Prompt: Jason informs Elizabeth that Henry is sad. She hadn't noticed or doesn't believe him.

Elizabeth sighed, slipping out of her heels and discarding them by the door. Behind her, the door closed with a soft latch and she leaned against it for a moment, trying and mostly failing to clear her mind of the things she was trying to leave behind at work. Lately, that little ritual didn't seem to be doing the trick anymore. Admitting defeat to the oppressive presence of her job that had taken up residence in most of her mind, she pushed off of the door and moved through the otherwise quiet house. It was after ten o'clock, and even with teens, things were usually quiet by that hour in the McCord brownstone. She glanced up the dim staircase and then through the dark dining room, and felt a pang of regret that she had, once again, missed the bustle of activity that blew through the house in the evenings. Vaguely, she knew that the days of having the kids home for dinner and the occasional family movie night were numbered, but she had been so busy and often told herself that it was out of her control.

It wasn't until she reached the kitchen that she encountered another member of the household- not her husband, but instead Jason, sitting perched on the counter, backlit by the undercabinet lights. In the split second before he noticed her there, when she could just look at him, he looked so much like Henry that it could have taken her breath away. It struck her more now than ever, how Jason was favoring Henry as he grew up.

In the half-light, Jason turned to her, his face offering nothing.

"Hey, Jace," she said softly.

"Hi, Mom," he replied, but even from those two little words, Elizabeth could tell that something wasn't right with her youngest child. Pausing in what was about to be a search for a snack, she studied him for a moment.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Jason was never one to mince words, and now was no exception.

"Dad is unhappy," he said matter-of-factly.

Elizabeth suddenly felt like she was holding her breath.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Jason shrugged.

"He's sad," he replied.

Elizabeth turned it over in her mind, recalling her brief interaction with Henry that morning. She hadn't noticed that anything was amiss with him, but at Jason's declaration, she found herself calculating, reviewing all of her interactions with Henry recently, searching her mind for signs of his unhappiness, but coming up empty. She'd barely spoken with Henry recently, when it came down to it. Shame settled on her at the realization, and she turned her attention back to her son.

"What makes you say that?" she asked carefully. True to form, Jason rolled his eyes, and this time Elizabeth let it go in favor of hearing what he wanted to say to her.

"He's moping around," Jason answered. "He doesn't make breakfast, he goes to bed early instead of waiting up for you." He shrugged again. "It's been ages and you haven't noticed."

Elizabeth cast her eyes up the darkened staircase.

As her son was speaking, it occurred to her that he was right; she hadn't been paying attention to much of anything recently, except for work, which took all of her energy when it was as busy as it had been lately.

Jason followed her gaze toward the second floor, where he knew his dad was already in their bedroom, and had been for over an hour.

"He went to bed at nine," he said, watching something he couldn't quite identify flicker over Elizabeth's face in response to his words.

"Thanks, Jason," she sighed, pulling her reluctant teenager into a hug. He softened after a moment of pretense, hugging her back but still pulling away all too soon. Elizabeth looked back up the stairs and offered Jason a little smile.

"Don't stay up too late, okay?" she said.

"Tomorrow is Saturday," he reminded her. Elizabeth thought about that for a second.

"Carry on," she acquiesced, pulling a genuine little smile out of Jason as she headed for the stairs.

"Goodnight, Mom," he said quietly when she was already almost halfway up. Looking back, she might have sworn for another small moment that she was looking at a young Henry.

"Goodnight, Jace."

Up until a few weeks ago, apparently, Henry was always the last person in the house to go to sleep; he almost always waited up for Elizabeth when she got home late. As she ascended the stairs, reflecting on that, she realized that though it had slipped her notice, she hadn't found Henry waiting for her in the kitchen like Jason had in quite a while. Some nights, she had found him falling asleep in bed, or about to go to sleep, but for the most part, the nights she worked late ended with her entering an already-dark bedroom.

Reaching the hallway outside of the bedrooms, she took note of Stevie's and Alison's closed, but still lit, bedrooms, and her own, dark underneath the closed door.

With a small sigh, she approached and turned the knob quietly, the door giving way to a mostly-dark room. However, to Elizabeth's surprise, she found that on this particular night, there was a dim, but warm light emanating from Henry's bedside table lamp, and Henry himself was sitting on their bed, his legs tucked underneath him, his glasses still resting on his nose.

He looked up as she came in, the faint surprise on his face mirroring her own.

"Hey," Elizabeth said, her steps faltering as their eyes met. She'd been planning to talk to him in the morning, counting on him to be asleep, but now here they were face-to-face, the conversation to be had hanging in the air between them.

"Hey," Henry echoed, the stiltedness lingering and not missed by either of them.

Slowly, Elizabeth sank onto the edge of the mattress, and Henry carefully closed his book, watching her.

"Something wrong?" he asked, and this time she took note of the forced lightness in his voice, wondering how long it had been lingering there unnoticed by her.

She turned his question over in her mind for a moment. Is something wrong?

"Jason cornered me in the kitchen just now," she started, glancing at him only to find his expression unreadable.

"He says you're sad."

The words hung in the air, heavier than before, and it was silent between them.

Until, eventually, Elizabeth forced herself to look up and meet Henry's eyes. He was watching her carefully, waiting, and she found that it was hard to keep her gaze on his, much harder than it should have been.

"Are you?" she asked finally.

Henry seemed to think about it for a few seconds.

And then-

"Yes."

Elizabeth didn't move, and Henry kept his eyes trained on her.

"Are you going to ask me why?" he asked after a few minutes of stilted quiet.

Elizabeth looked up at him, surprised.

"Why?" she repeated. "I…I assumed because of me."

Henry shrugged slightly, the ghost of a sad smile flickering over his face, there and gone in an instant.

"Partially," he admitted.

Elizabeth hesitated.

"And…the other part?" she asked.

Henry's eyes shifted to where her hand rested on the comforter, taking note of how her fingers were wrapped in the fabric. It was something she'd always done when she was nervous, and something tugged in his chest at the sight. Tentatively, he reached out and pried her fingers gently free, watching her look down in surprise; she never noticed she was doing it until Henry pulled her out of it.

"It's a lot of things, I guess," Henry said. His voice was careful, guarded, but nonetheless Elizabeth couldn't help but feel better with his hand in hers.

"Well- tell me, then," she said, eager and earnest; when Henry met her gaze, he found a familiar look of slightly desperate sincerity in her blue eyes. It was the look she gave him when she knew she'd been too harsh, or when she'd snapped at him unwittingly, a look he remembered well from the stressed days of early parenthood.

Henry smiled slightly.

"Maybe we should set aside a time," he suggested. "When it's not late?"

"Okay," Elizabeth agreed immediately, but then faltered, wondering where to go from there. If they weren't going to have the conversation, where did it leave them for tonight?

Henry seemed, as he often did, to follow her train of thought without her needing to speak a word, and he squeezed her hand lightly.

"We can just be us for tonight," he said, and when she looked up, she found him looking sincerely and warmly back at her. She sighed, releasing some kind of tension she'd only just noticed was resting in her chest.

"I'm sorry," she started, and Henry was already shaking his head, but she pressed on anyway. "I mean- we can get into the details later, but I'm sorry I haven't been paying attention. I'm sorry it took-" she shook her head a little bit.

"Our teenage son who normally has the emotional intellect of a teenage boy noticing my emotions before you did?" Henry filled in wryly.

Elizabeth almost cringed, but caught the spark in his eyes just in time and smiled, a trace of sadness in it.

"I am sorry," she offered, and Henry nodded, looking more understanding than she thought he probably should.

Still, that was Henry- steadfast, loving even when he shouldn't be, boundlessly forgiving.

She gave his hand a squeeze and stood, heading for her dresser and the pajamas that it promised. From the bathroom door, she glanced back at Henry, who had returned to his book, and thought once more of Jason, shadowed in the half light of the kitchen as Henry was now, looking so much like his father.

She smiled slightly to herself, thinking that if her son grew up to be half as much like Henry as he looked, they would all be better for it.

And with that, she turned away, feeling better already.