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‘Why the hell can’t I save you once for a change?’
Hans throws his hands up in frustration. He looks so distraught that Henry can barely stand it.
‘I’ll be back,’ he tries to console him.
But Hans sort of shakes his head, like an animal in pain, then stares despondently at the floor. All Henry can think is that he wants to make it better, that he wants to take away his anguish – anguish that he, Henry, is causing because he’s volunteered for the mission.
‘I promise!’ he tries again, and it’s not even a conscious decision, but he covers Hans’ hand with his own to reassure him, to make him believe it, trying to convey through one simple touch how well he understands, how much he wants to return to Hans. That he will do anything in his power to succeed, just so that so they can be together again.
He will be back. He must be back.
Hans looks up when he touches him, and he smiles. Oh, thank God, he smiles. It’s not his usual radiant smile, where mischief always lurk at the corners of his mouth. Even though his face is haggard, his smile is gentle, content – hopeful.
Fuck.
It is the hope that kills you – isn’t that what they say? He shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have touched him. He shouldn’t have come here at all. Henry can’t stay, they both know that. Sam on his own will have no chance, they’ll all die. He has to go.
Lancelot dies in the end…
Leaving Hans is the hardest thing he’s ever done. His palm feels like its glued to the back of his hand, moving it is like lifting an anvil. Henry has to put his whole body into it, has to rise from the bed to separate them.
The moment he does, Hans’ face falls. His beautiful smile vanishes and is replaced by desperation. Henry tries a nod, tries to tell him again: I will be back. But Hans doesn’t believe him, Hans knows that he’s putting on a show.
And Galehaut dies, too. Of grief and sorrow.
Henry has to look away before he does something stupid.
‘And everything will be alright.’ He tries to say it in a light-hearted voice, but he can’t look Hans in the eyes. God. He must focus on the job. There is work to be done. Hans will die if he doesn’t do it, and the mere thought is even more unbearable than leaving him. ‘I’ll bring reinforcements,’ he adds, trying to think of the plan, the strategy, the goal, trying to push all thoughts about not returning, about Hans dying, out of his mind.
Henry zeroes in on the door, pushes himself forward with sheer force of will. But when he’s almost made it, when he’s almost past him, Hans grabs his arm, pulls him in – and kisses him.
He kisses him.
Time stops.
Their lips touch, like their hands did, and even though Henry doesn’t really want to acknowledge it yet, deep inside he already knows: He cannot leave him, not like this.
He tries. Heaven knows, he really tries. The job. There is a job to be done, and it’s important. Hans apologises, frantically, and it tears Henry’s heart in two. The door – he focuses on the door. He’ll just walk out, and everything will be alright. The kiss was born out of desperation anyway, out of the delirium of hunger, out of fear. Henry shouldn’t take advantage of that. They’ll both forget about it, and everything will be alright.
Except they might both die, and he might never see Hans again.
Like Lancelot and Galehaut.
No.
No, he won’t allow it.
He turns away from the door. His eyes find Hans, his feet stomp over to him all on their own. He grabs him and he pulls their bodies together, touching him, kissing him, loving him, to make sure that Hans understands how much he needs him to be alright, how worried he is about him, that he will give everything – anything – to save him. To save them.
He will be back.
They will make their own story.
And everything will be alright.