A/N: for the prompt "chocolates" from the february prompt list- or, one of the many times Henry arrived with a well-timed chocolate.

1998

"Stevie, don't touch that."

She looked up, all blonde hair and blue eyes and the impish look that made Henry swear she looked just like Elizabeth.

"Why?"

Elizabeth herself thought, for a brief and wild moment, that she might actually be losing her mind. But Stevie was four and a half, and curious did not even begin to describe her. The Christmas tree, with all its baubles and lights and sparkling things, certainly did nothing to assuage that curiosity and on this particular Saturday, Elizabeth was pretty sure that if she had to say Stevie, don't touch that one more time before the sun went down she was going to have an actual nervous breakdown.

Mostly, it wasn't about Stevie at all.

Mostly, it was everything else- the laundry needed to be done, she could not figure out what to get Henry for Christmas even though it was a week away, gifts still needed to be wrapped, and thoughts of work were absolutely plaguing her- which in turn made her feel guilty that she wasn't focusing on the Christmas season and her family. Then, of course, there was also the fact that she was six and a half months pregnant with their second baby, the nursery was not even painted, and she was utterly exhausted. But Stevie's sweet little hands constantly reaching for the Christmas ornaments certainly did very little to help.

"Because," Elizabeth said, hoping that her daughter wouldn't pick up on the stress in her voice, "the Christmas ornaments can break, remember?"

From her place on the carpet, Stevie tilted her head inquisitively.

"Okay," she said; she dragged out the last sound like she didn't quite believe what Elizabeth was saying, even though it had been explained at least three or four times today alone.

She had only just turned her eyes back to the gift she was wrapping- a picture frame for Henry's mom, from Stevie in theory- when there was a small crash, and when she looked up again, it was to find Stevie wide-eyed and staring, and a red spherical Christmas ornament shattered into tiny pieces on the hardwood floor.

"Stevie."

At the startling crash and her mother's tone, Stevie immediately started to cry, and Elizabeth found herself biting back tears of her own. She knew that it was ultimately just a little thing, but in the moment she just could not imagine how she was meant to kindly tend to Stevie, clean up the broken glass, and keep herself calm all at the same time.

"I didn't mean to!" Stevie insisted through her tears, starting to step tentatively towards Elizabeth.

"Don't move," Elizabeth said- maybe too harshly, but all she could see were the tiny shards of glass that were inches away from her daughter's skin. Still, her raised voice and insistent tone did nothing to assuage Stevie, who started to cry in earnest, her little face going instantly red as she wailed.

Guilt washed over Elizabeth like a tidal wave and she closed her eyes briefly against it, trying desperately not to start sobbing herself.

"I'm sorry, honey," she said as she gingerly stepped over the glass to reach Stevie and scooped her up safely into her arms. "It's okay."

The reassurance felt vaguely empty, and Elizabeth felt vaguely desperate as her words did nothing to stem Stevie's tears or her own.

And then, just as Elizabeth thought she might lose it entirely, there was the distant sound of jingling keys and the familiar latch of the door, and then the welcome balm of Henry's voice from the hallway.

"I'm home," he called, and then a moment later he had appeared in the doorway, his anticipation falling quickly into concern when he took in the scene that awaited him; Elizabeth standing barefoot in a circle of broken glass, Stevie sobbing in her arms, both of them looking completely distraught.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked as he made his way carefully over to them around the shards of what he now realized had previously been a Christmas ornament.

"Daddy," Stevie wailed, immediately pulling away from Elizabeth and reaching instead for Henry.

It seemed to be the last straw for Elizabeth, who took one long, pained look at Stevie as she buried her little face in Henry's neck, and immediately stepped away from them.

"Elizabeth?" Henry asked uncertainly, but she didn't answer at all; she just turned away and went into their bedroom, shutting the door behind her with a soft snap.

"Oh, boy," Henry breathed, more to himself than anything. Then he turned to Stevie, gently pulling her away from him just enough so that he could see her face.

"Hey," he said softly. "Sweetie? Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"I didn't mean to break it," she sniffled. "But Mommy is mad at me."

Henry thought he had a pretty good idea of the situation; it didn't matter how many times he and Elizabeth had told Stevie that the Christmas ornaments were breakable and she was not to touch them, she seemed insistent on finding out for herself and apparently, she had finally done so.

"Okay," he breathed, hugging Stevie close. "Let's just get you out of this glass-" as he spoke, he stepped away from the broken ornament and carried Stevie with him. "It's okay."

A few moments later, Stevie was sniffling her tears away, and looking much calmer. Henry cast a look to the closed bedroom door, and thought that her mother might be a little bit of a harder sell.

"Here," he said, setting Stevie down on her feet on top of the sofa, safely away from the broken ornament. "You stay right here on the couch for me, okay?"

Stevie nodded glumly and Henry quickly set about cleaning the glass; a moment later, the ornament was swept up and put in the trash, and it was almost as if it had never happened.

"Daddy?" Stevie asked in a small voice from where she was still on the couch. He glanced over at her from the kitchen, where he was looking through an upper cabinet for a specific thing that he'd stashed away not too long ago.

"Yes, honey?"

"Is Mommy really mad at me?"

When he looked over at her, he found her blue eyes wide and watery, a little frown on her face. He smiled reassuringly at her and, having found what he was looking for, made his way back over to the couch, where he picked her up into his arms again.

"Mommy is upset," he said. "Do you know why?"

"Because I broke it," she answered sadly.

"Yes," he said. "But the reason why that makes Mommy upset is because the broken glass could have hurt you. That's why we keep telling you that you can't touch the tree. Do you understand?"

Stevie nodded her head, and turned her wide blue eyes on him, all childlike earnestness.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't want to make Mommy sad."

"I know, sweetie," he said, and pressed a kiss to her head. "That's okay, you can say sorry to Mommy in a little bit and then everything will be a-okay."

"Now?" Stevie asked; her eyes drifted to the bedroom door. Henry smiled at her.

"In a few minutes," he said. "First, I'm going to take you to your room and I'm going to go say hi to Mommy. Then in a little bit you can come in. Okay?"

"Okay," Stevie agreed.

"Let's go, little airplane," Henry said, and a moment later Stevie was giggling as Henry turned her sideways in his arms and carried her across the living room and across the hallway into her bedroom, with a little airplane sound effect for good measure.

By the time he dropped her on her bed and she collapsed onto the comforter, she was in a full fit of giggles that seemed to have eclipsed the ornament incident entirely.

"Alright, I want you to be extra good and stay here with your toys until I get back, okay?" he instructed, and Stevie readily agreed; her recent rebellion involving the Christmas tree aside, she was generally eager to please.

Satisfied that Stevie was occupied, Henry headed back into the kitchen, and picked up the packet of chocolates he'd left on the countertop- a little pack of three strawberry cream filled fancy ones that he had stashed away for exactly this sort of occasion- and with a light knock, opened the door to the bedroom he shared with Elizabeth.

Inside, he found her on their bay window-seat, her back against the wall as she looked out into the fading light of the wintery sunset. She looked up at him as he entered, and he could see even from a distance that her eyes were red and watery.

"Hey there," he said, easing himself onto the seat across from her.

"Hey," she sighed. "Sorry for ducking out like that."

Henry shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly and offered her a warm smile.

"It's okay," he said. "No harm done."

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders too, far more skeptical than Henry had been.

"I don't know about that," she said darkly. "Stevie is well on her way to hating me, I think."

Henry shook his head, reaching out to put an instinctive hand on Elizabeth's knee.

"She's fine, babe," he said. "I promise she doesn't hate you."

Elizabeth looked up at him, something pleading in her blue eyes that made her look so much like their daughter that Henry's heart ached at the sight.

"I think I might be a terrible mother," she sighed. "And if I'm a terrible mother to one child, how much worse will it be with two? I'll be not only a terrible mother, but what little I have to offer will be divided up on top of that." She gave a halfhearted shrug and added, "Basic math."

Henry smiled slightly, and brought his hand up to tuck a wayward strand of Elizabeth's hair behind her ear where it was escaping from her ponytail and trailing along her temple.

"You're not a terrible mother," he said softly. "You're a wonderful mom to Stevie, and you'll be a wonderful mom to the new baby as well."

With his free hand, he picked up the chocolates and held them out to her.

"Emergency chocolate?" he offered, and as he studied her face, he caught the faint hint of a smile on her face as she softened in spite of herself.

"Thank you," she said as she took them from him and, with the flick of her finger, opened the tab on the box and pulled one of the candies out. As she unwrapped the pink foil that encased it, she looked up at him again.

"You're so good at all of this," she sighed.

"All of what?" he asked. Elizabeth gestured vaguely with the chocolate.

"Stevie, the house, the new baby," she answered. "Me."

Henry smiled, warm and affectionate.

"You're not something I handle, Elizabeth," he said patiently.

She bit into the chocolate and let the sweetness of the cream and cocoa wash over her tongue. She had to admit, despite her frayed nerves and certainty in her failure as a mother, the chocolate really did help.

"I just…" she paused, brushing her tongue against the back of her teeth. "Sometimes I feel like you're so much better at this than I am."

Her admission floated quietly into the fading light of their bedroom, lingering between them.

"Sometimes I feel like you're better than me, too," Henry said.

"You do?" she asked, surprised, and he nodded affirmatively.

"I think that's just parenthood, babe," he said with a little half-shrug. "It's hard. There are always going to be days when we're not at our best."

He offered her a smile and reached out with a waiting hand for her to tangle her fingers with his. When she had, he squeezed lightly.

"That's why there are two of us," he said warmly, and in spite of it all, Elizabeth couldn't help feeling like some of the weight was lifted away in Henry's presence. She smiled back, and this time it almost reached her eyes.

"Thanks for coming to my rescue," she said.

"Anytime," Henry answered easily, and then added- "Every time."

Elizabeth reached into the box and drew out the second piece of chocolate; she unwrapped the foil and held it out to Henry.

"Here," she said. "A consolation prize."

He laughed, taking it from her. But instead of eating it, he leaned in and drew her in closer with a gentle hand at her jaw, and then pressed his lips against hers; when she kissed him, he tasted strawberry, chocolate, and Elizabeth.

And that, Henry thought, was better than any confection could ever be.