A/N: Sorry again for taking my time with this update. In addition to my crazy work hours, I also got sick so I was pretty much in bed all day. This chapter is a complete mess, I hope it'll make sense to you, as it is moving between the scenes of the show. I added a few of the sayings from the episode, but it didn't feel right to put it all in, so I hope you can figure out what goes where. Thank you so so much for all your reviews, it's making me so happy! More reviews are needed, as always!

He waited.

She came back three days ago, but he still waited for her to return. He waited for her to break, to cry, to fall apart. He waited for her to tell him what had happened there, to give him something to explain the darkness in her eyes. He waited for her to open up to him so he can try and put the pieces back together. But nothing. She was working around the clock since she returned to work, not even minding the aches and pains she still had. Of course she didn't even bother to go to the follow up she said she'll go. And she would come home late at night, barely talk to him, and go straight to bed just so she could lie awake all night, staring at the ceiling.

He knew some of the details about what had happened that night. One night when it was about 12am and she was still at the office he finally dared to open the report the President sent him. He demanded the information, wanting to know every little thing about the night he almost lost the love of his life. But for days he couldn't bring himself to open it, to face the words – black and white on the paper – describing the danger she was at. At that night he couldn't sleep. The image of her lying wounded on the floor with Fred lying dead on top of her didn't leave his mind. He realized soon enough that Fred had jumped to push Elizabeth to the floor, to save her from the bullet that ended up killing him. It could've been Elizabeth in just a blink of an eye, in a matter of seconds. If Fred wasn't attentive enough or brave enough or committed enough, it would've been her. That bullet that entered Fred's heart and killed him on the spot would've killed her. Just like that. No warning, no second chances. Just like Javani had died, her fate could've been the same.

The report went on and on about the day after the coup – how bodies were hung on the streets like puppets, a display of the rebels to show what they are capable of. How it would take years to restore all the damage that was cost, to bury all the bodies of the people who died. He knew she must have witnessed some of this horror, if not all of it, and knowing Elizabeth he was certain it had affected her. Hell, he only read the report and he felt sick to his stomach every time he thought about it. After 9/11, Elizabeth didn't need much to feel guilty about things that were actually out of her hand. And if 9/11 had affected her so badly without even being in New York, he could only imagine what Iran had done to her, seeing it all first handed.

That night when she finally came home he jumped from the chair in his office and rushed to the door, taking her in his arms and kissing her desperately.

"Hmm" she moaned. "You taste like scotch" she said as she pecked his lips again. "Why are you up so late?"

"I was waiting for you. I barely see you these days".

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. Work is crazy".

She was avoiding his eyes, not wanting him to ask her why she's barely answering his calls or texts, why she rarely says anything to him when they have breakfast and why she refuses to let him hold her every night. He knew the answer though. He did not need to ask – he could see it in her eyes – the sadness, the loneliness. The fact that she is unable to sleep, that she was always alerted and edgy. He heard her tossing and turning in bed every night, he saw how tired she was and how little she had to eat. And when she snapped at him for not backing her up regarding Jason's security he was beginning to understand she was suffering from PTSD. The pieces of the puzzle fit the description Kevin Boyd gave him – she was barely sleeping, very hyper vigilant, probably having flashbacks, and her temper – she never snapped at him the way she did when he argued about providing Jason with a security guy. But in spite of knowing all of that, Kevin's words still echoed in his ears - there's not much you can do, besides be there for them. They're not going to talk until they're ready.

So she didn't talk. Not when he tried to ask her about it, not when they sat in complete silence and he just stared at her, not even when he tried to call her after she left angry when he refused to be unfair to Jason. It was 3:30am when he woke up to find an empty bed and heard the sounds of Jason's video game. He went downstairs to find her half lying of the couch, playing the game.

"It's late, I didn't even hear you come in" he said as he sank on the couch next to her.

"Just winding down" she answered, not taking her eyes from the game.

"By playing a video game you've never shown any interest in at 3:30 in the morning?"

"Yup".

"Sorry I was such a bitch before" she said after a moment of silence, still not meeting his eyes.

He wanted to tell her she wasn't a bitch, that she can yell and scream at him all she wants if it'll make her feel better, that she should talk to him, should let him try and help her. But he didn't want to push her. The fact that she was sitting there with him and talking to him felt like progress, and he didn't want to make her feel insecure. "It's okay" he answered.

"How was Jason's first day?"

"It was fine. Everything's fine", he said trying to reassure her. Truth was Jason's first day was fine, and everything else was fine. He had talked to Jason and explained to him that his mother was having a hard time getting over what had happened in Iran and that's why she wanted him to have a bodyguard, and he asked Jason to be patient and promised him he was not going to let Elizabeth's issues hurt him. So yeah, everything was fine. Except for her. She was anything but fine.

"No, it isn't".

They sat in silence for the rest of the night. He didn't want to tell her she was right and that she reached a breaking point. He kept hoping she would say more, but she stayed numb, focused on a video game that involved gun shots and carnage. He wondered how it was possible that such game calmed her down, but he realized quickly the game allowed her control, while the incident in Iran spiraled out of her hands in matter of seconds, costing the lives of so many.

His mind refused to give him rest. He kept thinking about her, about what he can do to make her feel comfortable enough to talk to him. He was probably talking nonsense in his class, so focused on his thoughts, so he was happy when his phone rang, hoping she was calling to ask him to meet her for lunch.

"Dr. McCord, it's Blake".

His heart probably stopped for a split second. If Blake was calling it was probably because something had happened.

"What happened?" he blurted out.

"The Secretary was not feeling well, she said she might have a heart attack. An ambulance just took her to the hospital. She was, um… She was calling for you and I promised her I would get a hold of you and make sure you meet her. I… I already sent a car to pick you up".

It was about 15 minutes drive from Georgetown University to the hospital, but it felt like forever. He couldn't stop thinking that she returned from Iran to have a heart attack and he might lose her without even getting a chance to say goodbye. He couldn't stop thinking of how scared she was and how badly he wanted to be there with her, to see her, even if it was just one last time. His heart was beating fast and he felt like he was about to faint – all the sounds around him were distant and muffled. He took a deep breath when the car stopped at the ER entrance and he jumped out, running inside, locating her Detail in seconds. The agents moved to clear the road for him as he finally reached her, grabbing her hand. He let out a sigh when he say she was awake, when he touched her and she was warm, when she grabbed tightly on his hand, not wanting him to let go.

He waited outside the X-Ray room, her engagement and wedding rings in his hand. She rarely took her rings off, they had become part of her and she always felt bare without them. But jewelries were not allowed during the X-Ray and he was forced to wait outside at well. Holding her rings in his hand, he had to swallow the tears, thinking of the possibility of her dying, of someone handing him those rings as a last remainder of her. He looked at the engraving on her wedding ring – "No One But You". He smiled because after more than 25 years together it was still so very true – there was no one but her, no one that will ever take her place. He was determined to make sure she remembers that, that she knows that no matter what will happen, there will never be anyone but her.

When they finished the tests and settled her in a room, he sat on her bed and took her hand in his, placing the rings back on her finger. "Only one" he whispered. She smiled and pulled him closer to her, kissing him. "Only one" she whispered on his lips.

He couldn't believe it when hours later he was sitting with her in the car as they drove back to the state department. It was like she didn't hear what the doctor told her, or chose to ignore Henry's pleas that she'd stay home and rest. He argued at first, angry that she was yet again putting her work and country at first place and her own safety and health second. But he didn't want to make her condition worse than it already was, too afraid anything would throw her back to a panic attack. He realized she wasn't taking this very seriously, and that her remark that she wishes it had been a heart attack was more serious than she led on. He wondered if she truly understood that what she had was PTSD and not just a panic attack. He wanted to tell her this will happen again if she doesn't start taking things slow, if she doesn't talk to anyone. But she told him she wasn't ready to talk about what had happened, and he couldn't push her. So he eventually agreed to drive with her to the state department, in spite of how much he thought this was a bad idea.

He kissed her goodbye and watched her as she entered the building, slowly fading away from his sight. He got back to the car and was heading back home when his phone rang.

"Henry?"

"Babe?" he asked, barely hearing her.

"Yeah".

"Hey why are you crying baby?"

"So ... turns out, you were right. Maybe, um, coming back today wasn't such a hot idea after all".

"I'm on my way to get you okay? I'm coming Elizabeth".

He hung up the phone with a loud sigh. He hated himself for not insisting she'd come home with him, for leaving her alone like that.

He called Blake, thanking God for sending this kid into their lives. If anyone could get Elizabeth out of the building in her condition without making her feel ashamed was him, and he would move heaven and earth for her.

"Dr. McCord?"

"Hi Blake. I need your help".

"Is she alright? She closed the door, saying she can handle herself".

"No, she isn't. I'm on my way back and I need you to get her out of there. She's… She's crying and you know her, she'd hate for you to see her like that, but I'd rather you see her like that than anyone else. Could you get her out? Will you?"

"Of course! I will come up with a plan, don't worry".

About 25 minutes later and she was in his arms, sobbing. He held her tight and tried to calm her down, worried her heart would start racing again. He called Stevie on his way back to Elizabeth and asked her to take Alison and Jason out so that she would have all the space she needed to fall apart, to let it all out. He wanted her to feel comfortable enough so that she'd stop hiding behind these walls that she built and finally let him in.

He carried her upstairs to their bed when the car pulled at their house. He lied next to her, pulling her to his embrace, holding her still. She was finally calming down, only quiet tears filling her eyes and every once in a while she would sigh, as if releasing some unknown pain. He moved his fingers through her hair, planting kisses on her forehead, and waited. By this time he was accustomed to waiting – waiting for her to call, waiting for her to return, waiting for her to come back to him.