A/N: My lil heart...I do actually have emotions, I've found, after reading this chapter and tearing up throughout.
Hope you enjoy :')
Henry | Post-Extraction –Day 20
"I'll drive you," Henry said quickly when Lydia and Conrad announced they were about to leave.
He didn't really give her room to say no, and he was glad when she didn't protest. Honestly, he'd been unsure about everything over dinner with the way she wouldn't hardly look at him. He'd been afraid he'd rushed her into it, afraid that he had made a mistake by proposing so soon and maybe scared her off with the speed of it all.
But he'd kept thinking over and over while in that Rawlins house how quickly they'd moved up until then anyway—they admitted their love for each other only nine days into knowing one another. He'd known, though, that she loved him ever since that morning he'd almost been shot in the head, the bullet hitting Freeman instead. And he knew he loved her—well, if he'd have admitted it, he knew he loved her when he saw her waking up from that coma in the infirmary.
He hadn't been able to sleep hardly ever since he'd told Rawlins he wanted out, and he went the very next day and gave his resignation notice to his commanding officer. It only took him a few more days to finally work up the courage to think about seeing her. Finally, what tipped him over: he called his mom.
"Hey Mom," he'd said, "It's me, Henry."
"Oh, Henry!" Helen had cried over the phone, "I was getting so worried about you. I tried calling the number you'd given before and no one was answering—not even a commander or anything."
He'd sighed, wondering if she'd ever learn the ranks, but then he had finally decided it didn't matter anymore anyway. "I actually left the Marines," he'd whispered, barely able to say it aloud, "And I have been back Stateside a couple weeks." He'd closed his eyes and quickly added, "Before you say anything—it's not because I didn't want to talk to you. I—well—I um…I had to be AWOL for a little while and—"
"You what?!"
"I know," he'd said defeatedly, "I'll explain it all one day, it's not really a conversation for over the phone." He still didn't know if he was actually completely safe, so he didn't want to risk telling her over a phoneline, "But for now, Mom…" he'd sighed into the phone a little too loudly, "How did you know that Dad was the one for you?"
She'd sighed, too, and he realized it sounded just like his. But then she'd stayed quiet for a while, "I didn't want to be anywhere that he wasn't, Henry," she'd whispered, "And that's how I knew that I was in love with him. He can be the biggest ass sometimes," Henry widened his eyes, almost never hearing Helen McCord cuss, "But I'd choose him over and over again." She'd paused, "Why do you ask?"
He'd paused, too, and he tangled the phone cord around his finger a few times. "I'm marrying someone," he'd whispered, partially ashamed he was telling her like this, but also too enamored with Elizabeth to care too much. "And I think you're going to love her."
Another silence stretched across the conversation, dragging it out, and then finally Helen replied, "Do you love her?"
"More than anything in this world."
After that conversation, he'd driven to Pittsburgh in Rawlins' old truck and timed his arrival to when his mother would be picking up Shane and Erin from school. He didn't want to see his family—not right now, not when there was so much explaining to do. He also hadn't been able to come to terms with seeing Patrick McCord yet, so he snuck in like a thief in the night—but in broad daylight through the backdoor that they really should keep locked. He rifled through boxes underneath his bed and finally found the box containing the ring that his mother had given to him when he was only nineteen years old.
"This was hers," Helen had said, handing it over to him shakily. His grandmother had only been gone two weeks, but his mom had to start cleaning out her apartment, "And I want you to have it, Henry. I want you to give it to your wife one day, okay?"
As he sat on the floor in his bedroom that day, all alone in his childhood home, he looked at the ring and watched it glimmer, thinking about how it almost matched the shine of Elizabeth and could probably do her justice.
The next day, he drove out to Langley and found Conrad walking in to work, all but demanded to see Elizabeth, and then was on his way, instead, to the apartment building Conrad had given the address of.
The whole way there, he never thought about how fast this was all happening, but instead he only thought of how excited he was to see her after a little over a week of being apart.
And then, God, she actually said yes.
And then, God, she wouldn't even look at him from across the table.
The conversation kept flowing along, but he was so detached from it all because he was too busy watching her. What's going through her mind? Damn it, did I scare her? Damn it, Henry. Damn it.
He would chime in every so often and try to defend himself when Rawlins would grill him about something, but he didn't care enough to put much effort in. He just wanted to make sure she was okay. When he got the opportunity to meet her in the kitchen, he jumped at it.
"I'm afraid I've given into the adrenaline," she'd told him, and he felt his heart drop into his stomach.
He'd attempted to take a breath, but it just got stuck in his throat, "Does it feel like adrenaline to you?" he'd whispered back.
She'd taken much too long to answer, but when she'd finally whispered, "No," he could breathe again.
When she'd told Mrs. Judy that she wanted to rip the band-aid off and get married this week, he felt like a man who could easily move the mountains. And when he offered to drive her, it was only a few short minutes later until he was parked at the end of Rawlins' street, leaning over the middle seat with his hands in her hair, her hands on his arms, and his tongue reacquainting itself with every single inch of her mouth.
As the truck idled, she let out a moan into his lips and he pulled back breathlessly, "Elizabeth," he whispered, looking at her. His mouth opened, but he wasn't sure what he was even going to say—her beautiful blue eyes were staring back at him and making him lose focus.
She bit her lip, "What?" she whispered, doing that thing where she looks shy yet very mischievous at the same time. He just leaned and kissed her once more before driving to Langley, holding her hand the entire way there.
She directed him to her safehouse all the way in the back of the grounds, and he idled in the driveway.
"Aren't you coming in?"
She barely got it out before he turned the truck off and rushed over to her side, opening her door. He'd missed doing this, and it made her giggle when he opened the truck door for her.
"You don't always have to do this, you know," she said quietly, balancing out of the truck and hopping to her crutches.
He nodded, watching her carefully but letting her do this on her own, "I know," he whispered, looking at her and shutting the door, "But I missed doing it."
She bit her lip for a moment and they both paused there, watching each other and waiting for their next move. But neither one made a move, they just stood there until she finally giggled, "I feel like a kid," she whispered, moving past him and into the house.
He watched her and thought, me too, shutting the truck door and going in the house with her. He had just gotten the door shut when he felt her body on his, and it startled him so much that he stumbled backward into the wall and moaned, and she giggled again against his lips. Her arms were already wrapped around his neck, her crutches down on the floor, "How is it, Henry McCord," she whispered, looking into his eyes, "That every part of my logical brain tells me to stop, but when I'm with you…" she shook her head and just smiled a little, then looked away.
"When you're with me?" he prompted, his hands gently wrapping around her waist, splaying his palms against the small of her back. Her hips rested on his, and he took a deep breath, steadying himself.
She shook her head again as she looked away and grinned, then slowly dragged her eyes to him, "I want to say 'fuck logic,'" she whispered, staring right in his eyes.
Looking at her, he never would have guessed that a blonde haired, blue eyed, boarding school-type would ever say the words she does that would frighten his mother. But then they come out of her mouth and he can't help but feel intoxicated every time, wanting her to say them again and again.
He caught himself staring at her mouth and he looked up into her eyes, giving her a little grin, "Can I admit something?"
"Anything," she answered immediately.
He looked at her and bit his lip, taking another shaky breath, "I get really turned on when you're this close to me," he whispered.
She giggled, but then she pressed her body into him more, squishing him between the wall and herself. She leaned in closer to his face and he looked down at her lips quickly then back up into her eyes, "How turned on?" she whispered, leaning her face closer to his ear as she spoke.
He felt her hot breath on his lobe and shuddered a bit, gripping her back a little tighter. Finally he slid his hands to the back of her thighs and picked her up, letting her straddle him. He felt the boot prod into his leg and then her other leg wrap around him as he smirked at her, "Where's your bedroom?"
She smiled deviously before leaning in and nibbling on his earlobe, and he thought he might faint. But he stayed steady, his hands gripping into her thighs a little harder, "Just keep walking," she whispered hotly, "First room on the right."
He'd just untangled himself from her and laid over to the side while she was turning over to face him. She tucked her arm underneath her head and looked at him with a grin, and he raised his brow, "I have no stamina left in me," he breathed, sensing what she seemed to be thinking.
She snorted and shook her head a little, nuzzling her head further down in his arm once he got situated, "Me either," she whispered, "No, I was just thinking that we know exactly what makes each other tick, but I only learned your middle name today."
He raised his brow and looked at her, considering that. He thinks back to their very brief conversation in the doctor's office about middle names and how she doesn't like hers. "I still think Elizabeth Anne is beautiful."
She shrugged it off, "It could be worse," she admitted.
He looked at her for a moment, thinking carefully about whether he wanted to potentially ruin this moment by speaking or just let them have silence. Ultimately, he decided they'd had too much silence over the past days with them being apart. "What's your favorite color?"
He could've sworn her eyes sparkled for a moment when she looked up at him, something that looked like a spark in her eye, at least, as though she were considering where this conversation would lead. "Blue," she whispered, "I love blue. But I also really love green." She pursed her lips and twisted them, "Yours?"
"Definitely dark blue," he smirked, "Light or dark?"
"Light," she replied quickly.
"Dogs or cats?" he asked.
She made a face, "Definitely dogs," she answered, looking appalled he even asked. "I mean, cats are okay, but…"
"Not for you," he provided, and she nodded. "Me either."
"Good," she said, snuggling into him a little more and tucking her head under his. "I couldn't marry a cat person."
He snorted and bit his lip.
"Here's a dumb one," she whispered after a brief silence, "When's your birthday?"
He raised his brow, the realization hitting him that they don't even know each other's birthdays. For a moment, he thought back to that first night that they'd slept together, the night she said to ravish her, and the night that he'd given into his thoughts about her. He swallowed thick and hoped that sex wasn't all this relationship was built on. "March 1st," he breathed.
"Really?" she asked, looking up at him.
He furrowed his brow, "Yeah?"
She tucked her head back in, "Mine's February 25th," she said softly.
He looked down at the top of her head and thought about the luck of that for a moment. Is that fate? Born just days apart and didn't even know it?
"You know already that I don't like thunderstorms," she whispered, taking a shaky breath. He thought back to the night of those storms in Rawlins' cabin, the night that she'd whimpered in her sleep. He never told her about any of that, though—he knew she had too much pride and would be embarrassed by the very thought of being scared in her sleep. He wouldn't break her like that. "Do you like them?"
He shrugged, "I like them sometimes," he admitted, "If I can curl up with a good book and not have to worry about trees falling on my head."
She snorted and he felt her fingernails drag gently across his chest, tracing little circles. "What book?"
He thought about that for a moment, squinting his eyes and really thinking hard. "I'll admit something I never admitted to anyone else," he whispered.
That got her attention, clearly, and she popped her head up and looked at him.
He bit his lip and took a deep, steadying breath, "I really loved Pride and Prejudice, and that's…like…my go-to book."
She bit her lip, too, but he could tell she was trying to not laugh. "No, no, no," she waved him off when he felt himself getting embarrassed, "I think it's really…it's cute, Henry."
"Yeah, right," he mumbled, feeling very warm and flushed, even. He went to turn on his back but he felt her hand on his shoulder stop him.
"It is," she whispered, "I read it in school and thought it was a bore, but it tells me you're probably a bit of a romantic," she whispered, leaning over his body just slightly.
He bit his lip and looked at her. I am a romantic, he thought to himself, and that's why sometimes I feel like I've gone about this all wrong. He swallowed thick and laid back down, and she relaxed her grip on him and slid it down to his hand. He took hers in his palm and gently squeezed, "I haven't been much of a romantic for you," he admitted. She was about to protest, but he kept going while sliding his fingers over to her ring and gently moving it on her finger, "But I promise I'll show you romance the rest of our lives."
She looked at him and he could hear her breath catch. She suddenly plopped backwards down on the bed and groaned loudly, "Henry McCord," she murmured, closing her eyes.
He bit his lip and tried to keep a grin back, "I know," he whispered as he laid back down closer to her, "That was cheesy."
She wrapped her arm around his stomach and leaned into him some more, "Okay, Mr. Romance," she whispered, taking a beat of silence before exhaling slowly, "What kind of wedding do you want?"
The question definitely caught him by surprise, and he looked down at her to see if she was being sarcastic. Her comment about the band-aid at dinner still swirled in his mind a bit, but he was shaking that away and trying to think deeply about the question she'd now posed seriously. "I want you to answer that one first," he whispered.
She shook her head, "I asked it first."
"But you're the bride," he countered.
She looked up at him and raised her brow, "I didn't strike you to have a traditional outlook on bride and groom," she said, but then smirked, "But okay, fine. I want to marry you…and I don't care to have a big wedding or some big party. I just want to marry you."
He swallowed thick, though that was like music to his ears. "Really?"
She snorted and looked at him again, "Why do you sound so surprised?"
"Well," he murmured, then regretted his tone immediately when he saw her face fall a bit. He shrugged and tried to recover, but there was no going back, "I don't know…at dinner you just seemed a little…"
"Unsure," she provided.
He nodded. "Yeah."
She swallowed hard and sat up, taking a deep breath and reaching down to take her ankle from the boot. She didn't have to wear it as long as there was no chance of it moving. "I know," she whispered, "I was…I think I was feeling really nervous. I just…I'm scared that I jumped headfirst without…"
"Thinking?"
She looked at him and raised her brow, turning the side table light on, "Yes," she said in a dry tone. He smirked, knowing she'd caught on to what he was about to say: overthinking. "But I just got scared it was all…attachment. The reason we had held ourselves back from each other in the first place, you know?"
He thought about that for a moment and then nodded, "Yeah," he whispered. He thought back again to that first night. She didn't seem nervous at all then—she seemed fierce, and though she gave him an option to say no, he also wasn't sure she'd accept that answer if he'd have said it. He would've never been able to say no, anyway.
But he wondered as he laid beside her what had changed—had she just gotten cold feet? Had she had time to think about it now and was concerned with how fast it was all moving? Or had everything just caught up to her—all the trauma she'd gone through with Kuwait and everything after it, too.
He swallowed thick and slid his hand down to her waist, gently tracing his fingertips over her skin just underneath her ribs. "Elizabeth?" he whispered.
He felt her look up at him, but he had his eyes closed. "Yeah?" she whispered back.
He took a shaky breath and waited a moment, trying to gather the courage to ask, "Are you alright?"
His voice barely came out and all, and he heard the sheets rustling. He looked at her to see her sitting up again and staring at him, "What do you mean?"
He sat up a little, too, propping his head up on his arm and looking up at her as she tucked the sheet over her chest. He sighed quietly, "I just…you've been through a lot, and then I just added a lot to it, too, when I asked you to marry me. We don't…we don't have to…" he was stumbling over his words, getting lost in his thoughts.
She shook her head, "We don't have to what?"
He swallowed thick, "Get married, I guess?" he said, then sat up a little and turned his torso toward her, "I just…I don't want to rush you. We don't have to rush into—"
"I want to marry you," she breathed, furrowing her brow. "Are you backing out?"
"No," he answered immediately.
She swallowed thick and dropped her eyes to his lips then back up to his gaze, "I'd marry you tomorrow, Henry," she whispered.
He huffed a laugh and looked down between them, "Be careful what you promise," he joked.
He saw her grab his hand on his lap, "I'm being serious. What if we just…got married tomorrow?"
He looked up at her instantly, his eyes feeling wide and dry, too. "Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow."
"Elizabeth, I—" he stopped and furrowed his brow. Why are you second guessing? This beautiful woman, inside and out, she's telling you she wants to marry you tomorrow. Are you not going to spend the rest of your life with her anyway? He dragged his tongue over his lips before leaning in and pressing them to hers softly, "You're sure about this?"
She nodded, "I'm sure," she whispered, but her voice shook. She seemed like she was holding herself, like she was so tightly wound that if she budged she might break altogether. He would always be here to pick up the pieces if she did, but he also didn't want that. He didn't want her to have to hold everything in, and watching her do it now made him feel like he was coming unglued, too.
"You're not okay," he whispered, somewhat like a question.
She moved her head to look toward the window, thought the blinds were closed. He waited for her to answer—he didn't want to push her and break her anyway. But he felt like his palms were itching while he waited for her to come around.
Finally, she took a shallow, shaky breath and swallowed hard, keeping her eyes fixed over on the blinds. "I keep thinking about Kuwait, if I'm being honest," she admitted, still staring off into space. He wanted to reach out for her, put his hand back on her waist, but he didn't want to startle her, either. He could tell she wasn't here.
She opened her mouth and closed it, and it made him feel like she was taking his breath straight from his lungs. I'd give it to you if I could, he thought, watching her lips carefully and then bringing his gaze back up to her eyes. "They broke me there," she whispered, her eyes not blinking anymore, "Not just my body—but my mind. They wanted to break something deeper, and I think they…" she trailed off and shook her head, finally exhaling and looking down. He wanted to hold her, but he settled just for reaching for her fingers and laying his around hers. "And the worst part? It wasn't just them. It was us. It was my own agency. They knew I was there—they sent me there—I was sent because I was a liability to Davison's larger plan."
He could tell her mouth was dry the way she kept swallowing, but he didn't want to interrupt her to give her water just yet. She needed this moment—she needed to get this off her chest and he knew she'd never bring it back up if they stopped now.
Her breath hitched and he tightened his grip around her fingers, "I was naïve, Henry," she whispered, "I always thought if you gave enough—if you did your job better than the rest…" she shook her head and dragged her tongue stickily over her top lip, "I thought I'd be protected, at least. But that's not how it worked. They didn't save my parents, and they didn't save me."
He rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand and looked down at their fingers. He'd been so concerned with the physicality of the situation—the torture in Kuwait, the kidnapping itself—that he'd forgotten to even consider how the betrayal must be affecting her. The secrets, the lies, the silence. The way it must've felt to be used by the system you swore to protect. He was feeling it too, but not to the same extent—and he quit the Marines.
He wanted to ask more, wanted to pry into her head and really understand what she was going through, but when he looked at her eyes and how they just stared at their hands, he stopped himself. He could see the fragile line she was walking on—one wrong step and she might collapse. He never thought of her as fragile, but after all, she's human.
"You don't have to carry all of it alone," he whispered, finally bringing his other hand up to her hip and gently laying it there. He rubbed his fingers along the sheet, feeling the scratchiness under his pads.
She didn't say anything, and he didn't want to keep pressuring her. He finally took a shaky breath, "We're getting married tomorrow," he whispered, a little smile coming to his face when she looked up and smiled too, "Is that for sure what you want?"
She leaned into him and pressed her cheek against his chest, and he felt her breath slowly release and roll across his skin. "I want it," she whispered. "I don't know if I'm ready for it all," she admitted, and it made him tighten his jaw with a pang of guilt. He didn't want to add to her burden, but she had opened up to him, and he needed to make sure she knew he wasn't just in this for…well, he's pretty sure she knew he wasn't in this just for the sex, though it was a perk.
"I don't think I'm ready either," he admitted, lowering his head so that he could rest it on hers, "But we'll figure it out together. We'll make it work."
He could feel her body relax just slightly, and he wrapped his arms around her tight.
Tomorrow, they were going to get married. But they weren't just stepping into a new chapter. They were both carrying the weight of the past—her past, his own fears, the unspoken tension between them. And neither of them knew what tomorrow would truly bring.
He'd closed his eyes and settled his breathing before she broke the silence again, "What if I'm broken, Henry?"
He pulled back just enough to see her face, "You're healing," he whispered, "And I'm here. I'll be here for it all. Through it all."
She stared at him for a long moment as if she was weighing out his words, and then she pressed up and kissed his lips before lying back down. He watched her settle her head on the pillow for a moment, thinking about how this road ahead wasn't going to be easy at all—though he's not sure he'd ever expected anything different. All he knew, going into this proposal, was that he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. That, really, he couldn't not be with her for the rest of his life.
So he laid down next to her and wrapped her in his arms, "No matter what comes," he whispered, "I'm gonna love you until my last breath. I know that for a fact."