This is really more for me that for the sake of fanfic… It's pretty poorly written with little to no plot, but I just needed to get it out there if you know what I mean. This is based on my experiences with having panic attacks and what I wish people would have said/things I've learned. I'm hesitant to post this, but please keep in mind that panic attacks present differently for everyone, and this is just my experience. Everything in italics is Elizabeth's internal monologue.

It was a quiet evening. Elizabeth had come home from the office in time for dinner for the first time in a long time. She watched as her children intently to one of her husband's story. A smiled danced on her lips. Happiness is sharing a meal with my family. My three beautiful children and my lovely husband.

"No way!" Jason exclaimed and jumped up. His excitement caused him to knock his glass off of the table. The breaking glass shattered the serenity of the moment before. Elizabeth's blood ran cold. It was just a glass. Don't be silly. I'm not in Iran; I'm at home. I'm surrounded by love. Despite her best efforts, the fingers of fear began strangling her, tightening into a chokehold. Her throat began to close up, and her breath became labored. No, no, no. Not here, not now.

"Breathe, babe," Henry said in a soothing tone.

"I can't." Elizabeth said shortly. She ran upstairs.

"Mom! I'm so sorry..." Jason called after her. He looked at the broken shards of glass and felt tears burning that the corners of his eyes. "Dad, I didn't mean to-"

"Jason, buddy, it's okay. It was a accident," Allison said and started picking up the glass.

"Mom's gonna be okay. If she can forgive me for being a total jerk, she can forgive you for a simple mistake," Stevie said. She looked at their father for some sort of direction and guidance. He nodded in reassurance.

"Your sisters are right. Just start cleaning up and watch some T.V. I'm going to go check on mom," Henry said and began up the stairs.

This is stupid; I'm stupid! It was just Jason being clumsy… I'm having a panic attack over nothing. I couldn't keep it together in front of the kids. I can't breathe. God, I'm pathetic.

When she made it to their bedroom, she closed the door and made her way to the bathroom. Finally alone, she crumpled to the floor as the anxiety took over. Glass breaking. Gunshots. A little boy screaming for his father. I couldn't get to him. I couldn't protect him. I can't protect my own children. It's all my fault. Everything is my fault.

Henry found her curled up in a ball on their bathroom floor. He sat down next to her, trying not to startle her. "Just breathe."

"It's not that simple, Henry," Elizabeth spat out bitterly. I promise, if I could breathe, I would. I can't breathe. That's the problem. You don't tell someone who's drowning to "just swim." I can't stop shaking. I feel so weak. I have no control over my body.

"Babe, you're safe," he said. I know I'm safe, but that isn't stopping my mind from going to Iran. That isn't stopping my fear. That isn't stopping my guilt. He cautiously placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't touch me," Elizabeth said and recoiled from his grip. She'd been less receptive to his touch since her return. Henry found this particularly difficult. Not holding her and not being able to kiss her until she stopped crying was painful for him. He felt powerless as he watched her relive the night at Javani's house. Unable to comfort her with his touch, he did the next best thing: He attempted to soothe her with words.

"I love you so much."

"Don't," she whispered. "I don't deserve it."

"You think that you don't deserve love?"

"And you," she admitted. I shouldn't have told him. He probably hates me. I hate me. I feel so guilty. I just keep hurting people. Henry doesn't deserve this. He's too good for me. I'm a complete mess. I've been such a bitch to him. At this point, her breathing had returned to almost normal, and her fear had been replaced by apathy. Henry sighed. He knew there was no point in arguing. This wasn't her; this was her PTSD. The good news though, was that she was talking. If he kept her talking and answering questions, they might be able to work through something.

"Why?" he asked in a plain, flat voice. Socratic method. Here we go. It was such a simple question, but she didn't have an answer. I don't know. I just feel worthless. I don't deserve you. Please don't give up on me. Please.

"It's just that…" she started.

"It's just that what?"

Elizabeth looked at him with watery eyes. The panic attack had rattled her brain, and it was difficult to create coherent sentences and separate logic from emotion, to separate what she felt from what was real. Her words came out in an unorganized rush of thoughts. "It's just that what happened wasn't even that bad and people have it so much worse so I shouldn't overreact like this because I shouldn't have even been this affected in the first place-"

"Listen to me. You can't compare your life to anyone else's. It's not your fault. You didn't choose to get PTSD, and you aren't weak for having it."

"But I-" He cut her off again.

"I love you, but I know that in this moment you probably don't believe me. You deserve to recover. You deserve a life without fear. You deserve a live without the guilt that's eating you alive. Believe me, if I could, I would take some of this pain from you. I hate watching you suffer and knowing that the only thing I can do about it is try to stay calm and remind you to breathe." Baby, that means so much more than you think it does. I don't know what I'd do without you. I don't know how I'd get through this without you. Emotions started to return to her, beginning with an emotional warmth. The warmth was the kind of love that transcended physical attraction or the bond of friendship; it was a promise to provide unconditional and unwavering emotional support. He continued, "I wish I could say something that would make everything better and protect you from these awful flashbacks, but you're a strong, independent, and capable woman. As Anais Nin said, 'You can't save people; you can only love them' She's right: I can't 'save' you, and frankly, you don't need it. So, I'm going to follow her advice and love you. As part of that love, I will remind you every single day that you're worth it. You deserve recovery and for the record, it's not just me that feels this way. Everybody's rooting for you: Me, the kids, Matt, Daisy, Jay, Blake, Nadine, and Conrad. Heck, even Russell. I won't let you go through this alone. We won't let you go through this alone because you are loved more than you will ever know, Elizabeth. We're always gonna be here for you. Baby, I'm so proud of you for being so strong." She lied down and placed her head his lap, exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the past fifteen minutes. He gently stroked her golden locks.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," she whispered.

"It's okay." They sat quietly for a moment as Elizabeth's pulse finally returned to normal.

"Henry?"

"Yeah babe?"

"Can you hold me?"

"Of course." Henry wrapped his arms around Elizabeth. "It's gonna be okay, I promise. Baby, I'm right here."

"Can you hold me a little tighter and a little closer?" He hugged her fiercely. She could hear the rhythmic beating of his heart. You make me feel safe. Don't let me go.

"I'm right here," he repeated.

I tried to illustrate the frustrations of having a panic attack and the sense that you don't have control over your body or your breathing. Additionally, I tried to show that there is nothing romantic about a panic attack. The love needed is more about friendship and trust than it is about anything romantic.

I'd love to hear everybody's thoughts!