A/N: We're getting close to the end :') bittersweet because MAN do I love this story. I think this one actually became one of my favorites, which is funny because when I first started writing it, I wasn't sure about it at all. But I'm loving it, and I'm sad to see it come to an end but also excited to get to the end.
Hope you all enjoy!
Elizabeth | Post-Extraction – Day 20
"Sir," she said firmly, "I need to get back to work. At least on the desk."
Conrad had finally agreed after day two of her arguing, even though he'd originally done every kind of protesting he could over the phone. She was a better debater, though, and she'd proved it. So only two days after arriving at the Langley safe house, she was back at work.
The truth was, she hadn't been able to sleep, and she had barely had an appetite. Though security stood outside at all times, she still didn't feel safe—she still couldn't shake the feeling that she was being hunted and watched. Additionally, she kept trying to fall down the rabbit hole of her parents' crash again, knowing what Westfield said about Davison and all of them knowing each other.
All of that mixed with her foot annoying and frustrating her, the cast being so big and bulky, she was overwhelmed and was losing her mind being cooped up in that house. If Conrad hadn't have said yes, she would've had to take more extreme measures—she just wasn't sure what by that point and was glad she didn't have to figure it out.
But now she's been back on the job for over a week, and she's getting back into the swing of being here. Even before the kidnapping, she'd been living in London for three months and gathering intel, so Langley had stopped feeling like home for a short amount of time. But then she was back with Isabelle, too, and Juliet and George. All of them made her feel like this was where she was meant to be.
Yet, she still couldn't shake that this wasn't home anymore.
When she'd first come to Langley out of college, this felt like home because she liked the people she worked with, mostly. But also it was where her parents worked. Even though she'd never known it, she could feel them there somehow—she could feel the remembrance of them in a place that would never be able to publicly remember their names. The Company had taken her in under their wing, it felt like, and then of course there was Conrad. He was always on her side more than he even had to be, and she admired that and appreciated that about him.
Even as she went back to work, Conrad had been bringing her the paper to look for new apartments, and she'd been circling places that she wanted to go visit. Today, she got Conrad to let Isabelle take her out of the Langley vicinity and finally get out a bit.
Partially it had been Conrad keeping her "lying low" as he called it for a few more days after the Davison thing settled, but also, she didn't want to go out. She still struggled with the coordination it took to maneuver the crutches, mostly, and every time something happened with them, it made her think of Henry even more and the way he would just scoop her up in his arms.
"Thanks for taking me," she told Isabelle as they were driving through downtown.
Isabelle looked over quickly and smiled, "I'm glad you got to be released from prison for a while," she teased.
Elizabeth snorted and drooped her head to look out the side window, her eyes feeling tired and her head feeling hard to hold up. She'd only gotten about three hours of sleep last night in total, and not consecutive hours either. When she tried to eat this morning, everything repulsed her, but she did finally manage to eat some yogurt, and it's upset her stomach ever since.
"It does feel a little like prison," she said, then her lip curled when she thought about those words. That's still not as bad as the prison I was living in over there. But there was no point in saying that aloud and changing the mood, so she took a deep breath and looked over, "I still can't imagine Conrad as a dad, can you?"
Isabelle laughed and her brow flicked up as though she was thinking about it, "I don't know," she said, "I can see Lydia as a mom, of course, because she just has the personality for it. But Conrad…I think he's probably, secretly, got a lot of dad in him."
Elizabeth thought about that for a moment as she looked at the road, adjusting her foot so that the cast wasn't rattling up against the console. Then she thought of how he always treated her a little like his daughter and a little like his sister, and she realized that maybe Isabelle was right. But she wasn't going to admit that.
"This is the address, right?" Isabelle asked, pulling Elizabeth from her thoughts.
She turned quickly to look past Isabelle at the building, reading the numbers, "Yep," she said, "That's it."
"This is nice," Isabelle said, raising her brows at Elizabeth, "How the hell are you going to afford this?"
Elizabeth laughed, almost a huff, and then she pulled a smile onto her face, "Well, Isabelle," she said sarcastically in a borderline British accent, "When members—not just one, but multiple—of the U.S. Government put a target on your head and pay Kuwaiti terrorists to try to kill you, apparently I'm worth a little more than I was before this op."
She cocked her jaw to the side and huffed again, "When my parents died," she started, taking a shaky breath. Isabelle knew, too—she'd been helping Elizabeth with their case ever since she joined the CIA. "We got a settlement check."
"You did?" Isabelle asked, turning toward her a little as she parked out front.
Elizabeth nodded and unbuckled, but stayed still as she thought back. "$800,000 each—one check for me, one for Will. We were kids," she breathed, shaking her head and looking down. "But apparently that's what the government thought their lives were worth nine years ago," she took a shaky breath and fumbled her fingers together, "And those checks, mostly, went to college expenses for me and Will both, but they also went toward keeping the horse farm that my parents owned. Uncle Paul had sold it because—well, they didn't know anything about horses. So they had to sell it. I bought it back, and Will gave me some of his money for my college expenses I couldn't quite cover with what was left over."
Isabelle watched her and finally looked away, exhaling loudly, "Shit," she breathed.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together and nodded. Shit, indeed. "So when I got my own settlement check, the first installment—I wasn't surprised. Conrad insisted to President Westfield that they pay me at least some right away so that I can get back on my feet." She looked down at her cast and thought of the irony of that statement. Like you can even stand on your own two feet.
"So wait," Isabelle interjected, "You're telling me you own a horse farm?"
Elizabeth raised her brow, "Yes," she said suspiciously.
Isabelle frowned, "And you work here? For the CIA?"
"Yes," Elizabeth replied.
"And you never told me about this why?"
Elizabeth shrugged, "It never really came up. What was I supposed to do, bring it up after a conversation about an Iraqi terrorist watch list?"
Isabelle sighed, shaking her head, "I mean," she stopped, "Maybe."
Elizabeth snorted and shook her head too, pulling the door handle but not pushing the door open yet.
"So the new check," Isabelle said, breaking the brief silence, "You're, like…rich now?"
Elizabeth thought for a moment. I'm not rich, she decided immediately, but I'm certainly not poor. She swallowed thick, "It's interesting to see how much my life is worth to the government," she said, shrugging, "And that's all I'll say about it."
Isabelle was quiet for a moment and Elizabeth thought she was going to give it up, but then as she opened the door and started climbing out, she definitively said, "So you're rich rich."
Elizabeth just eyed her as she was climbing out and then finally laughed, "Money doesn't make you rich," she reminded, calling it out as Isabelle walked around to her side to help her with the crutches. She caught Isabelle rolling her eyes dramatically as she walked around.
"Yeah but money also gets you to not live in shitty apartments," she reminded. Isabelle pulled the crutches out of the back of her car and immediately dropped one. "Don't you just hate these things," she mumbled, scooping down to pick it up and frustratedly hand it to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth watched from her seat and nodded, "I'm ready to be off them," she said, "I have a doctor's appointment later today—I'm hoping to get a boot maybe."
"It's only been two weeks," Isabelle reminded, a tone of caution in her voice as Elizabeth climbed out carefully. Isabelle had this way of being firm yet also caring, somehow, and Elizabeth was hating her for it right now—the firmness.
She stared her down, "I'm hoping to get a boot," she repeated more determinedly, more stubbornly.
Isabelle just repeated the statement in a mocking tone as she closed the door, and Elizabeth could hear her following her into the apartment building.
"I'm here to look at apartment 7E," she said, walking up to the concierge who was sitting and reading a book.
He looked up and sighed loudly, taking his headphones off and pushing pause on his cassette player. The book angrily closed itself as he looked up at her again, and then at Isabelle, and back to Elizabeth, "What?" he asked, his eyes narrowing in on her.
She looked at him and batted her eyes for a moment, trying to not lose her cool at his rudeness. "Apartment 7E," she said again, "I'm here to look at it."
"Go on," he said, "It's unlocked for you already."
She widened her eyes at his lack of customer service, or even his lack of basic human decency, and then looked at Isabelle who was ready, she thought, to jump over the counter at the man. But Elizabeth just cleared her throat, "Come on," she said, and they headed to the elevator.
"An elevator," Isabelle said as they stepped in, "You're definitely rich."
Elizabeth snorted and rolled her eyes, "If I were as rich as you were thinking," she said, pushing the button to the seventh floor, "I wouldn't have to deal with people like that in my apartment building. They'd think more highly of the rich," she said sarcastically, giving a look to Isabelle as the doors closed and they started going up.
When they got up to the seventh floor and Elizabeth found apartment E, she turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly. Isabelle brushed past her first, very obviously scouting the place before Elizabeth came in, but she didn't say anything. Elizabeth just followed her in, secretly appreciative for Isabelle's protectiveness over her these days.
Without Henry she simply hadn't felt very safe. The first week at Langley, Conrad always had a security detail around her safehouse. By then, though, all the people who were thought to be involved in the conspiracy had been arrested. She should have felt more safe, but she couldn't shake the pesky feeling that she'd missed someone, that they all had missed someone.
After all, President Westfield's "there's always deeper things out there than anyone realizes" statement on her way out of the Oval Office jarred her. Knowing that her parents knew both Westfield and Davison also jarred her. And she'd been jarred enough over the past few weeks without that information.
Aside from the feeling of unsafety, she also had to hold herself back from spiraling back down the dangerous rabbit hole of researching her parents' death. As she walked in a little further, she looked at the counter seating area and thought that it would be a nice place to set up shop and research, though.
"This is nice," Isabelle said, pulling Elizabeth from her thoughts about her parents. Isabelle walked into the empty living room, her shoes clunking against the wooden floor. She looked down and crossed her arms, "Open floor, great natural light," she said.
Elizabeth was only half listening while also looking around, leaning heavily on her crutches as she swiveled on them and looked in the kitchen, toward the two bedrooms and the bathroom. And looked at Isabelle again and took a deep breath, the same set of thoughts bothering her over and over: I want to work for the CIA, right? I don't want to leave D.C. altogether and start over somewhere, right?
She swallowed hard and looked away from Isabelle and toward the window, admiring that it had a view that wasn't totally blocked by other buildings. She moved her crutches further in the room toward where Isabelle was admiring the window views, and she thought as she moved through the large living room space how this is too big for just her—how it's plenty of room to dance to Peter Frampton for two people, but it's too big just for her to be dancing to him alone.
Her fingers wrapped around the crutch grips tighter and she walked toward the kitchen instead, the rubber bottoms hitting the floor hard with each movement. She probably shouldn't have been taking her anger out on her crutches or this beautiful floor, but she was frustrated with her own mind. This apartment was perfect—just too big.
She stood behind the island in the kitchen and straightened up, leaning her hips against the counter and looking out into the living room. This is a nice place, Elizabeth, she told herself, don't talk yourself out of it just because it's not your old place.
"Have you looked in the bedrooms yet?" Isabelle asked, turning toward her.
She shook her head and started hobbling in that direction. She and Isabelle toured the master bedroom, then the bathroom, and then the second bedroom that was just down the hall. "Do I really need two bedrooms though?" she asked Isabelle.
Isabelle shrugged as she hovered outside the doorway, looking into the smaller bedroom where Elizabeth was standing, "I can always crash here whenever I drink too much at the bar down the street," she teased.
Elizabeth snorted and rolled her eyes, giving the room one last look over before walking out past Isabelle. "I don't know about that," she said, looking down at the floor as she moved her crutches along through the apartment. When she looked up after getting to the end of the hall, she heard the door click open, and she immediately froze.
She watched as the door creaked open, and she couldn't see who was behind it at all. But she heard Isabelle's footsteps approaching, and finally, she saw a body peek around the door.
"What are you doing here?" Elizabeth breathed, her voice shaky and barely there as she felt like she had to lean on the crutches simply so she wouldn't fall on the floor. Her chest felt tight as she looked into his dark brown eyes, the ones locking with hers so intensely as he held onto the doorknob and stood there like a dumbstruck kid.
"Elizabeth." His voice was raw, like he'd been straining to get the name out of his mouth. Or maybe like he was straining to try and hold it back.
She just stared at him again and felt her heart pounding again in her chest—she wondered if it had stopped completely all this time. "What are you doing here?" she asked again.
"Is this…" Isabelle looked over at Elizabeth, but she didn't take her eyes off him. She was just stricken by the fact that Captain Henry McCord was standing in this apartment door.
"You must be Isabelle," Henry said, glancing quickly over to Isabelle and then back to Elizabeth.
"You must be Henry," Isabelle said in the same tone, raising her brow coyly.
Elizabeth watched him swallow hard, and she wondered what he thought when she said that. Did he think Elizabeth had talked about him? Badly? Fondly? Because the truth was, she hadn't hardly mentioned him to Isabelle other than saying he brought her safety, a comfort that she couldn't quite place in anyone else. And that's all she'd really said because she hadn't been able to bring herself to talk about him at all for the past few weeks.
Isabelle glanced between them, and Elizabeth could see her out of the corner of her eye. "I'm going to give you two a minute," she murmured, walking past Henry and out the door. Elizabeth could hear her heels clicking down the hall and then she didn't hear them any longer.
Henry waited until Isabelle was past before he slowly stepped in, still holding onto the knob as if he was going to fall over, too.
Her fingers were throbbing from their grip around the crutches. "How did you find me?" she asked, her voice just barely above a whisper.
He swallowed hard and looked up at her, stepping in front of the door and letting it shut behind him. "Conrad told me where you'd be," he said, cocking his jaw to the side. She could see that he was running his tongue along his teeth—something she'd picked up on him doing whenever he got a little nervous. "I went to Langley to look for you, and he said you were with Isabelle looking at apartments." He shifted uncomfortably and looked down at his empty hand, "He gave me the address."
Elizabeth swallowed hard and felt her shoulders relax. Good, she thought, I'm not being followed and didn't even notice. Once she had that relief, she dragged her teeth over her lip a few times, "What are you doing here, Henry?" she asked, this time barely able to keep her voice from breaking into a little bit of a whine. This wasn't supposed to happen—D.C. was supposed to be a big enough place for them to not see each other, and they were supposed to be apart because of their jobs.
"Because I can't—" he stopped and ran his hand through his hair, looking up and taking a deep breath before looking at her again. "I can't go another day without knowing if there's still a chance for us, Elizabeth."
She swallowed hard and gripped the crutches tightly again, her toes curling against the edge of her cast. The ache in her chest felt like someone had punched her there, hard, and she was trying to catch her breath when he continued.
"I tried," he said, shaking his head slightly as he looked at her, "I tried to walk away and tell myself that it was for the best—that we couldn't be together because of who we are and what we do. I told myself over and over," his fist balled up and pushed through the air for emphasis, "That we weren't actually that crazy for each other. That we just were pushed together because of circumstances way beyond our control, that it was too fast to think I ever actually loved you."
She felt dizzy and reached over for the counter, leaning against it as she tried to steady her breathing.
"But I can't do it anymore, Elizabeth. I can't. I've lied to myself so much over the past few weeks and…" he stepped closer to her, and she felt herself leaning in a little more to close the gap. But she stopped herself and straightened up, taking a sharp breath and trying to remind herself why they split in the first place.
It was too fast. It couldn't ever be.
She studied his eyes and her breath caught in her throat, her hands stiff at her sides around the crutches.
"You're all I think about," he whispered. His eyes dropped down to her necklace, and he must've seen the chain hanging off another chain and dipping down into her shirt. He reached his hand up slowly and pulled the chain gently.
She tried to hold the shudder back that was erupting from her body as she felt the dog tag slide up from over her sternum and out of her shirt's collar, watching him as he looked around her neck and worked carefully. She heard him messing with the chain and unhooking it from her other chain, taking the dog tag off and holding it up. She could see it just in her view now, and she watched as he held it between shaky fingers.
He looked in her eyes and swallowed hard, "This," he whispered, "This isn't a goodbye, and it never really was." He looked at it again and shook his head as though he was telling himself no, swallowing back his words.
She felt like she couldn't breathe—her chest seemed too tight and her throat too closed. She watched him as he held the tag as though he were holding gold—and to her, he was holding gold. This was the piece of him she'd had forever, the piece she'd always carry with her no matter what.
He looked up at her and brushed his tongue over his lips, "I gave this to you because I thought it would be the last thing I ever gave to you, Elizabeth."
"Henry…" she whispered abruptly, no longer able to keep his name in her mouth and let it weigh down on her tongue.
He was still locked on her eyes, "But I don't want it to be," he said, his voice becoming more firm as he lowered the tag a little from between their views.
He reached into his pocket and she startled, looking down and anticipating what he would pull out. She also didn't want him tucking away the dog tag—she wanted to keep it near her heart forever, if she could. She didn't want him to take that piece of himself away from her, too.
But then her mouth went completely dry when she saw the shimmer between his fingers, the dog tag in his other hand as he shoved it into his pocket. He held out a ring between his index finger and thumb, looking down at it and looking as though he were mustering up the courage to speak, "I don't care that we've only known each other for ten days," he said, I don't care if it doesn't make sense to anyone else to move this fast. I know what I feel, Elizabeth, and I think you feel it too." He stopped and looked up into her eyes, his tongue dancing across his lower lip and trying to wet it, "I got to be the man in front of you for a few days, the one who protected you and the one who always would do anything to protect you. And now?" he shook his head and swallowed thick, "I want to be the man who is beside you, the man beside this incredible woman who I can't stop thinking about."
He stopped and smiled a little as though a thought popped into his head suddenly, "And knowing you? And how determined and…just…insanely smart you are?" He shook his head again and smiled bigger, "Sometimes I'll even be the man behind the woman. And I will be just as proud as being beside, in front, or wherever else."
She looked at the ring and then back up in his eyes nervously, her eyes filling with water as she stared at him like he was crazy.
But wasn't this crazy? Wasn't it? Because before her kidnapping, she'd been dancing alone in her apartment to Peter Frampton, only fantasizing about someone who could pull her back to earth when she needed it. Then this strong Marine scooped her out of a warehouse in Kuwait and helped her uncover a government conspiracy, and poof, all the crazy happened.
"I threw my tag away," he said quickly, almost as if he could read her mind—the part that was saying they couldn't do this because of their jobs. (Her only interjection.) "I was at Rawlins' house and I just…I couldn't do it anymore. That life and the choices I made and the choices the military made." He swallowed hard, "I want to be your Henry, Elizabeth. I don't want to be your Marine, and I don't even want to be a Marine at all. I just want to marry you."
She leaned hard against the counter and took another sharp breath, her mind feeling like it was spinning as he slowly knelt down to one knee, her eyes following him all the way until he stopped and raised the ring.
"You can't leave the Marines," she whispered, the shock causing her voice to just pour out of her. He loved being a Marine—he loved flying, mostly. She could see it in the way he talked about being up there in those F-18s.
"I can," he whispered. "And I'm going to."
Suddenly, her crutches fell to each side of her and clattered to the ground, echoing off the empty walls as she awkwardly leaned into his arms. He took her cheeks and she held his wrists, looking up in his eyes, "Are you sure about this?" she whispered seriously, not wanting him to make this decision just because of her. She'd never ask him to leave what he loved.
He looked at her and breathed slowly, "I wasn't," he whispered, "Until finally, every single sunset, I found myself complaining because it wasn't as bright as you. I wondered why there couldn't be more gray days—I felt like the sunshine was cheap compared to you."
"Henry…" she whispered again, feeling a rush go through her entire body as she dripped a tear down her cheek. There was no possible way he loved her like that. Right? He couldn't have. It was impossible to love someone like that in ten days.
But she knew it was somehow still possible because she, too, felt this way—though he was definitely more of the poet between the two of them.
"I mean that, Elizabeth," he whispered. "I've never been more sure about something in my life. I knew from the time I was a teenager I wanted to be a Marine. But this? I didn't need time to think about this, Elizabeth. I took too much time as is." He gathered the ring in his fingers again and held it out to her as he released her cheeks slowly, "Will you do the honor of marrying me, Elibet?"
She chuckled quietly—whenever he was so nervous, he would always merge the letters together and make an odd name. But it was growing on her. A lot.
She looked at the ring and then at him a few times, back and forth, wondering if she'd just been in some sort of coma this entire time—if she'd wake up and be in the infirmary like she'd never left. Maybe the bomb had gone off in that warehouse after all and this was all a bomb-injury-induced dream.
"Yes," she finally whispered, looking into his eyes, "I will marry you, Henry McCord."
In an instant, he pulled her back into his arms tightly, and she breathed into his neck and felt that all was right again. She didn't care, suddenly, who knew who—she didn't care what conspiracy was happening around her. She didn't care. She just knew she was in his arms again—where she was supposed to be.
She pulled away and kissed him tenderly, slowly at first, then pushing against him and making him stumble backwards until his back was pressed against the counter and his shoe hit the island hard. He was wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her up gently, just slightly off the ground.
They kissed for a while longer until she felt him wince and put her down quicker than he'd picked her up, "Sorry," he murmured, "Still having some rib pain every so often."
She bit her lip and looked down at where her arm was slid underneath his, right across his ribs, "Are you alright?" she asked, her tone changing to one of concern.
He smiled a little before pecking her lips, then smiling even bigger when he pulled away, "I'm alright as long as you're with me."
She snorted, "That was really cheesy," she said, her voice dropping down a bit as she raised her brow at him.
"But did it work?"
She smiled immediately but bit her lip to try and hide it—a poor attempt. "It worked," she breathed, kissing him again.
"I heard a thud—are you alri—" Isabelle's voice stopped as the door opened to show Henry and Elizabeth wrapped up in each other's arms, her pressing him against the countertop as she looked over her shoulder at her friend. Both of them were clearly guilty of something, and Elizabeth could feel the heat rising from her cheeks.
Henry got tense underneath her but Elizabeth just laughed. "I'm alright," she said. Henry reached over and grabbed the crutches, giving them to her to lean on before gently taking her hand and sliding the ring on her finger. She watched in awe as his fingers worked so carefully on hers, and she found herself smiling so big that her jaws ached.
"No freaking way," Isabelle exclaimed, her voice almost monotone as she stared in shock.
Elizabeth just smiled down at the ring and then looked up at Isabelle, "Turns out, I'm getting married."
Henry laughed at that and Isabelle still looked like she was in shock, "Not an apartment?"
Elizabeth shrugged and looked around, then back at Henry, "What do you think?" she asked, "It's a nice place, right?"
Henry smiled, "If you like it, I'm home."