, her demeanor changing since she'd walked out just minutes ago. He supposed his demeanor had probably changed, too, after his chat with Sarah.
He felt a coldness radiating from her, and he watched her walk by him without making eye contact as though he were just another piece of furniture. And maybe, at this point, he was another piece of the furniture—he'd been in this room enough.
He noticed that she was picking up a pair of sweatpants and a shirt from the chair on the other side of the room, and he watched her carefully, more afraid of her falling or hurting herself than anything. She didn't have that soft glow to her anymore, she just looked harsh and tired. He realized, too, that she was barely using the crutches and was putting her foot down more than she should've been, and he watched her toes curl up in her cast whenever she would touch the floor.
"Here," he murmured, walking to the other side of the bed and over toward her, "Let me help you get your stuff together."
"I don't have stuff," she said.
He swallowed thick, an image of the state she'd been found in flashing through his head. "I mean these clothes," he said, "I'm sure you'll be much more comfortable in these than in that gown."
She stayed silent as he reached out for the clothes, and he almost felt like she was hoping he'd just leave. He looked at her briefly before turning and putting the clothes on the bed. Walking toward the door, he stopped suddenly, "I'll just be—" he was going to tell her he'd be coming back, but leaving so she could change, but when he glanced back he saw her naked chest as the gown was falling down from her body. She was, however, propped up on the crutches, and he was happy about that.
He looked away just as quickly as he'd looked back, and he swallowed thick.
"Did you just see me?" She asked.
He nodded, his eyes fixed on the door. "Mhm," he murmured, not able to form words. His cheeks were so red that he felt like he was having a heat stroke.
She didn't say anything else, though, and he suddenly worried. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."
"I know," she said, and he heard a crutch fall and rattle on the floor.
"Are you alright?" He asked, resisting the urge to look back again.
He didn't hear anything except another crutch falling, and his mind was racing. Should I look back there again? What if she's naked still?
But then he heard a whimper, and he looked back to see her sitting on the ground. He rushed over to her and made sure she was okay first by touching her head, making sure she hadn't hit it on the way down. She still had that nasty head wound in the back of her hair that he'd forgotten about.
"Let me help you," he whispered, and she looked up at him nervously. He was glad she had gotten the tee on, and his heart tightened when he saw that it said "MARINES" in big letters across the chest.
His hand moved underneath her arm and he helped her to her foot, then he realized that she had no pants on still. He looked away quickly and heard her clear her throat, "Can you just help me get it over my cast?" She asked.
"Get what?" He asked, too nervous to think.
"The leg."
"The leg?"
"The pantleg, Henry," she breathed.
He looked into her eyes, avoiding looking down, "Oh," he said, reaching blindly for the sweatpants by her pillow and moving his hands awkwardly to try to find her foot.
"Henry," she said, her voice exasperated as she slouched forward slightly, "Just look at what you're doing—I have underwear on."
He looked down gingerly and swallowed thick, carefully putting the pants over her cast, and then switching to her other leg. He pulled the waistband up her legs as far as it would go without it hitting the bed, and then she slid down off the bed to pull them the rest of the way up. As if she'd asked him to, he grabbed her underneath the shoulders to help her stay balanced as she pulled them to her waist and tied the band, and then she met his eyes.
"Thank you," she whispered, blinking a couple times before looking away abruptly.
She'd turned her entire upper body from him to mess with her pillow, and he stepped backwards when he realized she had her weight resting on the bed. He knew that she was starting to cry, and he also knew that she didn't want him to see her. So he leaned down and grabbed her crutches off the floor, propping them against the bed.
Before either of them had the chance to say anything else, Sarah came into the room with her papers and announced that the chopper was ready to take her to the airfield. He glanced over at Elizabeth and took a shaky breath, and he felt Sarah looking at him—staring at him—with a fierceness that pierced his skin over and over like a tattoo.
"Be safe, okay?" He said to Elizabeth, and she nodded, looking down quickly.
"I'll try," she whispered. He watched as her eyelashes brushed her eyelids over and over, and he knew she was blinking away tears.
He just didn't know how long he had until he couldn't bear to not hold her anymore, so he turned away and looked at Sarah.
"Thanks for everything," Elizabeth said as she walked toward the door with Sarah, still not making eye contact with Henry.
"Of course," Henry said, but what he really wanted to say was: "I'd do it again over and over in any lifetime, and I'd go through five more broken ribs if it meant saving your life again." But he refrained, and he just watched as she hobbled through the door and turned down the hall.
He had to sit down for a moment, feeling like the breath had been knocked out of him. He remembered back to a time in the fourth grade when a kid in fifth grade picked a fight with him, calling him a "Bible Thumper" because he went to mass with his family every Sunday. Somehow that kid, Greg, had gotten his feelings hurt because Henry wouldn't join his spend-the-night birthday party. Henry's mom said he had mass in the morning, so he had to say no, even though he went to the party in the earlier hours of the evening. On the playground that day, Henry had argued back, and Greg came up and set all four knuckles into the top of Henry's stomach.
The breath had hurled out of him with the force of a car rear-ending another car. He felt like his lungs had maybe come out of his chest entirely when Greg hit him, but then he'd heard the laughter from the other kids.
This felt a lot like having the breath knocked out of him by Greg on the playground.
He rocked in the chair until he stood up on his feet and took a shaky breath, knowing he needed to head back to base and hear the riot act from Major Grayson for staying out all night.
When he stepped outside the infirmary, he heard the chopper's whirring in the distance and tried to shake it off.
She's getting on that chopper and you'll never see her again.
You didn't even hug her, you idiot.
He swallowed thick as he forced himself to keep putting one foot in front of the other to get back to base.
He was a Marine, after all—he'd joined to be part of something bigger than himself, and isn't that what he'd just done? He saved that woman's life, and that's more than he ever imagined he'd be doing. Being a Marine meant that he could handle all sorts of things—ambushes, gunfire, weaving in and out in the air of enemy weapons shooting at him. But as he left the infirmary, eh felt the weight of something new, like something he couldn't handle.
He told himself that once he was back on base, he'd have a new job to do, and this moment would become a memory in the end. He knew, too, that Major Grayson would be lecturing him about missing curfew last night and about all the other things he simply didn't care about right now—and still probably lecturing him about the whole situation with Lacey that he'd already explained a thousand times. All the paperwork he had to do for this mission was overwhelming, and he knew there'd be more of it when he got back.
As he was walking, he heard a voice shouting, "McCord!" He startled a bit and looked back over his shoulder, then turning and looking with his whole body. He laid eyes on a man in a Marine uniform, and he recognized him as one of the infirmary workers. "Something's happened, you need to come back quick."
He realized then that the chopper was still whirring—it should've been gone by then. His stomach twisted and he immediately thought of Elizabeth. "Is she—" he started, his throat constricting him and choking his own voice out before he was even able to finish the question.
"Elizabeth's down," the man said, catching his breath as Henry started walking toward him, "She collapsed before boarding the chopper—she's having a panic attack." The medic's words were fast and frantic, and Henry's head was spinning as they now walked back together toward the infirmary and, more specifically, toward the chopper. "We can't calm her down, McCord," the man shouted behind Henry.
Henry had taken off running, leaving the medic behind.
"She was asking for you!" The man yelled.
Henry sprinted even faster toward the whirring, seeing the chopper now and laying eyes on her immediately.
She was sitting on the ground next to the chopper, her crutches sprawled out on both sides of her. Sarah was kneeling next to her, her hands holding onto Elizabeth's arms tightly as she tried talking her down, but Henry knew there was no use. When he got closer and saw how wide Elizabeth's eyes were, his heart tightened, and he knelt down next to her. "Elizabeth," he breathed, his panting making it hard to get her whole name out.
He knew that the other Marines were looking at him after using her name, and he knew that Sarah was staring him down, but he didn't care.
He took Elizabeth's arm gently and rubbed it, "Breathe with me, okay?" It wasn't really a question, but more of a gentle command. "Focus on me, breathe with me," he said, rubbing her arm gently. Her hyperventilating was still loud and uncontrolled, but he breathed in through his nose, forcing his body to stop trying to catch his breath after the sprint.
Everything he was doing felt unnatural—he needed to be panting, not breathing slow. But he had his eyes locked on hers, and he was waiting for her to try to breathe in with him, too. When she did, he nodded, encouraging her more, and then he slowly let it out while she let hers out. He felt dizzy, but he just kept focusing on her. "Good," he said softly, "Keep going," he said, doing it all over again.
She was breathing again more normally and Sarah was still staring at Henry.
"You're okay now, you're safe," he whispered, and Elizabeth still had this terrified look in her eyes. He hadn't seen her look so scared since he'd ripped the closet door open that night and found her tied up and bloody.
The tears welled up in her eyes and he wanted to hug her, but he was scared he would make her nervous, so he just kept rubbing the soft skin on her arm.
Finally, breaking through the sound of the loud blades, Sarah yelled: "McCord, you're escorting her to the airfield."
"But Grayson will—" Henry started to argue, but Sarah shook her head.
"I'll deal with Grayson," she yelled back, "Just escort her to the airfield and get her on the plane safely."
Henry looked at her for a few seconds and then nodded, "Alright," he mumbled, definitely not loud enough for anyone to hear over the whirring.
Carefully, they helped Elizabeth to her feet, and she took another deep breath. He dusted her sweatpants off a bit before picking her up in his arms, and Sarah followed behind them with the crutches. Elizabeth's head fell over into his shoulder, and he was sure he felt moisture seeping in through his tee, but he didn't ever address it.
The entire ride to the airfield, she didn't look at him, but he also didn't move his hand away when her hand landed on top of his. He didn't know if she did it on purpose or if she didn't know her surroundings, but he liked the way her hand felt, sandwiching his between his thigh and her palm. It was the perfect weight, not too heavy and still heavy enough to know it was there.
When they landed, another group of Marines met them on the ground. "McCord," boomed a loud voice, and he recognized it to be Major Larson's once he saw the man's stripes. "You're accompanying the package to the States, per the CIA director."
"I—" Henry started, and then he looked at Elizabeth who was still standing carefully on her crutches, her foot resting on the ground. "I didn't bring anything to—"
"Another heli is bringing your things," Larson said, "Your tour will be finished up Stateside."
"Yes sir," Henry answered, but then he blinked a moment and took a chance, "Sir, may I ask why, sir?"
Larson looked at him for a moment and then looked at Elizabeth, "Medic Sarah Jordan said due to medical reasons, the package needs an escort, and you were fit for the job since you were grounded anyway." Larson looked at him again, almost as if he knew something more but wasn't saying it, "Director Dalton readily agreed because this package is personally very important to him."
Elizabeth squirmed to his side, and he couldn't tell if she was uncomfortable because of the pain or something else.
He eyed her for a moment longer before peeling his gaze away from her, "Alright," he said, "So my responsibility is to keep the package safe, right, Sir?"
"Correct," Larson answered, then nodded out of respect toward Henry, "You've done a good job, Captain," he said, "The higher ups have your number."
Henry swallowed thick, unsure if he really wants the higher ups to "have his number." After the way they'd left guys behind in that warehouse the night they rescued Elizabeth, he wasn't sure about the ethical practices anymore, and he felt uneasy about his entire career as a Marine. But if one thing good came out of his career, it was this woman standing beside him.
"Thank you, Sir," Henry replied, and he looked over at Elizabeth who nodded, moving toward the plane's direction.
Once out of earshot of Larson, he looked over at her, "Are you sure you're alright?" He asked, unsure why he'd even thought of that question—of course she wasn't alright, but she had to be alright enough to get back home.
She nodded, though, just like a brave soldier would. "I'm alright," she breathed, "I'm better now that I know you're going to be accompanying me," she admitted, then left him standing there to watch her head toward the plane's ramp.
He stood, dumbfounded, and watched her attempt to put the crutch's rubber bottom up on the metal ramp, then he sprinted up behind her to help her before she had the chance to slide back down with a new injury.