Henryâs bedtime story:Â Now or Never // Aglokay one-shot
Disconnecting from the Internet didnât seem hard comparing to other stuff Henry should finally take a considerably bigger step away from. There were two options; as it always was for him: he could drive to the closest military airport where they would let him borrow a fighter plane so he could just fly away from all the bullshit. The second one required vast amounts of alcohol and honestly, he had hard time making his decision. Both options were very tempting, both would help him only temporarily and both would make his mother worry.
Itâs been five weeks. He didnât count the days, hours or minutes because that would be just naive. Last week they buried a fellow kingsman agent. The one responsible for how Carl was now screwed up. Nah, Henry wasnât angry. Henry was disappointed which he considered being worse. He needed to drown that disappointment, to kill it with fire, because as much as he loved that fucking Frenchman, he didnât want to end up hating him for the stuff that was entirely out of his French control. Being sober wouldnât help Henry at all; the next day would give him a killer hangover and that he didnât want because he was supposed to fly to Afghanistan for a mission⊠which would be basically a three week long partying hard, playing games and flying planes.
He couldnât just persuade himself to be excited about going somewhere far away from the complicated situation. As of this hour, nothing would distance him from his feelings, from how miserable he felt and how he didnât want to feel anything. His phone was tempting him to call that French fucker (again, he wasnât angry) and yet again explain to him what the plan was for their relationship. The temptation itself Windsor had been fighting off for the past weeks and it wasnât getting any better; the plan still existed in his mind, it wasnât going anywhere, just as Henry still didnât want to part with Carl. Even though it sounds as if Henry was a control freak, it isnât the case; Henry is a tactician so it was natural for him to come up with solutions - thatâs what he is good at. Why the Frenchman decided not to trust his now ex-partner was still a mystery and explaining it as âit just doesnât make senseâ wasnât convincing for the prince.
Acting as if nothing happened and they are friends again was exhausting. Every time they would meet in the halls of the HQ, Henry was suppressing screams inside him, like he was taught to back at Buckâs. A prince shouldnât tell people what he really thinks. A prince should act like he wants to please everybody. A prince should be nice. A prince shouldnât shout. A prince should smile and wave even though itâs raining on his face. And he didnât let out those screams, because he was always a good boy and he never wanted to hurt anyone. Being cool around that idiot was hurting the prince, but thatâs nobodyâs business; the prince had to deal with it on his own.
Henry would be forever grateful for Frank not even scolding him for crying like a baby during their fishing session. It hadnât even mattered that all the fish got scared off and all theyâd caught in the next two hours were only the tiny ones. Henry didnât hold the grudge against Frank throwing Windsorâs equipment (the laptop) to the water. Henry was happy that dear Lucan took him for fishing and even though the talk wasnât very cathartic, it was still nice of him to care and try.
But then, Henry didnât think he could turn to anyone for help. Thinking that, he made his decision: fuck everything, he was going to get wasted. Or at least a little bit drunk. He had to talk, his therapist was a fucker selling secrets to the public and no money could shut his traitorous trap, so the only way was to bribe a bartender at this bar Henry frequented every other month. Now he was there every other day.
âYou know what gets my blood going?â Henry asked, passing a hundred pound bill to the bartender. The short man behind the bar smiled and nodded. He wouldnât say a thing; for him, the prince was just a dude in leather jacket, with baseball cap on, drinking scotch and babbling to himself. âFlying. You see, when I jump behind the controls, when I start the engine, Iâm not here. Iâm not there as well. I take off and I leave what Iâm supposed to be and what I am. I become a spirit, a cloud even.â
Bartender gave him a look. Okay, that means that additional hundred pounds would cost him talking about spiritual bullshit. He put the bill on the counter anyway and proceeded with the monologue.
âI thought that it might help meâ Henry emptied the glass and nodded asking for a refill âthat I will just leave the issues on the ground and fly away, but honestly, they never go away if you donât face them. They just stick with you pulling you down, donât they?-â
âThe boyfriend again?â murmured the bartender not even looking at Windsor.
âYes, Iâm sorry if you are bored to death about that. I just canât let that out anywhere else.â
âI can imagine you have no other friends.â Another remark. Henry didnât answer; there were friends but bothering them yet again about Kay seemed like harassing their asses and taking their precious time.
âThis time itâs a farewell.â Henry took a deep breath and then immediately let out a sigh. His brain needed some air, not to be drowned in the alcohol, but whatever. âIâm going for a trip for three weeks. And I very much hope that we wonât be seeing each other as much afterwards. Itâs nothing personal, I just donât want to fall into bad habits, sir.â
Bartender smiled at Henry and let him speak freely for the next half an hour without interruptions. There was more about flying, more about dreaming of being free, less complaining. After the time passed and Windsor emptied three subsequent tumblers the mood of the monologue changed a bit. Now Henry missed Carl, not getting into details, of course; what army taught him was keeping his mouth shut about some stuff even though his brain was getting more and more drunk. He missed being around Carl, their talks about comicbook stories, he even missed being called Vision, even though at first he hated to be compared to a heartless android (later he learned that the android was probably more human than any other comicbook character). There was a lot to miss, there was a lot to cry about and honestly holding back the tears under influence was a great challenge. Henry made it through with a short break in the loo. Then he got back to his seat behind the counter and resumed his stream of consciousness with the company of fifth glass of scotch.
âIt was all good. I made sure it was good. I wanted him to feel good and safe and you know, I even thought of passing on the game of thrones, I ⊠I donât know. I just wanted it all to work out. Why people never appreciate when you make an effort, though?â
âYou are stupid, sir.â Bartender raised his furrowed brow. âIf I may think that, of course.â Henry looked at the bloke indifferently and the man changed the attitude. ââWhat do I know of game of thrones, really. Look, youâll find someone worth it. Or they will find you, that doesnât matter. You seem to be a nice guy, not some arsehole. As Iâd say to my daughter, you deserve someone brave to be with you, cos thatâs one bumpy ride anyway, no? âScuse me, sir, my kid is real devil in womanâs clothing.â
Henry let a short laugh. He thought it was it; he was behaving like a teenage girl but for some reason it wasnât that bad. He didnât get to be rebellious teen; all he did back then was discovering his turn ons with a little help of his one year older French friend. He remembered the rush and excitement followed by making sure that they both donât tell anyone. And they never did.
He was too old to be a teen again, but then he always thought that age is just a number; he was now a man under protocols, he still wasnât allowed to lead his life how he wanted and thatâs why he rented a flat in Woodlands. He thought that he was in so much better situation than any emotional teen. He would figure out the whole heartbreak thing. They say it is possible to die from a broken heart, but it was not Henryâs turn. There was no other way. If it was supposed to hurt it would but Windsor had to learn to live with it. Especially with imminent departure to Afghanistan. He was supposed to be a prince there. A fighter but also a prince, so he had to put himself up. Not that he suddenly became motivated, no, of course no. He just saw the better side of his past with Carl and since he couldnât let go, he could at least focus on the good things that had happened.
He paid the bill and threw another hundred pound bill for the bartender so he could buy his daughter something nice. The prince caught a cab, greeted the driver and asked him to drive to Buckingham Palace. Henry promised queen mother to show up before leaving; he would again make her worry, oh what kind of a son he was to give her a headache? Donât kids do that?
The prince smiled to the guards; one of them helped him reach the doors; Henry didnât care about photographers hidden behind the trees, he was way too drunk for that.
He ended up hugging his tiny mother, telling her finally that heâs been dumped but heâs okay.
He didnât feel okay. He felt empty, but that was something better that the burden of disappointment.
âItâs okay, mum. You can go back to sleep. I didnât let you down. Iâm a grown ass man, I can take care of myself.â Henry whispered to the queenâs ear not sure if he was convincing her or himself.
