Your Protector

This is a fic exchange story for the prompt "Elizabeth or Henry develop a problem with self-injury." I hope whoever requested this enjoys it! And that it's at least something like what you wanted. This story takes place during the whole stalker mess at the beginning of season 3. Shockingly enough, aspects of this story fit perfectly into the canon story line even though this story was done before the stalker situation was revealed in canon. It's a two shot because I can't write anything short…

Chapter One

Elizabeth stumbled through the door well after midnight. The house was dark and quiet, which was really a good thing since it meant she could go right up to bed without any interruptions. After throwing her coat and bags onto a chair in the office that was exactly where she headed.

Apparently not everyone was as asleep as she'd originally thought because when she reached the top of the stairs a bedroom door opened.

"Mom?"

Jason was in his pajamas and had clearly been lying in bed given his tousled hair. He hadn't been asleep though, that much was just as clear. At first Elizabeth wanted to ask what he was doing awake, but then the expression on his face penetrated her exhausted brain. He'd been waiting up for her with something to report, and not something good either. She took a step toward him, and he immediately retreated into his room so she could join him there and close the door behind them.

"How bad?"

Jason's face crumpled and he looked up at her with such pleading in his eyes that it nearly broke Elizabeth's heart.

"Bad. I'm pretty sure there was even blood this time and not just bruises."

Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. Blood. She really shouldn't be surprised given the situation. It was a situation she needed to put a stop to now. It had gone too far. She couldn't just wait it out anymore.

"Mom?"

She opened her eyes again and was stunned to see Jason nearly shaking. He was afraid. All the more reason for her to stop this.

"Let me handle this, Jason. It will be alright. Believe me."

"But…"

"I'll talk to your father tomorrow. We'll get it sorted out."

Jason hung his head and didn't look entirely convinced, but he wasn't going to argue. He'd gone to his mom in the first place because he hadn't known what to do.

Elizabeth slid her arm around his shoulders and guided him back to bed.

"Come on. You need to sleep. You have school tomorrow."

He nodded mutely and scrambled into bed. After he had gotten himself settled she leaned down and kissed his temple.

"I'm going to take care of this. I promise," she whispered into his ear.

Jason gave no response, but Elizabeth hadn't been expecting one. She turned away and finally headed toward her own room. Henry was already asleep, sprawled on his side on his half of the bed. Not wanting to wake him, she turned on one of the bedside table lamps. It gave her enough light to see by but still kept the room relatively dark. She got ready for bed as quickly as she could. Sleep was desperately calling her. As she came back around to her side of the bed she realized that with Henry facing the way he was his right hand was up and the knuckles were visible. Even in the half light of the room she thought she could see broken skin. The blood spots Jason had been talking about. It sent a terrible sickening feeling through her.

"Oh, Henry. What have you done?"

She should have put a stop to this a long time ago. True as that was, it could wait one more day. Waking Henry up and facing him now would not be a good idea. She was far too tired, and this was going to take all of her skill. There would be a better chance of getting through to Henry when she was close to 100%. That would come after she slept.

Elizabeth crawled into bed, careful not to bump Henry's hand as she did. Despite how tired she was, sleep might evade her that night.

She'd first spotted the bruising on Henry's knuckles over a week ago. The first time she hadn't thought anything of it, but then she'd seen fresh bruises in the same place in the days after. It hadn't taken long after that for the pieces to click together. He hadn't been punching Ray Merchant, of that she was sure, but he had been punching something. She had understood the need to get some of the anger out, but the bruising hadn't stopped. Even Jason had noticed and brought it to her attention. Since then she'd used her son as a spy. He was home a lot more than she was, so he would have seen more than she would have. After the first few times it had been nearly impossible to tell if there were any fresh wounds. At least until that day. Now it was clear the frustration that had built up from their unresolved stalker situation was still there, still bubbling. If it kept going Henry was going to explode, and Elizabeth couldn't let that happen.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow she was going to face Henry down and get all of this out in the open. It couldn't go on anymore.

O . o . O . o . O

Elizabeth carefully closed their bedroom door and positioned herself in front of it. Henry barely glanced up at her from his spot on the bed. He was busy grading and not about to be distracted. Or so he thought.

"Whatever plans you might have right now, consider them suspended. We're going to talk, and it's not an option, Henry."

He looked up at her over the top of his glasses, clearly surprised.

"Now? I really need to get these graded, Babe. I'm seriously behind."

In that moment he looked so calm, like nothing at all was wrong. If she hadn't been spooling up for this conversation all day, if she didn't know it absolutely had to happen, she might have backed down and let him finish his work. She couldn't though. Not anymore.

"I said it's not an option."

Her tone of voice startled Henry further. He pulled his glasses off and set them aside.

"What's going on, Elizabeth? What's wrong?"

She didn't answer him as she walked to the side of the bed and held out her hand.

"Give me your hand."

Confusion plain on his face, Henry did what she asked. It was his left hand though. He had to know what she was getting at, but there wasn't anything indicating that on his face. He just appeared innocent and confused.

"No, Henry. The other one. The one that's been covered in blood and bruises for the last week."

He dropped his left hand back into his lap but didn't offer her the right one.

"It's nothing, Babe."

"No, Henry. It's not nothing."

She gathered his right hand gently into hers and turned his knuckles up. They were even more swollen than they had been before. In an up close inspection the mix of faded yellow and deep purple bruises were all too clear. Far more than one or two impacts had occurred.

"What have you been hitting?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he told her as he pulled his hand out of her grasp.

"Yes you do. Henry!"

"Drop it, Elizabeth!"

But she wasn't about to do that. She knew now, without any doubt, that if she didn't intervene this would keep happening. It had to stop. She couldn't let her husband, her sweet, sweet Henry, keep hurting himself.

"I can't do that. I can't let you keep hurting yourself. Those bruises on your hand are from punching something. Walls I'm guessing."

She'd barely finished that sentence when Henry slid out of bed and pushed past her. He wasn't going to escape this conversation though. Elizabeth beat Henry to the door and placed herself in front of it.

"No, Henry. This discussion isn't over. I know you're frustrated that nothing has improved, that we're still targets and there's nothing you can do to fix it. I understand that. The problem is you're not handling it well."

"I'm handling it fine."

He tried to reach past her for the doorknob, but she sidestepped and blocked it completely.

"Hitting walls, or whatever else, isn't handling it fine," she retorted while she glared up at him, hoping she would get through.

"You don't –"

"Jason noticed, Henry. He came to me, confused by what he was seeing and scared he was interpreting it correctly. He saw his father hurting himself, and that terrified him more than anything that's happened with the stalker."

She wanted to ask if he understood how big that was, but she didn't need to. The anger and defiance in Henry's eyes had faded away. His mouth was hanging partway open in disbelief and horror. It was the expression she'd started calling his "Iran face," the one he'd worn when she'd walked out that door.

"Is he alright?"

Elizabeth sighed. That was a rather complicated question, and one that was avoiding the bigger problem in her mind.

"I talked to him, and I'm sure I'll be doing so again."

Henry's expression crumpled, and he turned away. After sitting down on the edge of the bed he dropped his head into his hands. Clearly he wasn't about to try and escape this conversation again, so Elizabeth felt it was safe to leave the path to the door open. She moved to his side and ran a hand through his hair. As she did she couldn't stop her eyes from coming to rest on his knuckles. There was no way they didn't hurt.

"Have you been icing this?" she asked as she very gently ran a finger over the damaged knuckles.

Henry didn't flinch away from the light touch, but his face tightened. His hand definitely hurt.

"No."

Elizabeth hadn't truly been expecting a different answer, but she still didn't like hearing the confirmation.

"Alright. I'm going to get you some ice, and when I get back we're going to talk. I want to know what brought you to this."

She kissed the top of his head and smoothed a hand down his back. He didn't even look up. Holding back another sigh she left him to think about his answer. Ice would help his knuckles, but talking would do him even more good.

When she got back she found Henry had shifted so he was leaning against the headboard with his hand resting on a pillow on his lap. His eyes were distant as he tried to put words to what he was feeling. Thankfully Elizabeth was willing to wait. She set the ice pack on his hand and perched on the edge of the bed so she could lean against him. While she waited for him to speak she ran her hand up and down his arm.

"Henry?" she finally pressed.

His eyes met hers, but he remained silent. The visible churning of emotions in the depths of his eyes led Elizabeth to reach up and caress his cheek.

"How did it get this far, Henry? Why didn't you talk to me?"

"What good would that have done? The only thing you would have told me was that I have to trust the FBI and your security to keep us safe and find this guy. That's the whole problem, Elizabeth. That I can't... do anything."

"Yes, you can."

"No, Babe, I can't. I'm powerless to stop this from happening. Powerless to protect any of you, and I hate it."

"You're right. You can't stop this and you can't protect us the way you want to, but you're wrong about one thing. There is something you can do. You can stay calm and in control of yourself. Your children are taking their cues on how to react off you, Henry. If you're upset, it tells them there's something real to be afraid of. If you stay calm you'll help keep them calm."

"I'm pissed, Elizabeth. I can't even come up with something I want to do to this guy after what he's done to our family."

"I know you're angry. That's why you're punching walls. As a way to get that anger out."

Anger flashed to guilt, and Henry bowed his head.

"I didn't plan to…"

That answer sent a pang through Elizabeth's heart. The guilt over the unforeseen consequences of his actions had finally set in. It was only going to tear him apart more. Fighting back tears, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around Henry and pulled his head against hers.

"I know you didn't. We just need to find another outlet for you…"

Before he broke his hand, and before this whole mess broke him completely.