A/N: Hello all! Something I want to add: remember that I also post these on Ao3. I'm noticing I'm having my own issues reviewing on others' stories again, and it seems like some of you are as well. Sometimes you can bypass this on FFN by just signing out of your account and reviewing as a guest (I do this and just tell folks who I am lol) and sometimes you can use a different browser and it'll work. I've found, too, that when I'm having trouble letting it open my link to the chapter that I can go to the story, go to the last chapter, and then it'll give me the option to go to the next chapter sometimes.
It's so frustrating, which is why I'm also posting on Ao3 :) same username as here.
Back to this chapter! Ugh, I think this may be one of my favorites of this story. I love writing the meta, it's my favorite. But also, if you're an orthopedist or know anything about bone injuries...just...shhh lol I know that this is not a proper timeline but I also wasn't paying attention when writing the first time about her ankle LOL. Please forgive me for this inaccuracy :')
I hope you enjoy!
Henry | Post-Extraction – Day 38
Henry hadn't realized how much he watched her until the morning she got out of bed and he noticed she didn't even wait to put her foot down—she'd been walking in the boot for a few days by that point, and he saw the slightest little change in her and tucked it away in a file he seemed to be building in his mind.
She'd been a stranger for so long, even though she never felt like a stranger once to him. He remembered sitting in the infirmary, watching over her with his hand wrapped around his own IV pole in that first day of pain and discomfort from his injuries. He studied everything about her that he could—the way she breathed, the way her fingernails were all jagged at the time and had blood underneath them, the way her hair lit up her face even with the remnants of dried blood from the scratches on her skin. And when she woke, he kept studying: she had a brother, she never mentioned her parents, she told him her name even though no one was supposed to know it at the time.
He watched her moving, the way she would move her fingers when she got nervous to admit something, scratching them against the sheets on the bed. She would pull at the hem of her blanket whenever she got the slightest bit cold, and she would always look at him with this awed look in her eye whenever he would notice and bring her a blanket. Once she even said he read her mind, but it wasn't that—he read her body.
When she had placed herself in the bed that night in the cabin, naked and bearing herself to him, he read her body then, too. Everything in his own body was telling him that she was his, and he was hers. He couldn't explain it—only seven days of knowing someone doesn't constitute for this feeling, but he knew it was there. And nowadays, it sometimes felt like he was focusing on her body and the way she moved and felt and acted more than he was paying attention to his own physical and emotional being.
Which is why, when he had his first panic attack a couple days ago, he was shocked out of his mind. He knew what was happening after about an hour, but not a second before. He only realized it because he did something Elizabeth did in the few times he's watched her suffer through one—grab his throat almost unconsciously. He'd been filling out admissions paperwork at his—their—old university stomping grounds, University of Virginia, and he told the administrator that he would need to take them home and work on them.
He'd climbed in his truck—the one he'd finally gotten back—and went to the apartment that he and Elizabeth now had for a few weeks. Elizabeth was off at work, finally getting her vehicle back, too. The apartment felt cold and even in the early September heat and empty, also, even though she had been working to fill it so nicely with furniture and pictures, seemingly sliding right into the traditional wife role immediately and surprising him a little. She'd made herself so busy that he finally wondered if it was sometimes because her thoughts were too heavy for her to deal with.
That panic attack—he wasn't sure what exactly had brought it on. And he hated himself for it, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Elizabeth. It made him feel weak, it made him feel broken, and then he also realized it made him feel exactly how Elizabeth had been feeling, and it hurt his heart even more.
He wondered what all she held back from him. Such a strong-willed woman breaking in his arms like she occasionally did—he knew that there was more under the surface, even more than she didn't let show. So he watched her extra carefully after his attack.
She was doing better. He knew that. Hell, everyone did. The best part of her "getting better" was that she was finally off crutches and in physical therapy three times a week to get back to her "normal." They found that she'd really done a number on her ankle by breaking it in the hotel that night she was taken and then having to walk on it and mangle it even further until she got to the infirmary. However, the doctor here expected her to have a full recovery and told her specifically to thank the doctor who reconstructed it overseas. They talked briefly about Sarah Jordan that night and wondered what she's up to now—also wondered how surprised she'd be to know that just about a month later, they're married. But because she didn't have those crutches, she now walked with a determination that made her seem like she was more in charge of her body. He liked learning that about her.
But even with all her doing better, he could see the moments when she wasn't doing well, too. The weight she carried. The ghosts she tried to pretend weren't there. The way she'd come home one night and told him that the briefings on the terrorists had been told to the Langley staff today, and how she had to go hide in the bathroom afterwards for a few minutes.
And then there was yesterday when they were unpacking some of the leftover boxes that Elizabeth had found in her storage unit, the ones she'd been carrying with her since Houghton. They were laughing together, looking through pictures and her carefully curated scrapbooks of her and her friends—scrapbooks, he found out, that her friends had made for her because in her words she "would never have the patience to do this." They'd been sharing a snack on the couch together, flipping through those pages, when the door happened.
The banging even had startled him, but it made Elizabeth freeze with terror. He saw the look in her eyes as she looked past him at the door, and he quickly rose to his feet. "No!" she'd screamed, her voice cracking. "No!"
"Babe," he whispered, "It's okay. I'm not—"
"You're going to get killed, Henry," she said.
He realized then that it wasn't Elizabeth speaking, it was Eleanor—that traumatized woman who had to watch Henry almost get shot in the head, that traumatized woman who did watch another man get shot in the head. It made his heart beat a little faster to think about Freeman falling to the ground, the blood splatters on his own clothes and the puddle of it in the floor. It was just the concierge coming to say they had a mail delivery.
And now she slept beside him so peacefully, and he held her in his arms as he always tried to do. Almost every night they were married—married, sometimes the weight of that word still hit him—she'd fallen asleep with her face buried in his chest. Last night was no different. He heard the phone ringing in the living room and he sighed, knowing it would wake her up and she would have to move out of the morning sunlight that flooded through their bedroom window.
She did exactly that. "Who's that?" she asked tiredly, as though he had telepathy to know who was calling at 7:30 on a Saturday morning.
"I don't know," he whispered, quickly moving so that he could rush and get the phone. He left her behind in the bed and jogged down the hall, "Hello?" he picked up the phone.
"Henry," his mother's voice said, and Henry sighed aloud. A little too loud. "I know that you don't want to see your father, but I've decided I'm coming without him."
"You're what?" Henry asked.
They'd talked on the phone again after he married Elizabeth, letting her know, letting her know he used the ring from his grandmother, and letting her know that he's happy, too. That was her biggest question. Her next biggest question was, "When can we meet her?"
He'd skirted around the question for as long as he could until he finally said, "I'm not ready to see him yet," and they dropped it there. She understood that there was a lot of pent up anger toward Patrick, so she didn't even push. "I'll let you know when I feel like I'm ready, but mom? Things happened in Kuwait, both to me and Elizabeth, and I can't risk putting us in danger—not physically, but emotionally."
She'd said she understood, but now as he was gripping the phone and balancing on one leg, realizing the way he had to pee was overtaking his mind, he blinked a few times. "You're coming without him?" he asked again. He was trying to wrap his mind around that—Helen never traveled alone. She was scared to, even. "And without Shane or Erin or—"
"Not even Maureen," she said.
Henry took a shaky breath. "When?"
"Well, I'm in D.C. now and—"
"You're what?" he asked.
"I know it's last minute, but Henry, I just—"
"Did Dad do something?" he asked, realizing the slight panic in her voice.
There was a silence, and Henry shut his eyes, knowing that she wasn't about to say the truth. He heard the floor crackling down the hall behind him, and he turned to look over his shoulder and see Elizabeth—her hair all wild and her eyes puffy from sleep—padding down the hall. "Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice still thick and strangled sounding.
He nodded, "Where are you?" he asked his mother.
"I'm at the bus station, I took the—"
"I'll come get you," he said, "Give me a few minutes."
He hung up the phone and sighed, looking back at Elizabeth with his hands on the counter, "My mom came to D.C."
"What?" she asked, one hand resting against the corner of the counter. She furrowed her brows and brought her hand from her hip across to just under her ribs, pushing into the top of her stomach.
He noticed immediately. "Are you alright?" he asked, and then immediately following after, "What's wrong?" with his tone more concerned, not leaving her any room to say she's alright because he can tell.
She shrugged a little and swallowed hard, "I just am not feeling well," she admitted, "It scared me when the phone rang."
"I'm sorry, babe," he whispered, his shoulders falling forward as he turned and walked to her, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her gently. She felt limp against him, and when he pressed a kiss to her head, she sniffled and straightened her back.
Not a damsel in distress, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath and looking at her. "Do you want to come with me? You don't have to."
"I want to," she said, determined looking with her eyes fixed on him. "Your mom's important to you."
He swallowed thick and felt the tightness in his chest return. She is, he thought, and I wonder what Dad did this time. He took a deep breath and tried to release the hold that whatever it was had on his chest, but it didn't go away. He simply nodded at her and pressed his lips to her forehead again, "She's already at the bus station," he said.
They went into the bedroom and changed together, and he watched as she slid her boot on carefully after changing her sock. "Are you hurting?" he asked, noticing the way she looked so tense.
She looked at him as though she'd been caught, as though she'd forgotten that he was even there. "It's sore," she admitted, and he knew then that it must be really hurting if she'd admit its soreness. "We did a lot of exercise on it yesterday," she said, and he nodded as he slid his pants on.
He wondered if there would ever come a time when she wasn't sore, when she wasn't physically hurting or emotionally hurting, too. He wanted to just wrap her in bubble wrap, let her stay home forever and just live happily and comfortably. But that wasn't her. She wanted to go back to work even after everything work had done to her. She wanted to get back to walking without crutches. She wanted to have her life back, though he wasn't sure what that looked like exactly. He just wanted her to stop having to fight battles so quietly underneath her skin, much like he realized he was having to do, too.
"Go easy on it," he reminded softly.
She gave him a look across the bed as she was standing up slowly, "Yes sir," she said dryly.
He snorted and buckled his belt, shaking his head at her sarcasm.
"Is there anything else I should know about your mom before I meet her?" she asked, and he looked up when he heard the nervousness in her voice. He realized, finally, that of course—this is the first time they'd meet. He felt like he'd known Elizabeth his whole life and sometimes forgot that it's only been a little over a month.
He shrugged, grabbing his wallet off the nightstand and tucking it in his pocket, "She's a great woman," he admitted, though he's said that to her before. They'd talked a couple times about his parents now and some of the touchiness of the entire situation. "Very much a stand-by-your-man woman, though, and sometimes it just…" he felt his fist balling up as he was looking out the window, and then realized and released it. He took a deep breath, "It's infuriating. My dad's been a drunk for too long," he reminded, and Elizabeth stood listening across the other side of the bed, "And when he drinks too much, he gets angry—he gets angry at Mom in particular, too."
He swallowed thick and listened to Elizabeth's boot thumping against the floor, and he looked over to see her walking to him. "You're not your father," she whispered, "Remember that."
That had been a conversation about a week ago when he did lose his temper. He'd been a little too filled with rage at a driver, and then it embarrassed him because he'd done it in front of Elizabeth. But she reached over and held his hand, and she reminded him that sometimes it's okay to be angry, just don't act on it.
He told her that it scared him because of who his dad was. And then he told her, too, another day that he's scared of ending up an alcoholic. She laughed and proceeded to remind him that he almost never drinks more than two beers. He'd told her that tidbit about him whenever he'd been four beers deep a week after their wedding, having gone out with Rawlins and Conrad. He quite liked the little friendship the three of them had formed.
But now, he nodded at her and sucked in on his lips, his neck tightening again in the same way it did whenever he was at UVA. He took a shaky, forced breath, "I love you," he whispered, feeling it bubble up out of him.
She smiled, "I love you too," she said, reaching up and kissing him so naturally.
He'd noticed all her movements, of course, but this was one of his favorite parts of her to study—the way she moved toward him. Sometimes she'd rise up on her toes to kiss him, other times she'd pull him down. Their height difference was nothing crazy, but it was noticeable sometimes. And then, oh, the way she moved in bed…that had to be one of his favorite studies ever.
When they arrived at the bus station, they found his mother soon after, and Helen gripped onto Henry so tightly that he felt her arms quivering. He rested his head on hers, swallowing thick as he looked at Elizabeth behind his mom, smiling a little.
"You were gone far too long," she whispered.
"I know," Henry said softly.
Helen pulled back and turned her body toward Elizabeth who was still standing behind her, her hand clutching the inside of her elbow as she looked more and more nervous. Henry noticed, of course, but he didn't think much about it—meeting the parents has always been nerve wracking, but especially when the first time meeting them is after you're married and after only knowing the person for a few weeks.
"You are just as stunning as he said you were," she said softly, and Elizabeth smiled at her.
"Thank you," she said, the little rosiness coming to her cheeks. Henry smiled at that—she didn't blush often, but he and apparently his mom had a way of making her do it. "It's so nice meeting you, Henry tells me a lot about you."
"Oh, posh," she said, waving her hand.
"He does!" Elizabeth said, laughing quietly. "And it's all good things, too. It's something I admire about him," she said, glancing over at him and making his cheeks feel rosy. He bit his lip and tried to cover up his embarrassment by grabbing his mom's suitcase.
"Are we ready to eat?" he asked, changing the subject away from himself.
Helen looked over and laughed, then nodded, "Just give me a moment to go to the bathroom," she said, then turned to Elizabeth, "After four kids…you just can't leave without using one."
Elizabeth laughed quietly and watched for a moment as Helen walked away, and then she turned toward Henry. "She's sweet," she said.
He sighed exaggeratedly, "She's something."
Elizabeth swatted him gently on the arm before he slid it around her body, and she tucked herself into his side. He noticed quickly that she was leaning a lot of weight on him, and he remembered her ankle. "Why don't we sit down while we wait?" he prompted.
She nodded against his chest, and they walked over with Helen's suitcase to the nearest bench. She sighed when she sat, and he looked over. "You're sure you're alright?" he asked.
"I'm alright," she said, "I think—really, I think I just overdid it yesterday at therapy. They had me walking on the treadmill with the boot off for the first time, and it was just…it hurt a lot."
"Nothing else happened?" he asked finally.
She paused, looking a bit like a deer in headlights. Finally, she shook her head, "No," she said.
"Elizabeth," he murmured. He could tell she was holding something back.
She sighed and looked away, down at her hands. "I just was having nightmares again last night. They come and go, but last night's were bad."
"What happened?" he asked, it's always his next question. Sometimes she can talk about them, and other times she can't. That's when he knows they were really bad.
She twirled her wedding ring absentmindedly around her finger, staying silent. He watched as her jaw tightened and released a couple times, then she looked at him, "I've never had nightmares where they touched me," she whispered, sounding uncomfortable as she said it. "But last night's…" her voice trailed off as she looked back down at her hand. "Last night's were bad." She said it with a finality, and he didn't want to push her.
So he just slid his hand across her lower back and rubbed there gently, "I'm sorry, babe," he whispered, "I wish I could take them from you."
"I know," she said. She cleared her throat quietly, "Your mom seems off."
"How do you know that?" he asked, but he wasn't denying it, either. She did seem off. He was just amazed that Elizabeth had pinpointed it in a woman she'd never met.
She shrugged, "CIA, babe," she reminded, looking up at him with a tired smile.
He laughed quietly and pressed his lips to the top of her head, lingering there for a moment. "You're warm," he whispered, frowning. "Are you coming down with something?"
She shrugged again, "Maybe," she said softly as he slid his hand back around her waist, letting his fingers brush her hip bone before settling them on the outside of her thigh. "You worry too much," she added, looking up at him with her brows raised a little.
He exhaled and looked forward, seeing his mother coming out of the bathroom, "You don't worry enough," he said, though his words were laced with irony. He didn't tell her about his panic attack that he hadn't worried enough about.
They stand up and Elizabeth adjusts for a moment, wincing a little as she put her ankle down. But she quickly straightened up, and Henry realized that no one else probably even noticed—not even his mom—that she was really struggling. He wrapped his arm around her again so that he could carry some of her weight, "Ready?" he asked.
"Ready," Helen answered, then started talking to Elizabeth about how excited she was to meet her finally. He watched as they walked ahead of him.
Those are the two women I love most in my life, he thought, toting his mom's suitcase alongside him. He watched his mom particularly now, the way she so easily fell into conversation with anyone made him happy but watching her with Elizabeth made him even happier. Elizabeth wasn't an introvert, necessarily, but she didn't always strike up the easiest conversations. Yet, here they were, talking about Henry as a child always wanting to be a Marine and how shocking it was that he quit. He gripped onto the suitcase handle and swallowed hard, feeling that tightening in his throat wanting to creep back.
He startled when he heard his mother talking about him taking a bath as a toddler, "And then he was just playing with it!"
"Mom!" he shouted from behind, but Elizabeth just looked at him and laughed.
"You were a baby, Henry," she reminded.
"It's embarrassing," he almost whined from behind them.
They got to the car, thankfully, and they all loaded in. Elizabeth insisted Helen sit up front, though the two argued for a moment, but Henry watched as Elizabeth made her final argument and climbed into the back. She's going to fall asleep, he thought to himself, buckling his seatbelt as he kept an eye on her in the rearview.
Helen was still talking, filling Elizabeth in on the details of his siblings even though Henry had already done that once before. "So Mom," he said, interrupting a little bit about the sibling detail, "What made you up and decide to come to D.C. this morning?"
He watched her from the corner of his eye, his eyes also glancing to the mirror to look at Elizabeth who, granted, was not asleep but instead watching Helen intensely. He saw Helen's hands fumble with each other in her lap as she turned and looked out the window, "I just was tired of waiting for you to come to Pittsburgh," she said.
"And that's all?" he asked, but he heard Elizabeth clear her throat.
"We're glad you came," she added in quickly, giving Henry a look through the mirror. "We have the guest room set up now," she said, "We just got the mattress delivered yesterday, so it just needs some sheets and it'll be all ready for you."
Henry took a deep breath, quietly appreciating the way she was making his mom feel welcome. He realized suddenly that she didn't have to—that he kind of sprung this on her, even though it was also sprung on him. He tucked his mouth into his arm as his hand rested on the wheel, thinking about how some women even would've been mad at him for this. He didn't even really ask if it was okay for her to stay.
He looked in the mirror again at Elizabeth and their gaze met, and he nodded once as if to say thank you, and she nodded back.
"How was the bus ride?" Henry finally asked, dropping the conversation about his dad. He knew that Elizabeth was trying to get him to lay off.
"It was fine," his mom said, still looking out the window. For the first time since Helen had joined them, there was an awkward silence in the car, only the humming of the tires against the road was breaking it.
He gripped his hands on the wheel a little too tightly and chewed on his upper lip, feeling like this car was getting smaller and smaller with every minute they drove. Henry kept glancing over at his mom and noticed how she was gripping her purse, and then she startled him by talking again, "I'm just so surprised, is all," she breathed, turning and looking at Henry suddenly. His eyes flicked to Elizabeth, and she was leaned in closer and trying to hear. "I mean, the last I know you're in Kuwait, you're living out your dreams flying those airplanes and being a Marine, and then the next phone call I get after worrying over you for weeks is that you're marrying a girl I've never heard you speak of before."
He gripped the wheel even tighter, his fingers throbbing slightly. All the feelings flooded back into him of those nights between when he dropped Elizabeth off at Langley and when he finally, finally went and found her again. All the sleeplessness, wondering where she was and how she was—if she could sleep. It had driven him to a point that he'd never been before, a lowness that he wasn't aware he even had in him. When he'd called his mother to ask why she married his father, he hadn't expected any other answer from her than the one she gave. Helen was usually predictable, and that's what threw him about her comment now.
His eyes flicked back to Elizabeth again and she was now looking down, and then she looked out the window. He thought he caught tears in her eyes, and he wanted to stop the car. But he couldn't—they were almost to the restaurant now. Elizabeth gritted her teeth and swiped at her eyes quickly before turning back to Helen.
"I didn't plan on any of this happening," Henry said, his mind swirling with wanting to tell Elizabeth that his mom didn't mean any harm by her comment. She was confused, and frankly, she was hurt—he could tell. "Things just…happened," he said, shifting in his seat.
Elizabeth pushed her lips to the side and looked down into her lap.
"You didn't plan on this—" Helen looked over at him, "Henry, you're telling me that you went to Kuwait with the Marines and then met this woman—I don't even know where—and just got married without so much as a word to me? What else haven't you told me?"
Henry slowed to turn into the parking lot, the car bouncing them all. He swallowed hard and took a deep, shaky breath.
"Don't get me wrong," Helen continued, "I think she's a very sweet woman, and you seem…enamored."
"Mom," Henry said, warning her with his tone. He parked and finally looked over at her, waiting to try to gather his thoughts, but nothing was forming. It all felt like bees in his head. He felt the panic rising in his chest, the tightness in his throat getting worse, and finally he felt Elizabeth's hand slide from the back on his left shoulder. He took a deep breath again and looked down, "There's a lot that happened."
His mom just stared at him, a look of disbelief or something like disappointment even. Elizabeth cleared her throat from the back quietly, "Mrs. McCord," she whispered, clearing it again to try to get her voice to come out, "It was sudden, but please…please don't worry about if I'm going to be cruel to him or something," she said.
"I'm not," Helen answered, and then looked back and sighed, "You don't seem the type, if I'm being honest, to be cruel to him. But you do seem the type, both of you, that would hide something that would worry me."
Elizabeth and Henry shared a glance immediately in the rearview again, and Helen exhaled.
"That's exactly what I mean," she whispered.
Henry swallowed thick, "I didn't hide it all from you because I didn't want you to know it," he said, then shook his head just a little, "Well, I don't want you to know it. There was a lot that happened," he admitted, feeling Elizabeth's hand gently rubbing into his shoulder. "But there was stuff—still is stuff—that I'm not even sure I could tell you without it being government secrets."
"Government secr—" Helen stopped and turned, looking back at Elizabeth. "Is she a Marine too?"
"No," Elizabeth almost laughed.
Henry smirked, "No," he said, shaking his head and looking back at her. Elizabeth nodded a little to give him the okay to his silent question, "She's CIA, actually, and she was a spy while I was in Kuwait, trying to get closer to some terrorists that—well, you don't need to know that part. But she was in London, I was in Kuwait, the terrorists found her out and kidnapped her."
Elizabeth cleared her throat and leaned onto the back of Henry's seat, taking a moment before sliding her other hand around his arm nervously and squeezing, "And Henry was the one who extracted me," she continued, Helen shifting her horrified gaze now to Elizabeth, "But there was more to the story than just that, unfortunately." Elizabeth looked at him again, and they seemed to both agree in that moment to say forget the government secrets—the government owed them both a lot more than just the checks they'd received for the damages. Elizabeth took a breath and squeezed his arm again as if to ground herself to him, "Our government—the U.S. government—had set out to try and have me murdered," she admitted quietly, sounding like someone could be listening.
Helen looked at her with wide eyes but simultaneously a look of disbelief, a look that said there's no way.
But Elizabeth continued, "And Henry, because he was the one to rescue me and also the one to see some classified stuff that the bad guys in the government didn't want him to see, got involved. He got tangled up in my mess. I spent a few days in the infirmary before they wanted to fly me back Stateside, and I realize now that they probably would've killed me before I got back," she said, and that was the first time Henry had heard her say that.
He hadn't ever even considered that fact that she would've probably been killed already if it weren't for him. But they needed him—Grayson hadn't been finished with Henry yet, hadn't found out for sure if he saw the crates. And Grayson couldn't just have a Marine casualty like Henry happen when he was a Captain and was a damned good fighter pilot. It made sense.
"Henry had to fly with me because I was having a panic attack, and he's the only one who could ever seem to get me to breathe," she explained, her eyes fixated on the radio. He also had never heard her say the words "panic attack," or even address them with any kind of name. They both were aware she was having them, but neither of them really talked about them enough to name them. "And anyway, we got back Stateside and went on the run. That's why he was AWOL," she said, turning her focus on Henry for a moment.
Helen looked at him for a moment, too, but then aptly turned back to Elizabeth. "You're telling me you two were being hunted by our government?" she whispered, too astonished to say it aloud.
Elizabeth nodded, and so did Henry, but only once. He was too wrapped up in the tension of this car to move too much. "And they sent people to kill us—and Henry almost died while fighting them off. A Marine got shot instead, another Marine—a young Marine…" Elizabeth's voice trailed off for a moment while Henry replayed the shot in his mind, the way the bullet splintered through Freeman's head and the way he felt the blood splatter on his face—all warm and wet. He tensed up again.
"And I knew then that I was deeply in love with your son," Elizabeth breathed, her voice cracking just slightly. "Because I thought it was him—I thought—" Elizabeth's voice broke harder this time, and Helen reached back and grabbed her by the arm gently, wrapping both hands around.
She patted her skin and had tears in her own eyes as she looked over at Henry, but he was frozen in place. He could hear, he could understand what was happening, but he felt like his entire body was seized up. "I could've lost you," she whispered, moving one of her hands to Henry's forearm and squeezing.
He jumped when she touched him, and then he looked down and looked back at his mother who was horrified. Elizabeth cleared her throat. "We're both still healing," she whispered, "In more ways than just physical."
The car went completely silent while Helen stared at the both of them, Elizabeth looking down at her hand wrapped around Henry's arm, and Henry looking down at the console. When he looked at his mom, he saw her face filled with disbelief, still, but a deep, desperate look of sorrow. That long, almost suffocating silence hung over all of them. Just as he thought he couldn't take the quiet anymore, Elizabeth cleared her throat and squeezed his arm, grounding him back in the moment.
Helen exhaled and leaned back in her seat, dragging her hand across her cheek, "I think we need to go inside," she breathed. Her voice was tense, and she didn't look at either of them again. Henry and Elizabeth looked at each other and nodded, but he was unsure if he wanted to face the world outside this car right now again.
But he knew he had to.