Henry starts to smile; a true, unguarded grin, when a sudden shout echoes from the opposite end of the hall. Next, there's a deafening crack that could be gunfire, and Alex's hulking security guard practically manhandles them both through the nearest door, slamming it shut behind them and hissing.

"Stay down."

It's pitch black behind the door, and Alex stumbles about blindly, knocking into a mop and yelping, grabbing for Henry and dragging them both down in a clatter of bedpans. They must be in a storage closet. Henry thinks his head might be inside a bucket. He hits the floor hard, the breath knocked abruptly out of his lungs, and not just from the fall; Alex is sprawled in a heap on top of him, struggling to pick himself up. Henry prays it's dark enough that Alex can't see the prickling heat crawling up the back of his neck.

"Oh God." He grunts, shifting uncomfortably under Alex's weight.

"You know," A voice floats into his ears through the darkness, from somewhere above him, "we have got to stop ending up like this."

"Do you mind?" Henry bursts out, indignant.

"This is your fault!"

"How is this possibly my fault?" Henry hisses, scoffing.

"Nobody ever tries to shoot me when I'm doing presidential appearances, but the minute I go out with a royal-" Alex's breath tickles his ear irritatingly; Henry has half a mind to bat him away, but stops himself, instead saying in a choked voice.

"Will you shut up before you get us both killed?"

"Nobody's going to kill us. Cash is blocking the door. Besides, it's probably nothing." Henry doesn't really think they're in danger- they're in a hospital, for goodness sake, but he just really needs Alex to shut up before he does something he's going to seriously regret.

"Then at least get off me."

"Stop telling me what to do! You're not the prince of me!" He imagines Alex smirking down at him through the stifling darkness. Henry lets out a curse, shoving Alex off him and rolling, coming up sharply with Alex now wedged between his side and a crooked shelf that reeks of floor cleaner. Blood rushes to his head, and all he can hear is his own shallow breathing and the pounding of his heart in his chest, beating against the prison of his ribcage as if it might burst out of him entirely. And great, his elbow is stuck in a bedpan.

***

Outside the storage cupboard, a thumping barrage of footsteps sounds, accompanied by some barked orders that make Henry sigh, resigned to his fate for the next few minutes.

"Well," Alex says, a hint of mirth dancing in his voice. Henry wishes he could see his face, then shakes himself, scolding. Stay focused. "Guess we better make ourselves comfortable." Henry shifts, attempting to cross his arms over himself, trying desperately to keep out of Alex's space, sticking his chin in the air as he exhales slowly, feeling a bit like a deflated balloon.

"Fantastic." He takes a deep breath, breathing in the overwhelming stench of cleaning agents and bleach and sweat crowding around him.

"For the record," He adds, with trepidation, "nobody's ever made an attempt on my life either."

"Well, congratulations. You've officially made it." Henry sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Yes, this is exactly how I always dreamed it would be. Locked in a cupboard with your elbow inside my rib cage." When they were younger, Bea used to joke about someone making an attempt on his life, but she always told tales of extravagant valour and gruesome death scenes and perilous danger. The only danger here is that Henry might be about to die of embarrassment. What a way to go, he thinks morbidly, then an indignant yelp is startled out of him as Alex drives an elbow hard into his side. Acting on impulse, barely stopping to think, Henry drags Alex sideways by his shirt collar, scrunching the fabric up in his fist. He could kiss him right now, in this cramped storage closet, where no one would see him. But Alex would probably murder him then, so he fights the urge. Intoxicated, his head spinning at the intimacy of it, Henry rolls him over, pinning Alex down on the floor with one thigh. A trickle of sweat runs down the side of his face, but Alex grins, seemingly revelling in the momentary spark Henry can feel lighting up his own eyes.

"So you do have some fight in you," Alex smirks, struggling to shake Henry off, but he holds him firmly in place, making a strangled noise at the back of his throat.

"Are you quite finished?" Now, the back of Henry's mind whispers to him, now you could kiss him, and it takes all his strength to lock that voice away, focusing instead on the footsteps still pounding outside the door. "Can you perhaps stop putting your sodding life in danger now?"

"Aw, you do care. I'm learning all your hidden depths today, sweetheart." Henry's breath hitches on the last word. Sweetheart. He feels pathetic, and also more than a little cross that this stuck-up American brat has this effect on him. Henry lets out an exasperated breath, releasing Alex's shirt slowly and slumping back against the wall, watching with half-slitted eyes as Alex props himself up and rubs his head irritably.

"I cannot believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are." He humphs, some traitorous part of him even a little impressed by it. Just a little, though.