A/N: If anyone remembers the "ordinary Tuesday" I mentioned in Just Her, this is it. :)

This scene has been playing out in my head since what seems like forever, and I just had to write it down. Enjoy, and as always, reviews make my day!

Thursday, February 23, 1989

He sat on the edge of the chair, lost in his own thoughts, running his fingers over the small, black box that had been burning a hole in his pocket for the past three weeks. In the box, of course, sat a ring, smooth and silver, with a diamond set delicately in the centre. It sparkled as he popped open the box and held it against the light, casting rainbows in the air of the dusty, old library. It was perfect — not too simple, but not over the top. Elegant, understated, and perfect. He chuckled as the thoughts passed through his mind, his words sounding almost like an advertisement for the ring in question.

It was perfect for her, he mused, smiling.

When Henry had seen it in the window of the jeweller's weeks prior, he'd known immediately. This was the ring he was going to propose with. This was the ring the love of his life would wear on her finger for ever, if it all went according to plan. One problem remained though — Henry McCord had no plan.

He could write dissertations on complex ethical questions, fly fighter jets, cook a mean lasagna and speak near-fluent French, but had absolutely no idea how he was going to ask Elizabeth to marry him.

It wasn't that he had reservations about proposing, far from that. Marrying Elizabeth felt like the most natural thing, like taking a breath, like it was an inevitability in his life that was meant to be. He loved her with every fibre of his being, and he wanted to be able to remind her of that every single day of their lives. He couldn't stand thinking of himself without her, he needed her for oxygen. She was the other half to his whole.

So naturally, Henry wanted the proposal to be prefect. Because she deserved the world and he was going to try his best to give her just that. He'd mentally run through all the proposals he'd seen in movies, where the men came up with elaborate schemes and over the top gestures to sweep their girlfriends off their feet. He'd always found them ridiculous, far too public and staged, and knew Elizabeth felt the same. She was the first one to poke fun at the whole ordeal, pointing out that it took away from the intimacy of the moment. If everyone was there to watch, she reasoned, wouldn't the woman be pressured into saying yes?

Besides, he reminded himself, Elizabeth was never one for cheesy romance. She preferred to keep things simple, and private, because their love was theirs and that was all that mattered anyway. She was happiest just being in Henry's presence, wrapped in his arms as they talked about nothing and everything all at once, savouring the time they shared.

It had to be simple, but special nonetheless. Henry groaned, his brain failing to come up with any ideas. He gave up for the day shortly thereafter, gathering his books and exiting the archives, heading back home to their apartment.

Tuesday, February 28, 1989

Henry woke up to the early morning sunlight filtering in through the spaces between the curtains, casting soft beams onto Elizabeth's still sleeping form. She was curled up in his arms, hair splayed over her pillow, breathing evenly. Her face was relaxed and she looked perfectly content, not a care in the world. She was the most beautiful person he'd ever laid his eyes upon, he decided, and relished in the simple fact that she loved him, and let him love her back. She'd opened herself up to him, laid her soul bare, and he saw it as the greatest honour. Absentmindedly, he began tracing nonsensical patterns on her shoulder, letting his fingers pass over her smooth skin. She stirred lightly, and he feared he'd woken her, but she soon returned to an even pattern of breathing, and he was content to admire her a little while longer.

He spotted the alarm clock from the corner of his eye, and groaned internally. In five minutes, they'd be ripped from their cocoon by the harsh sound of the clock, blaring at them to start their day and reenter the real world. He moved to softly brush his lips on her forehead, wanting to let her wake up slowly, and in peace. His lips travelled lower, pecking her nose, and finally reaching her mouth where he kissed her gently, reverently. She responded to the kiss subconsciously, and her eyes fluttered open as she smiled. "Good morning, beautiful," he whispered, staring deep into her blue eyes.

"Good morning to you too," she replied groggily, cupping his cheek with her hand. She stole another chaste kiss, and was moving to deepen it as the shrill sound of the alarm interrupted their perfect little moment. She groaned and rolled out of bed, heading straight for the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. Henry got up himself, walking to the bathroom to brush his teeth. It was tight in their small apartment, barely big enough for two people, but they'd become experts in navigating the tight space, especially in the mornings. Elizabeth started the coffee; she couldn't get through her day without it, while Henry got ready in the bathroom. When they had time, they'd eat together before switching places and heading out the door.

Today, Henry got dressed quickly, slipping the black box into his blazer pocket like he did every morning, gently running his fingers over the velvet as it disappeared into the depths. It had become a habit, serving as a constant reminder that he still wasn't anywhere close to having a plan of how to propose. He sighed and picked his glasses up from the nightstand, walking into the kitchen where Elizabeth stood by the sink with her back to him, as the coffee machine worked in the corner, puttering as brown liquid filled the jug and the smell wafted through the air. He snuck up to her quietly, on sock-covered feet, and wrapped his arms around her from behind, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent and pressing kisses behind her ear. She sighed in appreciation and turned around to face him, snaking her arms around his neck and kissing him softly. He moved to deepen the kiss, and she happily obliged, arching her back into his chest to increase their contact. They broke apart, both breathless, and she grinned at him. "What was that for?"

"Just 'cause," he answered, turning to grab two mugs from the cabinet. They drank their coffee in silence, listening to the radio she'd turned on a few minutes before. It was a slow news day, and the anchors quickly moved on to local stories, finding humour in the mundane happenings. Elizabeth had grabbed a plate from the cupboard, and was looking through the fridge when one of the anchors made some silly joke. She laughed, and it was carefree, deep and throaty, and suddenly, the realization hit Henry like a ton of bricks.

This was it. This, standing in the kitchen in the morning, making coffee, getting ready, this, he realized, was it. Just being in each other's presence, going through the motions with someone by their side. It was perfect. It was just them. It wasn't going to get any better than this. If there was any time to ask for forever, this was it. Henry took a deep breath and pulled the velvet box out of his jacket pocket, sinking down on one knee. This was it, he thought again, and braced himself, popping open the lid.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth had found what she was looking for in the fridge and turned around to put a piece of bread in the toaster. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Henry, dropping the wrapped loaf of bread to the floor. Her eyes grew wide in shock and she froze, speechless, until words finally managed to pass her lips. "What, what… Henry?"

Henry looked up to the love of his life and cleared his throat. It's now or never, he thought, and smiled. "Elizabeth, I love you so, so much," he began, tears welling up in his eyes that he immediately saw reflected in hers as well. "I just, well, I just wanted to tell you… no, that's wrong, I wanted to ask… but please know that you mean everything to me…" he fumbled, silently kicking himself. How was he not able to produce a cohesive sentence? Why did words have to fail him now? This was the single most important thing he'd ever tried to communicate, and his brain seemed to have stopped working. He couldn't remember anything he'd planned on saying, any part of the eloquent, romantic speech he'd meticulously worked out before.

As she stared down at him with a smile, happy tears threatening to fall, he blurted out "Will you marry me?" the only coherent thought he seemed to be able to wrap his tongue around. He looked up expectantly, doubt forming in his mind for a split second. What if she said no?

But Elizabeth had been sure of her answer from the second she saw him on one knee. This was what she wanted, forever. Henry was her other half, he made her complete, made her feel loved and safe and empowered. He was it, she realized. And it didn't terrify her one bit. She smiled like a fool all the way through his bumbling mess of a speech, God, how she loved this man. It meant the world to her that all his eloquence, all the quoting and philosophizing, all that went out the window once he got down on one knee. She knew he was nervous, trying so desperately to make this perfect. What he didn't know was that to her, he already was.

When the question finally made its way past his lips, he looked up at her and she swore her heart skipped a beat. Unable to form words herself, she just nodded — slowly at first, then with more confidence. Relief flooded his features and he stood up to scoop her up in his arms, holding her tight as the past few moments became real to the both of them.

"Yes," she whispered into his ear. He pulled away and looked her in the eyes, a grin creeping across his face. She bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders. At that, Henry pulled her flush to him, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. He kissed her with all that he had, and she responded in equal measure. When they broke apart for air, they both stared at each other in silence, feeling the weight of the moment.

Henry reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles, slipping the ring on her long, lean finger. She gazed at it, taken aback by its simple beauty. "It's perfect," she breathed, feeling the cool metal on her hand.

"I'm glad you like it," he answered, running his finger over the stone, and knowing it would be there every time he gripped her hand. It pleased him to no end. His mind travelled back to the actual proposal then, and he blushed a deep crimson. "I had so much more to say, baby, and I'm sorry, I don't know what happened, it just—" he started, embarrassed by his total lack of coherence earlier.

She laughed, a grin spreading across her face. "You mean, you were gonna quote Augustine?" she teased. "And I didn't get to hear it?"

He laughed then too, and stole another kiss, before her face got serious again. "It was perfect, Henry, and I mean that. I love that you were too nervous to get words out. And I love you."

"I love you too." A peaceful contentment washed over him then. This was forever. And he couldn't be luckier.

Fin.