It's dark by the time they reach Balmoral, and Alex is delirious enough that he finds himself giggling at the fact he is about to stay in a literal castle. Granted he had stayed in Kensington palace but– well... this place had turrets. Kensington palace in essence was a large red-brick manor house, or one of those large university complexes– all rectangles and covered head to toe in windows.This place?

Alex let out a low whistle.

This place was what kids drew from fairy tales.

Blue-grey slated roofs, off white brick, arched doors and white framed windows, not to mention the turrets and climbing ivy that he could just make out in the evening light.

"It's certainly one of our most regal residents." Henry comments, peering up at his family's castles with indifference. Yet there was something fond in his eyes. "One of my favourite places, still busy and full of people but more secluded... at the right time of year that is."

Alex steps around the car, still staring at the piece of history before him."Is there a right time of year to visit castles?"

Shaan snorts.

He gets the impression that there is an answer to that question.

Henry seems to sigh and with the force monotony of a child forced to memorise lines he begins to recite, "The gardens are in full bloom at Spring, but one should never be overcome by the pollen and sweet smells. Summer is best for the sprawling estates with hunting parties that drag on into Autumn."

Henry gestures for Alex to follow him towards the side entrance.

"Autumn is for the indoor events that still look pretty, Winter is for private residences bar the large Christmas get-together."

"And I thought my family Christmases were bad."

Henry shoots him a look, raising his chin slightly, even as he toys with the signet ring on his pinky finger. Alex raises his hands in defeat, muttering a sarcastic sorry. Seems they weren't close enough for the family drama.

He gets it. It's one thing to poke fun and put yourself on the line, it's another to involve families and the drama they entail. He imagines the royal family has a lot of secrets and closed door conversations.

Probably about what to do with their blood money.

Or maybe how to bring back their empire.

"Please tell me we have rooms with turrets." Henry sighs at him, exasperated and no longer friendly now that they're back in the open. "What? If this is the one chance I get to stay in a castle I want to see inside the turrets."

Shaan ignores his pointed look, instead flicking through the folder he's been supplied with.

Alex doesn't blame him. He's coming off a panic attack and weird limbo time with Henry, which means he's probably the type of hyper that comes after exhaustion. Perhaps if he had more of his wits together he'd be feeling humiliated right now. Thankfully, he's so tired he might as well be drunk so Alex makes a decent effort to stagger after the prince, only to blink in surprise when Cash is at his side.

"Okay, time to get you to bed."

"Im– nawt a chiald." Alex slurs.

The world spins and suddenly all he can see is Henry's worried expression as he strides back towards them before the world turns black.

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Alex rolls over sleepily in his bed, wincing at the cold pillow he lands on. It's an effort to crack his eyes over, to find the victorian style room full of morning light. The carved chest in the corner, the ancient and inscrutable wardrobe, stood about the room like dark figures looming over his drowsy state.

He wished he could fall back into oblivion, like how he imagines that plush woollen blanket Henry is currently drowning in would feel. The prince is nestled into an armchair but Alex barely pays him any attention, all but glossing over his presence as he continues to scan the room.

Alex peers up at the ceiling, taking in the dark wood beams and the fan that lazily swirls overhead. So there's some modernisation in this museum of a room. Even the bed and quilt he lays in reminds him of a grandmother's version of decadence with the amount of frills it holds.

This feels like a guest room. Not just a guest room, but a showroom. Quite possibly one shown to tourists.

"We placed you in the first room we found." Alex jerks at the raspy voice, blinking in surprise as Henry stretches. "You looked a little lost just then."

Alex just stares at him, watches the way his shirt rides up to reveal a slither of stomach as the prince stretches his arms overhead. Eventually Henry settles down, holding court in his armchair as he blinks owlishly at Alex.

"How do you feel?"

"Why are you in my room?"

"I ask first."

Alex blinks. There are far too many things for him to comprehend right now.

He realises that he's still laid down, completely relaxed. Alex moves his head with monumental effort, forcing his eyes wide and blink triumphantly when he manages to shuffle slightly onto his side.

God he feels bone weary.

"Gave us quite the fright." Henry states, voice calm and polished. "The secret service insisted on keeping watch over you."

Yet it is Henry who is sitting in the chair next to the bed.

"Did you sit there all night?"

The prince scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous."

He so did.

Henry tilts his head. Toys with his ring. It's his press face, Alex blinks, taking in the polished demeanour.

"We've changed the schedule in light of recent events."

Well thats not good.

"The press team is marketing it as a boys weekend before you head back to America."

Henry is watching Alex. Looking at him like he expects some kind of reaction. Some kind of resistance. Sure, he would love to throw a tantrum about being treated differently to everyone else, at having plans changed because of his issues. He would make a scene the second he had enough energy to do so.

"There may be a few photo shoots scheduled but I'll have Shaan clarify the schedule for those and the rules in place." Henry's expression seems to drift off for a second, as though he's reliving his own experiences with bad press.

Alex distantly remembers a briefing on the royal scandals that were photographed. It's apparently a thing, and one he has been informed by his mother to avoid at all costs.

"All photographers and stylers on the approved list. Shaan claims it should be a more relaxed situation to better project the friendship look." So they've taken a step back from yesterday then. From when they were talking freely in the car. "A trip to Loch Muick for a hike, a sweet shop visit at Ballater and then a suitable activity that we can put an American twist on... for the twitter people to joke about later."

"Why are you in my room?" Alex queries yet again, completely bewildered by the prince's presence in his bedroom of all places.

Henry frowns, his brows furrow. It's an oddly human look on him. Alex decides he quite likes seeing the human side of Henry, breaking the robot so to speak. He makes a note to annoy Henry into humanity again later.

"Did you hear anything I just said?" He sounds quite indignant but the irritated effect is lost thanks to the tousled hair and rumpled clothing. "The plan for today has changed, I thought you would like to know so you can prepare accordingly."

Alex yawns, shuffling further up in the bed until he can lean against the headboard. He's still in yesterday's clothes. Or part of yesterday's clothes, someone thankfully removed the tie and shoes. Quite frankly, he feels grubby and disgusting.

"I don't usually know the plans beforehand, I just adapted in the moment."

Henry blinks, clearly bewildered himself this time and– and oddly angry. He looks genuinely irritated, lips pursed and jaw clenched. Alex gets the impression that Henry likes to have a plan. That he likes to know every little detail in advance so he can carefully program his reactions and movements.

"Your list of requirements said you needed to be informed of events."

His list of wha–

"Have you been speaking to June."

Henry straightens, "Shaan phoned the White House after your...." He trails off, eyes somewhat softening as he takes in Alex's sorry state, "Collapse... they put him through to your sister."

Alex snorts. "Bug most likely intercept the call. I swear she has my name red flagged."

"Bug?"

Alex waves him off, "nickname. Long-story." He blinks, dragging a hand down his face as he tries to wake up. "Short story actually, I called her June-bug as a kid."

"Why?"

"No clue. Just did."

"Huh." Henry nods to himself. "Sounds like something you would do."

"Excuse me?"

"I nicknamed my sister Bea... because her name is Beatrice." Henry says slowly, as if Alex is a dumb child. "Like a normal person."

"Like a basic bitch." Alex counters, stretching his arms overhead as his brain finally wakes up. He's alert enough to notice the way Henry looks away as he stretches. Seems the prissy prince is coming back now that Alex is no longer at a sleepy disadvantage.

"Again," Alex huffs, "Why are you in my room."

Henry sighs, exasperated. "Because I was on the phone to your sister."

"I thought Shaan spoke to her."

Henry gives him a look. One that screams Alex should know better.

"Ah."

"Ah indeed." The prince grumbles, straightening his shirt as he stands from the armchair. "She demanded to speak to me and threatened to continuously phone every connection they had in Buckingham, Downstreet and even the DailyMail."

Henry wince, picking up his suit jacket. "The Daily Mail might have done the job."

"June asked you to keep an eye on me."

"Yep." Henry pulls out his phone, snapping a picture of Alex as he blinks in stupor. "And I was not to leave your side until I had proof of life."

"Proof life." He echoes with a hollow laugh.

Alex sits up, swings away from Henry and towards the side of the bed. He holds himself there for a moment, hands braced on the mattress, head bent as he takes a moment to breath before rising to his feet.

Henry is standing by the door, rapidly typing on his phone with pursed lips. Alex steps towards him, he's not sure why. To say goodbye, to see him out of the room. The urge to say thank you tugs on his lips. It wars with the urge to hiss like a protective wild cat over his sister.

Having June and Henry know each other, to know they've talked, feels strange and wrong. To sides of his life colliding. Not as friends or colleagues but as carers for Alex. As two people who are responsible for him since Alex is apparently incompetent and unable to look after himself.

"Right," Alex clears his throat and Henry turns away from his phone. "Thanks for seeing me to safety then."

Henry stares at him, scanning his face. Most likely judging if he trusts the first son to be left on his own.

Apparently deemed capable of dressing himself Henry leaves Alex with a brisk nod and reminder that breakfast is at 8.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡

He makes it to breakfast with 15 minutes to spare much to the disapproval of Shaan who seems to have joined them at the breakfast table. Though it's clearly a begrudging place that Henry has insisted on.

"Alex." Henry greets, piling a plate high of food before placing it next to Shaan. The male in question has a phone in one hand and a folder in the other. From the speed of his hushed demands Alex concures that the Equerry is ordering someone about. Probably arranged those dreaded photo shoots. "Shaan is just finalising today's plans."

"Awesome." Alex beams, the playboy of America as he stuffs a slice of toast into his mouth before slumping down onto one of the fine royal dining chairs. "Have you worked out what the nuanced American detail is?"

Henry grimaces at Alex talking through the food in his mouth. Alex on the other hand all but beams in delight as he adds number three to his list.

Situations when Henry becomes human:

When he's concerned about Alex's mental health (backed by June threats of bodily harm to motivate him)

Breaking of Royal protocol

Bad etiquette or manners

Shaan covers the phone, turning to Henry as he queries, "Can we swap out the trip to Victoria's Widow's house?"

"Absolutely not." Henry's voice is firm but still polite, he keeps his attention on the sausage he is calmly cutting up but Alex gets the impression that this is a sore spot for Henry. "Cancel anything you want bar that."

Henry pauses for a moment, glancing up at Shaan with a cutting gaze. "As you should well know."

The Equerry doesn't even flinch, just turns back to his phone and continues to argue away. Alex stares at Henry, somewhat surprised and– and admiring of the prince's confidence. There's something rather delightful about watching Henry hold his ground. He's firm but not arrogant.

It's rather irritating that Alex can't find much to fault with his white privilege orders. Not when it's clear from the way Henry toys with his ring that this is something personal. Most likely to do with his father, Arthur Fox, if he remembers correctly.

"Why don't we just use Alex's outfits as the American nuance." Henry snips towards Shaan and the Equerry smirks back at his prince.

"It's a classic American look." Alex beams, shrugging his letterman jack further forward. He's going for youthful jock to present the idea of he and Henry being school boy best friends. Or rather the idea that they have been friends for many years. "Unlike your homage to Downey's Sherlock Holmes."

"Thank you." Henry's face remains blank but there's amusement shining in his eyes. He straightens the dark shirt, flicking the collar up slightly before pressing it down.

"You take everything as a compliment."

"I advise you do the same," He smirks, eyeing Alex up and down. "It saves many an awkward moment."

Alex roles his eyes, mind flicking back to their little spat in the hospital cupboard. The whole mess could have been avoided if Alex hadn't held a grudge but... well.. Sue him for enjoying his little grudges.

"But I was rather aiming for the BBC's Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock." Henry muses before sipping from his tea. "The British version is the best after all."

Alex once again, for what must be the fiftieth time today, blinks in surprise as Henry peers at him over the rim of his tea cup. There's a challenge there, or an olive branch. Or something that's not unfriendly.

He feels a grin tugs at his lips, the urge to debate and argue something so trivial rising to the surface.

"They're two entirely different concepts." Alex narrows his eyes on the price. "Different genres."

"Same character and themes."

"Different time periods."

"Do the social constructs change the argument of who best represents Sherlock?"

"Yes." Alex states bluntly and Henry rolls his eyes though something makes him suspect that the prince agrees with him. That he's merely making a point.

"Well aside from the time period difference there were certainly some other superior factors." Henry states, every bit the posh professor. "For starters we Brits created a well thought out tv series, and not one of your american 25 episode 15 seasons slow death shows, but–"

"Do not come for my sitcoms like that."

"They're of a certain genre, one that does not lend itself to good thought provoking analysis." Henry smirks. Alex fumes as his over use of dramatic words. "Though I will conceded that the American binge shows are good comfort background material."

He huffs, rolling his eye. "How generous of you your majesty."

"It's your royal highness." Henry counters, smoothly cutting up his bacon eggs. "Secondly, though the tv show allowed for more complex characters I don't think it was the limit of two movies that hindered Downey's character."

"He was charming and intelligent, all likeable traits."

"And yet he was no better than a Victorian Tony Stark relying heavily on Downey's charms rather than an authentic Sherlock."

Alex gasps, "How dare you."

"Cumberbatch was certainly better at portray Sherlock social ineptitude and making his awkward scene more believable and organic–"

"Now hang on–"

"He was certainly better motivated in BBC's with overarching plotlines and character development."

"Oh so he had one attractive villain."

"With a fabulous rivalry and actor chemistry between Martin Freeman and Benedict. Not to mention the way Martin would scrap certain parts of the script because he could just convey it with a look and emotional connection to Benedict."

"You are not trying to use bromance as an argument–"

"Which is certainly better than Downey's overly romantic character bastardising the emotionally awkward Sherlock character. Now I'm not one to judge looks and aesthetics but Benedict certainly matches the book description better than Downey."

"Just because he's a pretty boy!"

"And if you want to come background to the social constructs and time periods, the modern version is not only more relatable but adds an additional depth to Sherlock's deduction. Including an explanation for some of his conclusions."

"By destroying the magic and wonder of imagination?"

"Is it truly magic to just have an action hero Sherlock beating up his enemies left right and centre? I know the books described him as an excellent boxer and swordsman but he rarely used these skills on villains so the BBC writers did him more justice."

Alex stops trying to argue back, once again reminded of how content he found himself last night. How easy it was to just listen to Henry rant and ramble on all the topics that interest him.

"And don't get me started on the BBC masterpiece that is Moriarty and all the witty banter throughout the show." Henry finishes with a sharp exhale, almost out of breath from his short rant. His eyes are bright, crinkled at the edges with delight as he all but stares Alex down.

Henry becomes human when he is passionate (Especially in reference to nuanced characters and debates)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★

Alex was taken to a quaint little Scottish village, surrounded by forest covered hills and centred around an old church. Or maybe it was centres around the village square opposite the church that included a pub, chippy, and coffee shop.

The local sweet shop, traditional sweet shop as proven by the large glass window that looked into the production room, was by far his favourite delight. He and Henry were photographed and videoed entering the manufacturing side in overall coverings and surgical shower caps to watch and make their own hard boiled candy.

He had gamely argued with Henry over the red, white and blue colouring of the sweets, claiming it was a sign of respect for their American visitor. Henry claimed nationalism. Alex countered that Americans tended to be more patriotic than Brits. Their argument had only further devolved from there.

The couple who ran the place had been awfully British, rosy cheeked and just a few years shy of being described as elderly. They had been so pleased to see Alex and Henry, clearly taking pride in their work even if the husband could barely say more than lovely-lovely or yes, yes.

His monosyllabic answers served as answers, questions and half hearted interruptions of his wife's ramblings.

Alex found them charming.

He left with two large bags of every candy they had, including the chocolates and fudge on display.

Henry had rolled his eyes at him, politely munching from his own small bag of sweets and not the popcorn bag stuffed ones Alex was holding to his chest. Shaan had photographed them, Alex had tweeted about them and by lunchtime they were a best friend meme.

Alex's personal favourite was one depicting Henry as a mob boss based on his sunglasses, dark shirt and confident walk. While Alex was shown as his henchman carrying all his books.

That one was made by June who had apparently talked about more than just Alex last night with Henry.

Enough so that Alex was ignored by the prince all through lunch so that Henry and June could have an onlin argument about the aforementioned meme she had made and posted, and which books Henry would have been forcing Alex to carry.

They had agreed on Jane Austen, disagreed on the Harry Potter collection and argued over Cononan Doyle which Alex is ashamed to say he traitorously blushed at when he realised Henry was thinking of this morning's conversation.

They had only shut up when Alex had replied to their conversation with a selfie of himself, a 'chip butty', a reluctant Shaan and Henry furiously typing in the background.

He had captioned it:

Nothing like enjoying the finest British food while your tour guide @PrinceHenry argues with your sister over which Harry Potter couple was gayer.

Spoiler, Wolfstar will always be gayer than Drarry

Alex had turned around in time to see Henry's head snap up with eyes narrowed. But the prince had only hummed in approval while Alex tried not to think about the way his chest fluttered at Henry's glee of having Alex take his side.

They had toured the various local shops, trying on flat caps, scarfs, jackets, waistcoats and whatever else can apparently be made with tartan and tweed. Thankfully there were a few ice cream shops and cafes that they visited as well so Alex was maintained by a steady supply of coffee.

All of that came to an end of course when they arrived at Loch Muick.

One casual country photoshoot later and they were strolling down towards the lake.

Henry grows quieter the longer they walk. The PPOs and Secret Service Agents have drifted far enough ahead and behind them on the dirt track that they're practically alone. Alone enough that they could have a conversation without anyone overhearing.

Yet the Prince didn't take advantage of that.

Alex found himself to be the one filling the silence. Keeping his voice quiet, respectful of the peace Henry so clearly feels here.

It's a stunning lake, enclosed by tower hills full of dark forest and herds of deer. It was one big loop apparently, a dirt track wide enough for a single car tracking along the lake edge and circling round. There was the occasional broken boat shed or stone remains of a building long past but beyond that there was no sign of human life.

Just a beach of smooth rocks, clear water and endless heather filled grassland sloping upwards. It was an alternate world here. The land closest to the entrance car park was a forest full of bike tracks and picnic benches. Beyond that was marshland from the streams running off loch Muick towards Ballater.

Wooden paths and small bridges had carried them across that watery section. Many had seemed unwilling to cross that long stretch so the crowds had stayed on dry land back at the picnic benches. Or rather the reporters hadn't wanted to risk their precious cameras.

He had tried not to gasp in delight at the large stag and deer that greeted them on the stretch of clear land. The herd was hundreds strong, taking up the entire height of the hill and across their path.

The large creatures had seemed unbothered by he and Henry, not even flinching at the security teams.

Henry had muttered a few facts about the herd being protected and royal property because they resided on this land. They were occasionally culled to keep the numbers at a safe level but they were mostly left to roam free.

The herd preferred to stay on this side of the dividing forest as Henry called it. The one they were walking through now. The road only led this far because Queen Victoria's house was on the other side of these trees. After that the road devolved into a footpath over the rocky base of the hill before rounding onto the steeper side that was rarely walked.

A veritable cliff, Shaan had muttered. Henry was apparently fond of travelling the clockwise route around the lake in his youth. The one that took them through a narrow path, overhanging drop on occasion and the risk of a landslide.

Henry had countered there were never landslides and that Shaan was just a mother hen.

The Equerry hadn't liked being called out in front of Alex.

Eventually Alex ran out of compliments to bestow on the village they had just visited. He had moved onto funny stories and various little American historical amusements, they had their fair share of idiotic politicians to quote. Though Alex still stands by the fact that they had none so ridiculous as Henry VIII's dating stories.

In silence the pair walk towards the granite lodge. The security team spreads out, guarding the perimeter and checking the widow's house for any unwanted guests.

The front room windows were completely boarded up, all of them were actually. No one had been inside in years.

"Grandmother knew I loved this place," Henry says in lieu of an explanation. "She had it safety checked under the guise of caring for me."

The prince walks towards the front door, a hand hovering where the door handle should be.

"It was boarded up and locked when I returned."

There was something so sad and desolate about his tone. Something defeated. Intrinsic to his core, to his very being that had been crushed by his grandmother's act. Alex didn't like it. He found himself stepping up to Henry's side, staring at the door he so absently stares at.

"I came here with my father. With my family, back when we were younger and closer." He twists around, not looking at Alex but staring out onto the clear lake. "I came here whenever I could after he died."

"Victoria's Widow House." Alex echoes quietly, staring out at the stillness of life around them. At how everything was frozen in time. "Where the royals retreat to grieve."

"It was where the institution sent the emotional ones. We would visit Balmoral as a group and then they would go on a wellness retreat to Scotland... to here."

"I thought it would be more of a professional place." Alex can't help but comment. "Almost hospital like."

"Oh we have those too." There was a sarcastic lilt to his statement, one that made Alex wonder if the prince had been shipped off on a different wellness retreat once upon a time. "This is just where we would go to have a breather."

He pauses, tilts his head. "Less so with my generation. My mother was the one who broke the trend. She preferred city breaks."

"When was it boarded up?" Alex hedges.

"A year or so after dad died," Henry snorts, an undignified sound. "A year and day, some kind of mourning period."

"You've not been inside in years." Alex isn't sure why he says it but Henry doesn't think the statement needs a response so it doesn't matter.

For a long while they just stand there, leaning back against the door as they stare out at the Scottish countryside and grey skies.

"Why did you bring me here?" Alex ventures, unsure of how to approach Henry when he's in such a vulnerable state.

The prince sighs, shoulders slumping. "Because you are grieving and this is all the comfort I can offer you."

Alex doesn't insult him by lying. He told his family, his therapist, the press and even Marcus' family that he had grieved and moved on. Sure he said it still hurt but no one expected it to ever stop hurting, but he was no longer actively grieving.

Just because he was no longer grieving Marcus doesn't mean he stopped grieving.

"I lost everything in that shooting." He whispers, letting the words drift across the lake, only to be heard by Henry at his side. "My whole world changed in 36 minutes. Most shootings last less than 20, it's a spree and either someone kills the shooter or the shooter kills themself."

Henry stays quiet, letting him talk. "It was a group of three, kids themself, they took hostages when the police arrived. They panicked. I never saw that part." He swallows nervously, closing his eyes for a second as Marcus' face appears before him. "We were the last classroom to be raided, the shooter walked in, started firing and then he just stopped."

He remembered the way everything went so still in the boy's body.

"Someone shot him, the police shot him, but the damage had already been done."

Only here, in this Scottish retreat away from the world did Alex confess his sins to Henry.

"I stopped grieving the people who died a long time ago." His eyes burn with unshed. "The shooters, the children, the teachers." He twists his head from side to side, stopping the tears from falling. "I accepted their loss but the life I lost? The childhood, the family, the innocence? I don't know how to stop grieving the loss of my every thought."

The clouds darken overhead, movement stirring the lake top as the wind begins to pick. Alex wants to sag in relief at something, even the weather, finally reflecting the turmoil he feels.

"Everything changed after that. I can't handle flashes or loud noises, every choice I make is underlied by fear, all the little reactions and thoughts I can't stop. Overthinking everything, under-thinking when I get too drained and that's just living– not even being the first son."

He sighs, letting the silence reign for a while. Henry doesn't speak, not even when Alex has finished, he just lets him take what he needs.

"This was a bad week. Too many new variables and high stress scenarios.... I'm sorry you had to see a bad week, I had quite wanted us to be friends."

"Don't be." Henry finally speaks. "I was having a bad week during the Rio Olympics, only fair you get your turn."

The prince glances at him. There's no smile on his face, he's not making light of the situation but there's a warmth in his eyes, a humour that Alex appreciates.

"Besides, I'd rather have a friend I can call a prick than have to play nice with some fake acquaintance."

"We wouldn't have been acquaintances." Alex counters with a soft grin. "I would have annoyed you so much that we would have either been friends or mortal enemies."

"I already have a mortal enemy."

"Are you seriously cheating on me right now?"

"I'm not inviting you back to Britain if you keep up this petulance, and I thought we were friends?"

"And I thought I was the only Moriarty in your life."

A/N: This brings to a close this three part one shot series, I hope you enjoyed or rather appreciated the topic at hand.

If there's anything (trauma wise because that's my specialty) you would like to see represented through Alex, or Henry, please feel free to comment.

Also, did anyone notice the Dowager Countess (Downton Abbey) quote I slipped into Henry's dialogue?