A take on what could have happened when Henry was shot. Told in vignettes.

Henry knows something is wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing up. He can't place why, but he just knows Ian isn't going to be here tonight. But then there's a shot, it misses him, but then another and he feels it his arm, and another, and anther. With a shaking hand he goes to put his car in reverse, but then his chest is hit. He scrambles for his phone, and dials 911 while trying to hold pressure on his own wound. He finds himself praying, St. Michael, Defend us in battle… He manages to repeat his location to the operator, and identify himself as FBI. He tries to stay awake, he knows he needs to stay awake, as his weak arm is the only thing keeping the blood from pouring out of his wounded chest. Hail, holy Queen, Mother of mercy… He sees the lights red and blue.

…

She groans when Russell's name comes up on her phone screen. She just ready to go home. Just ready to go climb into bed with her husband and have him make her forget her name. She doesn't know if he knows that's in his plans tonight, but she doubts he'll object.

"Yes, Russell?" She knows she sounds exasperated, and unprofessional, but even the Secretary of State is allowed to leave work before nine pm some nights.

"Bess, its Henry. You need to get to Walter Reed ASAP. He was shot. The responding officers said it was bad." Her heart stops, at least she definitely feels it skip a beat.

"Okay." Is her strangled response before hanging up and jogging out of her office, forgetting her coat.

"Blake, motorcade!" She yells as she runs past him to the elevator. She can't breathe, she feels like she won't be able to breathe until she knows he's okay. In the elevator she uses her shaky hands to call her brother.

"Hey, Lizzie." Will answers in his usual nonchalant tone.

"Are you at work right now?" Her question is rushed.

"Yeah, why?"

"I need you to check on Henry. He should've been brought in by Ambulance. He was shot. I heard it was bad. I'm my way there now." Her panic is evident in her voice.

"Oh, Lizzie," he says with a sigh. "Hold on one sec" She hears him typing, accessing Henry's chart. She hears an ever so slight gasp from her brother on the other end.

"Will?"

"You need to get here." His voice is barely above a whisper. She loses her ability to breathe.

"He's not dead is he?" She can barely believe she's asking the question.

"No, he's not, I swear. He's in the ED being worked on. But the head-to-toe assessment doesn't look great. There might be decisions that need... You might have to… You just need to get here. Lights and Sirens" He trying not to sound too much like a doctor. He doesn't want to be the one to break the bad news.

"Okay, okay," she manages through her tears. She takes a deep breath. "Will, call him a priest. He would want a priest. If he's that bad, he'll want a priest" Will can hear the tears and the fear in his sister's voice. He remembers after the accident, when she ran into the hospital followed by the cop who brought her there. He remembers as being so big and so strong, she didn't when she hugged him, and told him she was glad he was okay, and she promised to take care of him.

"I will Lizzie. Don't worry. I'll be with him until you get here." He promises her. It's his turn, to take care of her.

Her motorcade is waiting when right for her, the door open for get right inside. Blake must've known by her demeanor it was an emergency.

"We got to get to Walter Reed, as fast as possible. Henry was shot" For the first time in Motorcade Matt peels out and hits seventy miles an hour in a single second.

…

She runs into the ED and sees Will standing outside of one of the trauma rooms. She ignores her brother and peers inside, terrified she's going to see her husband dead. But he isn't, at least according to the EKG that is beeping in what she assumes to be a stable rhythm. And the hospital priest, anointing her husband's head as he prays over him.

"They've stabilized him enough for surgery." Wills voice startles her, but she can't pull her eyes away from Henry. "His surgeon is in OR scrubbing in. He'll be moved as soon as the priest is done."

"What's the extent?" She still doesn't pull her eyes away from Henry, watching the rise and fall of his chest going in time with nurses squeezing of the ambu bag.

"They won't know until they open him up, but there's bleeding, from probably more than one place, they've already given him four units of blood. His x-rays show that one of the bullets is very close to his spinal cord. And the effects of that won't be clear until he wakes up." She nods and finally looks away from Henry and at her brother.

"Will he wake up?" It's a whispered question, with too many possible answers, she worries that he'll say the worst possible one.

"I've seen people survive worse. And I handpicked and trained his surgeon." Is the answer Will settles on, because neither of those things are a lie. He has seen people live with more devastating injuries, but he's seen more die with less deviating ones. But he's not going to be the one to break that to his sister. She doesn't need him to be a doctor right now, she needs him to be her brother. And she needs him to let her hope, because maybe with their soulmate unicorniness, Henry can feel her pulling for him.

She nods, swallowing down the lump in her throat. "That's good." She says when she finds her voice again.

…

Henry can hear praying, someone is breaking through the immense pain he feels in his body well his upper body, nothing but pain until it abruptly cuts off right below his middle. A touch to the forehead, and a prayer. Last Rites… he's receiving Last Rites. He focuses on it, making his mind pray the words along with the priest. He recites the Hail Mary along in his head. He doesn't want to die, he doesn't want to leave his family, but he knows this is bad. He knew that the moment he heard the first shot and then the sharp pain as the bullet pierced his chest. But there's a comfort in knowing that he will be in God's good graces if his death were to happen today.

…

She sits in the waiting room, with her brother and kids for precisely ten hours, eleven minutes, and thirty-seven seconds. Not that she was keeping track, not that she was watching the second hand move around and around on the clock on the wall. People have been popping in and out, Russell, Conrad, Mo Alwash and Keith Dougherty, Sofie and Annie, Blake and Nadine. They'd come in to ask if she needed anything, she'd smile a small polite smile, and tell them each no, that she was fine. She thanks God for her brother in-between sending prayers for Henry, as he has left her alone, and comforted her children, which she knows she should be doing. But she can't.

She jumps to her feet when she sees a surgeon, still in his scrub cap walk into the room with a barely noticeable smile on his face.

"Madam Secretary. Your husband is stable and in recovery." She lets out a shaky breath. "His injuries were extensive, we did have to remove his spleen and repair his right lung. There is also a bullet that is lodged in his spinal cord between the L3 and L4 vertebrae, which is his lower back. We won't know what that's going to mean going forward. He's going to need a few days for the rest of his body to heal before the Spinal and Neuro Surgeons can evaluate him." She mostly quit listening after stable and in recovery. But her brother didn't, and he knows what all of that means, what it really means. He understands that their lives are about to change, more than his sister seems to realize at this moment, he knew it when he saw the small white spot that was a bullet embedded in his brother-in-law's spine on the x-ray taken in the trauma room.

"Can I see him?" Will hears the relief in her voice, the tension that has been there all day gone.

"As soon as he's in a room. About thirty minutes. He's already coming out of the anesthesia, which is great. But be prepared, he will still be extremely groggy and most likely a little agitated, because he still will be intubated. Which will stay that way for a few days to allow his lung to rest in order for it to heal quicker."

"Thank you." Then she smiles at the Doctor as he walks out of the room, and all of the emotions she's held in for Eleven hours come in full force. The sob that escapes her causes her children to startle, but Allison reacts quickly and hugs her.

"It's okay Mom, he's going to be okay."

…

He feels himself in-between asleep and awake. He feels his hand being held, and he immediately knows by who, he feels her soft manicured hands, and he smells her perfume, the same worn as long as he's known her. He can't talk, he knows that, he feels the tube and the air that is forcing him to take deep painful breaths. He wants to let her know that he's okay. He squeezes her hand, three intentional times. I. Love. You.

"Babe." He hears the smile in voice. Her lips brushing against his hand as she raises it up. And he then he forces himself to open his eyes. And sleepy hazel meets relieved blue.

"Hi babe. God, Henry. You scared the hell out me." She gives him a small smile, and swears it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, except for maybe seeing his kids being born. So he gives her hand another squeeze.

"I love you so much." And looking at her now, almost makes him forget that even after surgery he still can't feel his legs.

…

Three days later and he's free to talk. And to stare at his legs like he can will them to move. Elizabeth hasn't left his side. She's taken notes from the spinal surgeon, and the neurologist. She researching second opinions. She's looking into getting their home modified for him. Building a bathroom downstairs, closing off their office into a bedroom. Getting a chair lift for their stairs. Scheduling PT appointments and finding the right person to customize the wheel chair. She's doing what she does best, solving the crisis. But he's not there yet, it hasn't sunk in yet. He has an incomplete spinal cord injury to between L3 and L4 and will change his life forever. Even if the spinal shock goes away and he regains sensations, even if he can learn how to walk again. His world is different now. He's disabled now, that spinal cord injuries work.

"Elizabeth." Her name is the first word out of his mouth once his throat no longer feels like its on fire. She looks up from her laptop, which is holding the fifth draft she's written of a resignation letter. He doesn't know that yet though. But she vowed to him, to be with him in sickness and health, and love to love him through sickness, requires her to have more time. Requires her to be home, to help him learn how to adapt. She's come to terms with the different life they have now. She thinks its because her parents died so suddenly, when she was so young, it taught her how to roll with a punch.

"Yeah babe?"

"Can you lay with me?" She looks at him with love, not pity, and smiles. It's the same smile she smiled, when he asked her out for the first time.

"Yeah." She awkwardly half lays on the hospital bed, careful to avoid his injuries, which is not an easy task at the moment. But its close enough for him to feel her, for him to put his good hand in her hair, and to be glad the bullet didn't kill him, because God, does he love this woman.

…

Three weeks and the sensation has returned. It started and still mostly feels like the tingles you get when a limb falls asleep. It's disappointing, and kind of annoying. But when his wife looks at him, and reminds him that the doctor said it was a good sign, he believes her. He always believes her, because Elizabeth is not an optimist, though some might mistake her for one. She's a realist and he knows that. He gets to go home today. He was fitted for a chair, because he needs a special one to prevent pressure sores. And he, well Elizabeth was able to schedule in home physical therapy, which mostly consists of strengthening the arm he was shot in, so he can wheel himself, and having someone else move his legs, to keep the blood flowing, and muscles from atrophying, just in case he can feel them enough to walk again someday.

"Hey baby, I brought you clothes." He smiles, both at her presence, and at the presence of jeans. Jeans because he wants to feel like a real person, with real clothes. And his favorite Marine's t-shirt, she picked that to remind him, this doesn't change who he is. She helps him get dressed, the occupational therapist taught them how to tag team it a week ago. They face their first car transfer which goes off okay, with the OT there to help them learn. And she, now motarcadeless drives him home, where his kids are waiting.

…

Reality is sinking for him now, of how different things are going to be. He's been home for six weeks, and Elizabeth left him home alone for the first time today. She went to the grocery store, to buy food for him to cook, because he can do that now, with their kitchen remodel complete. It was the last thing they were waiting on, the stair lift was installed three weeks ago, which allows him the freedom of both levels of the house. It got rid of the hospital bed in the office, with his wife sleeping on the couch. And the night it was complete, he got to sleep in bed with his wife. He got to make out with his wife. He got to learn that night that the one thing he was terrified of not working, does indeed work, and he could feel it, even if there was new logistics involved. But she's not home right now, and neither are any of the kids. And he can't stand, to reach the book he wants. So he either has to wait, or chose another. And he now knows that will run into these problems all around his house, because him having it, is the way they'll know it needs solved.

…

He's getting angry now. It's starting to wear on her. And not just her, but the kids too. Stevie is always at her boyfriend's apartment, and Allison and Jason always have plans with friends. Elizabeth understands the anger, and she was warned about it. Almost all of the healthcare professionals warned her to look for it that newly disabled people can take out their anger on their main caretakers, mostly spouses. But she wasn't prepared, because she was just so happy he was alive, that she didn't mind that their life has changed.

…

The fight this morning was bad. He said things he shouldn't have. He was so mean to her that she just openly cried, while she stood there taking it from him. It was so unlike her, not to fight back. Maybe that's what he was trying to do, get her to fight him. Get her to treat him like she used to. But no, she just stood there and let the tears fall, and when his energy was expended, when he couldn't yell and insult anymore, she went upstairs. Where he can't easily follow her, because she moved his upstairs chair away from the lift, a telltale sign that she doesn't want to talk to him right now.

When she comes back down the stairs, he turns his chair to look at her, and he sees the duffle bag thrown over her shoulder.

"I know you're angry at the world right now. And I know that there is nothing I can do to help or make it better. And I know you need to express your feelings somehow. But I will not stay around here just to be your punching bag." She looks at him, fury flaming in her eyes.

She goes to walk out of the house.

"Elizabeth wait!" He doesn't even try to speak it softly. She stops walking.

"I'm sorry. Baby, I'm so so sorry. I love you. I don't want to lose you." The look of hurt that crosses her face is almost too much.

"Then you need to get help." She says in a flat voice. "I can't do this anymore." She doesn't walk over to him, she doesn't say she loves him. And he realizes that even if she chooses to stay, he may have already ruined it.

"Elizabeth I love you." He says again, because it's the only thing he can say.

"It doesn't feel like that anymore." And that breaks his heart

"Please. I'll do better." He doesn't try to stop the tears.

"I need some time, to think. I'm going to stay at a hotel for the weekend. I promise to call you on Monday. Stevie's going to check in, don't be mean to her." She leaves.

…

She makes good on her promise, but it's not a phone call. It's her walking back into the home they share on Monday morning with coffee and breakfast bagel sandwiches.

"Hi." She whispers as she hands him his sandwich.

"Hey." He smiles at her, a big and charming one.

"Henry, I promised in sickness and in health. And I think I've held up my end of that bargain. I love you, and I still plan on spending the rest of my life with you. But I will leave, if you continue to treat me the way you have lately. I will leave." She places the boundary and he nods.

"I love you." They're the first words that come to his mind.

"You've said." She was expecting an apology, maybe an explanation.

"Elizabeth, I am very sorry. I am. There are no excuses. And I'm getting help. I made a therapy appointment. Head shrinker, not PT" he remembers the time when he would not have had to clarify.

"Good. I love you too."

…

It's year to the day he was shot, when he's able to wiggle his toe. He knows he'll never walk again, and he's made his peace with that. But his nerves have re-routed around the bullet, which is still in his body, enough to allow him to wiggle his toes. He's much happier about that than he should be, he shows off the new skill to his wife, who laughs. The same laugh that changed the world.

"Good God woman, do I love you." He kisses her, hard and deep. Thanking his Lord for not letting him die that day.