A/N: Hi guys! Welcome to yet another series of one-shots; these are all based off of my existing story, Six Months. If you haven't read it and you like angst, read it! If you haven't read it, don't read these because they will make no sense.

This is an alternative for chapter thirteen, in which the McCords' first night at home is different because Elizabeth is protective of Henry, seeing how tired he looks and taking care of him.

As Elizabeth's security shut the front door of the McCord home behind them, she turned to survey her family. The kids looked okay, if a little shocked and nervous. But Henry...she wasn't sure she'd ever seen him look so exhausted and worn. He was pale and tense, not to mention much thinner than he'd been the last time she'd seen him. That would take some time to remedy, but for now she'd have to start small. She squeezed his hand lightly and he glanced over at her, looking vaguely lost.

"What do we do now?" Jason asked.

"I think we all need to get some rest," Elizabeth answered.

"I'm not leaving Dad," Stevie said quickly, and Henry reached out to hug her, looking as if even the effort to do so was difficult. Elizabeth couldn't really blame her, but she knew that Henry would push himself to stay awake if the kids were around. She shook her head at Stevie.

"I understand that you want to stay with him, Stevie," she began. "I really do. But your dad has been through a lot and he needs to rest. I promise you, he's going to be here in the morning. You all have plenty of time to spend with Dad, but not tonight."

The kids all looked at one another; they all looked nervous, but some silent understanding seemed to exist there in the quiet. Alison was the one who spoke.

"Promise you'll be here in the morning?" she asked, looking at Henry. He nodded his head.

"I promise, Noodle," he said quietly. She moved forward to hug him and Elizabeth could have cried at the way her siblings followed suit, all three of them curling around Henry, surrounding him with love and affection as he let go of her hand to wrap his arms around their children. Elizabeth was so immensely proud of the three of them; they had all grown from the little children they'd been to these three incredible people. They seemed to understand, albeit reluctantly, that Henry needed to rest, and so they hesitantly said goodnight to him and headed up the stairs one by one.

"Alison," Elizabeth called softly, and her middle child looked back at her inquisitively.

"Come and get me if you need me, okay?" she said- after all, this was likely to be hardest for Alison, who hadn't slept alone in six months. Stevie, a couple of steps ahead of her sister, stopped and turned.

"Ali?" she asked. Her sister turned from Elizabeth to look at her. "Want to sleep with me?" she asked, and Alison nodded her head. Stevie shot Elizabeth a reassuring smile as she wrapped her arm around her little sister and Elizabeth mouthed 'thank you' as the two of them disappeared up the stairs. Once they were alone, Elizabeth turned to her husband, suddenly feeling vaguely nervous. It was a foreign feeling, this anxiousness that gnawed at her, and she tried very hard to push it aside. This was Henry- it wasn't like he was some stranger, and she told herself then that she had nothing to be nervous about. It didn't help much, but she was determined to push through it.

"Henry, you look exhausted," she said, running her thumb along his hand. He nodded.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I guess I am."

"Come on," she said, tugging him toward the stairs. "Let's get you to bed, alright?"

Upstairs, Henry looked around curiously. Elizabeth smiled ever so slightly.

"Well, I guess it turned out to be a good thing I didn't ever manage to get rid of your stuff," she remarked, hoping to lighten the mood. It seemed to have been the wrong thing to say, though, because a shadow passed over Henry's face as he swallowed hard and looked down at the floor.

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asked.

"I left you," he answered, his voice hollow. She sighed.

"Henry," she began, "it's okay. You're home, that's what matters."

Henry shook his head slightly, then looked up to meet her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," he said.

"I know," she answered. "It's okay." She squeezed his hand lightly and then let go, stepping into the closet. She glanced down at the clothes piled there and wished she had hung them back up. Now, with Henry already blaming himself, they just served as a reminder that things had not been good without him there. His eyes followed hers and landed on his clothing on the floor.

"I tried to-" she began, and sighed. "I tried to get rid of them. That's as far as I got."

Henry closed his eyes briefly, and then took a deep breath and went to the closet, where he began to pick up the clothing, piece by piece.

"Henry," Elizabeth began, reaching out to touch his shoulder. He shrugged her off, shaking his head.

"I need to do this," he insisted, and she sighed.

"Baby, you need to sleep. It can wait," she pleaded, but Henry shook his head.

"No, I need to fix this," he answered stubbornly.

"Fix what?" Elizabeth heard herself ask. It was a much more loaded question than one might think, and the weight of it was not lost on Henry. Elizabeth felt tears sting the backs of her eyes as she watched him scramble to replace the clothes, as if by putting all the clothes back on their hangers Henry could symbolically put their lives back together. She stayed quiet until a choked sob met her ears and then, she couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't just stand by and watch him crumble.

"I just-" he began, but Elizabeth shook her head, kneeling next to him and tugging him toward her.

"It's okay," she said. "It's okay, Henry, let it go." He dropped the shirt he was holding and turned toward her in defeat; she ran her fingers through his hair as he dropped his head to her lap, and Elizabeth thought that her heart might actually, physically, break at the sight of him curled up on their closet floor, his shoulders shaking as he wrapped his fingers around the hem of the tee shirt she'd just changed into and cried.

"I know, darling," she soothed as she rubbed his back in an attempt to calm him. "I know. You're safe, Henry. It's over." He was trying to speak, but his words were almost entirely unintelligible. Elizabeth was catching about every third or fourth syllable; not nearly enough to make sense of what he was trying to say.

"Shh," she said. "It's alright, Henry. Just breathe. It's going to be okay."

"I have to fix it," he managed around his heartbreaking cries, something desperate in his voice as he looked up at her, starting to pull away.

"No," she replied. "No, Henry, you don't. Not tonight, baby. Hey, stop," she pleaded, catching him with a hand on his shoulder and pulling him back to face her. She met his gaze and he hesitated, so Elizabeth seized the moment. She rested her hand on his cheek, fingertips reaching to the hair at his temple, and brushed the pad of her thumb against the skin beneath his eye, dark with exhaustion and stress as she held eye contact.

"Henry," she breathed. "Baby, you don't have to fix anything. We're going to fix it, okay? But we're going to do it together. You don't have to do it alone, Henry. Alright? Let me help you. Please." He watched her for a moment and then leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers as she blinked and tears slipped down her cheeks. His hand came up to her cheek, mirroring the way she was touching him, and his other hand found hers on her lap, tangling their fingers together as his palm pressed against her cheek and covered the tear that had fallen there.

"I'm so sorry, Elizabeth," he whispered.

"No," she said. "It's okay. You're home, Henry. That's all I could ever ask for."

He nodded against her, tears still streaming down his cheeks as he closed his eyes and took a breath- a breath of home, of lavender and strawberry, of his own clothing, of Elizabeth. Of everything he'd left behind with an aching heart six months earlier.

"Please let me help you, okay?" Elizabeth whispered. He nodded.

"Okay," he whispered, and she brushed a tear from his cheek with her thumb.

"Come on," she said softly. "Let's get you to bed, okay?"

He nodded and let her sort through his untouched drawer for some pajamas. Some ten minutes later, Henry had decided he was too exhausted to shower and had crawled into bed at Elizabeth's side. His whole body felt heavy, but he was still so on edge. He felt somehow alert and distant at once, and in spite of being incredibly tired, he wondered if he'd be able to fall asleep. Elizabeth seemed to sense that, too. She recalled him being like this when he'd returned from deployment as well, and tried to think back to how they'd handled it then. She reached out for Henry, and he turned toward her in the warm light of the bedside lamp.

"You haven't been sleeping?" she asked softly. He shook his head.

"Not really," he answered. She nodded.

"Close your eyes," she told him quietly, and then turned to cut the light. Henry couldn't see her in the dark, and he felt panic rise up inexplicably at that. He didn't even have to say it; Elizabeth realized it before he had a chance to articulate, and the light flooded the room once more.

"It's okay," she said. "We can keep the light on, alright?" He nodded silently and hesitated for a moment, closing his eyes. He didn't like that; she was right there, but he couldn't see her, and he couldn't feel her, and he couldn't help but be uncertain of her presence. His eyes opened again, and Elizabeth was still there, watching him with warm, ocean blue eyes. She looked tired, too, but fierce. He wanted to tell her to go to sleep, that he would be okay, but he didn't. He knew her well enough to know how that would go over.

"Come here," she whispered, a soft invitation that Henry could no more have resisted than will his heart to stop beating- not that he wanted to resist in the first place. He willingly shifted closer to her and his head ended up on her shoulder. They both seemed to take an inbreath at that, and Elizabeth fussed with the blankets for a moment, settling them around him, tucking him into bed against her as if he were a small child. It made him feel safe, that mother-instinct action that was a physical representation of I'll take care of you. She took his hand and wordlessly brought his palm to rest against her chest, where he could feel her heartbeat against him. He took a steadying breath, and exhaled, his eyes drifting closed.

"I'm here," she breathed, and kissed his forehead. "You can rest. You are not alone anymore, Henry."

Neither of us are.

It was the unspoken part of her assurances; Elizabeth, too, took a breath and exhaled. They faced one another, legs tangled together, with her heart beating against Henry's palm, and her fingers running soothingly through his hair. She spoke softly to him, nonsense that kept a steady stream of her voice in his consciousness. It had worked before, and it seemed to be working now. He just needed to know that he wasn't alone. That she was there with him. And as for Elizabeth, she would have talked all night if he'd needed her to.

"Henry?" she breathed a few minutes later, and when she got no answer, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his, pausing to let her gratitude overwhelm her as she held him there in the quiet, warm light. And slowly, for the first time in six months, Elizabeth succumbed to sleep with Henry at her side.