It started as a perfectly average state dinner party. Actually, it was one of the better functions Elizabeth had attended: the food was decent, all participating countries were behaving, and, best of all, Henry was there.

It was, dare she say, enjoyable, until an ambassador dropped a champagne flute. Elizabeth saw it from across the room. She watched it fall in slow motion, the contents spilling out as gravity carried the flute faster than the alcohol. The glass smashed into the ground and shattered into shards. The sound, sharp and piercing, cut through the sound of the crowd and right into Elizabeth's heart.

Her chest hurt, her lungs unsure of whether to inhale or exhale. Three years later, and the flashbacks were just as vivid as ever before.

"Hey." Henry brushed his hand down her arm, momentarily bringing her back to reality. "You good?"

"No," Elizabeth said tersely. She stumbled out of the ballroom and into the hall, frantically searching for somewhere to wait out the panic. Somehow, she managed to find an open balcony and braced her weight on the handrail as her chest heaved. Through the haze of violent images and screams in her head, she sensed her husband's presence as he approach her.

"Elizabeth, babe, I'm here." He stood beside her and draped his jacket over her shoulders. "Deep breaths, okay? Can you do that with me?" Elizabeth nodded jerkily. Henry inhaled deeply, and she attempted to do the same.

"Slow and steady; in and out," he murmured. At first, her lungs refused to cooperate and only managed choked gasps. She felt Henry put a hand around her waist and pull her close. Elizabeth curled into his body, resting a shaky hand over his steady heart.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I've got you. You're safe now," Henry whispered, his voice a soft rumble in his chest. "That's in baby. I've got you." It was only then with his soft reassurance and warm caresses that she was able to calm down and regulate her breathing.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Henry offered as she pulled back a little bit.

She smiled sadly and sniffled. "There's nothing new. The glass just reminded me of the window at Javani's house, and here we are."

"I'm sorry," he said empathetically.

"It's not your fault," she replied. There was a pause. She could tell Henry trying to read her, but she didn't want to give anything away.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked again.

She sighed. "It's just... I feel like I haven't gotten anywhere. Every time something like this happens, I go back to square one."

"That's not true," he said. "Look at how far you've come! You talk to me, you talk to Dr. Sherman—"

"Henry, I just spent ten minutes trying to remember how to breathe!" Elizabeth burst. She felt tears gathering in her eyes again. She saw the soft, loving gaze on Henry's face and glanced at the floor, unable to accept the kindness he seemed to radiate. She felt like she didn't deserve him. In a smaller, more fragile voice she added, "It's like being broken all over again, and I feel like I'll be broken for the rest of my life."

"Oh, baby... no." Henry tipped her face towards his. "I don't think you're broken. Not by a long shot. The best things about you- your hope, your courage, and your love-are as strong as ever." He brushed his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping the tears off. "You can't define yourself by this. You can still be you, even with PTSD."

Elizabeth pulled him close by his lapels. She couldn't quite get herself to believe everything that he was saying, but she was still flooded with immense gratitude for his steadfast nature and kindness. She rested her head on his shoulder and whispered, "I love you."

Henry banded his arms around her tightly in a protective embrace. "I love you too, Elizabeth." He bent down and as his lips touched hers, she was enveloped by a sense of warmth and safety. Elizabeth was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe he was right. She might be hurting, but she wasn't broken. As they parted, she left out a soft, contented sigh.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I am now."

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