A/N: Hi everyone! Here's a new little pre-MSec ficlet that I really enjoyed writing. I'm going to go back to my other story "Speaking Silence," but it's been a busy few weeks with travel and catching up on real life from traveling :-) I'm also just frustrated with FFN right now because if it's not the email notifications not working it's something else (which is currently the reviews-they're not posting to my actual story but I'm getting the emails, luckily). I'm thinking of switching over to AO3, so just watch out for that because I'll announce it here.

Hope you enjoy!

October 2014, Present Day

"Madam Secretary," Matt says as she sighs, looking over her glasses at him, "You've never mentioned her before. So even if you're not trying to hide her it's like you're trying to hide her."

With another sigh, she explains that Stephanie had conditions about this job—about being put on display, mostly, as a daughter of yet another U.S. politician. "She's a legal adult," she says, "She's in college and she wants to live her own life and I respect that." The conversation continues, and she feels her chest swell with pride whenever they tell her what Stevie's in the news for now—need-based and need-aware are serious topics. She's glad for that.

"Fine," she breathes, looking at Nadine after she says that the worthy cause isn't the issue at hand here, "You want me to talk to her and explain why the Secretary of State's daughter can't be doing things like this?" The question is pointed mostly at Nadine, but also to the whole table.

"And we need to put out a statement," Daisy follows up.

Matt pipes in, "Explaining your…" he throws his hand up, his arms crossed, "Mystery daughter."

"Not a mystery daughter."

Elizabeth looks over to Blake and can't help but let the corners of her lips raise just slightly, proud, too, that he always stands up for her—and her family. He doesn't have to even though he is her only hire that she made. And though she's perfectly capable of caring for herself, he's taken the role of protector on quite smoothly.

Then a thought crosses her mind, and she folds her hands in each other on the table and looks over at Matt coyly.

"By mystery," she pauses and squints her eyes for a moment, throwing her head forward, "Do you me born out of wedlock or sired by aliens?" Her tone is amused, but she finds herself having to take a deep breath, getting more riled up than she maybe should have. Defensiveness always comes out when it comes to her family, but especially when it comes to Stephanie.

"Well," Matt says, "We need to rule out either of those speculations."

She swallows, "Knock yourself out," she says, then takes a deep breath and looks around the table, making eye contact with each of her staff, "Can we talk about matters of national security now?" She changes the subject, knowing she has to come back around to Matt's comment eventually. He can't put out a statement and her know it's untrue—it'll come back to hurt her in the long run. But for now, they do need to talk about national security.

June 1992

"Henry," she mumbles, looking over her shoulder at him in the bed next to her. He'd slept here last night at her place—something they've both been doing too much of ever since he came back from being overseas a few months ago. They'd missed each other too much to waste time in separate beds every night.

When he doesn't answer, she rolls onto her back and taps him on the hip, the nearest thing her fingers could reach. "Henry," she repeats, a little more urgency.

"Hm? What? What is it?" He murmurs, opening his eyes and squinting from the extraordinarily bright sunlight shining in the window behind her.

He's rubbing his eyes as she smiles a little at him, watching him try to get himself to wake up. "We slept in," she whispers, "We have to get to work."

"Oh." He breathes, rubbing his face with his palm and blowing air out of his lips dramatically, making a slight horse noise as he does. She smirks, turning on her side and facing him.

She doesn't say anything though, just watches as he brings himself to consciousness. To awareness. He lets his head dip over and smiles at her, "What is it?" He asks quietly through smiling lips.

She shrugs, "Just watching you wake up," she whispers, "I like watching you wake up."

He turns onto his side and wraps his arms around her body, kissing her on the head before pressing one to her lips, "Have you thought more about my question?"

"What question?"

She's stalling. She knows the question. He'd asked her the other night: "What if we just went ahead and got married?" It had thrown her for a loop. She'd always said she'd never get married—she never planned on loving someone enough to even consider it, though, and then Henry came along.

She studies his face for a moment and then drops her eyes between their bodies, staring at the pillowcase between them. "I don't know," she whispers, her eyes moving back up to meet his as she scrapes her top teeth against her bottom lip, breathing in harshly. "I never—"

"I know." Henry interrupts gently, bringing his hand up to push her hair out of her face. "I can't imagine being with anyone else. Can you?"

That makes her heart sink when she even tries to think about it. She closes her eyes momentarily, truly trying to imagine having another man in her life other than Henry. Her mind darts to her first boyfriend in college—the one she'd had before she and Henry dated in her junior year. Though it was four years ago, she still remembers everything she couldn't stand about Davis Bridges. She's pretty sure her brain cringes when she thinks about being with him again. Then she moves on to thinking about Peter Frampton. "Is Peter Frampton on the option list?"

It's a tease, but it's still a stalling tactic.

He snorts, and it makes her smile when he, too, smiles. "No, Peter Frampton is not on the option list. Glad to know where I rank."

"A close second." She teases, then takes a shaky breath because she knows she needs to give him a serious answer, too. "Fine." She admits, "I can't imagine being with anyone else. But who says we need to be married to show that?"

She's not sure why she has this aversion to marriage. A few times now, she's tried to really dig through her heart and get to the root of the problem—if it's a problem at all. She hasn't decided that yet, either. All she has been able to come up with is that she was young when her parents died—and they were young, too. Sure, they had a happy marriage it seemed, at least to Elizabeth and Will. But she didn't know the first thing about what a marriage looked like—how to make it work. And Elizabeth simply doesn't want to do something if it means there's a big possibility of her not succeeding.

Henry, on the other hand, had both parents his entire childhood. And while Elizabeth has met them both, she's not sure it has been the happiest marriage. But they've made it work. They haven't "failed" in society's eyes.

She grits her teeth a little, cocking her jaw to the side and looking up at him.

"No one," he agrees, shrugging slightly. "I just want to be able to call you my wife."

She thinks about it again, the idea of being "Henry's wife." What about her autonomy? Is that all she becomes, then, is Henry's wife? Is she still Elizabeth Adams? No, she'd be Elizabeth McCord. Would she be…her?

She swallows hard and studies his eyes again, and the way he's yearning for her to say yes makes her feel guilty. But she pushes the guilt down and clears her throat quietly, thinking further about this.

If she were to answer his earlier question outright—"Have you thought about my question?"—she would immediately have to say yes. It's all she's been able to think about, really. She's mulled over it, tossed it around in her brain like loose marbles in a tin can, stressed over the question more than she'd like to admit.

The idea of being "Mrs. McCord" makes her think of Elaine. Patrick has never been a great "Mr. McCord" to her, but she knows Henry isn't like that. Henry is all the good parts of Patrick, and he's everything good about his mom. She likes Elaine. Elaine likes her. Elaine wants them to marry, too. Their college friends—Isabelle and Mark—want them to marry. Everyone they know has mentioned it. They've been together long enough, she's well aware of that fact since everyone mentions it. Four years is a long time, she supposes.

But to lose her name? What would come next?

And kids. Oh…kids. The thought of that makes her want to throw up with nerves. Something else she knows nothing of—raising kids.

She looks at Henry with alarm in her eyes now and takes a sharp breath, "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Babe—" he gets out before she is clambering to get out of the bed, crawling over him and rushing out into the bathroom. "You just had to tell me a simple no." He's saying, coming in behind her and picking up her long hair from draping over her shoulders, holding it in a ball behind her head.

She's waving her hand away, and he's arguing with her: "Babe, I'm staying right here. You're going to get barf all in your hair."

"That's not what I mean." She mutters, "I wasn't throwing up because of the marriage question." She says, sitting back on her heels and wiping her mouth tiredly. She looks up behind her at him, and he lets her hair down gently, "I just…I'm not sure I know how to be a wife, Henry."

"There's no rulebook, babe." He says with a little laugh, then crawls down to his knees and then sits on his hip, running his hand through her hair down the backside of her shoulder, "Who says I'm going to know how to be a husband? It's new to both of us."

She shakes her head, "You're…" she sighs, feeling herself get worked up again, "You're you." She manages, then looks at him desperately. "You do good at anything you try. School. You did great in school for never studying. Meanwhile, I was always studying and harping over my books."

"Well that's why you were a straight A student with a 4.0 GPA all through college and I made it out with a 3.6." He points out.

She sighs, "But still, you were good." She says, "And then you join the military and you're promoted right away…as soon as you can be." She takes a moment and thinks about her job at the CIA and how she hasn't been promoted once in the two years she's worked there. She's starting to wonder, even, if her dream job wasn't meant to be her dream job. She was hired straight out of college—recruited, even, during her senior year. She thought this was it for her. She likes her job, she likes feeling like she's doing something for the greater good—whatever that even is anymore—but sometimes it feels like she's spinning her wheels being this low on the totem pole.

She pushes a forceful breath out and looks at him, feeling the urge to cry suddenly. Blinking quickly, she tries to rid herself of the tears, "You have parents, Henry. Parents who are married and have been for years." It sounds pathetic to admit out loud now that she's done it. More pathetic than she'd thought it would. "You've watched them be married all your life. You've watched them raise four kids including yourself. I don't know the first thing about a family."

He leans against the cabinet and slides his hand down her arm, laying his hand on top of hers with both of them resting on her thigh. "We don't have to be a perfect family, Elizabeth." He whispers, "We just have to be a family."

She looks into his eyes and feels a wave of panic again, her breath hitching. "I'm not sure I'm even cut out to be a mother."

"I'm not asking you to be." Henry points out.

She shakes her head, "I know you want kids." She says in a serious tone, tilting her head at him, "You can't deny that. You'll be an amazing father."

"And if the day comes, then fine." Henry says, "All I want to be is your husband, Elizabeth. That's all I have wanted to be ever since I met you on that soccer field."

She blinks for a moment, thinking back to that night when she met him. She was playing intramural soccer in her sophomore and junior years, trying to make more friends, and a girl on the team had been dating Henry. He came to her game to watch, saw Elizabeth playing, and broke up with Jessica later that night. Even that thought makes her sick right now, thinking about how sudden it all had happened. And now here they are, four years later, sitting on the bathroom floor together after he held her hair back while she hurled her guts up at even the thought of being with one man the rest of her life. Of being Mrs. McCord, no more Ms. Adams.

How was he so sure of himself to break up with Jessica that quickly when she can't even make up her mind after the last four years?

She takes a shaky breath and looks up at him, then down at her hand that was underneath his. Her other hand comes over to pick at her fingernails nervously, "Will you still love me if I don't say yes?" She asks quietly, barely above a whisper.

He squeezes her hand, then takes the other in his free hand. "I can't ever imagine anything you'd do to make me stop loving you." He whispers.

She raises a brow, "Even if I ran off with Peter Frampton?"

"I would be brokenhearted," Henry states with a slight smirk, "But I would love you until the day I died."

Chills rush over her entire body, and she glances down at her arms to see the goosebumps that had appeared so suddenly. Her legs, too, had goosebumps, and she has what she can only describe as a "tingly feeling" in her tummy. With a deep breath, she finally nods, "I have thought about your question a lot, Henry," she admits, looking down at their hands again, "I'm just scared of getting it wrong."

He squeezes again, "We learn from each other," he admits, "Not from our parents, not from society. Sure, they set some kind of map for us, but…" he shakes his head and she looks up at him again, wondering what he's getting flustered about. "My parents, babe…" he laughs a sad little breath, "They're not the ideal marriage either. It's nothing compared to your parents—I am really lucky to have mine still." He admits, "But I can't say I would want to base my marriage on what theirs looks like. It's not much give and take on both sides—my mom gives, my dad takes. And it's how it always goes."

She blinks, "Isn't that—"

"That's not what a marriage should be." He interrupts her, eyeing her carefully. "Don't you remember your parents' marriage at all? Anything about it?"

It's not accusatory, though at first she feels like it is. She thinks, though, back to her memories from childhood—something she's worked hard to forget. A happy childhood, yes, but the memories are too painful to sift through. She misses them too much.

But she manages to pull a memory from the vault.

"Your mom isn't feeling well, Lizzy."

She looked up at her dad, squinting her eyes before hugging her stuffed animal closer to her chest. Even at five, she couldn't get rid of the bunny. "What's wrong with mommy?"

"She's not feeling well," her dad repeated, and it made her frustrated. She just wanted to know, and she wanted a straight answer. Even at this age.

He swooped down and picked her up into his arms, "So we're going to help her out by cleaning the house today. Okay?"

Elizabeth looked at her father and frowned, "Mommy always cleans."

"But Mommy isn't feeling well," he said, "And when she's not feeling well, it's daddy's job to help." He explained, "And it would be nice to have you help, too."

She nodded, slowly starting to accept that she wasn't going to be getting a straight answer.

She laughed to herself when she realizes in this bathroom floor that a few months later she had a baby brother—and her heart aches at the thought of Will. She hasn't talked to him in about a year now.

She clears her throat and looks up at Henry, knowing she has to have the sad puppy dog look happening right now. "Can you help me up?" She whispers, realizing her feet are falling asleep.

He nods, standing to his own feet first before reaching down and helping her. He glances backwards into the bedroom, "Are you calling in today?" He asks.

She sighs, "I shouldn't," she says, "I know I'll have a pile of paperwork on my desk if I do. A pile bigger than the one I already have." The bad thing about the CIA right now is that it's mostly all she does—paperwork. Paperwork for people who are higher up than her. She feels like the secretary most days.

When he helps her to her feet, she smooths her tee shirt out, looking down to make sure she didn't get anything on it. It's Henry's tee anyway.

"Just think about my question," he prompts gently, giving her hand a little squeeze before kissing her on the cheek. "I would marry you tomorrow if you said yes."

She laughs a little, "I know." She says, admiring his enthusiasm while pushing more bile back down her throat at the thought of being married tomorrow. This is definitely something she'd need a bit more time for.

Isabelle is sitting to the side of her with her own giant pile of papers, "I wonder when we'll get to do things that actually matter." She complains.

Elizabeth huffs, "It matters," she mocks, playing with their supervisor's tone. Conrad had told them just last week that "their work matters more than they'll ever know to the CIA." He could say that, of course, since he has a desk analyst job.

Isabelle returns a bitter laugh, but she's cut off when Elizabeth suddenly turns and hurls into the trash can on the other side of her. She feels Isabelle's eyes on the back of her head, and she slowly turns around and looks up at Isabelle. "What the hell…" she mumbles.

Isabelle raises a brow, "Are you pregnant, Adams?" She asks, leaning back in her chair after laying a stack of papers on her desk in front of her.

"No," Elizabeth answers immediately. There was no way. Birth control and all.

"You sure?" Isabelle presses, raising a brow.

Elizabeth's stomach rolls again and she feels like she might be sick once more, so she grabs the trash can and sets it in her lap for easier access. "Pretty sure." She admits, but her voice is getting shaky. What if she is? She'd thrown up this morning—she thought it was nerves. What if it wasn't?

She clears her throat and sets the trash can down carefully, rifling through her papers again, but her hands are shaking now. She feels the heat of Isabelle's stare on her side again.

"I'm getting a pregnancy test."

"No you're not," Elizabeth argues quickly, sounding much meaner than she'd intended. She shakes her head, her own silent way of apologizing, "No, Isabelle. I'm not pregnant."

Isabelle sits forward and looks at Elizabeth, "Are you in denial?" She asks.

The question makes her angry—angry at Isabelle, and maybe a little angry at herself. Is she in denial? She tries to do math in her head, but her brain feels like it's floating somewhere outside of her head right now. She can't even bring herself to do numbers.

Maybe something is actually wrong.

She looks at Isabelle again and feels her breathing become more erratic, "I don't think I am."

"I'd rather be safe than sorry." Isabelle says, looking at Elizabeth with a certain sympathy. It makes her feel weak and fragile and like she's suddenly the most touchy thing on this earth. "I'll get you a test at lunch."

And when Isabelle came back from lunch, Elizabeth stared at the box on and off for an hour. It had been poking out of the top of her purse, sitting beside her feet, and she had brought it into the bathroom with her last time but couldn't bring herself to take it. She was staring at it again when Isabelle snapped her out of it, "You still okay?" She asks.

Elizabeth looks at her as though she were a ghost, then blinks and nods, "I'm okay." She whispers. She at least wasn't throwing up. And that's "okay" in her book.

"Elizabeth," she hears a voice behind her, and she turns to look. She sees it's Lydia, Conrad's new bride, and she smiles.

"Hi Lydia," she says, "Visiting Conrad today?"

She nods, "I am," she coos, "How are you ladies?"

Isabelle tells her she's well, but Elizabeth can't bring herself to lie. "I'm a little under the weather today." She admits.

Lydia frowns a bit, and it's like her eyes are magnets to the test box sticking out of the top of Elizabeth's purse. She stares for a moment and then smiles, "Me too." She says, then purses her lips and raises a brow. "I have some news for Conrad, actually. That's why I'm here."

"Oh," Elizabeth says, raising her brows. "I—are congratulations in order?" She asks cautiously.

When Lydia nods, Elizabeth forces herself to smile. She's happy for Lydia, happy for Conrad too, but it makes her feel sick again. "Congratulations, then." Elizabeth coos, standing up and hugging Lydia tightly before Isabelle gets a turn, too.

"I probably should've waited to tell you until after I told Conrad, but something told me you could use the distraction." She says knowingly, and Elizabeth takes a deep breath and thinks about the box in her purse.

She nods, "I appreciate that." She says genuinely, squeezing the other woman's arm with affection before she walks off.

She turns to Isabelle and swallows thick, about to speak before she was interrupted by her friend, "If that wasn't a sign to get in that bathroom, I don't know what else could be." She prompts.

Elizabeth takes a shaky breath, then slowly nods and feels herself shake as she walks to grab her purse. Throwing it over her shoulder, she heads to the bathroom again and this time, finally, has enough courage to actually use the test in the box that has been tormenting her ever since Isabelle brought it back from her lunch.

Pacing the floor, she cracks her knuckles again—something she hasn't done since taking her las almost final at UVA a few years back. She looks out the window again at the sun setting, wondering why he's late, why he hasn't called, why anything and everything her brain could think of. She looks at the clock again and notes that it's only been two minutes since the last time she glanced. She rolls her eyes at herself, then swallows thick and starts pacing again.

When she hears the door, she almost trips over her feet to get into the living room. He walks in and looks at her, surely in confusion judging by the look on his face, then laughs a little. "Hello to you too," he says coyly, raising a brow and smiling as he closes the door. "Do you have good news for me?" He asks.

She knows that he's talking about the marriage question, but she can't even begin to call this good news. It's news. Maybe not bad news. But it's life-shattering news, world-altering news, and news that will affect them for their entire lives. Her stomach rolls on her again and she makes herself go sit down, causing Henry to watch her in a worried manner.

"Are you okay?" He asks, suddenly sounding concerned as he walks over to the chair beside her.

When he sits, she watches him with wide eyes, taking a shaky breath. "I have to tell you something, Henry."

"Are you breaking up with me?" He asks, "Babe—this…marriage…" he stutters, and she's trying to stop him, but he's on a roll, "This marriage isn't everything to me. I want it more than anything in my life, but the thing I can't live without is you. If you're…if you're leaving me because I'm pressuring you—I—"

"Henry!" She says sternly, throwing her hands up a little in the air to get his attention. She looks mad, she's aware, but she just stares at him as he looks bewilderedly at her. "That's not it." She breathes, shaking her head and looking at him pitifully. "I'm not breaking up with you. I'm not leaving." The words sound funny coming out of her mouth since she's in her own apartment—she can't leave regardless since this is her place. She would understand his worry more if she were living with him at his place, but they've been swapping places for the last few months.

"God," he breathes, literally melting in front of her. She watched him go from rigid and on-edge to this puddle in front of her as he looks at her. "What is it, then?"

She looks down at her hands that are wringing, her thumbs turning red from her hands squeezing them over and over. A nervous habit that she rarely does—but that still follows her from her childhood. Biting down on her lip, she feels her breath hitch as she tries to hold back a sob.

Though she's not looking up, she feels Henry get up from the chair and move to her, sitting beside her on the couch. Next she feels an arm wrap around her shoulders, and she finds herself laying her cheek on his shoulder and finally crying. "Whatever it is," Henry whispers, "It's okay. I won't be upset."

She gets chills down her arms again and closes her eyes tightly, shaking her head. "I know you won't be." She whimpers, "Which makes me feel even more of a terrible person, Henry."

She hears him swallow hard, and she can tell he's itching for her to tell him what's going on. She can't blame him. She's now a sobbing mess on his shoulder, in his arms, and she has told him she has something to say. She'd be a mess if she were in his shoes, too.

She cranes her neck a little to look at him, and she finds him watching her carefully. The way he looks at her makes her feel small, but not as though he's trying to squish her, but as though he's trying to cradle her. She knows Henry—he'd never try to suffocate her, but he'll always try to protect her.

Her gaze moves forward again before she closes her eyes, then settles into his arm further. "Henry," she whimpers, her shoulders wracking once before she has to catch her breath, "I'm pregnant."

"What?"

It's not the reaction she expected, and when he says nothing else, she wonders if he misheard her. "I'm pregnant, Henry." She says shakily, opening her eyes and staring straight ahead.

There's so much silence that she cranes her head again to look up at him, and he's just staring at her, clearly in shock. The way she felt earlier today, too.

She pushes against his arm, moving out of his hold. "Say something," she begs.

He shakes his head, "I—" his mouth gets stuck open, and he has to close it before he clears his throat. She notices, now, that he has tears in his eyes. "Elizabeth…" he whispers, a smile rising onto his lips.

She looks at him and feels another sob coming, but she just squeezes her thumbs again and shakes her head. "I need something more than that, Henry." She whimpers, "I need you to say something. Are you mad?"

"Furthest from it," he admits quickly, shaking his head desperately. He looks down, noticing her hands all but abusing each other, and takes them in his individually. He gives them a loving squeeze and it makes her sob this time, unable to hold it back. "I'm shocked." He whispers, "But it's a good shock."

She swallows thick, looking down and crying again.

He dips his head down, too, and tries to look at her face, but she's holding it away from him as well as she can. She should be happy, too. She loves him. He'll be an amazing dad. But this…this isn't…this was never in the plan.

It makes her feel terrible.

"Babe," he whispers, gently placing his index finger under her chin and lifting slowly, "I—" he pauses and searches her eyes, making her feel small again, "If this…isn't…"

"I don't know." She admits. It was the truth.

"I'm here," he assures, wrapping her in his arms.

She lets her face bury into his neck and she lets out another sob, knowing that she's getting his shirt wet—probably even soaked.

She's not sure how long she stayed like that, but she sits up and looks him in the eyes. "I'm scared, Henry. This was never what I planned."

He nods, "I know," he says, rubbing her arm gently with his fingertips. It makes her get goosebumps down her arm again, and she shuts her eyes defeatedly. He can always get a reaction from her, no matter how he tries. No matter if he's even trying, actually. "I'm here."

It frustrates her to hear those words again, and she looks up at him and feels her bottom lip quiver. "What do I do?"

"I can't tell you what to do," he whispers, "I wouldn't even begin to pretend to tell you what to do." He smiles sadly at her, pushing her hair from her sticky face, "Whatever you decide, I'm here for you. I'm not leaving without a restraining order."

She snorts and looks down, shaking her head. "I don't even have an answer to that." She admits, swallowing back the lump in her throat.

She hears him smile, and she looks up to see it. She smiles, too, though not as big as he is.

She bats the tears away from her eyes and then wipes under them, "I think I'm going to have to put your question on hold for a little while." She states, swallowing hard.

He nods, "I understand."

"But it's not a no," she whispers, "I promise you that. It's not a no."

He nods again, leaning in and pressing his lips to her head. "I'm sorry I wasn't here today," he whispers, "I know you're scared."

"I am." She agrees, though she had already told him that anyway. She closes her eyes and leans into his chest, resting her forehead on his collarbone and breathing in deeply. Something about smelling him—which sounds so weird—makes her feel calm again. When that thought crosses her mind, she freezes. This man's smell makes her calm. How does that even work?

She leans into him and finally he lays back on the couch sideways, and she adjusts her body so that he's between her and the couch cushions. She folds her hands over each other on top of his chest and looks up at his face, "Why do you love me?" She whispers.

The question must have caught him off guard because, again, he looks at her bewilderedly. She supposes that he has a right to be shocked, though, since he's just been told that he's going to be a dad—most likely—and then she asks him a random question.

"I…" he takes a deep breath, "I don't know how to explain it without sounding…"

"Crazy?" She asks.

He nods, "Crazy." He agrees, swallowing thick and wrapping his arms around her lower back, his hand up the back of her shirt at the bottom of it, rubbing little circles with his fingers over her skin. "When I'm with you, I feel this…this sense of calmness. Like I could take on the entire world if you were by my side, and I would be fine with whatever outcome I had if you were there with me." He explains, and she nods a little, knowing exactly what he means. "I want to tell you everything—all of it. All of my life. The ins and outs and the fun and not-so-fun. I want you to know all of it. And I sometimes have to stop myself from blabbering it, from wanting to give you all of me because I know it's probably overwhelming."

"It's not." She adds before he can continue.

She swears she sees his eye sparkle, but he nods and smiles gently, "Thanks," he whispers, then continues, "And when I have a bad day, all I want to do is come home to you and…I don't even need to talk about it. I just want to be in your presence. It's like I touch you once and all the bad is gone—everything is okay. Everything will be okay."

She swallows thick, knowing again everything he said because she has felt it, too. "Whenever I smell you," she starts off, then laughs a little, "I calm down."

He smiles, "As weird as that sounded," he points out playfully, "I get it."

She thinks of him burying his face in her hair and wonders if that's where he feels his safest, like when she has her face just above his collarbone and to the inside of his shoulder. The little crook in his neck was made for her, and the thought of that scares her to no end.

She shimmies her body up and kisses him on the lips, resting her hands on each of his cheeks before pulling away and rubbing his chin with her thumb. She searches his eyes, and she wonders if she even wants to break the silence at all. She likes the silence right now. She likes this. She loves this.

But she does it anyway.

"Are we a team?" She whispers, and it's a silly question maybe. But it's one that's been on her mind all day ever since he held her hair this morning.

"We are a team," he whispers, "Whether that's as husband and wife or just as Elizabeth and Henry." He explains, a loving tone ringing from his voice. "I always want to be on your team."

"I want to be on your team, too." She whispers, kissing his lips again and laying her ear down on his chest, listening to his heart thud against her. She closes her eyes, unsure of what would happen next, but knowing that she wasn't leaving him. She couldn't. As much as she hates the idea of being so attached to another human being, the thought of not having him in her life makes her think she would understand what it would be like to be without a vital body part.

A deep breath in, and she focuses on his fingers rubbing circles on her skin. A team. Always. No matter the circumstances. She would always be his teammate—she knows that much.

Present Day

Matt looks at her, shellshocked, and then clears his throat and looks back down at the paper she gave him. She'd decided she wasn't able to find the words to tell him vocally, but she could write it all down. "I mean," he manages, standing on the other side of her desk as she leans over it a little, finding herself a bit eager and even nervous to see what he's going to say now. "You got married before Stevie was born."

"Yes," Elizabeth agrees, "I just don't want the public to think that I'm hiding anything."

Matt shakes his head a little, looking at the paper and then back at her and shrugging, "I don't see why they need to know, ma'am."

She looks at him, raising her brow, "You're sure?" She asks, "Won't this cause a scandal if they start doing the math?"

"Ma'am," Matt says, setting the paper down and giving a nervous smile, "With all due respect, Stevie was born eight months after you and Dr. McCord were married." He says, "It's not like that doesn't happen all the time."

She takes a deep breath, realizing she'd been holding it breath a little while waiting for his answers. She's never felt this nervous around her staff—with the exception of Nadine—and she's unsure why after all these years she still feels uncomfortable about the whole situation. She and Henry have been married for twenty-two years now, Stevie is about to turn twenty-two in a few months, and yet Elizabeth feels like she's under the microscope again.

"Okay," she finally says, "Should we run this by Daisy?"

Matt looks at her and crosses his arms, "I don't think Daisy needs to know unless you want her to know." He says, raising his brows a little. "It's your secret to keep or not, Madam Secretary. Only yours."

She looks at him, realizing now that he's protecting her as he speaks now. She swallows thick, admiring this. She's not felt protected by any of her staff ever since she took this job—except for Blake since he was her hire, of course—but it's a nice feeling now. She feels almost as if she's finally being accepted, something she wasn't aware she'd needed to feel from them. She nods, finally, and stands up straight. "Well," she breathes, "Thank you, then, Matt." She says, making eye contact with him before giving him a soft smile. "I appreciate it."