Alex

It's only once they're back in the SUV that Alex practically collapses. Henry is talking with Shaan who has for once joined them in the back seats and he takes their distraction as an opportunity to curl towards the window.

He raised his leg, resting his foot on the car seat so he can use it as a physical shield between him and Henry when he rests his arm on his knee. It's certainly not a respectful stance but he's been shaking since he left the studio and wants to hide away for a little bit.

You have both been quite vocal about your grief.

June would disagree. He can still hear her pleading voice outside of his bedroom door, begging him to let her in, to talk to her. He hadn't let her in. His mom and dad had been separated at that point but his dad had stayed at their house for two weeks until Alex left his room.

Or rather, Oscar Diaz had kicked his bedroom door down, checked his son was alive and then apologised for intruding on his privacy before backing out the room and propping the door up.

They didn't fix that door for a long time. Nor did they have locks on bathroom doors.

That was when he had laid down on the floor, eyes open and just rested for what felt like a few years. Once he had laid on the ground his mind had gone quiet. Thoughts slowed down, emotions dulled. As his consciousness drifted away he had focused on her limbs, on what he could physically feel.

Cold ground, damp humidity, stale air. Pins and needles had set in. Pinching his fingers, curling his knuckles involuntarily as his muscled spasmned and burned. His toes had curled, his muscles had tensed and his breath came in stunted bursts.

And then it settled, and he couldn't feel a thing. The blood pumping around his body had slowed, his heart felt like it was beating at a fraction of its previous pace. Many species hibernated regularly – humans didn't – but in that moment Alex slept away his grief.

School had obviously been out for a long time and Alex found himself at a loss for things to do. June had appeared a week after the broken door incident to play silent card games with him over the threshold of his bedroom doorway. It had been the most peaceful interaction he had had in a while.

His mother had wanted to talk about it. She had read every piece of literature, study and therapists' advice ten times over and wanted him to put their advice into reality. Alex was drowning, barely able to hold onto reality, let alone relive what happened and process it so soon.

His father had also wanted to talk about it but hadn't read any of his ex-wife's material or studies. They had spent days sitting silently side by side for approximately 2 minutes until his father caved and started asking him questions.

Alex had never been publicly vocal about his grief. Sure he had supported charities and raised money to support survivors and help mental health charities. There were no speeches or words of advice from him. He was there and that was enough.

But his mother's marketing and publicity team twisted the narrative. Made it seem like this was his way of giving back. That he was healed and ready to be an inspiration to others.

Alex wasn't an inspiration to anyone.

He also couldn't hear a single thing Henry was saying to him.

His ears were ringing, or maybe he was just underwater. Except he was in a car and he didn't remember how he got there. Henry is sitting opposite him, leant forward with his arms braced on his knees.

There's something soft in his expression that has Alex's heart fluttering. Or rather his whole body fluttering because he can't feel anything. Out of body experiences are apparently a thing. He's only ever been one step away mentally from his physical body when panicking.

Henry has stopped talking to him. He's smiling softly instead. The prince gestures to Alex's legs, slowly raising his hands so that Alex can see every movement before guiding his legs down. He doesn't touch Alex, just hovers a fraction above his skin as he encourages him the plant his feet firmly on the ground.

Alex blinks, for a second he could feel the ground.

For a second he could feel Henry.

Shaan is leaning over, whispering something into the Prince's ear. Henry is agreeing, smiling comfortingly at Alex when he makes a slight noise of confusion. He want to turn, to watch what the Equerry is doing but he can't really move.

Henry spots his darting eyes, or rather the way he's glaring out the corner of his eye without moving his head. He's speaking again, probably explaining and Alex wishes he could hear Henry's voice.

A glance out the window confirms they're in the countryside, travelling to Scotland if he remembers correctly. To visit a fancy Castle and get photographed doing normal people stuff in one of the sleepy local villages.

In short, it's going to be a long drive.

Enough time to panic, be fine again, crack under Henry's stares and judgement resulting in a second panic attack.

A tap against his shoe has him flinching back, jumping in his seat as he sharply inhales. Henry leans back in his own seat, hands raised in apology for playing footsie. When Alex shows no sign of settling back down until Henry moves the prince seems to sigh, glancing at Shaan while slowly lowering his hands.

Shaan on the other hand looks ready to jump on Alex. He would laugh if he had the muscles to move. Scream at him if he could feel any emotions. A threat to the Prince. That's what he just became. A loose cannon that could go off and injure their precious golden boy.

Well he doesn't want to hurt Henry, not nice Henry who's holding a weighted blanket in his hands.

He would possibly like to hurt Shaan despite his attractiveness. A pretty face isn't making up for the fact he has a hand on what Alex hopes is a taser and not a gun. He couldn't handle seeing a gun right now.

Henry calls his name and Alex hears him.

He blinks, watching the way Henry leans forward, blanket in hand as he lays it on Alex's lap still folded into a nice square.

A choked breath has Alex registering the air entering his lungs. His ears feel like they need to pop as he takes in the heavy pressure anchoring his legs to the seat. It's made of thick grey wool, woven into a loose knit pattern with each knot half the size of Alex's palm.

Which he knows because his hand is resting on the blanket. When did that happen?

It's a nice texture, he focuses on it.

Alex knows what June would be saying, a mimic of their mother and her training courses about panic attacks and trauma that she made the whole family – the whole white house engage in.

Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste.

Well he's only just managed to feel one thing so Alex thinks he might be in a little deeper than usual.

The thought weighs heavily even in his sluggish mind. He had been doing so well. Improved so much. This drama and controversy with Henry had dragged it all up again, the reporter and the cameras certainly hadn't helped.

Alex

Oh. He can almost lip read. He knows his name in many languages at this point. He also knows Alex what the hell and don't you dare, and of course Alex Gabriel Claremont-Diaz but that one is usually accompanied by a certain tone.

He can't hear Henry's tone but he can feel it. The worry and comfort coating his voice. It was the same voice Henry had used in the hospital when they were talking to those sick children. A gentleness as though they were something precious and fragile, something that Henry thought he would hurt if he wasn't careful.

It soothes something in Alex. That sort of care had become too rare in the White House. His mother had sacrificed her family to save so many others, to represent so many families and lost children. Leo had stepped in but they didn't have a strong connection. Oscar – his father – had of course left, moved away and despite the phone calls and regular meet ups that connection had started to crumble too.

They were still there and ready to fight for each other, to fight for their ramshackle family. But Alex could admit it was nice to have someone immediate to care for him, even if it was Henry.

Henry is slowly unfolding the blanket, humming to himself as he goes. Shaan, having decided Alex is comatose and not a threat, has turned back to his window. Answering emails no doubt as he rapidly texts on his phone

Slowly, Henry's voice begins to flicker in. It's almost like a lullaby. He's telling him about the journey. That they'll be driving for another six hours. Alex listens, enjoying the sound of his voice now that the Prince has carefully raised the blanket to his shoulders.

Henry glances at him, hesitant before he tucks the thick woolen material around the back of his shoulders to keep it in place, to keep him compressed in a cocoon of comfort.

"Not around his neck." Shaan had murmured, eyes still on his phone but a faraway look in his eyes. "He won't like feeling it around his throat."

He was right and Henry had thankfully listened before settling back into his own chair and continuing his quiet monologue. He was gentle and kept his voice low enough that Shaan would have struggled to hear even if he hadn't put in headphones to give them privacy.

Alex liked it. He liked just having the two of them. No one else was there to watch or judge his panic and the longer they just sat and talked the more he calmed down. Because though Alex wasn't speaking Henry was having a full conversation with him.

He learned about the forest they would pass on the motorway that was shaped like "I - T", the 'it' forest as Henry and Bea would joyfully call out to their father whenever they drove past.

The llama-karma-cafe that Philip secretly loved stopping in to get hot chocolate and snacks. Henry had them stop at that same Cafe, had even walked in himself and returned with two hot chocolates. One dusted in cinnamon.

Henry had blinked in surprise. While he was gone Alex had managed to shift, to curl his legs back up but press his feet against Henry's vacated chair. He's not sure what made him do it. Maybe the fact that June and Nora had been on his mind, that he was missing his family. Or maybe that his panic attack had brought up all those times a family had sat on the floor by his side.

But Alex didn't want to sit on his own anymore.

He didn't want to have Henry opposite him like they were opposing forces, two debaters or two sides of the senate. So maybe he had shifted and blocked off Henry's old seat and maybe he had left one side of the horrifically large blanket spread over the seat next to him.

Alex let it pool on his lap, feeling conscious enough for slow and sluggish movements. Each one exhausted him and thankfully Shaan had returned to the passenger seat when Henry had sat down next to Alex with nothing more than a raised brow.

Something had eased in Alex's chest at the acceptance. At the lack of refusal. And then something had started to hum in delight when Henry handed him the hot chocolate. Sure he had just held it for a while, letting the scorching heat ground him.

He doesn't know when he manages to mutter a thank you for the drink to Henry but he knows it's a couple miles and thirty minutes too late. Henry doesn't mind.

The prince picks up his monologue that might as well be Alex's very own personal podcast at this point.

Alex learns about the different metal sculptures at the side of roads or in the middle of roundabouts. One depicted a dove that they had passed later on into their journey. Henry had even begun to rate the various pit stops and services along the way. Apparently Stirling was quite disappointing to him options wise but he loved Greggs so he didn't mind.

"Greggs?" He whispered in a hoarse voice. Alex took that as a cue to start drinking his lukewarm Hot chocolate even as Henry seemed to blink in surprise but then delight and– and relief flashed across his face.

Alex learned about the various sausage rolls, steak bakes, donuts and pizza squares on offer in excruciating detail. He almost wanted to frown but Henry seemed so pleased. For a second he thought this was some weird rich kid thing. That the little prince had found a poor-person thing that made him happy and feel connected to his people and therefore delighted him.

It was only when Alex commented on the English driving on the wrong side of the road that he realised why Henry was going into so much detail. It was because Alex had asked. He learnt all the various random history facts about Roman roads, English society, righties vs lefties and road laws that Henry could remember.

And when Alex asked about the fluffy cow like creatures he saw outside Henry went on a rant about another place they would be visiting – Balmoral – where he would show Alex the Highland Cows, reindeer, stags and various British wildlife up close.

Alex had made the mistake of pointing out a museum that apparently housed one of Henry's favourite poets so he had learned about him as well. Then he had accidentally pointed out a sign with the same name as a movie and was treated to Henry's review.

And after all of that Alex had not so accidentally started pointing out random things just so he could hear Henry's opinions on them.

It was nice to have someone who could talk as much as him, get passionate in the same way he does. Alex knows he talks far too much, that he accidentally talks over people if he's not careful. But when Alex gets quiet he still likes to have background noise, sometimes things he can just ignore like music and the occasional monotone shipping forecast.

Others he's so comatose and tired that all he can do is think and not move. So then he wants to have something engaging and endless. Henry might have to start making him podcasts because this is the most engaged he has been in a one sided conversation during 'comatose time' in a while.

Eventually Alex starts adding his own little snippets, letting the blanket fall to his lap and placing the empty take away cup in the little bin that fancy SUVs apparently have. Henry listens, drawing out conversations that Alex seems interested in.

With just over an hour left on their journey the conversation dies down. Henry has nervously glanced at him a couple of times. He wants to ask about it. The panic attack or maybe he wants to ask about the interviewer's question.

"Are you doing better now?" Is his eventual stiff question, nothing like the relaxed questions that had filled the last 4 hours they spent getting to know each other. "Shaan keeps some non-prescription medication for anxiety if you just need a small dose."

"I'm not being treated to the good stuff you keep on hand?" Alex has quietly gested, remembering the little yellow pill that Shaan had handed Henry in the car before the interview.

Henry forced an awkward smile. "They're a little too strong to just hand out without fear of consequences."

He gets the impression that the 'consequences' are medical issues like seizures or allergic reactions to the meds and not legal repercussions.

"I'm good now." Alex clears his throat, suddenly disliking the personal not even though he had practically asked Henry to sit next to him like a nervous kid on the first day of school. "Panic attacks tend to tire me out enough that I struggle to panic again. Unless I don't have time to fully come down from them and then its a game of 'how many times can Alex panic in an hour'"

Henry nods, swallowing nervously as he glances down at his lap. He doesn't seem uncomfortable, or awkward about the personal topic like Alex is. He seems.... Genuinely upset, or rather concerned for Alex.

He'd like to pretend that the concern comes from a political mindset and needing Alex on the top of his game. In reality he's starting to suspect that the prince has a kind heart and a gentle soul. Alex thinks that Henry might genuinely cry anyone's sad story, and that he would mean and feel every agonising tear.

".... Eight if you were wondering." Alex eventually forces out to break the quiet. "The record for panic attacks in an hour."

Henry scoffs, "That's not a good thing, Alex."

He nearly flinches at the way Henry says his name, the cold reprimanding tone but Alex plays it off, shrugging.

"Well I've got to use humour and make it game otherwise I've had eight panic attacks in an hour and absolutely nothing good came from them."

"Life doesn't always provide you with a balance of good and bad in the moment... that tends to come retrospectively."

Whimsical little bastard.

"Life doesn't provide a balance sheet, we do."

"Mother nature would disagree."

"I'm talking about humans."

"I suppose our species did get a little warped along the way."

"A little?"

They grin, sharing an amused look before once more settling into the reality of the situation.

"Are you okay?" Alex asks, glancing at Henry. "I know it can be quite... scary, for people around me when I go... comatose."

Henry shrugs, doing that little head-tilt and lapel-straightening combo thing that roughly translates into 'well, what can you do about it' but in a posh tone of resignation... with a slight defensive undertone.

"It wasn't exactly something I'd like to have a repeat of but I get it." Henry glances down at his hand, toying with his signet ring. "I'm just glad I was able to... somewhat help you."

"You did great." Alex nudges Henry's shoulder with his own, "Much better than Cash's panicked rambles."

"Ah, so the bar was already low."

"The bar was set at dealing with it on my own, you were certainly an improvement on the company of my own thoughts."

"You make very self-depricating jokes."

"Says the dead-dad-joke guy."

"I guess we are two peas in a pod then."

Alex quite likes the sound of that. In truth it was all he had wanted when he had first approached Henry at the Rio Olympics, someone who understood him. Admittedly he pretended it was a political thing, they were close in age and Alex wanted Henry's advice on handling interviews, public appearances and daily life of being something of a celebrity.

But part of him had also known that Henry had lost his father in a very public way. Alex didn't exactly have friends who understood grief, and if they understood grief then they didn't understand what it was like having not only their story of woe splashed onto the front of newspapers but to be interrogated on your own response to grief during live television.

Henry would understand that, and they might be able to handle some of it together.

So maybe Alex did grin a little too brightly when Henry had offered his hand for a silent deal. But what did that matter when Henry's eyes had been shining as they shook on the deal of friends.

A/N: Fun Fact... I've visited Balmoral Castle a few times but spend most summers / camping trips visiting loch Muick and seeing the Royal house built in 1868 by Queen Victoria, who called it Glassalt, to be what she called her "widow's house" where she could escape from the world following the death of her husband. (hint hint, Henry likes to visit there)