A/N: I've held onto this for a while, mainly because I'm so unsure of it - I'm wringing my hands over it. I thought about how that episode ended, and honestly I wanted a little more. I'd like a second chapter, but I'm still unsure on how to to get there. Please leave reviews, they make me feel nice inside.

Sitting perfectly still in the armchair in the corner of their bedroom, Henry rested his laptop on his knees. He watched quietly as Elizabeth stepped in front of the vanity mirror, just having left the shower with a towel wrapped around her body. She stopped to look at herself, fingering damp hair as she squinted, scrutinising her appearance. Brows furrowed, he could tell she was thinking. He watched the woman he loved curiously, wondering what was clouding her intricate mind.

She released her grip from the towel and let it fall to the floor. Henry was captivated once again, unable to look away as he watched her. She'd always been beautiful, there was no question of that; Henry wondered if he'd forgotten to remind her of that lately. His eyes traced the slope of her slender neck, down her shoulders, waist and the curve of her hip.

She turned so her back was facing the mirror and peeked around, running a hand down the left side of her back. She stopped and seemed to focus on something, tracing gentle fingertips over the same spot. It dawned on him. Iran. The laceration scar that she'd been left with. Henry suddenly felt guilty. He'd ogled her whilst she was reliving such a significant point of insecurity. He looked down, ashamed. It wasn't so much the scar itself. Physically it was relatively small, and it had healed neatly, stretching only around five to six centimetres in length. He knew the physicality of it was not what brought her to it, and was not what conveyed such darkness now.

He peeked up again, and caught her piercing glare. It was a mixed expression, confusing and cryptic. Frightened. He recoiled from its intensity, looking down again. They'd never avoided conversion like this, in fact, Henry couldn't recall the last time he'd looked away from such an expression without explanation. He saw her sink away in his peripheries, returning to the mirror to apply moisturisers to her skin.

The scar was a constant reminder that he'd nearly lost her. That their bond had been on a knifes edge, and the tipping point so steep. It changed him. It changed her. His stomach twisted in knots now, and he frowned, expelling a breath he didn't realise he was holding.

His hospital stay had triggered her. The realisation hit him heavily and he felt his chest tighten at the thought. She thought he was going to die. She thought she'd never see him or touch him again. The waves of guilt surfaced again and Henry reflected on how he'd acted towards her earlier in the evening. He had no right to accuse her of monopolising him, he knew that now, but he was angry and flight driven. At the time, He couldn't understand why she'd want to prevent him from being part of it – to help capture the responsible parties. He'd lashed out at a time when she simply needed him close and nothing more, yet he tempted her with the prospect of further danger. Henry wanted to apologise, to give her the reassurance she deserved. If anything, she'd aided him in being as close as possible to the operation, she'd allowed him that much. He wanted to go to her, to say something, anything to make it right, but he was stuck; He was angry and uncertain why or who it was directed at. She doesn't deserve this.

-o-

Elizabeth stared back at the woman in the mirror; familiar yet seemingly someone she didn't even know anymore. She blinked a few times, letting her brain affirm that she was, in fact, seeing her own reflection.

She sighed and released her towel, staring back at her nude form. Closing her eyes only for a second, she saw the bright lights – the flash of colour and debris. Elizabeth forced her eyes back open, wide, blue eyes looking straight back as she held her breath. It had been some time. It had been an almost equal amount of time since she'd had a panic-attack. Her heart fluttered and she let the air rush from her lungs. The sensation was almost familiar, and the movie that played on a loop when she closed her eyes was burned into her subconscious. It was never anything specific, the details never quite recognisable, but it was always the same. It always felt the same.

Turning around slowly, she knew what she would see. Just above her waist on the left side of her back ran a thin, fibrous line. It was raised a little and slightly paler than the rest of her skin. It wasn't unsightly, and she had plenty of scars on her body from her childhood. Growing up, her and Will always played and explored outside before their parents died. Those scars, despite the loss of her parents were always remembered with fondness.

She didn't look at this mark with the same nostalgic fondness. It reminded her of the fragility of life. It reminded her that she'd come so close to losing it all. It made her sick. She'd hurt Henry. She'd known the risk and still left him. It's your fault. Elizabeth couldn't help but compare how she felt now to how he must have felt; waiting, watching and the silence. So quiet. She'd just got him back, and he seemed more distant than ever. She wanted nothing more than to run to him, to be held in his embrace, welcomed in the safest place on earth. It was clear to her that he did not want that, at least, not now. You shouldn't have interfered. It's your fault.

Elizabeth could feel his eyes on her. She blinked back a tear and steeled herself, turning her head to look at him. She met his eyes only for a moment. Hard and critical, he shunned her gaze almost immediately. Disgust? She cowered from his hard look. Her stomach churned and she swallowed thickly. She'd wanted to talk to him. Anything to break the deafening silence they now felt only metres from one another. She couldn't face him. He can't even look at you.

-o-

Eyes wide open, they lay with their backs to one another. Trying to remain still as possible as not to disturb the other, they waited for sleep to overcome them. Henry reached his arm between them, searching for her, silently asking her permission to hold her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw his hand, taking it in her own and squeezing gently, giving herself up. He rolled over and spooned her, reaching a strong arm over her middle, pulling her closer as he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent, allowing it to calm him. Elizabeth sighed quietly as a single tear rolled down her cheek. She gripped his arm and pulled it tighter around her, finally letting her tired eyes fall closed. "I love you." Henry spoke softly. It was the first time he'd spoken to her in hours.