Chapter Text
Cash stands at the edge of the ballroom, scanning the lavish royal wedding reception with practiced ease. The event is exactly as expected: high-profile guests, enough champagne to drown in, and a cake so big it practically has its own security detail. He’s been on duty for hours, but that doesn’t stop him from cracking a smile as he spots Alex making his way through the crowd.
Alex is chatting up some royal cousins or dignitaries, probably causing diplomatic incidents with that charming smile of his. Cash can’t help but shake his head thinking about the trouble Alex is causing.
But then, Cash notices Prince Henry, he’s standing stiffly across the room, all perfect posture and princely manners, giving Alex a side-eye like he’s trying to burn holes into his suit with sheer willpower.
There’s something brewing between those two, something Cash doesn’t want to deal with. He’s seen rivalries before—hell, half his job is keeping politicians from ripping each other’s throats out—but this one? This one’s weird. It’s not just political tension; it’s personal.
Cash watches as Alex walks up to Henry, all swagger and smirk, while Henry’s jaw tightens like he’s bracing for impact. The next few moments are a blur of muttered words and glares and then— bam! —the two of them collide with the towering wedding cake, sending it crashing to the ground like a royal catastrophe.
“Oh, hell no,” Cash mutters under his breath as he steps forward, ready to assess the damage. He half expects Henry to throw a punch and Alex to make a break for it. But neither of them move. They’re just awkwardly frozen on the ground, staring at the mess they’ve made.
To Cash, this looks like rivalry. Maybe a little over-the-top, but what else could it be? The prince and the president’s son are at each other’s throats, plain and simple. Typical.
He snorts, shaking his head. "Boys and their pissing contests."
- - -
Cash is stationed in the main hallway of the hospital, keeping his eyes on the blend of journalists, patients, and staff milling about. It’s another day of tailing Alex—a routine he knows like the back of his hand. Alex shakes hands, cracks jokes, and flashes that politician-in-the-making smile of his. Cash has gotten used to it by now—the mix of diplomacy and mischief that follows Alex everywhere.
But then there’s Prince Henry. Cash’s assumptions about the prince have been fairly simple: polished, stiff, nice enough. But today’s different. Over the course of the visit, Henry shifts into something unexpected.
The day starts as usual. Henry’s there, looking princely, delivering tight smiles for the cameras, shaking hands but never really getting involved. Alex, ever the hands-on guy, is hauling boxes of books around before the royal staff can even finish unloading them. Henry, meanwhile, waits for the boxes to be placed neatly beside him before he hands out each book with a practiced grace.
Cash watches them side by side, Henry reading aloud in his measured and careful way, Alex putting on a loud and energetic show. There’s nothing wrong with Henry’s approach, it’s subtle, and at the end of the day the kids enjoy his presence. Henry is quiet, he spends more time listening than talking, and Cash realizes that Henry and Alex actually make a pretty balanced pair.
The event moves along, but Henry does something Cash doesn’t expect—he slips away. Shaan blocks a photographer from tailing him, so Cash assumes it’s just a break. But during a sweep of the floor, Cash spots Henry walking alone down the ward, handing out leftover books to bedridden kids. No cameras, no audience. It’s just him, quietly chatting and spending time with each kid, his usual stiff demeanor softened.
It doesn’t match the image of the cold, reserved prince. He’s clearly going out of his way to avoid attention, and it throws Cash off. He shakes his head, resettling in his post as he watches Alex head into a nearby room, eventually winding up with Henry. The hospital is too quiet for any major drama, but Cash keeps an ear out, expecting some smart-ass exchange.
But nothing. Not a word.
The air is lighter than it was that morning—at least as light as it can be, considering they’re surrounded by sick kids. When Alex and Henry emerge from the room, they seem fine. Not at each other’s throats for once. Cash feels the atmosphere shift, lighter, more relaxed than earlier in the day. But just as he’s letting his guard down, he hears the unmistakable sound of a pop.
His instincts take over before he even registers it. There’s no time to think—Alex is priority one, but Henry’s right there too, so Cash shoves them both into the nearest closet, moving fast. Door shut, lights off. He doesn’t give them a chance to ask questions, cutting off Alex’s protest before it starts with a sharp, “Stay down.”
Cash’s earpiece crackles to life with urgent voices. He’s on a shared line with Henry’s PPOs.
Possible shooter. Who has eyes?
Cash’s pulse pounds in his ears, adrenaline narrowing his focus. His job is clear: protect Alex. And, by association, protect the prince. His muscles tense, ready for the worst as he presses his back to the closet door. For as much as Alex drives him nuts, Cash knows he’d lay down his life for him without a second thought. He’s gotten used to the chaos Alex brings, but when it comes to situations like this? He’d never let anything happen to him. He mutters into his mic, voice steady despite the tightness in his chest.
Barracuda and His Royal Highness secured. Standing guard. Over.
Time stretches painfully slow. The only sounds are distant footsteps, hushed whispers, and the faint cries of scared children. Cash doesn’t let his guard down, doesn’t even shift his weight. It’s only when his earpiece crackles again, and the "all clear" filters through, that he lets himself breathe again.
He unlocks the door and swings it open, fully expecting to find Alex fuming and Henry looking more aloof than ever. What he sees instead stops him short.
Alex and Henry are sitting way too close for comfort, practically pressed against each other in the cramped space. Henry’s usually rigid posture is gone, and Alex, of all people, looks soft and vulnerable. It’s not the usual smug, cocky face he’s used to seeing. And Henry—Henry looks at Alex like he’s something precious.
Cash blinks. This isn’t the usual tension he’s used to seeing between them—the rivalry, the teasing insults. “False alarm. Some dumbass kids brought fireworks for their friend.”
Neither Alex nor Henry move. They’re still sitting there, shoulders touching, like they haven’t realized the world’s started turning again. Cash can’t help himself. He points at them, the words out of his mouth before he can stop them: “This looks cozy. ”
Cash shakes his head, stepping aside as they slowly untangle themselves. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline. Everyone acts a little weird after a scare.
- - -
The cold bites at Cash’s skin as they run along the Reflecting Pool, the early January air sharp enough to freeze in his lungs. Alex had called on Cash to be their security for the run, which is standard protocol, though Alex always grumbles about it. Cash figures he doesn’t like the extra attention it draws. But today’s different—Alex’s pace is hard and fast, like he’s trying to outrun something. Cash keeps stride easily, his training making him adept at reading more than just body language in moments like these.
Alex is in one of his moods, pushing himself harder than usual. He gets like this sometimes, always when something’s eating at him, and Cash has learned to hold off on pressing unless it’s absolutely necessary. But it’s not like Alex to be this quiet during a run—he’s usually complaining about current politics that are pissing him off. Whatever’s on Alex’s mind is usually easier for Cash to read.
Up ahead, the Washington Monument rises through the thin morning mist, and Cash glances sideways at Alex. “You alright?” Cash asks casually, keeping his tone light. He’s more concerned than he lets on, especially given Alex’s current speed in this freezing weather.
Alex’s only response is a grunt, his eyes focused on the path ahead, jaw clenched tight. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk. Cash isn’t about to push it, not yet.
June jogs a little behind them, her breath forming clouds in the cold air, but she’s keeping her usual upbeat energy despite the bitter chill. She catches up, sidling beside Cash and giving her brother a look he can’t quite interpret. He figures it’s just sibling stuff, so he doesn’t pay it much mind.
The silence stretches on, punctuated only by the rhythmic pounding of their feet against the frosty pavement and the distant sounds of early morning traffic. Cash, ever the silent observer, scans their surroundings with practiced ease, but his attention keeps drifting back to Alex. Something’s definitely off.
Halfway through the run, Cash decides it’s time to check in again. “You sure you’re good?” he asks, his breath fogging up in front of him as they near the Lincoln Memorial. “Pace is kinda pushing it.”
Alex doesn’t slow down, just grits his teeth. “I’m fine,” he mutters, though the tightness in his voice betrays him. He’s anything but fine.
Cash narrows his eyes but lets it drop for now. He knows Alex well enough to recognize when he’s stuck in his head. Pushing himself too hard is Alex’s unhealthy way of dealing with well, whatever it is this time. Cash just hopes he’s not about to keel over from the cold or something worse.
As they loop around, heading back toward where they started, Cash notices June falling back slightly, her usual teasing expression replaced by something more serious. She’s watching Alex with a quiet intensity, and Cash gets the feeling that whatever’s going on with Alex, she knows more than she’s letting on.
As they round a corner near the Lincoln Memorial on their tenth lap, Alex trips. It happens in slow motion, yet Cash isn’t able to get to him in time. As Cash walks over to evaluate any injuries, he sees the furious look on Alex’s face and realizes there’s no way he’ll be allowed to touch Alex’s skinned knee. June beats him there anyway, so he hangs back, still keeping a close eye on his charges while giving them space.
“Dude, what the hell?” she asks, her voice cutting through the silence as she steps closer to Alex, who’s still panting heavily. There’s no teasing in her tone this time, just blunt concern. “Your brain could not be more clearly in another solar system. Are you gonna tell me or what?”
Cash watches June help Alex up, remaining silent, listening, not wanting to intrude but unwilling to miss whatever comes next.
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Alex waves the question off.
Alex looks like he’s going to suggest they keep going, so Cash jumps in and mentions that he’s needed for a rotation in the residence shortly, so they need to head back. Alex agrees, June looking relieved.
As Alex limps back to the White House, he avoids eye contact with Cash and June, staring down at his shoes like they’ve suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world.
- - -
Cash lounges in his usual spot in the Secret Service break room, feet propped up on the table as he scrolls through his phone, catching up on the latest headlines. It’s a slow day—Alex is holed up doing prep work for the next round of campaign events. His job’s a lot easier when Alex is chained to a desk instead of running around causing his usual havoc.
He clicks on a link Amy sent him earlier, an article June wrote. Normally, he wouldn’t dive into anything too heavy, but he always tries to support June’s work. He’s so focused on reading that he doesn’t hear Amy enter until she drops into the chair across from him with a sigh.
Cash looks up. “Long shift?”
“A little. But really, it’s the in-laws tonight, and I’m dreading it.”
Cash grins, dropping his phone. “And that’s why I’m happily single. No judgmental in-laws to impress.”
Amy lets out another sigh. “It’s not even judgment. They’re always very complimentary—about the house, the dinner we order in—typical stuff. But they try so hard to say the right thing, they end up saying nothing at all. It’s just awkward.”
Cash scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, I can’t say I’ve been there.”
Amy rolls her eyes. “No shit. They’re nice people, though. They’ve only ever known me as Amy, so they’re fine with pronouns and all that. But when the conversation turns to kids, they freeze up. They know we’re looking into adoption, but they’re too afraid to ask.”
Cash chuckles. “Well, hey, if you need a sudden ‘urgent Secret Service call’ to get a break from it, just hit me up.”
Amy laughs. “Thanks, but I think I’ll survive. Anyway, enough about me. You’re taking the New York trip this weekend, right?”
“Yup. Haven’t traveled with the little shit in a while, so I’m ready for some excitement.”
“That’s an understatement.” Amy pauses for a second, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “Actually, we haven’t talked about it-–are you planning for a visitor? I’m sure he’s going to show up.”
Cash frowns. “What are you talking about?”
Amy gives him a pointed look. “Are you prepared for private entrances? Coordinating with foreign security? The Brits are a little more by the book and expect discretion.”
“What the hell are you on about?”
Amy shakes her head, pulling out her phone and typing quickly before sliding it across the table. Cash picks it up, and glances at the headline: Best Bromance Ever. His brow furrows as his eyes scan the images, the laughter frozen in time between Alex and Henry. They’re standing close—too close, Cash realizes for just friends. One of the photos shows Henry leaning in slightly, his lips almost brushing Alex’s ear as he whispers something. Alex’s hand rests casually on Henry’s shoulder, but the familiarity there is clear.
He scrolls through the series of photos: Henry’s wide grin as Alex makes a ridiculous face; the two of them standing side by side, shoulders touching; and a candid shot of them laughing over a bottle of wine, eyes locked on one another.
Cash squints at the phone, then at Amy. “This looks... friendly.”
“Yeah,” Amy says, voice tinged with sarcasm. “Friendly. Right.”
Cash feels a flicker of something—a memory. It’s subtle, but the image of Alex and Henry sitting way too close in that cramped closet at the hospital flashes in his mind. In the confined space, they were pressed against each other, shoulders touching, too close for comfort. Cash had dismissed it at the time as an instinctual reaction—two people clinging to each other in a stressful situation. But now, with these photos staring him in the face, he remembers something else. The way Henry had looked at Alex. Not like a rival. Not like someone he barely tolerated. It was a softer look. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.
He’d chalked it up to exhaustion and the chaos of the moment. Now, it seems like he might’ve missed a whole lot more.
“Well, at least they’re real friends now. The tension used to be unbearable.”
Amy looks at him incredulously. “Cash, have you been on a trip with Alex and Henry recently?”
“Not since the press tour last fall.”
Amy hesitates. “Right. Well, this isn’t exactly official business.”
Cash still doesn’t get it. “What are you saying?” Cash picks up a file, he’s reviewing the schedule for NYC. “There isn’t a single mention of the prince in this. I don’t think he’ll be there.”
Amy sighs, visibly annoyed. “You’re as oblivious as Alex sometimes. Look, they’re gonna want private time together. In Alex’s hotel room.”
Cash’s brow furrows. “Okay, and?”
“They’re not going to be playing Uno. They’re a hell of a lot more than just friends now.”
Cash blinks, the pieces finally starting to click. “Wait—hold on. You mean Alex and Henry they’re a thing? Like, together-together?”
Amy nods, her tone softening. “Yeah. It’s been going on for a while now. The Paris trip wasn’t just for show.”
Cash’s jaw drops. He stares at her, then back at the phone, flipping through the photos with new eyes. The way Alex and Henry look at each other, the easy smiles—they’re not just friends.
Cash runs a hand through his hair, still processing. “How the hell didn’t I see this?”
Amy smirks. “Well, they haven’t exactly been broadcasting it. But they’re also not subtle.”
Cash shakes his head in disbelief. “I mean, Alex can be a handful, but Henry ? That’s wild.” He pauses, still trying to absorb it all. “Wait, how long have you known?”
Amy leans back, arms crossed. “I had my suspicions, but I knew for sure when I caught Henry sneaking out of Alex’s room after the state dinner.”
Cash stares at the table, feeling a little off-balance. He’s not angry, just surprised. He’d always figured he was good at reading people, especially Alex. But this had flown right over his head.
Amy watches him closely. “You gonna be okay with this?”
Cash lets out a short laugh. “Honestly, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. But, hey, if anyone’s good enough for Alex, it’s probably a prince, right?”
Amy smirks. “That’s the spirit. Just make sure you’re ready to deal with Henry’s security. They don’t mess around.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll brush up on protocol and back entrances,” Cash says, flipping open the file in front of him, though his mind’s still on the photos. He leans back, shaking his head. “Man, I should’ve seen this coming.”
Amy pats him on the shoulder as she heads for the door. “Better late than never, Cash.”
- - -
Cash adjusts his earpiece, standing outside the Met, his eyes scanning the photographers gathered for Alex’s latest photo op. Voter registration drives always draw attention, especially when Alex is involved—people can’t resist his energy. Thankfully, only a small portion of the crowd followed them to the Met. There’s something about New York, though; celebrity doesn’t faze the locals the same way.
“Alright,” Cash says, sliding up to Alex as he hears cameras click in the background. “What’s the real reason we’re here? You’ve never liked art enough to come on a solo visit.”
Alex flushes, an awkward shrug barely disguising the tell. Before he can respond, a grin spreads across his face as his eyes focus over Cash’s shoulder. Cash follows his gaze and spots Prince Henry and his security team heading their way.
“You couldn’t have given me a heads-up?” Cash grumbles, already knowing the answer.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Alex’s grin is practically wicked. “Besides, we didn’t know if he’d actually make it. Didn’t see the point in stressing you out for no reason.” Alex schools his grin into something a bit more reserved as he steps forward.
Henry’s expression is stoic, but there’s a quiet joy in his eyes as Alex greets him. They shake hands, holding on a beat longer than necessary, and Cash catches the subtle brush of Alex’s thumb against Henry’s knuckles.
Inside the museum, the world seems to shift. Gone is the din of the city, replaced by the quiet elegance of polished marble and ancient paintings. Henry’s security fades into the background, while Cash stays just a little closer. It’s routine, but he doesn’t drop his guard. Not when it’s Alex. Not with Henry in the picture.
They wander through the galleries, Alex drifting closer to Henry, the two whispering back and forth like old friends with too many inside jokes. Every now and then, Alex pulls Cash into their banter.
“You know, this is one of my favorite places in the city,” Alex muses as they pass through the European wing, his voice just loud enough for Cash to hear. “It’s like stepping into a different world.”
Cash smirks. “Yeah? Could’ve fooled me. You don’t exactly scream ‘art enthusiast.’”
Alex laughs. “I’m a man of many layers, Cash.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll take your word for it.”
After they’ve had their fill of the exhibits, Alex quietly bids Henry goodbye. But it’s not the end of the day—Cash knows better than that. He and Alex head to Central Park, searching for a small coffee stand Alex heard about online. They stop for four different cups of coffee, none of which live up to Alex’s expectations.
“What’s the plan tonight?” Cash questions.
“I swear, it’s a quiet night. Nothing crazy. You can even hit the sack early if you want.”
“I’m going to need more than that if you actually want me to believe you. Will you be relaxing in your room or someone else’s?”
Alex shoots him a glare, though it’s softened by a grin. “Can’t I pretend to be a normal guy on his birthday for once?”
“Sorry, no can do. You’re not exactly normal, remember? Now, can I plan for you to be back in your room tonight, or should I assume morning?”
Alex huffs, hands shoved in his pockets as he trudges toward the car. “God, Cash, do we need to be so formal about it?”
“I’ll take that as morning, then. But seriously, let me know if you need anything tonight.” Cash gives him a pointed look. “Security-wise, I mean.”
Alex huffs in frustration but doesn’t argue. Cash realizes this whole thing—spending his birthday with Henry—is significant. If Alex had wanted to hit a bar, they could’ve managed that with less risk than sneaking around with Henry in a hotel.
Alex rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. His phone buzzes, and after a quick glance, he says, “We’re good to head to the hotel. Back entrance, though. Less attention.”
A little while later, they slip through the back door of the hotel and step into the elevator. Cash hits the button for the fifteenth floor. As the doors close, he can’t help but glance at Alex, who's grinning like he’s got the world’s best-kept secret.
When they arrive, Cash watches as Alex heads straight past his own door and walks confidently toward Henry’s room. Cash smirks to himself, leaning against the wall for a moment. “Enjoy your quiet night, Alex.”