A/N: Hello, beautiful people. This is just a little place to post some mini-fics about the McCords in the kitchen, which is where so many of the family scenes happened in Madam Secretary, anyway. It's not chronological, but they all pertain to the McCord family (mostly Elizabeth and Henry) in the kitchen. Hope you enjoy, and if you have any prompts you would love to read, feel free to add them to your reviews or PM me.

Enjoy!

February 7, 1995

"I think she's finally asleep," Elizabeth says, looking exhausted as he comes into the kitchen after nursing a feverish, one-year-old Stevie. She walks over to the stove where Henry was standing, lifting the lid off the pot to get a better look. "Spaghetti?" She asks, seeing that it was some sort of tomato concoction.

"Chili," he corrects her, leaning his hip against the counter and folding his arms across his chest. "With the high only being four degrees today, I figured chili was for the best."

She smiles and puts the lid back on the pot, stretching her body over to kiss him briefly. "I suppose there's cornbread in the oven?"

"You suppose right," he replies, opening the oven door to show her that it was well on its way to being finished.

She nods in approval and goes to get a can of vegetables from the pantry, doing her part in the making of dinner. She'd started cooking one night a week, but only because she insisted on not making Henry cook all the meals. They both worked a lot of hours these days, and they both helped out with Stevie, and she knew Henry making all the meals was unfair. She always tried to pitch in when she could, but she (and Henry, too) remembers the disastrous first month of marriage when she tried to cook all the dinners. The word "tried" is used generously, she reminds herself, sticking the can opener into the top of the peas.

While spinning the crank on the opener, she stops and realizes she hadn't paid any attention to the music that had been playing in the background. Henry was listening to the radio, and Peter Frampton was just coming on. She finishes the last two cranks and turns to look at him, but he was already making his way over to her.

He wraps his right arm around her waist and smiles down at her, "Shadows grow so long before my eyes…" he sings to her, pressing her back gently against the countertop, pinning her between his body and the cabinets.

She smiles at his beautiful voice, unsure she could ever love Peter Frampton's singing more than Henry McCord's. He always had a stellar sound, but he was never interested in singing or playing much outside of his bedroom. She remembers the one time she got him to play in public, and he got a standing ovation, but he never would agree to it again.

His sways begin toward the end of the first verse—"But don't, oh no, hesitate…"

When he spins their bodies around suddenly, she lets out an unintentional yelp, then it turns into a laugh—maybe even what she would call a giggle. "Henry!" She manages to get out through the laughing.

"'Cause your love won't wait…" Henry continues, now wearing a grin on his face that made her fall in love with him all over once again. He was good at this—it had to be the five-hundredth time, or so, that he had made her fall in love with him.

He has both arms wrapped around her waist now, singing the chorus to her along with Peter Frampton in the background. He's leading her through the kitchen, around the island that stands between the sink and the refrigerator, being careful to not bump her into the trash can or trip over Stevie's shoes laying near the cabinets.

She still lets out a giggle every once in a while, but is now sliding her hands up his chest, letting her arms fall around his neck and link together at the top of his back while he spins her, dips her, and trots with her through the kitchen.

He leans his forehead down to meet hers gently, "I can see the sunset in your eyes," he sings, pausing his movement and moving back into a slow sway. At some point through all the movement, their hips had become glued together—she has no idea how long they'd been like this, but she recognizes the fact that there's no room left between them—not even enough for a sheet of paper to squeeze through. He stops singing along and just rests his head against hers, still swaying their bodies along with the music. "The sunset in your beautiful blue eyes…" he whispers.

Red washes over her face, and she can feel the heat roll like a wave from her cheeks all the way to her chest. "You're flattering me," she says, unsure what else to say because her brain was buzzing too loudly.

Henry smiles before pressing his lips to hers, sliding his hands down her body until they reached the back of her legs. He gives a little squeeze on her rear, getting another yelp out of her and an eyebrow raise.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to—oh!" She squeals when he lifts her up on the counter suddenly, and then she laughs when she realizes how smoothly and quickly he did that, "Oh, mister," she groans, laying her hands on the top of his shoulders and shaking her head, "What kind of lady do you think I am?"

He presses a quick kiss to her lips, "A beautiful one," he whispers, letting his hands rest on her hips. "Have I told you that enough?"

She furrows her brow, opening her mouth to speak. The question caught her off guard, and the Peter Frampton song was changing to another. "Told me what enough?" She asks.

"That you're beautiful." He replies simply, "Truly, genuinely beautiful. Inside and out." He slides his hands up and down her sides, and she becomes a little self-conscious about the curves he's feeling underneath his palms. She still hasn't quite gotten used to her mom body, and after a year postpartum, sometimes she wonders if she ever will. "I love your spirit, your mind, your emotion—everything. And God, your hair when you wake up in the morning…"

She snorts, "…Is a wreck."

"No," he answers quickly, resting his hands on the dips of her hips again, "That's the first thing I see when I wake up in the mornings—this beautiful, honey-colored bundle of hair sprawled out across your pillow, and sometimes my pillow. A lot of mornings when I wake up and you're on your side, facing me, there's strands that have fallen down across your forehead and your nose."

Her red face and chest feels like it's beating now, and she knows she must look exactly like the tomatoes that were cooking so divinely on that stove behind them, being made into a nice pot of chili. "Henry, what's all this about?" She asks.

"I just never want to take you for granted, Elizabeth." He whispers, taking her hands and squeezing them gently, bringing them up to his mouth and peppering them with kisses. "I know you've been working really hard at Langley, and having to be off the last two days to take care of our sick little girl has been hard on you. I can see it. It's been hard on you to adjust to this mom life, I see that, too. I see the way you look at yourself in the mirror some days, and I just—you gave me—us—a beautiful gift. The most beautiful gift."

"She is the most beautiful gift." She replies, feeling the heat spread to her eyes and knowing that it was actually tears.

"I want to make sure you know you're beautiful for everything else you do, too, not just the mom things. I see how much it takes out of you. You're not just Stevie's mom. You're my beautiful best friend," he pauses for a beat and a smirk comes to his face, "And lover."

She snorts again and shakes her head, the corners of her lips pushing upwards, "You're one smooth talking man, Henry McCord." She coos at him, pressing her palms against his cheeks and leaning down to kiss him. "I don't think you were trying to do what you did, but it worked." She whispers, leaning back to check the chili once more and further leaning back to turn off the stove. "I'm not feeling very hungry." She admits, "I think I need to work up an appetite first."