TW: School shooting
This Oneshot is based around a school shooting during Alex's childhood and how it affects him in the future (mainly during the hospital scene when there's 'gunshots')
Also, I screwed with the timeline a little
Alex hasn't always known he wanted to go into politics, he just knew it long enough that he pretended it was his original plan. He tells the press following his mother's campaign that she is his inspiration, that he wants to follow in her footsteps. Sometimes he says the same about his dad, the 'patron saint of same-sex bathrooms'.
Sure the power was great, the attention fun, but the people– the people are everything.
Quite simply, he has always wanted to help people. When he was five that meant being a doctor, when he was eight that meant being a firefighter and when he was 14 years old and trapped with a school shooter that meant being a police officer.
But those civil service jobs are surprisingly controversial when going into politics with his mother's campaign.
Not that it mattered anymore because he had a plan, politics and the youngest senator was his plan. Then he was going to change the gun laws, that was his long term, achievement of a lifetime plan. The one thing he truly, desperately wants to achieve.
Because why the fuck did a traumatised 17 year old child have access to an automatic weapon capable of firing hundreds of rounds in a second and slaughtering entire classrooms of children.
It was apparently just one of those days.
Alex has always had a bit of a caring-too-much problem about most things. Which in America, or rather American politics, sucked because he now had the influence to help people who couldn't pay medical bills, marry whomever they love, or help prevent school shootings.
But he couldn't help all of them.
So of course it was today of all days, when he was coming off a night of little sleep and nightmares thanks to the rock solid Kensington beds that Alex was visiting Royal Marsden NHS Foundation Trust.
Specifically to help ensure that a children's cancer ward had enough books.
Seems like he was going to have another sleepless night. Guilt was a powerful thing.
He and Henry, along with their respective security teams had taken over the entire floor. Within 20 minutes they had shaken dozens of hands, flustered nurses and left children gobsmacked at the presence of an actual prince.
It was a little insulting that they didn't know him, the first son of America, but they were Brits and Brits were weird.
Exhibit A: Henry was wearing a completely grey, bland suit to a children's ward.
Alex at least had the decency to wear a funny tie decorated with cartoon characters.
Unfortunately he had forgotten who knew about this tie, Cash had eyed him cautiously this morning, asked if he was alright. Logically, Alex knew from June and Nora's many interventions that he always wears something 'childish' whenever he misses Marcus. A reminder of their friendship that got frozen time.
But Alex would also like to point out that he wears this tie whenever he sees kids, especially those in hospital. Marcus had wanted to be a doctor, he probably wouldn't have considered his shocking grades at the time but it was Alex's way of honouring that dream.
Which isn't much of a difference but enough to make it about honouring Marcus and not grieving him. Or not about Alex's own trauma which he would just like to forget about today.
But Henry, oh the dastardly prince is pissing him off. He's desperately trying not to let his hands clenched into fists at his side, but Henry's robotically smiling with a little bald boy plugged full of tubes for some bullshit photograph and he wants to scream at the prince.
To yell at him for turning the kid into a PR stunt.
Except Alex is legally obligated to be here, to take photos as well, to make the kids laugh and to look like he's best fucking mates with the most arrogant, entitled person he's ever met.
The same arsehole who is talking to a little girl with leukaemia named Claudette, according to the board on her wall. She's got dark skin that's turned a sort of pale grey and for a second he sees Marcus.
He sees another kid, sunken cheeks, pale skin from blood lost, laid out on the floor as he desperately tries to stop the bleeding. Alex inhales a shuddering breath, one that seems to shake him. This is why he hates hospitals. Because he can't help here, this isn't something he can fix.
But Claudette is alive and still a kid if the bright orange scarf tied around her head, emblazoned with the Alliance Starbird, is anything to go by.
Alex pauses, tilting his head as he focuses on Henry for the first time today. Instead of hovering awkwardly like he expected, Henry is squatting at her side, smiling and holding her hand.
"... Star Wars fan, are you?" Henry says in a low, warm voice that Alex has never heard from him before, pointing at the insignia on her headscarf.
"Oh, it's my absolute favourite," The little girl gushes, eyes beaming. "I'd like to be just like Princess Leia when I'm older because she's so tough and smart and strong and she gets to kiss Han Solo."
Alex can't fault the girl for wanting that.
But she seems to realise her words, blushing furiously at having mentioned kissing in front of the prince. For a second Alex expects Henry to laugh at her and that twists up his insides. Not that he needs to worry because Claudette is still fiercely holding his fake-friend's gaze despite her prominent blush.
Alex cranes his neck further, awkwardly leaning back in his chair, intrigued by the conversation and feeling a bit protective of the little girl who reminded him of Marcus. He doesn't remember 'Star Wars fan' being listed on Henry's fact sheet... it was probably listed on his though.
"You know what," Henry says, leaning in conspiratorially. "I think you've got the right idea."
Claudette giggles, "who's your favourite."
"Hmm," Henry says, making a show of thinking hard. "I always liked Luke. He's brave and good, and he's got the strongest Jedi of them all. I think Luke is proof that it doesn't matter where you come from or who your family is– you can alway be great if you're true to yourself."
A little philosophical for a conversation with a kid but okay.
Alex doesn't get a chance to ponder on Henry's words and all the hidden meanings in them for a nurse comes bustling in.
"Alright, Miss Claudette." She smiles brightly, coming around the curtain. Henry jumps, and Alex tips out of the chair he was leaning back on, caught in the act. He makes a point to not look at Henry as he stands. "You two can go, it's time for her meds."
Oh he likes any woman who can smile brightly while staring down a literal prince.
"Miss Beth, Henry said we were mates now!" Claudette all but wails. "He can stay!"
"Excuse you." Beth the nurse tuts. "That's no way to address the prince. Terribly sorry, your Highness."
She's not. Alex can see she's being respectful but the glare in her eyes says 'I'm making a point for the kid but you better not upset her' and Henry is a smart man and respects the glare.
He probably would have waved off the interaction without the glare but Alex quite enjoyed the silent dressing down as Henry sheepishly coughs for getting Claudette riled up.
"No need to apologise," Henry forces a smile to the nurse but he offers a real one to the little rebel. "Rebel Commander outranks royalty." He shoots Claudette a wink and a salute, and she positively melts. Even the nurse seems to huff in approval.
"I'm impressed," Alex can't help but comment as they walk out into the hallway together. Henry cocks an eyebrow, and Alex adds. "Well, not impressed, more surprised."
"About what."
"I can't decide if it's at your Star Wars appreciation or the fact that you actually have.... Feelings."
He says the last part with emphasis, making it a thing. Henry is beginning to smile when three things happen in rapid succession.
The first: A shout echoes from the opposite end of the hall.
The second: The sound of his nightmares pop off in rapid fire.
The third: Cash grabs both Henry and Alex by the arms and shoves them through the nearest door.
He grunts an order at them but Alex's head is underwater, he can't hear whatever his security wants him to do. He can barely feel himself stumble to the floor, tripping over a lump that might have been Henry and sending them both crashing down.
Henry might be face down, Alex is definitely on top of him but his heart is racing out of his chest. A rapid thumping that echoes into his ears and rivals his shaking breath.
Fuck. fuck.
He needs to pull himself together. But his ears are ringing and he shakes his head.
Henry is shifting, pushing him off and Alex lets him. The royal is saying something, the words distorted and too loud for the situation they're in. Shut up. He wants to scream. Or maybe cry. He definitely wants to call his mother.
He couldn't call his mom last time.
"Do you mind?"
Alex flinches, rearing back and he vaguely registers Henry blinking at him wearily as he shuffles around. At some point the pair are stuck side by side. Alex can't focus, he can hardly feel anything around him. Or rather one minute the only thing he can do is hear, or taste or feel but never at the same time.
Dissociating. A school counsellor once told him that's what he's doing.
A coping mechanism.
Not that Alex finds it in himself to particularly care about that when he's tilting his head at the prince, watching as he shifts uncomfortably. Alex watched as the man shifted, there was a shooter outside that door so what did being comfortable matter when they were going to die.
But he was still shaking, positively trembling. Enough that he couldn't hide it, not when he was apparently curled up, knees close to his chest, hands resting on top of his knees in full view of the prince.
The one who was staring at his quivering hands. It was vaguely insulting, Alex could feel something twist in his chest, something that had him exhaling sharply, clenching his jaw as it took every bit of strength to push back and straighten up. Enough that his hands would fall into his laps.
Pins and needles, or worse case paralysis.
Another coping mechanism.
It wasn't the school counsellor but the therapist that told him this was a survival technique. Apparently his body thought that he was quite literally dying, in an injured way. Therefore blood flow was prioritised to central organs and not extremities. So... pins and needles.
He still hasn't worked out if the frozen in place thing is physical or mental. It's probably both.
"Alex–"
"Will you shut up before you get us both killed?"
Alex has no clue where those words come from, his tongue feels like lead and Henry frowns just enough to suggest he can tell something is wrong with the American.
"Nobody is going to kill us," He's still watching Alex in a way that makes him want to scream. "Cash is blocking the door. Besides, it's probably nothing."
That does little to reassure Alex.
He's being watched. He really doesn't like the feeling of having eyes on him but Henry is already pressed up against his side, not like there's anywhere else for them to go. So of course, in typical Alex fashion that's all he can focus on.
At first it's fine, he can focus on the hard floor beneath his arse, the stench of bleach and the tingling in his hands. But then he can feel where Henry is pressed against his right side. The warmth seeping through their respective suits.
He flinches a little, blood flow returns to his right hand creating a cramping agony that has him biting off a gasp, curling in slightly as he leans his arm away from Henry.
Which is no use because apparently to curl his arm into his chest requires shoving him back into the Prince.
"What the hell are you doing? Can you stop fidgeting for once?"
Alex might be gasping, struggling to breathe.
"Alex?" Henry's voice has gone soft, cautious. "Alex, are you hurt?"
There might be real worry in his voice but Alex is trembling and the hand that Henry places on his back has him flinching forward before freezing.
He's underwater again. Drowning.
The grounding technique is coming with little success as every touch, sound and scent begins to overwhelm him. Alex slump back against the wall, eyes closed and let Henry do whatever the fuck he wants.
Burning heat pushes against his leg, the side of his arm and– and the underside of his jaw. It itches and burns. Alex trembles writhing on the floor as the fire begins to eat him. He remembers the lake house, the barbeques and camp fires. He remembered sitting around that same camp-fire.
It was so bright. Luscious flames flickering in the darkness, when he was little he thought the fire was dancing, curling around itself as it burned brighter and brighter, devouring the wood beneath.
His father had always tugged Alex further away from the flames than he had June. It was as if Oscar could feel the way fire sung to Alex, the way he couldn't help but watch its beauty. It was transfixing, every changing yet perfectly predictable in colour.
They had cooked marshmallows and sausages on sticks over that fire. He had burnt his. Spent too long watching the way the marshmallows bubbled and dripped, crisping at the edges before an explosion of flame.
June would laugh at him, helping him put it out till only smoke was left of his small portion of flaming sugar. Still, he had burnt his finger touching that marshmallow, flinching back as the black clumps clung to his hands, smoothing the flesh.
It had been so small yet so consuming. A single point of pain for a full body flinch.
There's no smoke or air to be found, just pure molten heat and he prays to whatever deity to let him breathe. To stop the burning ache in his chest.
Except when it stops it's worse.
Because Alex can feel it now, the blood coating his skin. Dripping off his hands and pooling at his feet. It's a thick oppressive weight that drags at his skin. He claws at it, desperately scratching at his arm, his neck, anything to get that– that sludge off of him.
But he can't, he can't move his hand. Something stops him.
He's flailing, kickin out, trying to crawl away from the body. From Marcus. Or maybe he's crawling towards him. He needs to stop the bleeding. He says as much, reminding himself out loud. Calling for his friend to wake up.
"Alex."
He struggles, clawing at himself, at the thing holding him but his movements are sluggish, his mind foggy and Marcus' empty eyes are staring at him in the dark.
"Alex."
Alex stumbles, mind halting as he begins to look around.
The linoleum floor is hard, just as dull and scratched as he remembers. They'd put full rolls down, minimal joins for the school hallway but still it was scuffed and nicked. Light was reflecting back on the grey floor, a sharp white against the spreading pool of red.
A tall window at the end of the hall lit up the long stretch. The blank dark blue lockers. The broken lights, the collapsed figure.
Marcus was sitting against one of the lockers. Blood dragged across the blue metal from where he had slumped to the floor. Alex sat opposite him, curled up where Marcus was splayed out, legs half-hazardously bent, one arm curled in to hold his neck and the other braced against the floor.
Blood was sliding down his chest, dripping onto the floor around him but he was still awake. Still breathing this time. Alex just stared, watching in silence as Marcus gasped for breath. The noise was too loud in silence, too trembling. It echoed in the empty hallway.
Why were they in the hallway, why didn't they take cover? A cupboard or a classroom or somewhere with a door they could lock.
"Alex." Marcus whimpered, futilely reaching out for him. "It hurts. It hurts."
His throat bobbed, eyes watering as he took in the dead man before him. There was nothing he could do. The blood loss was already too late, anyone could see that
"Alex."
There was nothing he could do.
"Alex!"
He wakes up with a smothered yell, a hand pressing over his mouth as Alex slams backward, straight into a hard body. He kicks useless, eyes wild as he tries to break free from the arms banding around his chest.
"Breath! Alex it's me."
Alex attempts to stand, a fawn struggling to pull his legs under him. But those arms pull him back down, cradling him between a pair of legs and locking him in place.
He can't move. He can't move.
Somewhere a door opens, a familiar voice muffled outside.
"Give us a minute!" Someone snaps from above him, authority dripping from his tone. "Could some call Cash and Shaan."
It wasn't a question, it was an order.
But, Shaan– Alex didn't know a Shaan. Or maybe he did. He thinks he does. Head shifting to the side he presses against the chest behind him, sinking down till most of his body is on the cold floor.
When did he get so hot? He feels feverish.
"Alex, I need you to copy my breathing."
There's a hand on his back, rubbing in smooth circles. He vaguely registers that his arms are banded around something, that he's shifted onto his side to half face the person holding him. To face Marcus.
"Marcus?" He croaks out, voice thick and the circles on his back pause.
"It's Henry." He doesn't know a Henry. Alex struggles to rise, faltering enough that he starts to panic again. "It's okay, we can get Marcus. I can ask Shaan to get him."
Why would they need to get him, he was right here.
"Sir?"
"I said give us a minute." Henry all but snarls, for once sounding un-princely.
Unprincely.
"Henry?" Alex whispers, pulling back to stare at the man in bewilderment.
He looks around, taking in the cupboard they're trapped in. Distantly Alex registers himself stumbling back, Henry there in seconds to prop him up as he sits back. Backing into a corner Alex finally takes in the guarded expression on Henry's face.
"Alex," A muscle in his jaw ticks. "Do you know where we are?"
"Cupboard." He mumbles, looking around as he tries to place his thoughts. "We–"
What were they doing here again? He remembers an interview and then they had a trip. Something with kids. A headache begins to build behind his eyes.
"We're at the hospital, do you remember what happened?"
The hospital–
Oh. Oh.
Alex clears his throat, straightening his suit in an attempt to salvage anything of his dignity.
"Right, of course." His voice comes out hoarse, he must have been screaming. He really hopes he wasn't. But...
Alex stares at Henry, who's now sat in the opposite corner of the cupboard to him. The prince's clothes are ruffled, out of place and damaged. His expression remains the same. Guarded but– but there's that look in his eyes, the one he had when he spoke with the children.
"We can wait a minute." And there's that soft voice, the one Alex hasn't heard before today. Now he's got to hear it twice. God, he must really look like a wreck if even Henry pities him. "Shaan should be here soon."
He's not sure why Henry thinks Alex would want to see his Equirrery, especially when Alex isn't sure he has the energy left to play nice.
Henry must pick up on his confusion because he says, "He's got training for this sort of thing," He makes Alex sound like a 'situation to be handled' rather than a person but– "He's helped me a few times."
Oh. He hadn't suspected that Henry of all people would... well he doesn't know what but something along the lines of having 'a healthy amount of trauma' as Nora once joked.
Alex remains quiet, feeling drained as Henry sits there awkwardly.
"He also keeps weighted blankets and snacks in the car–"
"I'm fine." His voice is cold enough that Henry flinches, expression flickering for a second before he composes himself. A twinge of guilt settles in his gut, forcing Alex to sigh. "Thank you for your concern but it's okay now."
Henry looks baffled for all of two seconds before his expression turns furious.
"Okay? Okay?" He hisses, all composure lost. "You were completely gone Alex, not present, barely breathing in my arm–"
"Sir." A voice calls, loud and commanding.
Shaan.
Henry clears his throat, looking away from Alex as he fixes his suit. The door opens and Henry doesn't hesitate to rise to his feet accepting the hand offered to him. Seconds later, Shaan makes a small noise.
Cash has clearly pushed him out of the way, his broad frame filling the doorway as he peers down at Alex with a worried expression. He'd never seen him look worried before. Cash was always more expressive than Amy but even then...
It's that expression that has Alex's eyes burning.
"It's fine, Cash." He whispers, accepting his help as he struggles to find his feet. "Just need some sleep and a phone call home."
The security man grunts, disbelieving and Alex ignores the other members' curious stares as he steps out. His suit isn't as damaged as he expected. It takes only a second or two to fix everything now that he's on his feet.
Alex sneaks a look at Henry but the Prince is resolutely ignoring him, straightening the cuffs of his suit as he listens to Shaan report on the 'tosser' who brought in fireworks for their friend.
"Are you sure you can make it to the car?" Cash whispers, stepping closer to maintain a sense of privacy.
"Of course." No. His legs feel like jelly. Or rather, one feels like jelly and the other is in agony from those god forsaken pins and needles.
Cash sighs, knowing he's not going to win any argument with Alex when he gets like this.
"After you then."
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
Kensington is familiar in a way, an echo of the past that reminds him of another life. Perhaps it's the way every room is dripping with history, the scent of old books, wood polish and something that just clings to old historical buildings permeating the air.
He gets that feeling in the White House sometimes. The portraits, plaques and history make him feel like he walks among ghosts. But that's not it. It's not a detached sort of recognition, not the feeling of pressure weighing on his chest to live up to the majesty of a building. No, this feels familiar in a personal way.
It reminds him of the divorce.
Ellen Claremont and Oscar Diaz had been lawyers, the type who couldn't order takeout without drawing up documents. He's been shuttling between his mom's house and his dad's new place in LA for the better part of a year before they could work something out.
This was the year after– after Marcus died. He's finally gotten back on his feet but June never left his side.
But he remembers that feeling. He hadn't gotten over Marcus because he was ready to, but because he needed to. There was a sense of– well he doesn't know how to describe it other than he was expected to be done with it all. To have stopped grieving a boy he hardly knew.
Because that was also a truth that haunted Alex, he hadn't known Marcus beyond that one class yet he died in his arms.
None of that mattered once it was time to move on. Both his parents were running for senate, his sister was applying to uni and with the divorce and Marcus and his own school Alex hadn't wanted to think.
Eventually there was debate team, AP classes, valedictorian and very deliberately Alex no longer had time to think about any of that stuff. Instead he was busy living up to a name, fulfilling an image, continuing an idea.
That's how it feels here, somehow– wide awake at midnight in a strange place, duty-bound to make it work.
He wanders into the kitchen attached to his guest wing where the ceilings are high and the countertops shiny marble. He was allowed to submit a list to stock the kitchen, but apparently it was too short notice to get Helados on short notice – all that's in the freezer is UK-brand packaged ice cream cones.
"How are you doing then?" Nora's voice says, tinny over his phone's speaker. On the screen, her hair is up, and she's poking at one of her dozens of window plants.
"Tired." He never lies to Nora. June, yes but Nora, no. "Humiliated, completely embarrassed. What else is there to say?"
"You could tell me what triggered it all."
"I told you, some kid brought fireworks that sounded like gunshots." Alex huffs, pushing up his glasses. "Combined with Cash shoving me into a dark closet equals panic attack."
"Alex."
"Nora."
She glares at him over the phone and Alex sighs, finding a place to sit at a dining room table.
"It wasn't just a panic attack." Her voice is comforting, a rare noise that always clogs his throat up for the sole fact it means this is a bad day. "Cash was worried and in an awful way you can bounce back from panic attacks easier than this."
"What do you mean Cash was worried?"
Nora sighs, "Alex that's not–"
"You're seriously keeping tabs on me?" He hisses, voice raised.
"Of course we are." She snaps, words echoing in the quiet of the kitchen. "You know June and I worry for you. You're over there alone, that would be cause for worry enough."
Alex wants to stay angry, he really does but it's Nora and she's his best friend. The one who helped through nightmares and created excuses for when he had meltdowns at events that were too loud.
"Sorry." He clears his throat, leaning forward on the table and listening to the sounds of the palace creaking in the wind and rain.
Nora has gone quiet in a way that suggests she's going to say something that Alex isn't going to like.
"Did you talk to the Prince?"
"Obviously I spoke to him throughout the day, Nora."
"I mean about what happened smartass."
No he hadn't, he had practically ran from the royal.
"Alex," Nora reprimands, sounding like a tired mother of four. "It sounded like he was concerned for you."
"Well any stranger would be."
"Except this stranger is a Prince and one who you have to work with."
"I can work perfectly fine with the insufferable bastard–"
"Alex–"
"Oh come on, you can't tell me it bothers you. He's the epitome of white privilege and entitlement."
"Stop looking for reasons to dislike him."
"It's not like I have to look far."
"Alex!" She snaps. "I'm going to hang up if you continue being petulant."
"Jesus, fine." He snaps, frustration building. "I thought you phoned to check up on me."
"And we both know that I'm being generous and letting you lash out."
"I'm not–"
"Alex." She gives him a look, a mom-look and he really hopes she never actually has kids. "Spit it out."
He sighs, desperate to vent but he spent the rest of the day after the hospital trying to act tough.
"It wasn't exactly great being at my most vulnerable around my literal entitled white man opposite."
"I'm just grateful you weren't alone." Nora's tone softened her. "You were clawing at your chest."
"It's not–" Nora shakes her head, a quiet sniffle and Alex's heart breaks. When he got back to Kensington and took off his shirt he looked like a train wreck. Claw marks that drew blood and stung like a bitch.
Hence he was currently sitting shirtless at the kitchen counter with a bag of first aid supplies.
"What's Kensington like then?" Nora forces a change in tone and topic but...
"Not today Nora," He shakes his head. "I'm going to get cleaned up."
" 'lex," She drags his name but he clears his throat, needing some time. "...get some rest okay."
"Sure thing, night Nora."
He hangs up, sagging in place for a moment as the tension leaves his shoulder. Its an effort to remember a few breathing exercises, a grounding technique to try and relax himself before he has to alcohol swab the shit out of those cuts.
Turning in place he flinches back at the figure leaning against the fridge. Prince Henry is watching him with a tired expression that is frighteningly normal. Same as the soft heather-grey t-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms. He's got one earphone in, the other dangling loose. Not to mention that his hair is a mess and his feet are bare.
He looks alarmingly human.
"What the hell." Alex exclaims, gaping at the blonde. "Were you eavesdropping?"
"Kind of hard not to, you're a loud person." Henry huffs defensively but then he stutters an embarrassed blush rising to his cheeks at being caught out. "But, er, Sorry. I was just. Cornettos."
He gestures vaguely towards the refrigerator as if anything he just said had meaning.
"What?"
It's only once Henry has raided the freezer and extracts a box of ice cream cones clearly branded as cornetto does Alex understand.
"I was out. Knew they'd stock you up."
"Do you raid the kitchens of all your guests?" Alex asks, incredulous at having a literal prince raid his fridge. Henry scans him head to toe, still bleary eyed and clearly not at the top of his game but whatever he finds must be satisfactory for his shoulders drop a fraction, his body untensing as he sighs.
"Only when I can't sleep." He confesses. "Which is always. Didn't think you'd be awake." He looks at Alex deferring, and Alex realises he's waiting for permission to open the box and take one.
He almost considers saying no. Maybe for the thrill of denying a prince something, or because he planned on being alone, or as June says 'decided to have a cloudy day' but he's kind of intrigued. He usually can't sleep either and it's clear Henry is trying to offer an olive branch of vulnerability to compensate for Alex's actions earlier today.
He nods.
He waits for Henry to take a Cornetto and leave, but instead he looks back up at Alex. He hadn't even noticed that the prince's gaze had dropped down to his chest, he most likely wanted to comment on the scratch marks.
"Have you practised what you'll say tomorrow?"
"Yes," Alex says, bristling immediately. THis is why nothing about Henry has ever intrigued him before. "You're not the only professional here."
"I didn't mean–" Henry falters. "I only meant, do you think we should, er, rehearse?"
"Do you need to?"
"I thought it might help." Of course, he thinks that. Everything Henry's ever done publicly has probably been privately rehearsed in stuffy royal quarters like this one. He wonders if he's ever done anything spontaneously.
"It's an interview, a very structured one." Alex counters blankly, turning back to the first aid box. "You were good with Claudette and the few reporters there."
It was almost painful to compliment him so he focused on uncapping the disinfectant to help wipe off the worst of the blood that had dripped down his chest. He'd stupidly reopened the long jagged cuts when he got undressed earlier.
"I'm sorry." Henry blurts out stepping forward. Alex blinked owlishly at him in surprise. The prince gestures to his chest, eyes guilt ridden. "I should have stopped you sooner."
Alex shrugs him off, "Not your responsibility."
Henry still looks uncertain, worry in his eyes even if the rest of his face is cold.
"Look, about what happened–"
"Still not your problem."
"It was my goddamn problem." Henry snapped, nostrils flaring before he turned away for a second, composing himself. "What if that had been an actual security threat. Nevermind that, you were hurting yourself and in no position to stop or help yourself and I was the only one there."
Alex avoided his gaze, keeping his head down as he slowly wiped at blood on his chest.
"I was the one responsible for you at that moment, Alex." His throat goes dry at the way Henry says his name. Like he actually cares. "So tell– I... I would like an explanation, that's the least you owe me."
He can hear June's voice in his head saying that he owes no one shit, but this is Henry. The prince that held him in the middle of a panic attack and stopped Alex from hurting himself.
Alex kicks out the chair next to him at the table, shifting his own so that they're facing each other. Henry waits a second, clearly expecting some kind of verbal response.
"Help me get cleaned up?" Alex jerks his head toward the chair.
Something eases in Alex's chest when Henry accepts the offer, sitting next to him and reaching for an alcohol swab. He inhales sharply, trying not to comment that Henry seems to be enjoying his pain as he disinfects the cuts.
"It wasn't a panic attack."
Henry cuts him a look that calls bullshit and Alex rolls his eyes.
"It was a PTSD attack." Henry falters. "There was a school shooting, back when I was 14... Shooter came straight into my classroom... killed a few of my classmates as well."
It was his press voice, a calm one and Alex finds himself twisting his head– trying to stop himself from drifting away from the moment.
"When the fireworks went off..."
Alex slowly nods and Henry makes a noise of understanding.
"Thought I was back there for a second." Alex confesses and watches the way Henry's eyes flicker. "What about you? Shaan has far too many panic attack skills for an Equierry."
Henry piles the used alcohol wipes into a little neat pile before pulling out a gauze pad and tape for the worst cuts section of cuts where Alex had managed to gauge deep.
"Henry, I don't think that's necessary." Alex tries to protest but the prince glares at him. He apparently wants to make up for not intervening sooner.
"My dad passed away from cancer in 2015." Henry states, glancing at Alex as if it were common knowledge. Which unfortunately for a Prince it is. "Been having panic attacks since I was young, pressure of the crown and all, his death only exacerbated that."
"Ah, classic." Alex jokes and Henry blinks in surprise. "Parent dies and loving smol bean child turns into an arrogant shit."
For a second he thinks he's gone too far but Henry huffs out a laugh.
"And here I was thinking that you would say 'I'm sorry for your loss'."
A smile tugs at Alex's lips. "You didn't say 'sorry that happened to you'."
With the bandage safely secure Henry rises to his feet, Alex finds himself following the prince into the kitchen. Unexpectedly something similar to loneliness threatens to rise at the prospect of Henry leaving him.
But Henry reaches for the Cornettos, offering him one before leaning against the counter.
"So how are we going to make this work?"
"Make what work?" Alex frowns, munching on the ice cream. Henry sighs, rubbing at his forehead. "Oh you mean us, as in this... fake-friends thing."
Henry gives him a disbelieving look but for a split second Alex sees vulnerability in his eyes.
"Fake? Really?" Henry arches a brow. "I had you collapsed in my arms–"
"Oh how long do you intend–"
"For as long as I bloody well please."
Alex grins, loving the way Henry smirks back at him.
"I still can't believe you like Star Wars."
"Yes, Alex," Henry says archly, "believe it or not, the children of the crown don't only spend their childhood going to tea parties."
"I assumed it was mostly posture coaching and junior polo league."
Henry takes a deeply unhappy pause. "That... may have been part of it."
Alex chokes back a laugh, picturing an unhappy 12 year old Henry – one like the boy in his sister's magazine – cloistered away in a pink frilly tea room.
"So you're into pop culture, but you act like you're not," Alex says. "Either you're not allowed to talk about it because it's unseemly for the crown, or you choose not to talk about it because you want people to think you're cultured. Which one?"
"Are you psychoanalysing me?" Henry asks, leaning back against the counter. "I don't think royal guests are allowed to do that."
"I'm trying to understand why you're so committed to acting like someone you're not, considering you just told that little girl today – Claudette – that greatness means being true to yourself."
"I don't know what you're talking about, and if i did, I'm not sure that's–"
"Ever since the school shooting I hate making friends because I'm terrified that I will lose them like Marcus."
Alex leans back in his chair, for once not regretful for his loudmouth. Henry nods to himself, pursing his lips at not-challenge-challenge.
"The crown has expectations and this lifestyle isn't exactly accommodating for making friends or having... relationships."
Alex can't help but snort. "You're a prince, not exactly short of women who want to date you."
Something odd flashes across Henry's face, gone in second before Alex can understand what it means.
"Marcus?"
"We're not that close."
"Fine. Star Wars?"
"Alright, guess you were serious about this friend thing."
A/N: I am a British person with American friends trying to understand their trauma. I have never experienced something like this but writing is my way of connecting to other people. So this is a safespace for discussion should anyone need it.
Not entirely sure this has any plot, I just like angst. Also, this isn't edited.