A/N: This was requested by Danolien. I didn't think I'd write this – don't know why. Maybe I didn't want to get into it. But as the request lingered in my head, I started tossing ideas in the air with a few of my co-writers (Jessi, Holls and Jenni, of course) and I ended up with something that would be enough for a story. How did it end up being this long, I will never know. This is a different take on the whole – haunted house thing from the recent episode, and it's a bit dark, but I hope it works. Thank you for the request. Thanks to Jenni for proofing this and being my beta! And thank you for reading (don't forget to state your thoughts!)

Collateral Damage

She had just got out of the shower when the first light flickered. She glanced at the lamp, waiting for it to die. Henry will fix it, she thought. A second later the bathroom went dark.

So did their bedroom.

Elizabeth walked outside, a towel wrapped around her body, her hair leaving a trail of water on her shoulders. "Henry?" she called, but he never answered. She sighed, reaching for her phone on the dresser in search of light when the power came back. And then went down again. And then the TV in their bedroom started playing and Elizabeth glanced around the room just to make sure she really was alone. Shaking her head, she tried to clear it of all thought. Henry was just downstairs, it's probably nothing, she kept telling herself. She was in search of the remote when the alarm went off.

And that was the last thing she remembered.

Wrapping his arm around Alison and trying to comfort her while calming his own racing heart, proved to be much harder than Henry thought. He was worried as well, pretty terrified too. But when the alarm went off, making him jump, he knew this was not the time to freak out. He had to take care of his children. And then security came in with their guns drawn.

Alison jumped, a scream of terror leaving her mouth as she buried her face in Henry's shirt. Wrapping another arm around her, he held her tight, running a soothing hand up and down her arm. And then he saw him.

"Carl!" Henry yelled, but Carl never heard him. "Don't!" Henry tried again, but Carl had already disappeared up the stairs, with every intention of finding her. She was home. It took Henry a few moments to realize that while he was busy calming his terrified children, she was alone in there. Alone. With an alarm blaring. And a guy with a loaded gun. Shit.

He tried to untangle himself from Alison, but she wouldn't let go. Still sobbing, she refused to be left alone, and clung to him like a little child. Henry looked around him, the agents still circling their kitchen, looking for any sign of entry, their guns still pulled up, just in case. "Jason," Henry whispered, a look of helplessness on his face.

Jason, always the brave one and never revealing any emotions, stood numb next to his father. He looked around the room, some desperate need to figure out what was going on, when he heard the plea in his father's voice. He looked at him, meeting teary eyes; something he almost never saw from his father.

"Mom," Henry managed to say, motioning to Alison, a silent request to Jason.

Mom. Shit. Jason's mind began spiraling, reversing back to that time they were enjoying a family dinner after she came back from Iran, and he accidently dropped his glass. He didn't know then. He didn't realize that it would cause his mother to hide under the table with her ears covered. He never thought his mom could look so powerless, be so powerless. He found himself that night googling PTSD just to get some glimpse of understanding to why it happened. And it might not have been satisfying, but it was more than enough to help him understand why his father was so anxious to get to her now.

"Jase, please." Henry's voice brought Jason's attention back and he immediately moved to wrap his arms around Alison, replacing the arms of his father. He knew it wasn't enough for Alison. He was still her younger brother, and she needed her father. But it was all he had to offer, and he knew that as much as Alison was scared, his mom's condition was probably far worse.

Henry ran up the stairs, but he was too late. Carl had already entered the room, his gun pulled up, ready to take anyone down. He didn't see Elizabeth at first. She was curled into a ball in the corner of the room, her knees pulled to her chest, her hands covering her ears. The only thing covering her naked body was the towel, still hanging around her figure. The alarm still going on, Henry barely heard he when she mumbled - "Stay down, stay down". He let his eyes scan the room when finally, they landed on her. He ran to her, his hands resting on hers with every intention of taking them down. "Stay down, stay down!" she cried, her voice higher now, tears streaming down her face.

"Madam Secretary," Carl called, still not lowering his gun. Carl was rather new; in spite of being with them for over a year, he was still rather new with the DS, and was unaware of anything that happened in Iran. That was why he misinterpreted her panic, thinking someone was actually in the room, threatening her. He was about to call into his microphone and call for backup when he caught Henry's gaze.

"Get out." Henry's voice was low but filled with anger. His jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed. If it wasn't for the fact that Elizabeth was already deep into a panic attack, Henry would've probably kicked that boy out of the room himself. "Now!" he barked when Carl didn't move, startling both Carl and Elizabeth. He released a shaky breath when Carl lowered his gun and slowly made his way out of the room; at least the kid was smart enough not to challenge Henry.

Finally focusing his attention on his wife, his hands tried again to remove hers from her ears, but she held on tight, mumbling over and over again: "Stay down, stay down." Her panic was rising quickly, her breaths coming in short pants as fresh tears pooled in her eyes.

"Baby," Henry whispered, his voice calm then, his arms wrapping around her, stroking her skin. "It's just the alarm. You're home. You're safe. The house fell quiet then, the alarm finally disabled. The only sound in the room was that of her heaving breaths, of her low mumbles. "See," he tried again, "it's okay, you're okay."

But she didn't hear him. In her mind, she was back in that room, seeing Abdol ducking on the floor, his father murdered beside him. She felt Fred's weight on top of her, suffocating her. And the sound of bullets and screams; her ears were ringing although there was no noise in the room. She wanted to move, to get to Abdol, she had to save him. She had to, this time. He couldn't… She couldn't move. Fred's weight didn't allow her to move. She froze.

"Elizabeth," Henry called, desperate to bring her back to him, to get her to listen to him.

Nothing.

On shaking legs he went to get a glass of water and her bottle of pills, but even as he sat back next to her tried to make her drink the water, she was unaware he was there. Her breathing coming in short pants, her heart beating out of her chest – it was too familiar, just like that time at the hospital. And it scared him to death. "I need you to drink this. Baby, please." His voice was higher now, almost yelling to get her attention. When she didn't respond again, he glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes into the attack, and he couldn't even force her gaze to his. He exhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he reached for the phone in his pocket. He dialed the numbers, swallowing his tears as the operator answered.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"My wife," he whispered, "she's having a panic attack. I can't get her to take her meds. It's been going on for fifteen minutes now.

"What is your location, sir?"

Henry closed his eyes. He gave the operator the address, waiting for her confirmation that the ambulance was on the way. It was only a matter of minutes now. She would be okay in a few minutes. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, praying silently that she would forgive him when this was all over. Forgive him for calling for help, but mainly for not being able to help her. Again.

He breathed again when Matt knocked on their bedroom door, slowly coming into Henry's sight. "Paramedic is here, Dr. McCord," he whispered, already aware of Elizabeth's condition, and knowing better than to raise his voice. Henry nodded, waiting for the paramedic to enter the room.

"How long now?" the paramedic asked, leaning closer to Elizabeth to listen to her heart rate.

"Twenty minutes. She wouldn't take her pills. Her hands are locked, I can't move them."

"And her breathing?"

Henry shook his head. "I tried everything, it's like she doesn't know I'm even here. She keeps mumbling and can't breathe."

"Heart rate is high. Does she have any drug allergies?"

When Henry shook his head, the paramedic reached for his bag. "Madam Secretary," he said calmly, "I'm going to inject some sedatives, they will make you feel better." He looked at Henry before carefully swabbing her arm. Henry nodded, tightening his grip around her as the needle entered her skin. He had to close his eyes then, unable to look as the drug was injected into her skin.

"It's done," the paramedic said. "She should feel better in a few minutes."

It never felt so long, the wait. Henry sat beside her, holding her close to his body, still hoping his own calm breaths would soothe her. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering. It was a long ten minutes before he finally felt her relax against him, until her breathing slowly returned to normal. He was then able to release her hands from her ears, taking them in his own hands and holding tight. "Babe," he called, and she met his eyes for the first time that evening. But she was still distant, like she was still there in the room. He met the paramedic's eyes again, a worried look crossing his features.

"She's stable. There's nothing more I can do to help her. I'm sorry."

Henry nodded, watching as the paramedic left the room, leaving them alone again. He moved then, standing up and pulling Elizabeth to her feet. She fell into his embrace, unable to hold herself enough to stay standing. He led her to sit on the couch, helping her settle against the pillows. He moved around the room, gathering items of clothing for her to wear before kneeling in front of her and dressing her slowly. He brushed her hair, picking it up in a ponytail, just as he did countless of times for his little girls. She shivered under his touch, wrapping her arms around herself as if trying to warm her body. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks and his gentle thumb reached to wipe them. "Elizabeth" he tried again, but her eyes were focused on something he couldn't see, and he couldn't get her to come back to him. She sat still, almost numb, never speaking. "Baby, can you hear me? Please, just tell me you know I'm here with you."

She blinked her tears, but still nothing. She didn't respond.

"Dad?" Stevie called, standing in the doorway of their bedroom.

Henry offered her a smile. "Hi, sweetie. Can you please check on your siblings?"

Stevie stepped closer, her eyes never leaving her mother. "They're okay. Well, Jason is. Alison is still crying, but she's okay, too".

"I've got Mom. Don't worry. Please, just make sure they're okay? I have to stay with her."

Stevie nodded, turning as her own tears won over. She was at the door again when she stopped, swallowing hard. "Dad, this might be bigger than you," she whispered.

It was. He knew that it was. He arrived too late to help her. And he wasn't there when it happened. Not when Iran happened, and not when tonight happened. He didn't know enough, and no matter how much he wanted to help her, this was beyond his ability. And it frustrated him. And made him angry. And scared. This was becoming more and more personal with each passing day and he didn't know how much more could they take. How much more she could take. He reached for his phone for the second time that evening, scrolling through his contacts until he reached her phone number. Dr. Sherman. He dialed.

"Dr. Sherman," a soft voice answered into the phone.

Henry liked her. He wasn't too keen on going to a session with her, but once he sat in her office, there was something about that woman that just made him feel more relaxed. Like everything could actually be okay. "Hi, um, it's Henry McCord."

Dr. Sherman was used to getting out of office calls. But not from this particular patient. Elizabeth was always the perfect student – she did as she was told and her recovery worked just as well. Great at following protocols, a quality that became handy when handling PTSD, she once joked. It was why, when she heard the name, her body tensed, and she was already on her feet. "What happened?"

"Too much," he muttered. He cleared his throat, realizing this wasn't an answer she could work with. "The alarm went off, and the security guys came in with guns, and… She received a shot of sedatives, I couldn't give her the pills you prescribed. She's okay now, but she's not here, not really."

"I'm on my way."

Henry was grateful when Matt stood in the doorway again, Dr. Sherman standing next to him. She walked slowly, bringing a chair with her, and taking a seat in front of Elizabeth - in front of both of them. Henry wasn't going anywhere, she knew it. He was holding onto his wife, as if afraid she might slip away.

"This is a safe place," Dr. Sherman said. She noticed the tears in the corner of Elizabeth's eyes, and she knew she was hearing her. Perhaps even listening. "Iran ended a long time ago. You're in Georgetown. Henry is sitting beside you."

As if to reassure her, Henry tightened his grip around her.

"Did it?" Elizabeth suddenly spoke.

"Look around you."

"And Abdol?"

"Safe. With his mother," Henry replied quietly. She still looked out far, never meeting his eyes, or Dr. Sherman's. "Just like you are, with me," he continued, pulling her closer to him.

Dr. Sherman reached for the glass of water standing on the nightstand, placing it against the skin of Elizabeth's hand. The glass was cold enough to make Elizabeth jump and shiver, to make her pull her hand away. It was then that she met Dr. Sherman's eyes.

She blinked, her mind racing. What happened, she wanted to ask, but she couldn't find her voice.

"Drink," Dr. Sherman urged, handing her the glass.

The water was cold, nearly burning her throat as she swallowed hard, feeling as if the liquid ran through her veins. She shivered and Henry immediately moved his hands to rub her skin.

"What do you remember?" he asked.

"I was on my way downstairs, the power went off… Where is Abdol? Is he alive?"

"Elizabeth, you had an episode, a panic attack. Nothing happened to Abdol, or to you."

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, there was a loud noise, and people with guns and…"

Henry blinked his own tears. He knew all the triggers, he was just not quick enough to get to her before they became those triggers. "Just the house alarm. And the DS agents," he whispered, taking her hand in his and intertwining their fingers.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, letting out a deep breath. "You must think I'm crazy," she said, not to anyone in particular.

"Nothing crazy about PTSD," Dr. Sherman jumped in. But Elizabeth looked at Henry, as if waiting to hear what he had to say, what kind of comfort he had to offer her. What if he didn't?

"I think that what happened in Iran was traumatic enough to linger. And I think it only makes sense that you'd react like that." If there was anyone who understood triggers it was him. Maybe he should've told her, after Iran, about his own triggers from Desert Storm. Maybe if she knew that he also had his fair share of memories, she wouldn't feel so ashamed. He kept telling himself that he didn't tell her because he wanted to protect her from this, but the truth was he never told her because he couldn't bring himself to talk about it. Maybe now it was time. "It's just like… That time we were having a fire outside at the farm house, and you dropped your meat into the fire, and it burned. I…"

"You ran into the house and we never had a fire ever again." Elizabeth said, suddenly realizing.

"Yes" he nodded, meeting her piercing gaze.

It was hours later that they were finally alone again. Keeping herself busy with calming the kids and reassuring them nothing happened, Elizabeth ignored the fatigue that refused to leave her. She was still in the kitchen, organizing things that didn't need to be organized, when Henry walked in, resting his hands on her back. "You need to rest," he said, his voice low, comforting.

She turned in his arms, a teary look on her face. "I can't handle the nightmares," she admitted.

He wrapped his arms around her. Nightmares were always the collateral damage, but one he couldn't prevent. She would close her eyes, and drift into the world of sleep, the one place he was only allowed by her own wishes, by her own memories. "I will be beside you when you wake up. Every time."

She sighed, letting out a cry. "Hold my hand?"

Taking her hand in his, he pressed a kiss to her lips, he tasted her salty tears. "I'll never let go of you."