A/N: Guys! It's the last chapter of Volume II! I can't believe this is number 200 of these little one shots (It's also one of my favorites!) Volume III will begin with the next one shot, so be aware that if you have email notifications on for this collection you'll have to subscribe again. Thanks for coming on this journey with me!

Prompt: Somebody wants to write Elizabeth's biography, and she is absolutely dreading the entire process.

Henry watched his wife at her desk. He had always enjoyed doing that, and now that her term as President was newly over and they had some semblance of a normal life back, he was drinking it in even more. She was, if you'd asked Henry, every bit as beautiful as she'd been the day they had met and somehow even more intelligent and sharp, and that moment in the warm light of her desk lamp, she looked radiant. She wouldn't have believed him had he said it, of course, so he kept it to himself. She knew he thought it, anyway. And besides that, Elizabeth looked deep in thought and he didn't want to disturb her. When she sighed heavily for the third time in ten minutes, however, Henry's mix of curiosity and concern got the best of him and he spoke up.

"What's up, babe?" he asked her lightly, and she glanced up as if she'd just noticed he was there, which, Henry reminded himself, she probably had.

"Oh," she sighed, leaning back in her chair as she twirled a pen between her fingers. "You remember Neal Shin?"

Henry thought on that for a second- Neal Shin, Neal Shin, that name sounded familiar- and then it hit him.

"Oh, the journalist who did that piece on you at State?" he asked, and Elizabeth nodded.

"Right, the one with the twins."

Henry loved that about Elizabeth, too- everyone was a human to her, more than just what they did or their accomplishments. Neal Shin had just been a journalist in Henry's memory, but he was a father in Elizabeth's.

"Yeah, what about him?" Henry asked. Elizabeth gestured to the screen of her laptop.

"He wants to write my biography," she said. Henry paused- he didn't quite see the problem with that. After all, Elizabeth's eight-year term as President had been largely successful and her life story was one that people were bound to be chomping at the bit to tell. It wasn't exactly a surprise, and Henry had anticipated that she might rather have someone she had some history with be the one to write it- that, or write it herself.

"Well, what's wrong with that?" he asked. Elizabeth groaned and leaned forward over her desk. Henry smiled just slightly at her theatrics and then stood, moving to stand behind her. She leaned back again, resting her head on the back of her chair so that she could look up at him. He smiled at her upside down and ran his hand over her forehead, tenderly brushing away strands of her light hair. Then he placed his hands on her shoulders, massaging tense muscles gently.

"It's just that I'm dreading the whole process," Elizabeth explained. "It's not about Neal," she continued. "In fact, if anyone has to do it I'd rather it be someone I at least have some history with and out of the existing journalists in the world I'd probably even choose Neal myself." Henry smiled- he'd been right in his thinking on Elizabeth's logic. However, he still seemed to be missing something.

"So what's the issue, exactly?" he pressed. "You knew this was coming, babe."

"I did," Elizabeth groaned. "But now that it's here it makes me feel all...squirmy."

"Squirmy?" Henry laughed.

"Listen, no one can expect me to be eloquent all the time," Elizabeth replied.

"Well, I was going to suggest you could just write it yourself, but if you're going to use words like 'squirmy' then I might not recommend that," Henry said lightly, earning him a swat to the chest by Elizabeth.

"It's just that I hate the idea of talking over everything with someone, even though I do like Neal," Elizabeth continued after their momentary lightness. "I'd have to explain everything. From my childhood to what happened to my parents and countless other things. Political decisions, non-political decisions, every summit I've ever been to, the CIA, Iran. There's so much that people don't know. It's giving me a headache just thinking about it."

Henry ran a hand through her hair and she sighed, meeting his gaze.

"I just wish someone who already knows everything could write it," she lamented, and then frowned as she watched Henry's eyes light up with the telltale sign of an idea.

"What?" Elizabeth asked. Henry quickly pulled a chair up beside her desk and spun her to face him. He leaned forward and watched her with intense hazel eyes.

"What?" she asked again.

"What if I write it?" he asked, and she raised her eyebrows at him. Then that seemed to sink in on her; she paused, and he could see her thinking it over.

"That's...actually a really good idea," she said slowly.

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Henry quipped, and she rolled her eyes at him before she met his gaze again.

"Henry, are you sure?" she asked. "It's a big undertaking."

"It's also an opportunity to tell the story of the love of my life for everyone else to see," he replied softly. "I'm sure, Elizabeth."

She smiled at him, leaned in, and kissed him warmly. He smiled slightly against her and when she pulled away she rested her forehead against his.

"I think I better email Neal back," she said. "You know, tell him I found someone more qualified."

Henry laughed.

"Hey, Elizabeth," he added as she turned away. She glanced back to find him smiling slightly at her.

"Yeah?"

"I'm qualified in other things too," he said. "And," he added, leaning over the back of her chair with his hands on her shoulders, slowly traveling along her arms as he positioned himself to whisper in her ear. "It might do me some good to familiarize myself with the subject of this book I'm writing."

She laughed, but a shiver had run up her spine as well.

"I think we can manage that," she said. "But only if you promise that none of the knowledge gained will make it into said book."

"Deal."