Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Henry doesn’t know what else to do. Not that he’s done anything really, but still. He arrived in D.C. three hours ago, holding off the tears and hoping against all logic that everyone was wrong about what happened.  They weren’t. 

The tears stopped a half-hour ago, but Henry’s sure that anything could set them off again. He can’t wrap his head around how this happened. Well, he knows how it happened. The agent—Adam, his brain supplies, his name was Adam—shot and killed in the alleyway outside the bar. Alex’s panic button, found somewhere on the floor. The 21 bridges into Manhattan shut down and the closure of LaGuardia, JFK, and Newark Liberty. But he can’t wrap his head around it. Just nine hours ago, Alex was lying in his arms, kissing him softly, and now they had no idea where he was. They had no idea where to even start. 

In the bubble of their New York life, Henry had allowed himself to forget that they weren’t just a couple living together. Allowed himself to forget that Alex wasn’t just his boyfriend. He had allowed himself to forget that Alex was the son of one of the most powerful people in the world, and now he was paying the price for it. 

He got off the phone with his mother a little while ago. Catherine, Bea, and Phillip, had all tried—and failed—to convince him to come home. None of them wanted him to stay in the country, understandably, but Henry refused to leave. He ended the call quite abruptly when his mother said, “thank god, you weren’t there.” Henry knows what she meant and he knows she didn’t mean it like that, but all he can hear is that she’s glad it was Alex. 

Sitting in Alex’s room, wrapped in one of Alex’s sweaters, he doesn’t know what else to do. What else he can do. Ellen’s in and out of the situation room, June is in her room with Nora trying to keep her calm, Oscar's on a plane, and Henry’s just sitting here. He’s just sitting here trying to keep his mind off the fact that no one knows where Alex is. It’s not like he can help find him, as much as he wants to. 

Henry’s even not sure what to do when the email notification pops up on his laptop. The only people he’d even think about talking to right now have his number; they’d text him. He mainly uses his emails for work related purposes; stuff with the shelter and talking with his agent and publisher. It feels wrong, opening a work email right now… But Bake Off isn’t doing it’s job. 

Carefully, he clicks the mail icon on his laptop. Upon opening his inbox, the air leaves Henry’s chest. This wasn’t sent to his work email or even his private Kensington one. No, this was sent to another account. One he had Nora do computer stuff to, to make it less easy to hack. This was sent to the account he now emails Alex with… and only Alex knows what it is. 

Henry knows what he’s going to see when he opens this email. He thinks he knows—he’s seen movies—but thinking you know and knowing are too completely separate things. 

Henry clicks on the email, and it’s only a second after it fully opens that his laptop is sent crashing to the ground. It takes a few more seconds to get himself over to the garbage can by Alex’s desk, and he almost doesn’t make it before he heaves.

“Henry?” June’s voice comes from the door, scratchy and hoarse from crying. He assumes she must see him retching because she runs over, starting to gently rub her hand up and down his back. “Let it out. You’re alright.” 

The taste of vomit lingers in his mouth as he pulls back. June’s hand is still on his back and Nora’s standing by the edge of the bed, both of them looking at him concernedly. 

“You okay?” Nora asks, even though she knows that he’s not. None of them are. 

Henry shakes his head, quickly taking a few deep breaths and moving to grab his laptop. Miraculously, he hasn’t broken it. The screen isn't cracked at all and nothing’s gone haywire, meaning that everyone can still see the email. He shows it to Nora and June. 

It’s a picture of Alex. Obviously taken today, from wherever whoever has him is keeping him. He’s still in the clothes he left their brownstone with, Henry remembers grabbing him by the tie and pulling him in gently for a kiss. The tie is gone now though, and there’s blood on his white shirt. Henry thinks it’s from the split lip he’s sporting; he hopes it is. Alex’s hands are zip-tied together in front of him and he’s looking straight into the camera. He looks almost defiant, seemingly confident and nonplussed to piss off whoever’s behind the scenes—but Henry knows better. He sees that glint in Alex’s eyes, one he’s sure Nora and June can see too. Alex is terrified, and just knowing that has Henry retching again. 

—

Henry doesn’t know how he has any tears left.  After he had finished vomiting, he had started sobbing. Nora and June had tried to comfort him, but they were hurting too. They are hurting, and they had tried. Henry wasn’t very consolable though, and they had left when he asked. After his sobs had turned to quiet tears. 

He had thought, stupidly, that the tv might be able to distract him. The news keeps running home videos from Alex’s childhood. Shots filmed on an old shaky video camera of Alex and June running around in their backyard. Alex’s first lacrosse game. The whole family at the beach, popsicle juice running down Alex’s face. Henry thinks the videos were leaked by the communications department, but he can’t be sure. The whole thing seems like an awful invasion of privacy, and Henry knows that Alex would hate this. Intimate moments with his family on the nightly news for the world to see. 

Earlier, they were showing the photo Henry got in his email. They had shown it to Ellen, along with the ransom note that came with it, and someone in the administration had leaked it. Henry wasn’t sure if the staff as a whole had meant to, or if it was just some employee who wanted to score points with the networks. Either way, he hates that that picture is out into the world. 

Sitting in Alex’s room is probably not ideal if he wants a distraction. Even though he hasn’t lived in it for the better part of a year, the room is full of Alex. The campaign button on the cork board above his desk, the leftover records from his collection sitting in the corner, the lacrosse trophies on the the top of the dresser… It’s all Alex. This room is even full of them. They had their first time on the bed, and Alex called them friends with blowjobs. This is where the Great Turkey Calamity occurred, and Henry found if funny to fuck with him. This is where Alex fell in love with him; late night phone calls and an exchange of texts leading up to their relationship. It hurts, and Henry realizes if he stays in here much longer tears will once again turn into sobs. 

He finds his way into the West Wing, the whole place alive with panic. No one can really do anything, but they’re all still trying.  Henry weaves his way through the tiny office space, passing by staffers without so-much as earning a glance. The last time he was here, people watched him for maybe a second before going back to their work.  Alex explained to him that there were high-level people that walked through the office everyday, so they weren’t really phased. Even by British Royalty. 

The West Wing’s a lot smaller than people think it is. A lot smaller than Henry himself thought it was. On this floor at least, there’s not a lot of empty space. Nowhere to hide and have a breakdown, not to mention it’s way too close to press. 

Henry navigates his way past the briefing room and the press offices, past the cabinet room and down the hallway. He finds the staircase he’s looking for relatively quickly and takes it two at a time. 

There’s an empty office two doors to the left of the bottom of the staircase. Henry knows that because once Alex shoved him into it and kissed him senseless up against the wall.  He realizes then that there really is no escaping Alex in this building. His boyfriend was a political nerd, and Henry’s sure that he had explored every inch of this place the minute he moved in. Still, a nondescript empty office is still better than Alex’s bedroom. 

“Henry?” Cash is sitting on the floor, back up against the far wall, looking up at him. 

Seeing him gives Henry pause, and his emotions take a back seat for a minute. Cash looks worse than Henry’s ever seen him. He’s not wearing a suit like he normally is, instead in a pair of faded jeans and an old West Point sweater. Cash’s hair looks like he’s run his hands through it one too many times, and his eyes are red from crying. 

Henry moves to go and sit beside him, sinking to the floor and positioning himself the same way. “Are you alright?” 

“I should be asking you that.” He laughs, but it’s devoid of all humour. It’s one of those laughs that Henry recognizes, one you let out to keep from completely breaking down. He sends Cash a look, and the man in question lets out a long, slow breath. “No.” 

They sit in relative silence for a minute, and the realization starts to hit Henry. How many times had he seen Cash and Adam laughing during a shift change?  How often had he noticed one of them bringing the other a coffee when those changes happened late? How many crosswords had he seen them argue over on transatlantic flights? Not only did his charge go missing tonight, Cash lost a friend. 

 “I am so sorry, Cash.” He knows Cash knows what he means. 

Cash nods and runs his hand through his hair once again. “I asked him to… Tonight.. We switched shifts… Mitch had a celebration thing… Ron said it was fine, so we switched…” 

“Cash…” 

“He has a two-year-old… a little boy…” He continues. “He wasn’t supposed to work tonight… I asked him to… ” 

“Cash, you can’t blame yourself. The only people who get to be blamed are the people that caused this. The people who fired the gun.” Henry has no idea where this ability to soothe someone else is coming from, since he’s threads away from falling apart himself. He’s almost grateful for it, because it’s managed to distract him from the precipice he’d been standing on. 

He nods, then shakes his head a little bit. “Shit… you shouldn’t be the one consoling me… How are you holding up?” 

Henry shakes his head. “This morning he was lying next to me in bed and now…” 

“They’ll find him, kid.” Cash wraps an arm around Henry’s shoulders. “Everyone here is… trust me. They’ll find him. It’s only a matter of when.” 

When. Only a matter of when. Henry knows the longer Alex is missing, the longer he’s with whoever has him, the chance for injury goes up.  The higher the possibility he goes into a hospital instead of coming straight home. The higher the chance that he’s been traumatized beyond anyone’s understanding. And Henry knows that Ellen can’t capitulate to demands,  that she can’t give these people anything except maybe a life in prison. That one terrifying thought works it’s way to the front of Henry’s brain. The longer it takes them to find Alex, the higher the possibility will be that they’re finding a body. 

Chapter Text

When they were little, Alex and June had a game. Well, it was less a game and more of a suicide mission. They would try and pull the most outrageous stunts one after the other, and the first person to get in trouble lost. June never lost. Alex was always willing to  pull of some outrageously dangerous stunt just to beat her, and he always always got caught.  

June remembers the time he had hung upside down by his knees from the railing of the upstairs hallway. She had begged him not to, told him that he had won and that she would take the loss. But, no. Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz always had to be the best, even at eight. 

She remembers how much dad had yelled at them. Him for doing the stupid thing and her for encouraging it, even though she didn’t. Alex had been grounded for two weeks because of that stunt and, after those two weeks were up, he decided to spark up the game again. That time, Alex tried to do a backflip off of their fence in the backyard. Their parents figured the broken leg was punishment enough.  

The moment her mother had told her what had happened, that Alex had been grabbed in a crowded Manhattan bar, June didn’t believe it. She was sure her idiot brother was just pulling another stupid stunt, slipping his guard detail to make some clandestine midnight rendezvous with Henry. 

It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d done that. Alex had told her about him and Henry sneaking out to the VA. They had done it together a few times, after they first moved into the Whitehouse. June had let Alex convince her to give Cash and Amy the slip and they snuck off to a Baskin Robins. They were in so much trouble that night. Mom had nearly knocked their heads together and eventually got it through their thick skulls that there were people who hated them. People who hated them for no other reason than the fact that their mom was president. People who, given an opportunity, might not hesitate to hurt them. 

June hadn’t believed it, and it took three people to convince her. 

“June, this is real.” Mom shakes her a little. “This is happening.” 

Leo says something else in the affirmative, but she’s not listening. June’s still shaking her head, this isn’t happening. It’s not. Alex is just being stupid again. 

Amy comes up to them then, getting in between June and her mother. She waits until June meets her eyes. “They shot an agent, June. Adam Sullivan. He was Alex’s agent tonight, and he’s dead in an alleyway.” 

She ran back to the residence, remembering a time when she had done it with Alex. When they were both still high on election night and dumb idyllic kids. She recalls how Alex had laughed, how his smile was always so damn bright.  It dawned on her that she might not see that smile again. That she might not see her baby brother again. 

June delivered the news to Henry over the phone. She had to; shutting down the entire island of Manhattan is not exactly subtle, and June wasn’t about to let the networks to break this to him. She slipped back into the role of older sister only because she had to, giving Henry comforting words that she herself did not believe. 

The footage on the news is footage she recognizes. She’d seen the whole “play home videos and stir sympathy” thing on The West Wing when Zoe Bartlet was kidnapped. Apparently, they do it in real life too. 

June can remember every single moment as it’s being played out. Each time the video swaps, she’s taken back to that moment in their childhood. The reason why they only played a few seconds of them at the park is because, a few seconds after the time they did the switch, Alex ran in front of her swing and she kicked him in the face. She’s soaking wet in that clip of them playing cards on the pool deck because a few moments earlier, Alex pushed her into the water. They show a video of Alex kissing her cheek at her birthday last year and something in June snaps. The dam breaks. 

Her dad finds her a little while later, sobbing into her pillow as the news plays on the tv. She tries to wipe her tears when he comes in, but they just keep coming. She tries to say something, anything, but only another sob comes out. 

“That’s enough of that.” He says and, for a second, she thinks he’s talking about her tears. But Oscar Diaz isn’t like that, and June realizes he was talking about the tv when he reaches for the remote and shuts it off. Once he’s done that, he dad moves to where she’s sitting on the couch and immediately pulls her into his arms. “I got you, mija.” 

June just nods and sobs into her chest. If she tries, she can almost pretend that she’s still that little girl on the news, freaking out after a nightmare That’s what this is, a nightmare, but June knows that there is no waking up from this. 

She lets her dad hold her and shush her while she cries. Somehow managing to take a small portion of comfort from the familiar weight of his arms and smell of his cologne. It takes a while, but eventually her sobs die down. They slow and grow quiet, until it’s just tears streaming down her face and shaky breaths. 

“He’s…” She struggles, finally voicing the one constant thought she’s had through all of this. “I’m never gonna see him again.” 

Her voice is hoarse and muffled from her dad’s shirt, but he hears her just fine. She knows because of the way he freezes. It might be dramatic, Alex has only been missing for 24 hours and the entire country is looking for him, but June can’t shake the feeling. It’s her baby brother. 

Her father squeezes her tight. “Don’t say things like that. Your mom is going to get him back. She’s got the FBI, the secret service, and state police from all over the country looking for him. She’ll bring him home.” 

Her mother… June is so mad at her mom that she doesn’t give her dad a response. She just curls  into him more and lets him run a hand through her hair. 

June remembers the day their mother told them she was going to run for president. She remembered the day their mother uprooted their lives and changed their lives forever. June had been nearing the end of her second year at UT Austin. Alex was just about to graduate high school. 

Ellen and Leo sat them down at the dinning room table that night. Alex had been panicking because he thought they had found out about the caffeine pills he’d hid underneath his bed. (The only time they ever sat at that table anymore was when someone was in trouble) Turns out, the family meeting was not called to scold Alex for his destructive ways, but instead for their mother to tell them that she was ruining their lives. 

At least, that’s how June saw it. June had no doubt that her mother would win, because when Ellen Claremont set her mind to something, it usually got done. And winning meant the end of their lives. Winning meant being followed around by secret service almost 24/7 for four to eight years. Winning meant that neither her or Alex would be entitled to privacy pretty much ever again. Winning meant June’s shot at ever becoming a well-respected journalist went up in smoke. 

Alex hadn’t seen it that way though. Alex had seen a way to get involved in Washington politics. A way to insert himself into the life he always wanted. The life he was killing himself to get. 

While June tried to distance herself as far as she could from that campaign, Alex jumped right into it. While she spent the summer hanging out with friends, Alex spent it locked in strategy meetings and campaign plans. By July, she was sucked into it too. 

Their mother threw them to the wolves for the presidency. She invited reporters and politicians into their lives without a second thought. She had Alex holding campaign events and making speeches, June appearing by his side more often than not. They were always in front of cameras, showing off Ellen Claremont’s smart, wonderful, biracial children. 

It was on that campaign that June truly learned the consequences of all the media attention. Her mother got secret service protections earlier than any candidate, other than Barack Obama. Not for her, either, but for her children. Her half-mexican kids that didn’t really look anything like their white, blonde-haired mother. 

The threats came in pretty quickly. Just vile things written out on paper and stuffed into an envelope or sent in a haphazard email. It wasn’t too surprising, they had grown up in the south after all, but it had been a wake up call. All of them had known the risks of this, but somehow they had seemed indestructible. Now they knew they weren't, and all because their mother had thrust them so harshly into the political arena. 

Her father’s words reverberate in her head. Your mom is going to get him back. Her mother is the whole reason Alex was grabbed in the first place. If her mother wasn’t president, June’s baby brother would’ve just been another college student living in New York with his boyfriend. He’d be burning out because of law school and homework (though that did cause a fair amount of Alex’s burnouts), not because he had so many press things to do and was tired of people touching him. 

He’d go on to be a successful civil right lawyer. Get married to the boyfriend he absolutely adores and maybe have a few kids. Someday he’d become a senator or a congressman in the house. Maybe he’d play in a lacrosse league for guys whose glory days are long gone… the thought almost makes June chuckle. He’d have a life and happiness, and that’s all June had ever wanted for her brother. 

Her mother was president, though, and right now Alex’s life amounted to nothing more than a bargaining chip. Instead of being a person, her baby brother was a pawn in someone else game of chess. To be sacrificed for the greater good or used to get what someone else wanted. 

Your mom is going to get him back. 

June can’t see how. Yes, her mother has the Air Force, the Army, the Navy, the Marines, the Coast Guard, the CIA, the FBI, and the Secret Service at her disposal… but still. June is fairly certain they can't use the military because, based off the ransom, it didn’t seem like these people were doing this in retaliation for something. She doesn’t think this really was the CIA’s area of expertise so there was that…. And then that just leaves the FBI and the Secret Service. 

Getting him back meant they had to find him first, and that would take time. No matter what, that would take at least some time. Time meant that there was a higher possibility her brother was being harmed. And even if they found him, what then? Would they all just go running into whatever random building it was guns blazing and bullets flying? How would that solve anything? What would that do except pretty much ensure that her brother would catch at least one of those bullets. 

June knows the only way this could end quickly and without injury is fulfilling every demand listed in that email. She knows that if that happened, Alex would be returned to them in 24 hours. June and Henry could take turns holding him, making sure he was safe and real. They could be done with this whole thing before it even really begins. 

But none of that will happen. They won’t get Alex sent back to them quickly and unharmed, and June and Henry won’t be getting peace of mind any time soon. Her mother is going to answer that note with the one answer that’s allowed. The one answer that’s been the country’s philosophy since June doesn’t even know when. (Alex would know, and the thought hurts.) 

Her mother will answer: The United States does not negotiate with terrorists. 

And June hates her for it. 

Chapter Text

“Alright… I will. Bye, Phillip.” Henry pinches the bridge of his nose, and resists the urge to throw his phone over the railing.

“You alright?”

Henry jumps and nearly ends up dropping his phone off the balcony. He hadn’t heard June open the door behind him, or even walk out onto the balcony. He turns around, hand clasped to his chest, trying to get control of his breathing. “Christ. You scared me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to give your a heart attack.” June looks a little sheepish. She comes to stand beside him, leaning her elbows against the railing. “You looked like you were about to jump for a minute there.”

“I was on the phone with Phillip.” June’s eyes widen and Henry immediately realizes how that sounds. He shakes his head. “No… He was calling to see how I was doing, I guess. Asked me if I wanted Bea to fly over.”

She nods, turning to study him for a minute. “That’s good… right?”

Henry sighs and looks out over DC, moving to mimic June’s position against the railing. The view from the Truman balcony is truly a sight to behold. The mall looks beautiful at night. All the lights from the city just visible and the Washington monument completely lit up. There’s a slight breeze, one that makes it so Henry’s Oxford sweater is just enough to keep him comfortably warm. It’s a nice night… he supposes. It would be if his entire world wasn’t completely flipped on it’s head.

“It’s… It’s just exhausting.” He admits, “Not just Phillip, but talking to everyone in London. They all… They keep asking me if I’m alright, even though they know the answer and it’s just…”

Henry trails off, but June is nodding beside him. She must get it, he thinks, she’s probably gotten some calls from a few people. He’s been fielding calls from his family almost 24/7. As of right now, he’s talked to Bea and Pez more times than he can count, and he thinks he’s set a record for number of conversations with Phillip in the span of three days. It’s a lot.

June, for her part, looks just as bad as he does. She’s still in the same pyjamas she was wearing yesterday, along with a pair of worn, bright blue slippers. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and Henry notices the little spot on her lip that’s red from chewing. Over the years with his own anxiety and depression he’s learned some signs or things to look for.

“Are you alright?”

She sighs, raking a hand through her hair and looking back towards the door. “They’re fighting again.”

Henry nods. Ever since Oscar had arrived in the early morning of the second day, he and Ellen had pretty much been at each others throats. He had thought that they’d be…. Well, Henry doesn’t actually know what he thought. He does know now, though, that having a divorced couple thrown into close proximity while their only son has been kidnapped, and while one of them is the first female president of the United States of America… it’s a recipe for shouting matches.

“She needs to hand power over to the VP…” June tells him, shaking her head. “She won’t though… Mom is stubborn if nothing else.”

He can hear the anger and resentment in June’s tone, but he changes the subject. Henry does not have the emotional bandwidth right now to deal with whatever issues June’s got with her mother. Also, even if the circumstances were different, Henry wouldn’t want to jump into the middle of another family’s drama. Not just two years after he climbed out of his own.

“Have they… do they know where the email came from?” They know where in terms of email address already, but the FBI has yet to locate where in the country—or the world—the email was sent from. Despite sounding like a bunch of third graders in the ransom email, apparently the kidnappers were extremely apt in the tech department.

It ticks him off. He’s heard all about the FBI and the CIA from numerous American diplomats, movies, and even his own boyfriend. Alex has even tried to claim that the CIA is better than MI5 and MI6; (they don’t even compare in Henry’s opinion but whatever…) Alex is still missing though. Three days, apparently the best intelligence agencies in the entire world, and Alex is still gone. They can’t even track an email.

June moves off the railing and slumps into the chair behind them. Henry can already tell that it’s not good news. She looks up at him, and Henry can see the exhaustion in her face. “They figured out the email was sent from a library computer in Pennsylvania… but they can’t figure out what happened after that.”

“Fuck!” He yells, once again nearly smashing his phone against the tile floor. The reaction is so out of character for him that June looks completely startled. Part of him thinks it’s payback for earlier, the rest of him is thinking that no one in this country is ever allowed to brag about their intelligence agencies ever again. In his eyes, they aren’t seeming very intelligent.

Henry’s pacing now, a few steps back and forth each way. It’s definitely a thing he picked up from Alex. Long nights spent watching his boyfriend stress about law school to the monarchy, keeping a steady rhythm across the floor. It’s actually quite soothing, and Henry immediately understands why this is the way Alex seeks comfort sometimes when things get to be too much.

It’s not enough to completely calm him, though. Nothing short of having Alex safe and in his arms will completely calm him—but Henry continues to pace and he continues to rant. He lets just himself go, saying anything and everything that relates to his anger and fear surrounding this whole scenario. He doesn’t yell—Henry doesn’t think you could call it yelling—but it would probably make anyone listening extremely uncomfortable. Henry realizes he’s crying, and his words finally stop. Then he remembers that he’s not alone out here; he’s talking to June. June, who is also missing her brother. He’s preaching to the choir, so to speak.

“Fuck… I’m sorry…” Henry rubs his hand over his face, simultaneously wiping his tears, and moves to sit in the chair next to her. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t apologize. We’re all… Everyone needs a sounding board. I did the same thing to Nora yesterday. It’s fine.”

Henry nods. June’s right, everyone does need a sounding board from time to time. A person they can count on to just listen and then maybe try to help them fix it… But he can’t stop thinking about how his sounding board, his one person that helps him get through all of it—and the person for which Henry does the same—is missing.

June lets the silence linger for a moment before she speaks, and Henry realizes that she’s been watching him. “Have you slept recently?”

He has a retort, right on the tip of his tongue. The question is rich coming from the girl who looks like she’s about to keel over any second, and he’s about to let her know… but he doesn’t. Instead, Henry tries not to think about the last night he got a full night’s sleep—he’ll break if he does—and shakes his head no. “I can’t… Ever since we got together, I haven’t been able to sleep properly if I’m alone. It—It was fine when I knew where he was but now… I can’t sleep at all.”

The look on June’s face is one Henry can’t stand. He asks a question of his own. “What about you?”

She laughs, but there’s absolutely no humour behind it. “I’m not much better.”

An idea finds its way into his head. It would help him sleep, and he bets it would help June too but… Henry isn’t sure if it’d be considered weird. He’d crawled into Bea’s bed—after dad and rehab—more times than he could count, and he does consider June his sister… but still. Henry goes for it anyway. “Do you… would you be comfortable…?”

“Yeah,” She smiles softly, slowly getting up from the chair and gesturing for him to follow, “c’mon. Let’s get some sleep.”

Chapter Text

“Say it again.” 

“No.” 

“Baby, please?” 

“Nope.” Henry crosses his arms over his chest and just his chin out in that defiant way Alex loves (most of the time.) Right now though, his boyfriend’s being a pain. “You’re going to make fun of me.” 

Alex shakes his head, moving to kiss the spot on Henry’s collar bone where his shirt has slipped down. “Hen, baby, I promise I won’t make fun of you. Just say it, please? For me?”    

His boyfriend glares at him for a moment, but then Alex hears the long suffering sigh that lets him know he’s won. Henry looks like Alex has just asked him to kill a unicorn and a puppy, but it’s completely worth it. Especially when Henry sighs one more time and very begrudgingly breathes out, “Aluminium.”  

Alex tries. He really, really does… but there is just something about the way Henry says that word in his cute little accent. He can’t help it anymore. Alex snorts. 

“Oh, fuck off.” Henry glares and pushes him off, and Alex begins to laugh openly. He honestly can’t help it, and not even Henry’s pissed off look can deter him. 

“Aluminum. It’s pronounced: Aluminum.” He laughs. “Who in the hell says aluminium?” 

Henry gets up off the couch and starts pacing. “The whole world says it like that you bloody nitwit. It’s just you North American’s with your aluminum! Cut it out with the American exceptionalism.” 

“I’m right though! It’s aluminum!” 

“It’s aluminium.” 

“Aluminum.” 

“Aluminium.”       

Alex sighs, shaking his head with a small smile. “Aluminum.” 

“Aluminium.” 

“Aluminum.” 

“For god sakes, Alex. It’s aluminium.” 

“Jesus, I love you.” And he does. Alex loves the way Henry's fist is clenched ever so slightly at his side. How his chin’s just sticking out like it does whenever Henry’s steeling himself up for an argument. The way his blue eyes harden to ice and the zap of passion and electricity just visible within them. Alex loves him, even when they’re mock arguing about how aluminum is pronounced. Especially then, because it’s in little moments like these that it just becomes a little overwhelming. 

Henry opens his mouth, presumably to yell “Aluminium” at Alex, but then he realizes what Alex said.  His face softens impossibly for a moment before breaking out into a little smile. “Yeah?” 

“Mhmm.” Alex nods, even though his boyfriend already knows the answer. He moves to where Henry’s standing and leans up against him. “I love you very much.“

He presses a gentle kiss to Henry’s lips before pulling away. “Even though you say aluminium like a crazy person.” 

“Screw you,” Henry says, but he’s laughing. He jolts suddenly though when Alex’s alarm goes off, and the smile fades ever so slightly. “Class?” 

He checks his phone. The little banner across the screen reads: Criminal Procedure important lecture. Alex really, really doesn’t want to go… but he’s also not doing as good as he could be in that class. So, instead of telling Henry that it’s nothing important like he wants to, Alex sighs and nods. Sometimes, he really hates law school.

“Are you still going out with Jordan, tonight?”

Alex nods, already looking for his backpack. “Yeah, him and Sarah. You wanna come?” 

He had already asked, but Alex knows there’s absolutely no harm in asking again. 

Henry pretends to consider for a moment, “I know you’re not like Nora with numbers, but what are the chances you are all going to end up complaining about law school and your professors?” 

“Mhm…. 95-100 percent. Approximately.” 

“Yeah, no thank you.” Henry says with a little shake of his head. “I would rather not subject myself to that, thank you very much.”  

“Your loss, babe.” Alex kisses Henry again. It’s quick, but it still gives him that warm feeling in his gut that Alex gets whenever he kisses his boyfriend. 

Henry smiles, “Go, you don’t want to miss your class.”                                                         

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t wait up for me, okay? I’ll probably be home late.” 

“Don’t get too drunk. I do not need you throwing up on the floor again.” 

Alex presses another quick kiss to his lips. “I won’t. Promise. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.” 

Alex grabs his tie and his jacket before turning to head out the door. Something stops him though, Henry’s hand on his tie, and Alex lets his boyfriend reel him in for another quick kiss. He now understands why their friends fake gag whenever they’re around them; he and Henry are sickeningly cute. Alex wouldn’t have it any other way though.  

Outside, Adam is waiting for him on the steps.  Alex smiles at him. “I guess you drew the short straw tonight, huh?” 

“It’s fine,” he says as they climb into the car, “Cash’s gonna take my shift next week. I promised Tyler I’d take him to the Natural History museum.” 

“Is the little man still obsessed with dinosaurs?” Alex learned early on that it was basically the secret service’s job to know pretty much every intimate detail of his life. He figured, if these people were supposed to take a bullet for him and his mom, the least he could do was learn a little about theirs.

“Alex, he’s two. Of course he’s still obsessed with dinosaurs.” 

He laughs at that, because it is true, and makes a mental note to ask Adam when Tyler’s birthday is.  Alex is fairly sure that, as the son of the current president and boyfriend of a foreign monarch, he could probably pull some strings with the museum curator, and maybe get the kid a ginormous plush dinosaur. He owes him at this point, with how much Adam spends with him instead of his son. 

Alex’s mind moves on when Adam asks what kind of lecture he’s got to sit through today/ He tells him, and they talk about the professor’s droning voice and how much they both dislike that Alex is doing law school. Alex talks and resigns himself to the fact that he is in for a very long, very boring lecture. 

— 

The bar they’re at is pretty crowded, much to the annoyance of the secret service. They don’t come in with him, they don’t usually when it’s a thing like this, but Adam hands him a panic button as he walks in. He takes it begrudgingly, knowing that arguing with the agents will get him absolutely nowhere. His friends are already sitting down and they wave him oer as soon as he walks in. 

“Do you always travel with the suits?”  Jordan asks as soon as Alex sits down. 

Sarah cuffs him on the back of the head and answers before Alex can, “Of course he does, idiot. His mother is the President.” 

“Right. That must suck.”   

“It’s not too bad.” Alex orders a beer from  a nearby waitress and takes a swing, “Enough about my secret service, what’s going on in y’alls life?” 

Though law school has been all kinds of stressful and completely soul-crushing, it has done more than one positive for Alex. The main one? It’s given him actual friends. He had always been worried that people would just try and cosy up to him because of who his mom is, and that may have been the case in undergrad, but in law school nobody really cares. They’re all just trying to pass and having mental breakdowns in the process. 

Alex kinda forgot how it felt to have real friends. 

He smiles and laughs along to Jordan’s stories and listens intently as Sarah bitches about her professors. All of them collectively complain about their outlines and obnoxious people in their study groups. It’s a lot of fun, and half-way through the night Alex forgets about the promise he made to Henry and drinks a little too much. 

“Were you in that goddamn lecture today?” He asks, taking another sip of his second—no, third—third beer. His throat still burns from the tequila shots they did a little earlier.

Jordan, who’s had a little bit more than Alex, spills his tequila shot when he tries to take a sip of it. “Man, I went to three different lectures today. Need specifics.” 

Sarah just shakes her head no, apparently not needing him to specify. 

“You know…. Thingy, with professor what’s-his-name….” Alex laughs, apparently failing to be specific. “He kinda looks like… he’s like all shriveled and old…” 

“Professor Jorgenson? 

Alex nods and claps. Sarah is a genius. 

“Nah, I skipped that today. Couldn’t listen to him drone on and on.” 

“You realize that he basically lectured us on everything that’s gonna be on the exam, right? Like, it was a very important lecture.”

Both he and Sarah burst out laughing at the look of dread that takes over Jordan’s face. It’s not exactly funny, and Alex does actually feel bad, but the alcohol kinda blurs the lines. Jordan starts laughing too, for what reason Alex doesn’t really know because his friend still looks kind of freaked out. Maybe the alcohol isn’t just affecting him. 

They’re all still laughing when Alex lifts himself out of his seat and excuses himself to the bathroom. He realizes how loud they’re being as he steps away from the table. Even across the bar, in the hallway before the bathroom, he can still hear both Sarah and Jordan cackling. 

There’s a guy standing at the sinks when Alex gets out of the stall, and Alex uses the sink furthest away from him. Maybe, just maybe, if he plays it cool this guy won’t recognize him. 

“Hey.” The guy says, with the customary head nod that guys just do sometimes. 

Alex internally groans. It would not be the first, nor the last, time someone asked him for a bathroom selfie. (Being in the public eye really fucking sucks sometimes.) He shrugs off the minor annoyance and gives the guy a nod back. “Hey.” 

Alex doesn’t notice the door open and someone else walk into the bathroom. He doesn’t notice how that guy locks the door behind him. He doesn’t notice the look between the two of them, and he doesn’t notice the fact that they’re walking towards him. 

Alex is too focused on the stupid automatic paper towel dispenser and drying his hands to notice. 

What Alex does notice is the pain in his head when it’s smashed against the tile wall in front of him. 

He’s not small, exactly, and he can hold his own in a fight… but not when his head is throbbing and he’s drunk. He manages to get his panic button out of his jeans, but it’s smacked out of his hand. Alex is panicking and the room is spinning, and he is barely aware of what’s happening. The scream that’s on the tip of his tongue dies when his head is slammed back against the wall. The world goes black very slowly.                                                                                                                             

Alex comes-to in a shitty warehouse in god knows where a few hours later. His hands are zip tied together and his arms ache from where he’s been laying on them weird. The assumption is that they’re out of the city, Alex can’t hear any of the cars or anything. He tries to sit up, which proves to be a horrible decision. 

“Hey, he’s awake.” a voice comes from behind him says. 

He’s suddenly yanked up by his hair. The suddenness of the action plus the lingering throb in his head makes him gasp in pain. It puts a smile on the man’s face, and Alex vows not to show pain again. 

The guy turns to one of his buddies, “Get the camera.” 

They shove Alex up against the wall roughly, pointing the camera directly at him. Alex isn’t stupid, he knows why this is happening and where this picture is being sent. It breaks his heart a little to know his parents will see this. His sister… his boyfriend… To know that he’ll be used against them. 

“Smile for mommy,” One of them taunts, and Alex has the urge to vomit. 

He forces himself to look directly into the camera, putting on his media confidence face. Alex absolutely will not give these assholes the satisfaction of looking afraid, even if he’s terrified. 

—

Alex is kicked awake. Jeff’s heavy construction boot landing hard in his stomach. He doesn’t flinch or groan, but inhales sharply. It’s not the first time they’ve woken him up like this, but that doesn’t mean Alex is used to it. 

“Jódete, pendejo.” He’s taken to swearing at them in Spanish. On the—what he thinks is—the second night Aex had assumed (correctly) that Spanish would piss these assholes off. It’s great because they don’t understand what he’s saying; He can say some pretty awful things and they’d be none the wiser. These are just run of the mill swear words though, but they still earn him a smack across the face. 

Alex still has no idea where they are, even though he was moved some time ago. They shoved him into the trunk of a minivan, and then drove for what seemed like days. The ride was awful—not that Alex  thought it would be fun or anything even remotely close—but it has him desperately wishing they won’t move him again. 

Jeff drags him out of the little closet they’ve got him in and drops him in a chair in the middle of a room. It’s bright, too bright, and Alex winces. He hasn’t seen sunlight in… he doesn’t even know how long. His wrists throb, and he knows that the skin is chaffed and bloody. Pulling on the zipties was not a good idea. 

The other three guys, whose names Alex can’t really remember, are setting up another camera.He rolls his eyes. Even if he’s upset at the fact that another photo is being sent to his family, he doesn’t have to show these four idiots that. 

And then Alex notices the flashing red light on the camera and the sadistic glint in Jeff’s eyes. 

Oh.

Alex’s stomach drops through the floor. 

He’s always known that they can’t kill him, and he feels confident in that fact. He’s their bargaining chip for whatever they want out of his mother. They cannot kill him… but he’s just realizing now that there’s a lot of pain that can be inflicted without even coming close to death. 

And it has just been made apparent how Jeff and his goons are going to force his mother’s hand.

Chapter Text

Ellen’s version of the oval office is set up close to the way Bill Clinton’s was. The carpet is that same navy blue, but she’s ditched the presidential seal in the middle; Ellen figures if people were in the Oval, they’d know she’s the president. She's brought his paintings back onto the wall, she had always liked those anyway, but there’s an extra little painting there of their house in Travis County. The curtains and couches match those in her living room, back in that little house that seems so far away. Like almost every single president since Rutherford B. Hayes, she uses the resolute desk. 

Ellen remembers the first time she brought Alex and June in here. June had been awed, like almost everyone else that saw it for the first time, but it had only lasted a little while. Long enough for her to walk around the room and study it, and then she was done. Ellen couldn’t really blame her, it was a room they would be occupying for the next four years. 

Alex, though, stood there completely stunned. When the initial shock wore off, Alex toured the room slowly, spouting off history and facts that Ellen didn’t even know he knew. She still remembers his excited look when she asked him if he wanted to sit at the desk. How she had to half-heartedly scold him for propping his feet up in the 137 year old piece of wood. 

When he realized that this was the same desk featured in that famous photo with the Kennedy children, Alex got all giddy and excited; Ellen watched her seventeen year old son cram himself into the crawl-space under the desk that could barely fit those two little kids. She remembers laughing so very hard as she took a picture, and then laughing even more when Alex got stuck and Cash had to extract him. 

That exact picture sits behind her as Ellen leans up against the desk. Oscar is sitting next to Mike on one of her couches, and Zahra and Leo are sitting across from them on the other one. There are a few other senior staff scattered across the room too; The communications directors, press secretary, and deputy chief of staff all standing there, inserting themselves into the argument as needed. Mike’s chief of staff is here too, but he’s just kind of standing on the sidelines looking like he’s trying not to get murdered. 

For the amount of screaming going on, one would think the room was full of angry world leaders trying to negotiate a nuclear arms treaty or something. In reality, there’s no more than ten people and the office is actually pretty empty looking in terms of space. 

“Zahra, she needs to resign.”

“The press keeps asking me why she hasn’t already! She needs to resign or think of a reason why she isn’t.” 

“I appreciate that you’ve been there for him Leo, but he’s not your child!” 

“There’s a rumour going around that he’s getting the signatures of the cabinet!” 

“All that is, is gossip!” 

Ellen watches this group of advisors and politicians and wonders how in the world she’s successful in running the country. She also wonders if this is how Alex felt that Christmas before her re-election; if the screaming then between her and Oscar was splitting his head open like all this screaming is doing for her now. 

Mike’s chief of staff has now joined in, getting up in the face of her deputy communications director. The actual communications director is in a discussion or an argument  (it’s hard to tell) with the press secretary. Zahra’s yelling at her deputy; Ellen doesn’t know whether she’s giving him instructions to break up the arguments or arguing with him on her resignation. The Vice-President of the United States is currently standing in between her current husband and her ex-husband, who look like they’re about to start a brawl in the middle of the oval office. 

Ellen very much wants to break something. 

She doesn’t though. Instead, she pinches the bridges of her nose and takes a deep breath. The group is still yelling at each other, completely oblivious to her non-existent involvement.

“Will y’all just shut the fuck up?” She yells over them, and everyone immediately stops talking. Sometimes it is nice to remember just how much power she holds. 

“Sweet Jesus, you’re like school children.” she gestures to the couches and chairs that everyone has vacated in the screaming. “Sit down.”         

They do, but Ellen can still see the tension in everyone. Oscar still looks ready and fully anticipating the need to punch someone, and Zahra seems to be on extra high alert for the next person to open their mouths and start something. 

Ellen takes another very deep breath.  

“Mike, I’m assuming that these rumours about you assembling the signatures of the cabinet are just that. Rumours.” She says, turning to her vice-president. 

Mike nods. “They are ma'am. But—”

“Good. No more of that then.” She directs that towards her deputy communication director. 

Ellen then turns to her husband and ex-husband. She really does not want to have to deal with either of them right now, but apparently she has too. Leo, at least, has the sense to look apologetic. 

“Oscar, like it or not, Leo has been in his life since he was fifteen. Of course you are still his father and he is still your child, but Leo loves him too, alright?” When Oscar nods, she turns away from him and towards Leo. “You need to stop throwing the divorce and California in his face. He gets it, and he doesn’t need that shit right now. Okay?” 

Leo nods too. 

“Great. Now y’all can stop the pissing contest of who Alex means the most too.” 

Ellen doesn’t give herself any time before she rounds on her press secretary. If she keeps going fast enough, she can almost ignore the fact that she has no idea where her child is. “Ana, how have you been dealing with the resignation question so far?” 

“I’ve been deflecting it.” 

“Good. Keep doing that. I’m not resigning.” 

She should’ve known that that would send the room screaming again, but in all honesty Ellen hadn't gotten that far. 

Mike is on his feet first, “M’am you need to invoke the 25th amendment.” 

“You just want  to be president yourself!” That comes from Zahra’s deputy. 

“John! He’s the vice president of the United states, for fucks sake, show him some respect!” 

“El, you know I support you, but I really think you ought to consider…” 

“For god sake Claremont!” 

Instead of yelling, Ellen puts her fingers in her mouth and whistles. It was something she did when Alex and June were little to get their attention in a crowd or when they were yelling at each other. It worked like a charm then and it works now. Almost everyone shuts up. 

“What the hell are you trying to prove?” Oscar yells at her, not caring that she was going to say something. “After this you’re done! Why the fuck are you acting like you’re still up for re-election?” 

Ellen has normally tried to keep her and Oscar's fights away from staff, and away from June and Henry. Honestly, she can’t bring herself to care anymore. “I still have a goddamn country to run! After this is over, I still have to deal with congress and the senate! And I can’t get shit done if people think I’m—” 

“If people think you’re what? Human? A mother? Someone with the tiniest shred of compassion? Jesus Christ!”

Ellen doesn’t think she’s ever seen Oscar this angry; not even whilst they were in the midst of their divorce. It’s fair. She knows it’s fair. He has every right to want to murder her for what she’s saying right now. In truth, Ellen almost want to murder herself. 

She knows she needs to resign. She knows it’s a matter of national security and she knows that the nation would be better if she stepped aside and let Mike takeover. She knows that having a terrified mother with access to the nuclear codes and with the ability to start a war is a big fucking problem. So far, though, she’s been able to do the job. She’s been able to say “the United States does not negotiate with terrorists.” She’s been able to, and she will continue to do so. Even though it’s risky. 

In truth, Ellen can’t bear the thought of putting her son’s life in someone else's hands. She trusts and loves and respects Mike, but she can’t handle the thought of stepping aside. Right now, she controls the military, the FBI, the CIA, and the state police. She can give them orders and tell them where to look, and they report directly to her. Ellen wants to keep it that way. She wants to stay in the loop. 

And it’s fine because she is still able to say: “the United States does not negotiate with terrorists.”  

“Fuck you. You know it isn’t like that.” 

Oscar glares at her. “I don’t know it isn’t like that, but I’ll tell you what I do know! ¡Vas a hacer que maten a nuestro hijo!” 

He leaves, slamming the door behind him. Everyone’s looking at her, maybe to try and figure out what Oscar said. Ellen knows why he did it; why he used spanish instead of just yelling at her like normal. The only other person in this room who understands spanish is Leo, and he only knows swear because of Alex and June. 

That last sentence was meant for Ellen, and Ellen alone. It reverberates in her skull, even long after everyone else has already left the room. 

Ellen sits in her chair behind the desk and gingerly picks up the photo. Alex grinning stupidly from the little compartment under her desk. Ellen has to try hard not to cry. 

You are going to get our son killed. 

— 

“How’s Henry doing?” She asks, when Zahra comes out and joins her on the Truman Balcony. 

Ellen’s sure she looks very presidential. Sitting on a lounge chair in her pyjama pants and baggy university t-shirt, feet propped up on the coffee table with a bottle of  tequila in her hand. She can see the headlines now. 

Breaking News: President Claremont goes completely insane 

In all honesty, it wouldn’t be that far from the truth. 

Zahra’s pretty much in the same boat, but she’s wearing jeans and an old sweatshirt. She looks put together no matter what, though. She sits down in the chair beside Ellen’s and tucks one knee into her chest. 

“Alright. He’s sleeping, now.” Zahra takes the tequila from her and takes a sip herself. “The doctor said it was a mix of stress, dehydration, and exhaustion. Shaan’s staying with him.” 

Ellen nods. “Okay. That’s good. And June?” 

Zahra looks surprised, but recovers quickly. “She’s as good as to be expected, I think. Nora was with her last.” 

“She blames me. Won’t talk to me.” She says in response to Zahra’s earlier surprise, taking another swig of tequila, “Not that she’s wrong, but...” 

“Ellen—” 

“When I thought about something like this happening… Any time I’d even let myself just entertain the possibility that this could happen, I’d always imagined it’d be a foreign country.” The next sip she takes is considerably longer than the first two. “That’s what it is in the movies. Retaliation for some policy or military decision in some middle eastern country. It’d be easier that way, wouldn’t it?” 

Ellen sighs, standing up and walking over to the railing. She leaves the alcohol on the coffee table. She looks out over the mall and remembers just how much time Alex spends out here. How much he loves this view. 

“There’d be sanctions and military options and I’d get to blow something up. But this… These guys are Americans, Z. American citizens kidnapped my child.” Ellen still can’t completely wrap her head around it, even four days later. American citizens…. “And, as much as I might like to, I can’t blow up Florida, so… I can do nothing. Absolutely nothing. My child was kidnapped by American Citizens, and the only thing I am capable of doing is waiting for the FBI to find him.” 

Zahra’s silent for a little bit. Ellen hates it. She never really used to hate silence. Alex was always yelling about something, and June was usually either egging him on or arguing with him about it; during their childhood Ellen actually quite liked the silence. Right now, though, silence leaves the opportunity for her mind to wander, to imagine every horrible thing happening to her child. 

“Alright…. Who am I speaking too?” 

Ellen turns, “What?” 

“Who am I talking to?” She repeats, wrapping her arms around the knee that propped up in front of her. “Am I having a conversation with President Claremont as her chief of staff Mrs. Bankston? Or is it just Ellen and Zahra talking, like we used to back in your kitchen in Travis country?” 

It takes her a second to realize what Zahra means, and Ellen realizes she gets to make a choice. Does she want to be talking to her chief of staff? Someone who will look at this situation logically and analytically and advise her on what to do next. Or, does she want to talk to her friend?  Want to have an emotional conversation with someone who she’s known for years? 

She thinks about it for a minute before moving back to her chair. Ellen’s had enough screaming for one day. “You’re talking to me. Just me.” 

Zahra takes another sip of the alcohol. “Okay then—”

“They’re going to kill him, Z.” Ellen didn’t  mean to just blurt it out like that, but she does. Now the terrible thought that has been circling round and round in her head since Zahra and Ed told her Alex was kidnapped has made it out of her mouth. “We’re going to find him, but he’s going to be dead when we do.” 

“They can’t kill him. They can’t. He’s their…” Zahra trails off, definitely worried about how what she’s about to say is going to go over. Ellen gestures for her to continue; she knows what Zahra’s going to say, anyway. “He’s their bargaining chip. Without him they can’t get what they want.” 

“And what happens when I say no? When they realize that the one thing they have to use isn’t getting them what they want?” She swallows hard. “What happens when they know that they’re going to get caught, and that no one is capitulating with their demands?” 

Zahra stays silent this time. They both know the answer, but Z isn’t drunk enough to say it out loud. Ellen is, and she takes another sip of the Tequila. “They’ll put a bullet in his head and try to make a getaway.” 

“El—” 

“Oscar wants me to invoke the 25th because he thinks I’m gonna do something stupid and get him killed. Mike wants me to invoke because he thinks I’m going to do something stupid and get him back…” She sighs, “And I don’t want to because I can’t handle being pushed to the side.” 

Z seems to know that there was a different reason that the one she offered earlier into why she refused to step down temporarily, but her face softens and a wave of understanding passes over it. 

“Just… I can’t be out of the loop…” She pauses, but Zahra just nods. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay what?” 

She takes another sip from the bottle. “Okay, I won’t bring it up again. Not unless we have to.” 

Ellen doesn’t say anything else, but she knows Zahra knows how grateful she is. Instead, they sit on the balcony passing the bottle back and forth. Ellen wonders how much Tequila it’ll take for her to finally wake up from this nightmare. 

—

For the amount of Tequila she had the night before, Ellen isn’t very hungover the next morning. It probably had to do with the litre of water she drank after finishing that bottle. Still, though, there’s a lingering headache there when she sits down to eat breakfast. 

It’s quiet. Ellen is grateful that Leo doesn’t ask about yesterday or last night. He’d only given her a look when he’d kissed her the night before and smelt the Tequila on her breath. And, this morning, he’d had a large glass of water for her on the table.  

“How’re you doing?” He asks when she sits down. 

It's a stupid question. He knows it’s a stupid question. And they both know he’s not asking about the hangover. Ellen takes a sip of water, sort of wishing that she was still drunk. “The same.” 

Leo just nods and gently squeezes her free hand. He gets it too. 

Neither of them are expecting the door to the room to burst open, a frantic and sick looking Zahra walking in. Ellen’s never ever seen Zahra look like that. She notices Andy, the FBI liaison to the White house,standing in the doorway and her breath catches. “Did they…?” 

Zahra shakes her head quickly. “No uh… no. But we did… we got a… fuck… just come with me.” 

Ellen exchanges a look with Leo, unsure of if they both go. Zahra nods. “The two of you.” 

The both of them follow Zahra and Andy from the residence into the West Wing. For once, Ellen is more than thankful that June doesn’t want anything to do with her and that Henry’s on bedrest for passing out; it means neither of them will leave their rooms to come figure out where she’s going. Her heart sinks a little more when Zahra starts going towards the stairs in the direction of the situation room. 

There’s only a few people milling about the room; Mostly army personnel, like the watch commander, but her national security advisor is here too. They all stand up when she walks into the room, but Ellen waves them off immediately. She’s sure she looks very presidential in her flannel pyjama bottoms and fluffy slippers. 

Zahra and Andy sit across the table from her and Leo, both of them looking uncomfortable. Ellen’s mind is going through all the scenarios, desperately trying to figure out what put that look on her Chief of Staff’s face. 

Zahra looks at Andy and nods, indicating that he should start talking. He takes the cue. 

“Ma’am a package was dropped off at the FBI field office in Louisville last night. Once the agents made sure it wasn’t a bomb, they brought it inside and had a look.” 

Ellen pales, thinking worst-case scenarios all over again. She doesn’t get to spiral too much though because Andy breaks her out of her thoughts when he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out an envelope.

“Inside was a USB key,” Andy continues, “And this.” 

Andy pulls a chain out of the enveloppe, and Ellen immediately recognizes it as the one her son wears around his neck. The key is missing, and though it might be a security problem for the key to the President’s house to be out in the world, Ellen doesn’t care. There’s a ring on it too, and though Ellen might not have known that her son possessed it, she knows who the original owner was. She knows he’s going to be devastated. 

“You said Louisville?” Leo pipes up from beside her. “Kentucky? Is that where they are?” 

“We’d have to check to make sure it wasn’t mailed from somewhere else, but yes. They could be in Kentucky. We’ve got agents looking into it now.” 

Ellen feels something in her chest lift, realizing just how close they could be to finding Alex. Sure, Kentucky’s a big state with lots of open spaces, but it shouldn’t be too hard; Especially if they shut the city down. But the feeling disappears as quickly as it came. Ellen knows that the chain alone wouldn’t have put  such a look on Zahra’s face. Definitely not anything like the one she had when she came to get the two of them. And then Ellen remembers what Andy  said before. The USB.      

 “What’s on the drive?” she asks, and Zahra’s face twists. 

She shakes her head slowly. “Ellen… you don’t want to—” 

“Show me, Z.” 

Zahra gets the video set up on the screen at the far end of the room. Ellen watches as she hits play, as a few guys on screen talk amongst themselves, as Alex is placed in view of the camera. He looks relatively okay; there is a cut on his lip, but she had seen that in the earlier photo, and a bruise seems to be forming on his cheek. The zip-ties  are cutting into his wrists a little bit and his shirt’s dirty and ripped, but otherwise he looks okay. There’s a sinking feeling in the room that it won’t last for long.                                   

Ellen watches the man, unfortunately wearing a ski-mask, taunt Alex for a minute. She watches him clench his jaw and swear in spanish, and act confident. And then Ellen watches as someone beats her youngest child. 

It doesn’t last long. Not by normal standards. Probably ten minutes at the most. In this video, ten minutes feels like a lifetime. By the end of it, her child is bleeding  and bruised; curled in on himself on the floor and cradling his wrist close to his body. Even though Ellen watched every blow, she barely pays attention when the man repeats the demands. She’s too busy throwing up in the nearest trash can, with Leo rubbing her back. 

Looking around the room, Ellen pauses. Every single person in this room (with the exception of her husband) is required to do what she asks. For some of them, refusing is against the law. And Ellen knows what she desperately wants to ask. What she desperately wants to order and have done so that she can have her baby in her arms. 

Ellen can no longer say her line, and so she turns to Zahra. “I… I need you to assemble the cabinet. Have Mike and a federal judge meet me in the oval in half-an-hour.” 

Everyone’s looking at her concernedly, she’s vaguely aware that Leo is crying, but all Ellen’s looking at is Zahra. 

“Ma’am?” 

“I’m…” she pauses, briefly looking back towards the screen and knowing she will do anything to get her child back. Even destabilize the country. “I’m invoking the 25th.”       

Chapter Text

Admittedly, calling Phillip while he’s sleep deprived and furious isn’t the best decision Henry’s ever made, but he doesn’t have the mental capacity for rational decision making right now. It’s been five days. Five days of waiting and misery and Alex being fucking missing. Henry’s had enough. The FBI has been more than useless, and he’s done with them. Which is how he ended up screaming at his brother, trying to get him to get MI6 involved. 

“Henry, you must know that I can’t do anything.” Phillip says over the phone, clearly exasperated.

He paces the length of the hallway, not really caring that he’s probably burning a hole in the carpet. “Why the fuck not, Phillip?” 

“MI6 doesn’t intervene in issues like these unless the person is—” 

“He’s my fucking boyfriend. The official royal suitor.” 

“It’d be…” Phillip sighs. “It’d be different if you were married or engaged… I would if I could. I want to, but there are protocols.”

“Fuck your protocols and fuck you, Phillip.” Henry’s head is swimming and he’s seeing spots, but he pushes. “You wouldn't do anything. Alex missing is amazing for you and gran. And if he—” Henry’s voice cracks. “If he turns up dead, the two of you can force me back into the closet.” 

“Henry…” 

If Henry had any ounce of sleep on board, he would’ve registered Phillp’s hurt tone. Heck, if he’d had any sleep on board, he wouldn't have even said it. He pitches forward though, and his vision swims. This time concern, not hurt, laces his brother’s voice, but Henry thinks Phillip’s yelling at him. He can’t understand him; his face is too busy connecting with the carpet. 

—

Everything’s still hazy when he wakes up the first time, and his stomach is churning. Henry can hear that there’s other people in the room with him, and he turns his head slightly towards the noise. 

Shaan is standing on the other side of the room, along with someone else who Henry assumes is a doctor. He’s not exactly sure when Shaan got here or where he came from, but he’s grateful. Henry watches them talk in hushed voices for a few minutes, wondering how he ended up here. Henry can’t exactly remember. He knows he passed out, but that’s about it. 

Shaan says something else and then shakes the man’s hand. Henry watches the man leave and watches Shaan rake his hand over his face. He feels awful; Shaan looks tired and stressed, and Henry knows that he’s the reason Shaan looks like that. It’s always his fault. 

Shaan sighs and turns back towards the bed, relief flooding his face when he sees that Henry’s awake. “Henry…”

He opens his mouth to say something, but the nausea reaches an all time high. His face must go green, because Shaan is able to grab the trash can and get it under his mouth before he vomits. Shaan rubs Henry’s back gently as he empties the non-existent contents of his stomach into the trash. The, mostly, dry-heaving hurts and Henry can't help just collapsing to Shaan and crying. 

“Shhh, it’s alright. You’re alright, sir.” Shaan continues rubbing circles into Henry’s back, just waiting it out until Henry stops crying. “You’re alright.” 

It doesn’t take long until Henry’s officially spent. He hasn’t really slept in five days, and even though he got a few hours, he’s still utterly exhausted. The crying and vomiting didn’t help either, and he’s practically falling asleep against Shaan. 

Henry lets the man in question maneuver him to lay down back under the covers, incapable of putting up much of a fight. He’s still got a sense of guilt, watching Shaan fuss over him like this. “M’ sorry….” 

Shaan just shakes his head and smooths out the blanket a little. “Don’t apologise, sir. Go back to sleep.” 

Henry can’t find it in himself to argue.  

—

The second time he wakes up Shaan is also talking to someone, this time over the phone. Henry feels a lot more coherent this time and takes a quick look around the room. Part of him is surprised he's not in the hospital, but still in Alex’s room; It makes sense though, they probably want to keep him and June somewhere secure. 

He listens to Shaan’s conversation for a bit and realizes who he’s talking to. The way he’s sitting up completely straight, using all the proper titles, and barely using contractions. Henry’s mind flashes back to… well, he’s not exactly sure when that was, but his last conversation with Phillip. What he accused him of.  

“Is that Phillip?” He asks, even though he’s 95% sure it is. He figures it doesn’t hurt to ask.

Shaan nods without breaking the conversation and Henry waits until there’s a lull to ask for the phone. Shaan watches him skeptically, like he's analysing whether or not it would be a good idea, but Henry just holds his hand out. 

“Your highness,” Shaan says into the phone, and Henry can hear the sigh he’s trying to keep out of his voice. “Your brother would like to speak with you.” 

Phillip must agree because a second later Shaan’s handing him the phone. 

“Henry?”

“Hey, Phillip…” He takes a deep breath. “I just… I’m sorry about… I was just sleep deprived and—” 

“Don’t apologize. It’s alright. I can’t… If it was Martha… I can’t even imagine.” He stops, and Henry feels something lodge in his throat. Phillip sighs. “Just… promise me you’ll get some sleep, alright? You er.. You scared me last night.” 

He willingly takes the out his brother gives him. He answers around a yawn, and knows that this is one promise to his brother he can actually keep and not feel horrible about it. “I promise.” 

They talk for only a few more minutes; Phillip asking him if he wants to speak to Bea or their mum. He doesn’t, only because he feels, once again, like he’s going to pass out. Phillip hangs up after they’re done talking, and Henry hands Shaan’s phone back over. 

Shaan makes him eat a little and drink some gatorade before going back to sleep. Henry means to ask about whether or not the FBI has found anything new, but he’s still so tired. He falls asleep before he can. 

—

Shaan has adopted the role of babysitter now, and won’t leave Henry alone. He gets it; he was alone for five days and he didn’t sleep or eat. It’s becoming a little annoying but he understands. And, truthfully, it is helpful to have someone who’s making sure he’s taking care of himself; Henry’s already shown he can’t do it himself. 

He doesn’t really leave Alex’s room. Partly because Shaan is hesitant to let him out of bed and partly because Henry doesn’t think he can handle being around other people. 

He just wants Alex back. He wants Alex back and safely tucked into his arms. Henry wants Alex back so he can bury his face in those curls he loves so much and kiss that spot behind his ear. He wants Alex to tease him about his accent and the way he says aluminium. He wants to listen to Alex rant and vent about American politics, and maybe explain what the 25th amendment is. He wants Alex laying beside him at night; Henry wants to listen to his soft breathing and he wants to wrap Alex in his arms and never let him go. 

He wants him back. 

Henry jumps a little when there’s a knock on the door, not really expecting it. Shaan gets up from his chair to answer, and Henry’s heart jumps up into his throat when he sees Ellen at the door. She walks in with a small smile, though Heny can tell it’s forced, and sits gingerly on the edge of the bed.                               

Henry dares to ask the question. “Did they, did they find him?” 

“No, no they didn’t.” She sighs, pulling something out of her pocket. “A uh… an envelope was dropped off at an FBI building two days ago… It was from the kidnappers… I thought… for the time being, you might want it back.” 

Henry guesses what she’s talking about, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t stop breathing when Ellen opens her hand and reveals his signet ring sitting on a chain in her palm. His signet ring, which is supposed to be resting comfortably against Alex’s sternum.  

He vividly remembers the exact moment he gave Alex that ring. The exact second he’d gently pressed it into his palm, the soft, loving smile on his face. Alex hadn’t known, and still doesn’t know, the significance of what he did that day. Doesn’t know the tradition Henry’s mother inadvertently started when she gave his dad her ring. Phillip had continued and given Martha his before leaving on his deployment. And Henry… Henry had danced with Alex in the Renaissance room at the V.A. and had almost never felt that seen and that loved. 

He  decided right then and there that this was the person he wanted to give his ring to. And he had pressed it into Alex's palm the next morning at the airstrip, and Alex had thrown his arms around him and squeezed, and Henry… Henry can’t breathe.

He’s aware he’s having a panic attack, they’ve happened often enough that he just knows now, but the knowledge doesn’t help him at all. He can’t breathe, and his lungs aren’t working, and his ring that Alex is supposed to be wearing is sitting in his mother’s palm, and he’s going to die if he can't get air, and—

“Henry, sweetie, you gotta breathe.” Ellen doesn’t touch him, which he’s thankful for. “You gotta take a breath for me, sugar.” 

And he shakes his head, still gasping, because he can’t and—

Ellen nods gently, her voice calming and encouraging. “Yes you can, honey. Just a small one. That’s it.” 

It takes him a few minutes, but he manages to calm down. Shaan moved beside him, presumably as soon as he started panicking, and hands him a bottle of water. Henry takes it gratefully and swallows most of it in one go. 

“Did they… did they send anything else?” He dares to ask this too, though Henry’s not really sure if he wants to know the answer. 

Ellen nods, “A video.” 

Henry goes to say something but she cuts him off immediately, “You are not watching it.” 

Part of him wants to argue, but the other part—the bigger part of him—hears her tone and is able to read the look on her face. He drops it. 

“They think he might be in Kentucky…” Ellen says, and Henry’s head snaps back up. “That’s where the envelope was dropped off, a field office in Louisville. They’ve set up an operations center there… We’re going to find him Henry.” 

Henry nods and thanks her. She hugs him before she leaves, and he melts into it a little bit. Henry knows she’s struggling just as much as the rest of them, she resigned for chrissake, but somehow she looks more put together than all of them. And even though, for the time being, she is no longer the leader of the free world, Henry still thinks she looks presidential.

The ring is sitting on his lap, where Ellen had dropped it when she started to console him. Henry watches it for a minute, the way the gold catches weirdly in the light of the room. He debates putting it back on his finger, but he knows the weight would feel odd. Besides that, it’d almost feel like betrayal. Shaan’s still watching him, though trying (and failing) to remain inconspicuous about it; Waiting to see what he’ll do. 

Henry picks up his rings, and gently drops the chain around his neck. He’ll wear it like this, he decides, until he can give it back to Alex.

Chapter Text

When Alex was eight, he broke his leg attempting to do a backflip off their fence in the backyard. It was a stupid stunt done as a part of a stupid game he had with June. He barely remembers the car ride to the emergency room, or when they set his leg and put a full red cast on it. Alex does remember the splitting pain that shot up his leg the minute he hit the ground. It’s the same pain he’s got shooting up his wrist right now.

The zipties are still binding his wrists together, though, making it almost impossible to move without agony. Not that he would be moving anyways, Alex’s side is throbbing and it somewhat hurts to breathe. He’d bet anything that at least one of his ribs is broken.

Jeff and one of the other guys, whose name Alex hasn’t really cared to or tried to learn, tug him up. Alex can’t really help them much—not that he wants to—or really stand steadily on his own, so the other guy holds on to him.

“What the fuck, Jeff? We agreed you’d rough him up a little!” The guy practically yells. “He can hardly stand.”

Jeff just shrugs, “He’s fine. Besides, it’s a better incentive for his mother.”

Alex thinks they’re about to bring him back to the little closet he’s been sleeping in when Jeff stops. His eyes linger on Alex’s chest, where the buttons have broken off his shirt and Henry’s ring sits against his skin. He had taken the key off a few weeks ago after it had given him a rash from rubbing against his skin.

“You get this from your little boyfriend?” Jeff hooks his finger under the chain and examines the ring. Alex guesses what he’s going to do, but his chest still aches when the chain is pulled roughly over his head. He watches this man pocket the ring Henry gave him and his heart breaks. He had promised Henry he would look after it.

He wants to yell or fight or something, anything, to get it back. He wants to, desperately, but he’s bleeding and sore and can barely stand. As much as he wants too, Alex doesn’t risk another blow. He knows he wouldn’t be able to take it.

The guy leads him back to the little space where he’s been sleeping. It’s just big enough for Alex to lay down. Lowering himself down to the floor proves to be a challenge; with his hands zip tied in front of him and one of his wrists supposedly broken. He manages it though, banging his wrist multiple times before finally just landing on the floor in agony.

Alex finds a position as comfortable as he can manage, keeping his hurt wrist from moving, and he closes his eyes. He wants to go home. More than anything, he wants to go home. He doesn’t even register when the tears begin hitting his cheeks.

—

They mostly leave him alone after that. At one point, someone comes in and throws an ice pack at Alex, which the part of him that’s in pain appreciates. He’s too hurt at this point to let his stubbornness and pure spite prevent him from gently alternating the cold from his side to his wrist.
He doesn’t sleep. He sits and stares at the wall, trying to think about different laws and political maneuvers, but he refuses to sleep. Even though it’d be the fastest way to pass the time, and even though it’d allow him to let go of the amount of agony he’s in physically, the emotional agony when he woke up would be far worse.

Alex doesn’t sleep because he knows if he does, he’ll dream. That first… night? Hour? He doesn’t know anymore, after the beating he had somehow managed to fall asleep. He had dreamt that he was home. That Henry was lying in bed beside him, gently combing his fingers through his hair, reading Austen. He felt warm and safe and at home. Henry was next to him and Alex didn’t care about anything else. And he rolled over to kiss his boyfriend, a shooting pain rocketing up his arm.

He doesn’t sleep because waking up from that has been the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life and he never wants to do it again. So instead, Alex stares at the wall and he drives himself to exhaustion so he can sleep without dreaming. Without having to wake up and realize that this tiny closet, and these broken bones, and ripped dirty clothes are his reality.

—

It’s been days, he thinks. Maybe one or two since Jeff beat him senseless. They let him go to the bathroom every so often, and one of them always takes him, but other than that, no one interacts with him.

Part of Alex thinks he’s dead. Maybe part of him is. He can’t think straight anymore. He’s cold and he’s hungry and he just wants to go home. He wants his mom and his dad and June and Henry—

Alex’s breath catches when he thinks of his boyfriend. He thinks of how he let Jeff take Henry’s ring off of him, without any struggle or fight. That ring meant something to the both of them. Alex just knows that Henry’s going to be mad at him. Mad at him for losing it, for letting someone else take it from him without so much as a word of protest. Alex won’t even blame him, can’t even blame him, he’s furious with himself.

It takes a while, and a lot of self-loathing, but Alex drifts off to sleep. This time, from the tears or the anger or the… he doesn’t know what, he can’t force himself back awake. Instead, his subconscious starts another vicious game on his psyche.

He hears the banging outside, the scattered and panicked shouts of the men holding him, and the yelling of fbi agents. It’s not the first time he’s dreamed of a rescue; it’s not even the fifth time.

The door opens and Alex is suddenly blinded by a dozen industrial flashlights. He tries to sit up, but doesn’t really have the upper body strength to do it without the use of his arms.

“Jesus Christ… Alex.” Cash drops to his knees beside him, and Alex can actually feel his hand on his back. “Someone get me some scissors!”

“Cash…”

“Hold on, kid. I’ve got you.” Alex hears Cash’s sharp inhale when he cuts off the zipties. His wrists are red and raw, and throbbing. He feels it when Cash’s arms slip under his legs and lift him off the ground.

He waits to wake up. He waits to wake up as Cash carries him out of the building, as they walk past Jeff’s body, past the three others face first on the floor in handcuffs. He waits as he gets laid down on a stretcher in an ambulance.

Alex hears his mom’s voice and he begs to wake up. He’s never made it this far in any of his dreams, and he hates it. She’s brushing back his curls gently and telling him he’s alright. The whole fake ambulance ride, his mom is right there reassuring him.

It isn’t until he’s lying in a hospital bed, somewhere in Kentucky. Until his mom, his dad, and step-dad are sitting around him, tears on their face, that he starts to believe it.

Maybe he’s not dreaming, after all.

Chapter Text

Shaan is the one that wakes him up, shaking him gently by the shoulder. Henry jolts, sitting up immediately. He’s not been sleeping well, now that he’s been forced to get sleep; dreams and worry making it almost impossible.

It’s late. Henry can tell that much from the lack of any light coming through the window and the fact that, for the first time in what Henry assumes is a very long time, Shaan is not standing in front of him all prim and proper. In fact, the man is standing there in a sweatshirt and pyjama pants. There’s only one reason why Shaan would be here so late looking like he just got out of bed.

There’s only one reason, and yet Henry can’t bring himself to ask. He tries, but the words stick in his throat. So, instead, he looks at Shaan with pleading on his face. Henry knows Shaan knows what he’s asking, even without words.

Shaan nods. “They found him. He was in Kentucky.”

That’s all it takes for Henry to jump out of bed. He reaches for the sweater he threw on the edge of the bed, getting tangled up in it as he pulls it over his head. “Where is he now?”

“They had him at the hospital in Louisville for a while, but then he was airlifted to DC.” Shaan says, looking at his phone. Probably at a text Zahra sent him, because Henry doubts the secret service would be inclined to share Alex’s location at this point. “Currently, he’s at Walter Reed Medical Center.”

Henry starts to absorb all of that as he’s looking for his socks and his shoes. Kentucky is… well Henry’s not exactly sure how far it is from DC, only that it is a few states away. He’s certain it’s at least an hour plane ride, which means they would’ve had time to transfer him. Airlifted. He stops. “He was airlifted?”

His actual question is hidden somewhere in the tone, but Henry knows Shaan can read between the lines.

“They wanted to get him back to DC as fast as humanly possible. I don’t think he’s been too badly hurt.”

That brings him to the next part of his analysis. He asks Shaan as they’re leaving Alex’s room. “How long ago did they find him?”

Henry can tell Shaan doesn’t want to answer the question, but it only takes a few minutes of walking before he does anyway. “5 hours ago… His family’s already there.”

It takes another minute for that to soak in. Alex has been safe for the past five hours, people have known his exact location, and no one bothered to tell Henry. He knows it probably wasn’t personal, he understands that in the heat of the moment people would be more concerned about Alex than Henry knowing where he is but… It hurts, he realizes, sleeping or knowing he was asleep while Alex was in pain somewhere and Henry could have been there for him.

He pushes those thoughts away right now, though. Right now, he gets to go to the hospital. In 20 minutes, he gets to see Alex.

There’s a helicopter waiting for them on the lawn, and Henry takes the steps two at a time. He doesn’t care that he’s probably breaking about 50 royal protocols, especially with being dressed in his pyjamas. Or that there’s probably some member of the press who has just taken his picture. All Henry cares about is the fact that Alex is safe, and that he’ll get to see him in a little bit.

His leg doesn’t stop bouncing nervously the entire flight.

—

Despite being a part of a royal family, Henry has never seen the level of security like that at the hospital. They passed six Secret Service agents before even going through the door, and had to walk through a metal detector to get into the hospital.

He’s proven though, rather quickly, that that’s not even the tip of the iceberg. The actual floor that Alex is on is covered with Secret Service agents. Henry knows that there are agents around them, posing as doctors and nurses, as well as the one’s just standing around in their suits.

Zahra’s waiting for them in the hallway outside the hospital room. Henry immediately clocks how concerned she looks, her shoulders are tense and she’s got that pinched expression on her face. He must mirror her because she shakes her head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why do you look like that?”

“Because I’m about to tell you his injuries so you don’t go in there unprepared.” She sighs, and Henry motions for her to continue. “They think he’s got the remnants of a concussion, broken ribs, a broken wrist, broken nose, and covered in bruises.”

Henry takes a moment. It’s not hard for him to come to the conclusion of what happened. Not with Zahra’s description of Alex’s injuries and the knowledge that the kidnappers sent Ellen a video. It makes his stomach churn, and if Henry wasn’t so dead set on just holding his boyfriend, he’d probably be looking for a trash can.

“Can I see him?” Asking is pretty much a moot point when he’s already reaching for the door handle, but Zahra nods and Henry takes it as permission to cross through the threshold.

Alex is lying in a hospital bed at the wall diagonally across from the door. Everyone’s sitting around him; June, Ellen, Leo, and Oscar, and it makes it so Alex can’t see him. Henry can see Alex though, and he tries to curb the sharp inhale he takes.

From what he can see, Alex is more bruise than person; almost half of his face is purple and blue. There’s a cast on his right wrist, and Henry catches a glimpse of the bandage carefully wrapped around his left.

Henry can’t help it anymore, he takes a step into the room. His sigh of relief, when all of Alex comes into view, is audible, and it makes Alex’s head snap to up.

“Darling…”

And Alex… Alex just starts crying.

He’s over to the side of the bed in a second, people moving out of the way from him. Henry wants to climb into the bed with him, wants to hold Alex's face and wipe his tears, but he hesitates. That all would probably be painful with the injuries he has.

Alex decides to make the choice for him. Leaning forward to bury his face in Henry’s midsection, he just starts sobbing. Henry’s hands come up and start brushing through Alex’s curls instinctively.

“It’s alright. You’re alright, Alex. It’s okay, love.” He tries to keep his voice gentle. Reassuring. He tries not to tell Alex not to cry or to shush him; after everything he’s been through, Alex deserves to cry.

What throws him, though, his when Alex starts apologizing. Sobbing “sorry” and “I didn’t mean to” into Henry’s Oxford sweatshirt. Henry’s brain stops for a moment, unable to process the apologies. He knows, at least abstractly, the amount of trauma Alex has been through in that past ten days; both physical and psychological. Though, Henry can’t think of why he’s apologising, it can’t be that Alex thinks this was his fault.

He pulls away slowly, getting down on his knees so he’s at a better angle. Gently, he takes Alex’s face in his hands, wiping his tears with his thumbs. “Alex, darling, why are you apologizing? You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about, love. Nothing.”

Alex shakes his head. “I do… I… I let them take it from me. I didn’t want to, but I was so tired and I didn’t… I’m sorry.” He chokes out between sobs. “I promised I’d look after it… I’m sorry.”

Henry has no earthly idea what he’s talking about. He can’t imagine what of value Alex would’ve had on him when he was—oh. Henry realizes what Alex is talking about, what he is so upset over having losts, and he takes his hands off Alex's face and reaches into his own shirt for the chain. Once it’s over his head, he hands it to his boyfriend, who stares at it in awe for a moment before pulling the ring close to him.

He’s still crying though, and Henry listens to him for a minute before damning it all. He gingerly climbs into the space of empty bed next to Alex, and Alex immediately crushes his face into Henry’s chest. Part of him thinks that this is really bad for Alex’s injuries, being all squished together like this, but the bigger part of him just wants to hold him. Wants to comfort him.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. You're safe, love. You’re okay.” Henry presses a gentle kiss to Alex’s curls, and rubs the back of his head.

“You’re not mad at me?”

He sounds so nervous and upset that Henry’s heart shatters. He shakes his head, and kisses Alex again. “I’m not mad, darling. I promise. There’s nothing to be mad about.”

It’s a lie. Henry is mad, he’s furious. He’s mad that this happened, that someone hit Alex until he broke bones, that someone had the audacity to take his ring from him. He’s mad at everyone and everything, just not Alex. But he knows that being mad isn’t going to help anyone right now, so he lies.

He whispers assurances into Alex’s hair and holds him close. Repeating that he’s not mad over and over until Alex stops crying so hard. It takes maybe ten minutes for him to stop crying completely, and he pulls his face just out of Henry’s chest. Henry takes the moment to kiss his forehead.

“You should get some sleep, mijo.”

Henry completely forgot about the four other people in the room, and turns his head to see Oscar at the end of the bed looking at Alex worriedly. Henry agrees with him, Alex looks like he could use years of sleep, and slowly starts to get out of the bed. A panicked hand fisted in his sweater stops him.

“It’s not big enough for the two of us, Alex. It’s okay though, I’ll be right here.” He points to the chair right next to the edge of the bed, and makes another move to get up. Alex doesn’t say anything, and the hand in Henry’s sweater doesn’t let go. “Darling… it won’t be good for your injuries—”

“Please… I don’t…” Alex stops and shakes his head. “Please.”

Henry looks around the room, silently pleading any of the actual adults to step in here. Asking them to tell Alex no so Henry doesn’t have to. Alex has been held against his will for ten days, for the next little while, Henry is going to do whatever he asks of him. No one says anything though and Ellen actually nods, so Henry moves back to where he was.

Alex tucks his head under Henry’s chin and lays on his side up against him. Henry can’t imagine that that’s good for his ribs, but he doesn’t say anything. He presses another gentle kiss right in Alex’s hair, and settles in.

It’s deadly silent in the hospital room, and Henry thinks Alex has already fallen asleep when he feels a soft press of lips against his neck. “I missed you.”

Henry’s breath stutters and he barely chokes out a coherent ‘I missed you too’. It takes him a minute to blink away the tears, not daring to look at anyone else in the room. Instead, Henry takes another deep breath and kisses Alex again. “I love you, darling. Get some sleep, I’ll be right here.”