A/N: Thought I would do a little fill in the blank for season one, episode 17 aka "Face The Nation"- what happens between Elizabeth's phone call to Henry from her office, and when we next see her at home that evening?

Elizabeth could feel Blake and Mike watching her, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care.

Where her senses were normally sharp, she could currently feel them blurring at the edges, everything falling out of focus with an alarming rapidity that threatened to send her cascading once more into the throes of utter panic.

And, perhaps, those of fake heart attacks and deeply embarrassing hospital visits.

She reached for the phone, and dialed a little blindly. It was better, she thought haphazardly, to throw herself into the throes of Henry, who was always the one person she could not be embarrassed around, and also the one who had the longest history of calming her.

He picked up almost instantly, his voice an immediate balm to her frayed nerves and the open wound of fear. At the sound of his voice, tears sprang unbidden to her eyes.

"Henry?" she managed.

"Elizabeth?" he asked back to her on the other end of the phone; the concern that had been hovering behind his every word to her these last few days now made a full appearance.

"Yeah," she said, still trying and failing to hold back her tears. "So…turns out you were right."

She slid down the side of her bookcase to the floor as she spoke, clinging to the phone and her connection to Henry.

"Maybe, um…coming back today wasn't such a hot idea after all."

She wasn't even sure what she was expecting Henry to do, but it didn't matter to Henry. He knew her better than she knew herself sometimes, and was now, as always, ready with the next step before she even knew that she needed to take it.

"I hear you, babe," he said soothingly. His voice was utterly calm, like they might be discussing their dinner or the mundane goings-on of their home and family. "That's okay. I'll come and get you, okay?"

"I don't know if- if I can-"

"You can," Henry assured her. Unbeknownst to her, he was already out of the house; as soon as he had picked up the phone, his keys were already in hand.

Henry McCord was nothing if not a man of action.

"Are you sure?" Elizabeth whispered softly into the phone. Henry forced himself to compartmentalize the way her voice wavered and the spiraling thought that she sounded so unlike herself.

"I'm sure," he said. "Just sit tight, babe, I'm on my way."

And he was; when he and Elizabeth hung up, he immediately called the direct line to Blake's desk.

"Secretary McCord's office," Blake said on the second ring.

Henry was perceptive enough to hear his stress through his professional exterior.

"Blake, it's Henry," he said. He and his wife's assistant had foregone titles some time ago, as they often conversed about Elizabeth's schedule and a myriad of other little things that fell under Blake's very vast umbrella of duties.

"Henry," Blake repeated; though Henry couldn't see it, he looked back at the closed door to Elizabeth's office, worry knitting his brow. "What can I do for you?"

"I just got off the phone with Elizabeth," Henry said. "She's, uh-"

He fumbled for words, unsure how to summarize his wife's state at the moment.

"She's gonna need to come home," he said finally.

Blake, uncharacteristically, hesitated a moment before he took this information in stride.

"Of course," he answered, though it sounded vaguely strained. "Is she-"

He broke off, just as Henry had a moment earlier, but the question still hung in the air. It was the same one they were all asking, and had been for days.

Is she okay?

If he was being honest, which he certainly always tried to be, Henry was not really sure. If pressed, he would have had to lean towards no.

"I think this is just a little too much for today," he said to Blake. "I'm on my way to get her, I just need you to speak to Nadine and cover for her."

"Of course," Blake said again, softer this time. "I'll make sure everything is ready."

"Thanks, Blake," Henry said. "See you in a few minutes."

They hung up, and Blake set to work with Nadine while Henry made the trek from their Georgetown home to the State Department. With the Diplomatic Security escort that was now a standard in their lives, it didn't take very long, but it was still nerve-wracking for him. He watched DC pass by out the window, and thought of Elizabeth. He was remembering the look on her face when she had first arrived home from Iran- those precious seconds between the door and his arms, before the kids had barrelled in and her false front went up to shield them from everything that she had seen, everything that was haunting her.

But Henry had seen it; that hollow look in her eyes, the pain that painted itself into the lines on her face, the hopeless darkness that settled into her shoulders for those few, intimate seconds.

He had, in a way, known that this was coming- or at least something like it. But he also knew Elizabeth; he knew better than to push too hard, even when he really wanted to. In times like this, Henry had long since learned that Elizabeth had to come to it on her own. And then, he needed to be there in the fallout.

So there he was, impatiently riding the elevator to the seventh floor of the State Department and meeting Blake on the other side.

"She's still in her office," Blake told him immediately, all business as usual but with something else behind his eyes. "If you take the back stairs, you'll meet her detail and get out without incident."

Henry, in a brief and frantic flash of the muddled truth of the situation, was seized by the desire to hug Blake.

"Thank you," he managed instead, hoping that his point got across well enough anyway. Blake smiled very slightly, and Henry thought that it probably had.

And then he was gone, through the door of Elizabeth's office in a moment. Inside, she was still sitting on the floor, her face turned up toward the light of the window. Through the sheer curtains, the sunlight outside caught in her blonde hair and in spite of everything including the drying tear tracks on her cheeks, Henry couldn't help thinking that she was beautiful, a vision.

It was a common theme that in the turmoil of their darkest moments, it was in Elizabeth's face that Henry found the brightest light.

She looked up at the sound of his footsteps, and there was a flicker of something like hope in her eyes.

"Henry," she said.

"Hey, babe," Henry answered softly as he approached her and crouched down next to where she was sitting. "How you feeling?"

"Not good, Henry," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Don't even think about it," Henry said quickly. "Let's get you home, hm?"

Elizabeth looked up and met his eyes, warm and understanding without even the shadow of judgment. It was the look she needed, the one she'd been depending on when she called Henry in the first place.

It was the look of all of her darkest moments, the one that pulled from their depths.

Henry stood and held his hand out to her. She took it gratefully and let Henry pull her to her feet, where he swiftly drew her into his arms and hugged her tightly. It took every ounce of Elizabeth's willpower not to completely melt into him, but she knew where she was and instead allowed herself the small mercy of wrapping her fingers tightly in the fabric of Henry's shirt where it fell between his shoulders.

Henry kissed the top of her head, and then pulled back just enough to look at her.

"I have it on good word from Blake that if we take the back stairs, we can get out without seeing anybody," he said, and she spared him a faint smile.

"Thank you for coming," she said, looking earnestly up at him and into his eyes.

Henry smiled, a little sadly.

"I will always come for you, Elizabeth," he said quietly.

And she felt it, sure and certain in the way it reverberated in her chest, the way she always did when he was doing his best to get something through to her.

"Let's go home, Henry," she breathed, and he nodded and in a moment, Blake was there with Elizabeth's coat, and they were headed home.

There were more than enough unknowns staring them down from the next steps, but for the time being the most important thing was that they were here, taking the stairs hand in hand toward at least one afternoon's reprieve, and facing each next step the way they always did- together.