Chapter Text
The frantic clicking of the computer keyboard is the only sound echoing through Henry's study. The light from the screen, reflected in his eyes and partially on the window behind him, is the only light in the room now that darkness has fallen. Yet Henry seems unconcerned, enraptured as he is by the sentences that seem to flow so quickly from his brain to the keyboard. Indeed, it is as if he is no longer even aware that his hands are nothing more than instruments connecting his mind to the white page.
After one final sentence, Henry, satisfied, looks back at his work.
Completely unexpectedly, he's doubled, or rather, almost tripled, the word count his schedule dictated. He can effectively consider his story finished.
Unbelievable, he thinks, sighing with satisfaction and bringing his favorite cup to his mouth, only to spit out in disgust the cold, bitter mess that had become his tea.
What time is it exactly?
“Oh dear” only now does he seem to notice the darkness, and aknowledge the creative black hole into which he has been sucked for that afternoon, or perhaps should he say evening?
How could he have worked so continuously? Poor David. He'll need to get out to stretch his legs, and relieve his bladder!
Henry gets up, only to regret it right away. His feet are numb from the long writing session, curled in a position surely not recommended by the British Osteopathic Association. David, drawn by the commotion, trots toward him, his eyes hopeful, then full of pure joy when he glimpses the leash.
“Oh dear,” Henry says again when, as soon as he steps out the front door, he’s assailed by a gust of icy wind and the unmistakable, international scent of impending rain. “And they say London has awful weather!”
David, also sighing, seems to agree with him.
Pulling the collar of his coat tight around his neck, Henry silently prays that David will be quick and efficient in doing his business and that he won't waste time sniffing every blade of grass on the sidewalk.
Henry mentally corrects himself, hoping David doesn't waste too much time sniffing every blade of grass on the sidewalk. While David does exactly that, Henry absentmindedly glances at his watch. Then he checks his phone. No news from Alex.
This is good, on the one hand, because it means he has time to put together some semblance of dinner: it's relatively early considering Alex's crazy schedule these days. But this is also very bad on the other hand, he thinks, precisely because Alex has been keeping inhuman hours lately and is taking even less care of himself. Luckily, Henry was damn productive today, if he can say so himself, and so he'll have time to take better care of his love.
He smiles at the mere thought. Of Alex in general, and more specifically, of being able to take a little care of the human he holds most dear in the world.
After a while, David seems satisfied with his investigation and seems to have convinced himself to return home, surely aided by the icy wind that continues to ruffle his ears. Finally, they find themselves again in front of the front door.
Awful, weather, really. He hopes they’ll make it home before the heavens will open.
Henry enters the brownstone with his head bowed, already busy untying the dog's leash when suddenly he bumps into something, or rather someone, standing motionless in the entryway.
“Alex! You’re home!” Henry feels a little silly reiterating the obvious, but he’s been caught off guard, quite literally.
“Mmmm” is the only response he gets.
A quick glance at Alex and he immediately notices something's wrong: his head is bowed, his shoulders hunched, and his eyes, normally so full of enthusiasm for life, are sunken, and above all, red rimmed. Oh God, has he been crying?
“Love, are you alright?” Henry asks hesitantly, approaching Alex with the caution one would reserve for a wounded wild animal, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, chapped by the wind and, Henry is sure, by dehydration after a day without drinking.
“I’m ok, just- tired” the last word pronounced like a sigh, almost a stifled moan.
David circles around their legs joyfully but unintentionally causes Alex to lose his balance, Henry catches him at the last minute.
“Easy, dear. Let me help you!”
Alex sways in place as Henry patiently removes his coat. Then he unrolls his scarf, and Henry can't help but smile, albeit faintly. That scarf, in crimson cashmere, is his. Or maybe it was. It just looks so good on Alex, with his olive complexion, that he's happy to part with it.
Alex, his neck exposed to the air, visibly shivers.
That will just not do, Henry thinks.
“Shoes. Now.”
Alex obliges and they both take off their shoes.
“Let’s go upstairs.” Henry takes his hand and they climb, slowly by their standards, the stairs to the master bedroom. Once there, Henry moves closer to Alex until their toes touch.
“May I?” Henry asks, slipping his hands under the suit jacket, at shoulder height, but Alex grunts in denial, pulling away.
“Cold,” he mutters.
Although confused by this unusual attitude, Henry quickly recovers: "A nice hot shower will make you feel better, come with me."
He drags him into the bathroom and leaves him leaning against the sink while he adjusts the water temperature. Soon the bathroom fills with steam. When the heat is about to become unbreathable, as in a Turkish hammam, Henry dares to try undressing Alex again.
“I never thought I’d find so much resistance from you to the idea of getting naked, Alex, really!” His heart lightens slightly when he sees the hint of a smile on her lover’s lips. But his suspicion that something isn’t entirely right remains, especially when no dirty joke is uttered as Henry kneels at Alex’s feet to remove his chinos and underwear.
Whatever happened at work, Henry thinks, must have been particularly horrendous. But it's best not to press the issue; he's sure he'll be told everything in detail when Alex feels ready to share.
Alex finally slips under the spray of scorching water, and Henry leaves him to his thoughts while he goes back to the bedroom to retrieve a pair of soft pajama pants, Alex's favorite, now threadbare, lounge shirt, and the heaviest sweatshirt he can find in their walk-in closet.
As he hurries to search the drawer for a pair of socks, he hears the familiar background noises coming from the bathroom. They're the usual ones: the shampoo lid popping open, the dull thud of the jar of mask specific for curly hair, placed on the shower ledge. Finally, the sound of the shower gel pump. The water rinsing... But something is different, wrong. Henry would dare say incomplete, even though he can't quite pinpoint what it is.
It's all too... silent!
Bloody hell, how did he not immediately realize that this was the problem?
Alex never stays quiet for more than 4, maximum 5 minutes.
Chatting relentlessly is absolutely the thing he does best. And it doesn't matter whether he's in company or alone. He can talk to Henry, of course; in fact, he's his favorite conversation partner. But he often gets lost in long conversations with David, and if David isn't around, that's no problem. Alex is known for talking to himself, repeating arguments in a mock speech, or chanting a list of some sort out loud. Or he hums songs under his breath, either in English or Spanish.
And if he doesn't utter complete words, or tries to be quiet to not disturb Henry, perhaps because it's early in the morning or because Henry is on the phone or working in his study, Alex will involuntarily emit some kind of hum without even realizing it, a sound of some kind to express joy over a hair routine that went well, pleasure over the first sip of coffee, frustration over a jar he can't reach in the kitchen because it's too high and he's too proud to ask for help.
Alex is so physiologically incapable of silence that he even talks in his sleep.
So it goes without saying, Henry realizes, that whatever is forcing Alex into this unnatural silence is really, really, serious.
With a sense of impending doom, Henry returns to the bathroom. The steam is so thick he can barely see anything. Even the mirror is fogged up.
Alex is wrapped in his bathrobe, his face completely obscured by the hood. “How very Palpatine of you, dear, you can use your Unlimited Power as soon as you’re dressed!” Sure, it’s a lame way to break the silence and lighten the mood of the evening, yet apparently it works.
Alex laughs, finally! But immediately afterward, he winces visibly and puts his hands to his neck.
“Alex, love, what’s wrong?”
Alex shrugs
“Is your throat hurting, love?”