A/N: So no-one-saves-me-but-me on Tumblr requested a story inspired by "Never Seen Anything Quite Like You" by The Script. I thought it was perfect for Henry and Elizabeth, and alas, this is the result. It's super rambly, and not very dialogue-heavy, and kinda conceptual, so… yep. Here goes nothing.

"I think I want you more than want

And know I need you more than need

I wanna hold you more than hold

When you stood in front of me

I think you know me more than know

And you see me more than see

I could die now more than die

Every time you look at me"

Henry was staring. He couldn't help himself. He knew that it was probably bordering on creepy at this point, and yet, there he was, staring at Elizabeth as she stood next to him, brushing her teeth. Still wearing pyjamas, her hair a mess, she was glancing off into space as she leant her hip on the counter, silently getting ready for the day ahead. It was rare they both got up and headed out at the same time, but she didn't have any early meetings today. Henry had put toothpaste on his own toothbrush and was about to hold it under the faucet when he had stopped in his tracks and lost himself in her, utterly mesmerized by her being.

Elizabeth McCord never failed to amaze him. How one woman could be so brilliant and caring and gorgeous at the same time was still a mystery to him. It had been a mystery twenty-eight years ago, and nearly three decades later, she still took his breath away. Even at seven in the morning, sleep-deprived, and brushing her teeth. Correction, he thought to himself — especially at seven in the morning, sleep-deprived, and brushing her teeth. It was then that she laid herself bare, completely comfortable around him, and he saw just Elizabeth — not the Secretary of State, not the spy, not the public persona. In their bathroom, brushing her teeth, she was just his wife, the love of his life. The woman he met so long ago, that poured her heart out to him, and stole his heart in an instant.

She noticed him then, as she bent down to spit out her toothpaste, and glanced over, a questioning look on her face. "Henry?" she asked, "You all right?"

"Of course, babe," he deflected, moving over to give her a kiss on the cheek. "I guess I zoned out for a bit." He wet his toothbrush, and began brushing his own teeth as she turned back to the mirror and pulled out her mascara.

Henry's mind wandered again, to all the times he'd watched her get ready for state dinners, balls, and receptions, complaining every single time that she had to put so much makeup on — and that her shoes would most definitely kill her feet later that night. If it were up to her, she always said, she'd wear her riding gear, or better, the waders she wore to fly-fish. Then he'd laugh, kiss her and tell her even wearing that, she'd be the prettiest one in the room. No matter the occasion, she always was. When she headed to the walk-in closet to get dressed, he sighed and splashed cold water on his face, trying his best to clear his mind and focus on getting ready.

"Well I've seen you in jeans with no make-up on

And I've stood there in awe as your date for the prom

I'm blessed as a man to have seen you in white

But I've never seen anything quite like you tonight

No, I've never seen anything quite like you"

He caught himself staring again when she got home, and walked up to the couch where he and Alison were sitting, him on his laptop, his daughter reading some fashion magazine he didn't recognize. She pressed kisses to both their foreheads, and when he set his laptop to the side and opened his arms she sunk into the couch, folding herself into his embrace, a grateful sigh escaping her lips. She let him hold her for a few minutes, and then extricated herself from his arms. She made her way to the kitchen, opened up the fridge, and pulled out a container of leftovers.

Henry took the opportunity to turn his head to look at her again, and watch as she emptied the container in record time. How she could eat so much, with her slight frame, had always impressed him; her love of food was second only to her love for him and their children. He remembered when they first officially moved in together, and she swore she could handle cooking him dinner to celebrate, he had looked at her with disbelief. She'd been so insistent though, that she sent him out of the apartment for a couple of hours so she could concentrate. When he got back, he was greeted by her cursing, and a scorched chicken, so he hugged her, told her it was okay, and they ordered takeout and played Scrabble. He'd tried to hide his laughter that night until she caught him, and joined in. They swore that day that Elizabeth was to never cook again unattended, for everyone's benefit. From then on, takeout and Scrabble were staples in their household.

This time Alison was the one to nudge him, with an "Earth to dad?" wake-up call. Henry blinked and looked at his daughter, confused, but she just laughed, and suggested they all watch a movie, and make the most of the Friday night. Settled in between himself and Alison, Elizabeth was taking in the film, chuckling occasionally at the funny parts. She looked serene, surrounded by her family (albeit only a part of it; Stevie and Jason were both out), distant from the stress that seemed to follow her everywhere in her job, and sometimes away from the office as well. He thought back to her early CIA days, when she was adjusting to the secrecy and he was about to leave for Iraq. She'd been so concerned back then, that their relationship couldn't possibly survive so much stress. But it did. They came out the other side stronger, even more in love, and sure that no matter what, the centre would hold. He'd sent her that in a letter once, when he was deployed, and she had written back that she started to keep the letter with her as reassurance when she missed him too much. He knew that she still, to this day, pulled it out occasionally.

At this point, Henry was completely ignoring the movie, busy studying his wife's features instead. Illuminated by the soft glow of the television, she looked ethereal. Her blonde locks pooling around her head on the couch cushions, her glasses perched on her nose, and one arm wrapped around Alison. They were sharing a bowl of popcorn, and ever so often, her hand would move, and the rings on her finger would catch in the light, sparkling for a split second.

When it was slipped on her finger the first time, Henry on one knee, tears shimmering in her eyes, her engagement ring was polished and new. He'd wanted to make their engagement something elaborate, a grand gesture, but couldn't settle on an idea. Eventually, it'd been an ordinary Tuesday morning, and they were in the kitchen, making coffee, and she was laughing (he'd forgotten why) and they were just them, and it was perfect. So he got down on one knee, and she spun around in shock, and he was left breathless once again, and almost forgot everything he wanted to say. It came out all at once, his ability to find the perfect words for any situation replaced by a hopeless jumble that tried to explain just how much he loved her. She'd laughed, and cried, and said yes, and kissed him, and later, when it'd all sunken in, teased him for his proposal's lack of quotes by dead monks. She reaffirmed right then and there that he'd made the right choice — she was perfect.

Now he reached out for her hand as the credits rolled, tracing mindless patterns on it. He leant his head on her shoulder, and stared off into space, his mind filled with nothing but her. Alison ripped him out of his thoughts that instance, starting into an intense discussion about the movie with her mother, so he said goodnight and headed upstairs.

"When it's right it's more than right

Cause you feel it more than feel

I could take this moment now

Right into the grave with me"

She walked into the bedroom later on, heading straight for their closet to change into her pyjamas. He watched her undress, as the clothes shed revealed her shoulders and torso, her tight abs, her slender hips, and finally, her long legs that seemed to stretch for miles. His breath hitched in his throat again, and he fought the urge to run over and scoop her up into his arms and kiss her senseless. She pulled on her pyjama pants and a sweatshirt, and he watched as the skin laid bare just moments earlier was covered up again. When she turned to walk back to the bed, she definitely caught him staring, shooting him a perplexed look. Caught, he thought to himself.

She plopped down on the bed next to him, sitting crosslegged and looking at him questioningly. "You've been staring at me all day. And, yes, I noticed," she said as he began to protest. "I was in the CIA. What's gotten into you today?"

"You, babe," he responded, and leant over to kiss her fiercely, his tongue demanding entrance to her mouth. She obliged, and he wrapped his arms around her hips as hers encircled his neck. They kissed until they were both breathless, and he pulled her into his embrace, sliding so they could sit up against the headboard.

"Seriously, are you okay Henry?" she asked, surprised by his sudden reaction, not that she was complaining.

"I'm okay. I just sometimes forget how lucky I truly am to have you, and then I see you, and you take my breath away. I love you, Elizabeth McCord, more than life itself." Now it was her turn to capture his lips in a bruising kiss, their tongues duelling once again. When they came up for air, she turned to him.

"I love you too, Henry McCord, more than you'll ever know. And I love that I can still make you breathless." She winked at him, and he took the hint, moving on top of her and planting kisses up and down her neck and shoulders, nibbling on her ear. When he found the spot behind her ear that he knew drives her wild, she moaned, and he swore that she'd never been as beautiful as in that moment, on their bed, in his arms. It was just them, and it was perfect.

A/N: Fin. That was interesting to write, and way more abstract than anything so far. I hope you liked it!