Work Text:
Alex and Henry are together on yet another public appearance. Thanks to Alex’s persistent texting (and recently, calling), as well as Henry’s inability to resist him, this time they’re friends coming into it. Their humor matches and their conversations are easy; they’ve spent so much time talking to each other that Henry’s screen time has doubled. So, another public appearance with each other should be no problem, then.
Alex tells him such as they enter the hospital. Henry hums, swallowing as his chest inevitably tightens.
It would have been no problem had it been anywhere else. But of course, the world never wants to make it easy for Henry.
Today, they’re visiting the bloody hospital where his father took his last breath—and it’s bringing up so many things that Henry wants to hurl.
Henry jumps when Alex nudges him with his elbow, prompting him to move from where he’s frozen. Alex hasn’t acknowledged the significance of the hospital since they were briefed on this appearance—or, Henry has only now started to consider, Alex isn’t even aware of it—which Henry finds he’s quite grateful for. He’s not sure what he would do if Alex were to simply pity him the whole time they were there.
He gives Alex a tight smile, Alex looking at him weirdly in response but not saying anything. Henry keeps his eyes on the ground as they enter, Shaan and Cash opening the doors for the two of them.
The moment Henry steps inside the hospital he’s met with its distinct smell, with the familiar noises of wheels and beeps and overlapping voices, with its unsettlingly cool temperature, and with the sight of walls and floors and rooms he unwillingly knows too well.
Christ, Henry never thought he’d ever have to be here again.
He briefly glances at Shaan who’s completely stoic behind him, but his deep brown eyes make way for concern. He raises his eyebrows at Henry—a minute check-up, but Henry just presses his lips into a thin line in response. It’s not like there’s anything he can do to escape this, anyway.
Shaan nods, remorseful but also reassuring, as if telling Henry that he can simply give the word and it’ll all be over.
Henry steels himself, catching up with Alex’s strides as they begin to make their rounds. He doesn’t miss the look of sympathy and high respect that passes Shaan’s face.
* * *
It doesn’t go as horribly as Henry imagined it would. Alex’s presence beside him helps him get through it, and the responsibility of catering to the people in the hospital as well as the press distracts him enough.
He thinks he’ll be fine. Thinks he’ll survive it, and that when it all comes crashing down, he’ll get to deal with it in the privacy of his bedroom. It’s going fine, and it’s almost done.
As they make their way across a corridor, Alex, ever on his right, tells him something about what June saw earlier that day in the tabloids. It’s interesting—quite humorous on Alex’s part, really. It’s when Henry’s about to make a remark that they pass by a room that makes the hairs on his arms stand.
Alex doesn’t notice the shift in atmosphere, doesn’t stop his rambling about the rumors, because the room means nothing to him. But the moment Henry’s eyes land on the doorframe, on the room number, on the empty bed, on the large window that’s just slightly off-center, his whole body freezes.
He feels his throat dry up, and Alex is staring now, but he avoids that. He can’t even think for himself, currently.
He doesn’t know what to bloody do. What to feel. Because even after all the horrible things that happened in that room, even with all the harrowing memories tied to it, for some reason, Henry still finds a part of him wanting to go back inside. Wanting to remember those times they had with his father here, wanting to return to a place his father spent days living in, no matter how lifeless it was, no matter how heartbreaking.
Because in some sick, twisted way, being so close to that room and close to that bed feels somewhat like having his father back.
And it doesn’t make sense—not really. But right now, in this moment, it does for Henry. So who cares? He misses his dad. He’ll take anything he can get.
Henry’s eyes meet Shaan’s, and in a split second he understands what Henry needs. He steps forward between Henry and Alex and says, “Mr. Claremont-Diaz, you may now proceed to the exit if you wish. After all, our work for today is done.”
“But… Henry?” Alex says, perplexed.
Before Henry can even answer, Shaan cuts in with, “Your Royal Highness has matters to attend to.”
He doesn’t get to explain to Alex since Shaan escorts him inside the room, closing the door behind them. It feels a bit rude, but he doesn’t know if he would be able to say anything to Alex without bursting into tears.
He looks around, and once Henry takes in the room in its entirety, the grief begins clawing its way up his throat. Vivid memories of his father and his declining health decorate every corner of the room, even the mere color of the walls or the height of the bed bringing them all back to him.
Suddenly, Henry feels like he’s eighteen again, desperation for his father to stay at his fingertips.
His feet take him to the bed, knees shaky as he sits down.
“Would you like someone to talk to, Sir?” Shaan asks. Henry doesn’t turn his head to meet Shaan’s eyes, instead keeping his gaze directed towards the curtained window.
“I’d like some time alone, I think. If that’s possible,” Henry says, not expecting the tremble in his voice.
“Of course, Sir,” Shaan says, quietly stepping out.
Once the door closes, Henry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, finally sitting with his feelings.
He lets himself remember the days he spent with his father here. The goodbyes, the promises, the reassurances. The nights spent lying beside his father as they tried searching for Orion through the window. The tears shed as Arthur enumerated his dreams and his hopes for Henry’s future.
Fuck.
This place has to be the most difficult one.
The palace is livable. It’s peppered with childhood joy and nostalgia, with the happiest memories of his father being so alive. Yes, in it also lives the ruins of their family: the grief that Arthur left them with; the apathy of Mary throughout the entirety of Dad dying—but Henry’s lived with that everyday. It isn’t easy, but the grief is just part of the air Henry breathes now.
Then, the grave is just what it is. It’s the tangible symbol of his father’s death. It’s death and endings and mourning shoved in Henry’s face. But it’s Arthur’s body in the soil beneath him, and if having his feet on that ground is what it takes for Henry to be as close to his father again, then he finds himself there on the days he needs it most.
But, God. This. This room is filled with nothing but grief. With the grief of Arthur—endless tears coming from a weakening body as he aches knowing how his illness will devastate so many people that love him. With the grief of Henry and his family—each visit to the room carrying a difficult, trying smile to make the most out of every moment Arthur has left, despite his impending death being the first thing the room reminds everyone of. It’s filled with the bittersweetness of hearing heartfelt words from Arthur that they probably would have never heard if not for his unfortunate destiny. And with the pain of knowing that this place is where Arthur’s body deteriorated bit by excruciating bit—of knowing this is where it gave up on him, and of knowing that after so much good, after so much of the wonder that is Arthur Fox, that this place is the one that carries the weight of having his very last moments alive.
So, yes. This place is the hardest. It’s why Henry’s never been here since he last was, holding his father’s hand by his bedside four and a half years ago.
Henry starts to feel tears forming in his eyes, the ache in his chest slowly spreading. Then starts the desperation, the yearning, the want to have his father back, and the cruel, cruel pain of knowing he can never have that. He feels brought right back to those nights where he had his father’s hand clutched in his own as he sleeps, and him in tears, begging Arthur not to leave.
He slouches, arms wrapping around himself in an attempt to carry the heaviness in his heart better. He wonders if it would be inappropriate to fall back onto the bed and lie there. It’s not like Shaan would ever let a staff come in and see the Prince of Wales contaminating an available bed whilst having a breakdown, but he wonders anyway. He knows this room wasn’t built as a place for mourning, but the truth is that it’s all people ever do in places like these.
Just as he’s on the cusp of deciding to lie down, he hears the knob of the door turn. He stiffens, straightening up and keeping his gaze resolutely in front of him, waiting for Shaan to speak.
It’s not Shaan’s voice he hears.
“Henry?” he hears Alex ask, hesitant, quiet, gentle.
Henry’s at a loss for words. It’s— Alex feels like the last person he wants right now, because Alex is beautiful and lovely and everything and he doesn’t want Alex to see him like this. Except he also knows that Alex has recently become his person, and no matter what he wants (or doesn’t want), Henry knows that Alex is the one person he needs right now.
“Is it… okay that I’m here? Do you want me to go?” Alex’s voice remains at a distance.
Henry takes a deep breath, thinking of whether he should stand up, wipe his tears, smile at Alex and pretend everything’s alright, then go home; or if he should just ask Alex to go, keeping the walls he’s put up perfectly intact.
Or… if he should just admit to himself that those walls were long obliterated by Alex’s brightly insistent personality, and let him stay.
It’s completely silent the entire time he thinks, but he doesn’t hear the door open, doesn’t hear the knob turn, and knowing Alex is being so caring, so careful, so patient, Henry can’t help but nod, wordlessly moving to the left to make space for Alex.
He dares not to look, not even when he feels the mattress shift and when he sees Alex sit beside him in his peripheral vision.
Then, “Do you wanna talk about it?”
Henry finds that he does.
But, well, the words clog up in his throat. He doesn’t know where to start. His eyes start to fill with tears.
Alex doesn’t say a word, just knocking his knee to Henry’s.
“I don’t know what to start with,” Henry says shakily, laughing in an attempt to lighten it up.
He feels Alex scooch closer. His voice is soft when he says, “It’s okay. Take your time.”
The gentleness with which Alex talks to him drives straight through his walls, breaking him inside. He heaves a sigh as tears wet his eyelashes. He grips tightly on his fingers, mustering up the courage to start without his voice quivering.
“My dad died here. In this room,” Henry says, voice quiet. He feels Alex’s eyes on him. He keeps his head down, staring at his lap as his hands fidget over it. “I haven’t been here since he passed. I— Even visits are hard—to the cemetery. This just— It was overwhelming when we passed by it.” He starts sniffling. “Christ, sorry,” he apologizes, swiftly wiping his tears away.
“Hey. Absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” Alex tells him firmly, hand moving to squeeze Henry’s knee.
A few sobs escape from Henry. Alex’s hand stays.
“I just… miss him so much,” Henry finally says. “I do, everyday, but— seeing this room just brought up too many—” His breath catches. He feels Alex’s hand tighten on his knee. “It brought up too many memories of him having a hard time,” Henry continues, through tears. He stubbornly wipes them away. “It was so difficult, Alex. It was the worst. Being here, seeing him, knowing that it was all going to end in one way,” Henry says, shaking his head.
“You know, I thought— I thought that was going to be the hardest part—the knowing and the waiting and the suffering right before he died,” Henry swallows, “But it wasn’t. Having to wake up every day and go through life, have these achievements and life-altering events and not have him witness them— That hurts just as much. Sometimes, I even think it hurts more—because with it is also knowing that it’s for eternity. That he really isn’t going to be there to witness anything else but what he already has. Because he’s— gone. Forever. And there’s just— absolutely, bloody nothing I can do to change that.”
Henry chokes on the last word, his lips quivering. He tries to keep in his sobbing, trying not to look like a fool in front of Alex, but he isn’t able to stop all of the tears and the snot and the hiccups.
He feels so helpless, so defeated, and so broken, and as many times as he’s felt that way before, it never seems to get easier. To know that it’s never going to, either, makes it worlds worse.
And Alex being here doesn’t take away from that. It hurts just as much as it always does. But thankfully, he eases some of the ache. Grief doesn’t cease its sharp poking and ruthless tearing at his heart, no, but Alex tends to the wounds it leaves, closing up the parts where Henry bleeds himself dry.
Alex’s hand is heavy on his knee, his touch both grounding and comforting. His thumb moves back and forth, a comforting motion, and for the first time since Alex came into the room, Henry looks up at him. Henry’s blurry vision meets a gaze shining with tears.
He sees Alex’s mouth open, but no words ever come out. His eyes are worried and searching. And Henry, for all that he’s feeling right now, knows exactly what that look is—knows that Alex is thinking of what to say, that he’s looking for the right words.
He’s talked to enough people to know that there are no right words. Anything that people say or do won’t change the fact that his dad’s dead.
And yet, as Henry should have expected, Alex is an exception. While it takes Alex a blink, then another, and another, he ends up doing the right thing in the end. His hands come up to Henry’s shoulders, pulling him towards his chest into an embrace. Alex’s arms wrap around him, holding him tight. Alex squeezes him so hard, and Henry understands. He understands and he’s so goddamn grateful.
Henry knows it’s more than just sympathy, more than being there for him and being sorry for his loss. It’s also wanting his hurting to end, it’s hating how much he has to go through, it’s him trying his best to take off some of the weight Henry carries.
It’s a new kind of comfort for Henry. It’s an embrace he doesn’t get with his sister, which is one that’s often commiserating, consoling, and equally hurting. No, this—Alex hugs him in a way that’s so undeniably Alex: filled to the brim with emotion, pouring out of his fingertips and soaking in all of Henry’s grief. It’s so much—so much closeness and so much force and so much caring, and it’s everything, much like Alex is to Henry.
So, beyond any of his control, Henry bursts. He starts sobbing in Alex’s arms—letting himself grieve the loss, letting himself remember the pain, letting himself miss his father completely.
And Alex holds him through it. He rubs his hand up and down Henry’s back. His firm grip around Henry’s shoulders doesn’t waver. He doesn’t let go until Henry relents. He murmurs soft words into Henry’s ear—it’s okay, I’m so sorry, H, I’ve got you, don’t worry, just let it out, I’m here, it’s okay.
Henry holds onto him until the storm passes.
It’s a flood of tears and sorrow, and while it takes a couple of minutes and several heartbreaks and countless desperate pleas to the universe, it passes eventually. His heart still hurts from where it bleeds in his ribcage, but the wave of grief has now returned to its ocean. It will return eventually—as it always does—but in the meantime, the tide has subsided and Henry no longer feels like he’s drowning.
A lot of that is thanks to Alex.
He pulls away from the embrace despite wanting to live inside Alex’s arms forever, shamefully wiping away all the tears and snot that have now transferred onto the shoulder of Alex’s suit jacket. He can feel that his eyes are puffy when he looks at Alex, whose own eyes are melancholic.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Alex,” Henry says, throat raw with emotion. “Thank you, though. You helped me more than you could know.”
Alex takes a trembling breath, looking into Henry’s eyes. “Stop apologizing, Henry. Please,” he says, his hand slowly moving to brush against Henry’s.
Henry’s fingers twitch, but he doesn’t move away. Alex’s fingers graze against his palm before interlocking their fingers.
“I want to be here for you,” Alex says, glancing at their hands once before looking back up to Henry. “I just need you to let me in.”
Henry’s heart, in all its tattered glory, starts beating to life.
His eyes pool with tears, and he feels the scratchiness at the back of his throat, so in the end, he just nods. His lips form the smallest smile, and when Alex sees it, he smiles back.
They let the moment run its course, a silence between them until it ends.
“We should— probably get out of here. We’ve taken quite a while, I think,” Henry says then, averting his gaze to the curtains covering the window.
“You sure?” Alex asks. Gently, thoughtfully, absolutely bloody lovingly.
Henry breathes in deeply, exhales, then he says with a reassuring smile, “I’m sure.”
Alex squeezes their hands before letting go.
When they’ve both stood up, Alex tugs him into one last embrace. Firm, brief, secure. So forceful that he stumbles a few steps back.
“I’m always here for you, H, okay? I’m sorry you have to go through all this.”
Henry closes his eyes, letting the weight of Alex be the only heavy thing he carries.
He squeezes his arms tightly, whispering, “Thank you, Alex,” into Alex’s shoulder.
Shaan is looking warily at him when they open the door, but Henry nods, and Shaan observes him for the briefest moment before seemingly accepting his state of being.
“I’ve told the press that they’ve gotten a proper amount of media to go off of for today. They’ve all been asked to leave,” Shaan says coolly.
Henry feels infinitely grateful.
“Thank you, Shaan.”
Shaan only nods in response. Henry can see the smile fighting its way onto Shaan’s lips nonetheless.
Henry glances behind him, Alex walking with him out the building. Two different cars are waiting for them by the exits, and, as Shaan said, no press.
They stand a few feet away from the cars, Alex turning to face him. Henry starts to feel his heart sink, knowing this is once again a goodbye.
Alex’s mouth opens to say something, but he’s interrupted when Cash, a few steps ahead of them, speaks.
“Alex, sorry, but we’re running late and we have to go.”
“Yeah, okay, um,” Alex says, looking up at Henry. He rushes to form the words he wants to tell Henry. “You can always talk to me, Henry,” he tells him, tone lower so that only Henry can hear. “I want to be there for you, okay? You’re not alone in this. You’ve got me.”
Alex waits for Henry to nod before he squeezes his arm and turns on his heel, Cash following him to their vehicle.
Before Alex gets inside the car, he turns one last time, flashing Henry a bright grin and waving.
Henry briefly waves back, his world spinning as he watches Alex go inside, close the door, and drift away.
When Shaan escorts him to their own car, the heaviness of it all finally seeps in. The exhaustion, the embarrassment, the remnants of sorrow.
But also, of course, the small bright spots in the day—in other words, Alex’s thoughtfulness in all its different forms.
He takes out his phone, the words coming to him easier now that he’s not centimeters away from Alex.
I can’t thank you enough, Alex. I’m terribly ashamed, I have to admit. But you were so incredibly kind; I really can’t thank you enough for dealing with me.2:34 PM
Alex’s reply comes immediately.
ofc H2:34PM
anytime. i promise2:34PM
and btw don’t worry2:34 PM
all of it will stay between u and me2:34 PM
…and my dry cleaner2:35 PM
Henry flushes pink in embarrassment.
I am going to die of shame.2:35 PM
LOL2:35 PM
i’m kidding2:35 PM
but seriously henry2:35 PM
i hate that u have to go through that2:35 PM
i can’t imagine being in ur place or how much it hurts2:36 PM
i do know that it’s a lot tho so please don’t forget that i’m always here for u2:36 PM
and i mean ALWAYS2:36 PM
That means a lot. Thank you.2:36 PM
you promise you’ll reach out when you need someone?2:36 PM
(there is a right answer and i won’t stop pestering u until u say it)2:36 PM
I promise, Alex.2:37 PM
good2:37 PM
:)2:37 PM
Henry wakes up the next day to Alex back in America, but also to a bouquet by his doorstep.
[flowers.jpg]8:12 AM
Are you trying to woo me, darling?8:12 AM
in ur dreams sweetheart8:12 AM
if i were to woo you you’d know8:12 AM
the flowers are for your dad8:13 AM
give them to him for me?8:13 AM
if you don’t mind8:13 AM
and if i’m not overstepping8:13 AM
henry?8:15 AM
Sorry. You’re just being so lovely; I don’t know what to do with myself.8:16 AM
sorry if it’s too much8:16 AM
It’s alright. Please don’t apologize. You’re wonderful.8:16 AM
I promise to give these and send your regards to Dad when I visit later.8:17 AM
thanks H8:17 AM
god i miss him so much for you. can i say that? does that even make sense?8:17 AM
Yes, you can, and yes, it does. And I miss him, too.8:17 AM
❤️8:17 AM
i know H8:17 AM
he misses you too8:17 AM
Henry stops. It’s a heavy statement that leaves him speechless. Because after viscerally missing his father every single day for years, he seems to have forgotten that his father misses his son, too.
fuck8:18 AM
sorry8:18 AM
sorry i know that was too far8:18 AM
No, Alex. It’s alright; trust me. You have no idea how much I really, really needed that.8:19 AM
fuck i’m so sorry H8:19 AM
know that i’m hugging the FUCK out of you rn8:19 AM
Henry chuckles at how uniquely Alex the remark is. Then he lets himself imagine being wrapped around his arms for a moment.
It soothes something in his chest.
He wishes so badly that Alex were really here.
Then you should know I’m making a mess out of whatever you’re wearing right now.8:19 AM
there’s my guy8:19 AM
* * *
When Henry visits Arthur’s grave later that day, he sits down on the ground and takes the time to talk to his father. Henry realizes that he hasn’t done that in a while.
He tells Arthur about how he’s doing, about Bea, about the rest of the family.
He tells him about Alex.
He tells him all about Cakegate. He tells him about Rio, then the supply closet, then the texting, then Cornbread, then the hospital room. He tells him about the flowers.
By the end of it, Henry tells his dad that he misses him.
When he stands up, he leaves behind the bouquet of marigolds and cypress vine. He stares at his father’s name one last time, sending a silent message.
The wind doesn’t blow in response, nor does a butterfly flutter past. There’s no sign of Arthur except his name engraved in stone.
Henry leaves, walking away empty-handed.
(In reality, he takes his dad with him. As he does everyday with the grief—or, really, love—for him that he carries.)