Chapter Text
Alex has been summoned.
It’s not like he doesn’t have access to his mom all the time (okay, well, he doesn’t, not all the time, stupid national security clearance levels), but being summoned to the Oval Office isn’t exactly a common occurrence, and it always makes Alex feel a little like being sent to the principal’s office as a kid.
Especially when they’re making him wait like he’s not the FSOTUS outside the office, one of his mother’s many assistants typing away at a computer while he paces.
And it’s even more akin to a punishment when Zahra opens the door with her stern face and beckons him inside.
So don’t blame Alex when he starts on the offensive, okay? Right after he exchanges a brief side-hug with his mom, he opens his mouth: “Hey, ma, I’ve been working on this strategy for your re-election campaign, I have the research in my room if you-”
Zahra whaps a fancy cream envelope into his chest and Alex frowns. “What’s this?”
The scroll across the front reads his full name in fancy lettering but with no return address. The flap has already been cut open - one of the hazards of being FSOTUS is mail being pre-screened for suspicious anthrax-like powder - and the even fancier embossed, pressed, gilded, whatever invitation inside falls out. “The royal wedding? Sounds boring.”
“Actually what it is, is vitally important to my re-election campaign strategy, Diaz.” Like always, his mom’s Texan accent rounds out the vowels and makes her sound almost conciliatory even when she’s about to lay down the fucking law. It's Ellen Claremont's secret weapon. “And I’m a little worried, frankly, that you might not be ready.”
Zahra’s voice has never once sought to pacify anyone. “You’re not ready.”
“I’ve been to a ton of international events. The Olympics! The Climate Summit! I’ve met the entire royal family before, minus the queen!” Alex gives a fake shudder.
“See, you’re not ready,” Zahra replies with a roll of her eyes.
“That was a joke!”
“This is not a joking matter!”
The president clears her throat, used to having to break up fights between her right hand and her son. “Alex, you are whip-smart, kind, and I love you. Think about this logically. You love learning new stuff. This is just learning new stuff about very specific rules the royalty expects all visitors to use.”
“What is ‘this’?” Alex asks, suspicious.
The phone starts ringing on Ellen’s desk, and honestly it’s sort of amazing they’ve had as much uninterrupted time as they had. She crosses around the table and places her hand on the receiver. “Etiquette lessons with His Royal Highness Prince Henry of Wales,” she drops all at once before picking up the phone. “Yes, hello Madame Prime Minister.”
“What?!” Alex faux-whispers into the room even as he’s pushed out the door by Zahra.
“You look,” and here Bea pauses, a thoughtful gaze on her face, “like someone put down your favorite horse.” She slides into the seat beside him, and really, she can’t tell he needs space? It’s a luxury jet, for Christ’s sake, with a dozen other empty seats.
But no. “You know why,” he mutters flatly, glancing over his shoulder. Shaan is resting his eyes - he’s not sure he’s ever seen the equerry fully relax - but at least two PPOs are still alert, glancing around the cabin as if an assassin might parachute in at any moment while they’re halfway over the Atlantic.
The thought is so ludicrous he almost laughs. Like one of Father’s movies, he thinks, and then of course, the wave of grief hits.
It’s not as strong as other waves have been, but it’s still there, still present, just one of his many chains to bear.
And because they can be easily listened in on, he whispers fiercely to his sister, “Please be discreet.”
Because she knows, of course. As unexpected and unbearable as his coming out had been to her, it had irrevocably changed and strengthened their relationship. If he wants to talk sex, he goes to Pez. If he wants to talk over matters of the heart, he comes to Bea. So of course Bea knows exactly how much he’s hating this goodwill assignment from the Crown right now.
Which is exactly why she’d insinuated herself into this trip as well with the guise of getting to know the First Daughter and granddaughter of the Vice President better. After all, the White House Trio have outstanding approval ratings and can make the royals look all the more human.
International cooperation.
And fuck his poor, gay heart.
He wants to laugh again at the irony of his gran sending him essentially into close proximity with the man he’s had a crush on for years.
Bea’s fingers wind through his, and her head leans against his arm. “It won’t always be like this, Henry.”
He hums, not letting himself confirm or deny.
She elbows him. “Hey, I stuck around to make sure it wouldn’t, so trust me, okay?”
He elbows her right back, because siblings, but he squeezes her hand in acknowledgement of her statement.
Alex has worn a tie a billion times in his life. He remembers sitting on his parents’ bed, watching his dad tie it for some fundraiser or another, remembers learning from both Oscar and Leo how to tie different knots.
So it’s not the mere fact that he’s wearing a tie that makes him feel all itchy and claustrophobic. Obviously it must be something else, he thinks, as he, June, and Nora all wait for the royal siblings to arrive in one of the sitting rooms of the residence.
And then that something else walks into the room, his arm in his sister’s, trailed by a handful of other people - probably security and handlers - and Alex wants to rip his own tie off so he can breathe.
He can hear Nora’s voice in his head: “Why do you let him get under your skin so much, Alejandro?”
Alex knows the exact answer to that question, and so does Henry, he’s sure.
They finish greeting Henry and Bea into the sitting room while Zahra conferences with someone on the royal team. What happens next is maybe the most awkward silence in the history of the residence, and Alex has a feeling that it’s only going to get worse from here.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” June eventually remembers to ask, scooting forward to the table between them where a pitcher of ice water and iced tea is waiting, looking extremely refreshing.
“And that’s why June doesn’t have to take lessons,” Zahra says dryly, smacking Alex’s shoulder. “Trio, this is Shaan Srivastava, Henry’s equerry. Mr. Srivastava, June, Nora, and Alex. You will listen to him like you listen to me.” She narrows her eyes at Alex. “Better, actually.”
Alex starts to protest until he sees Henry smirk out of the corner of his eye, and he falls back into the stiff antique couch, seeing red.
And then Henry takes a drink of the iced tea June has poured for him, and he nearly does a spit take, and watching Henry attempt to choke down famous southern sweet tea diplomatically is…
Well, it’s delicious, and now he’s smirking, even though everyone else in the room is going over schedules and plans and everything.
“So, Alex’s Fall semester doesn’t start for two weeks, and in the meantime, I’m sure June and Nora have all sorts of fun touristy things to entertain you with, Princess Bea. Please, Prince Henry, feel free to take up all of Alex’s time,” Zahra is saying when Alex clues back into the conversation.
“Wait, what? I have stuff I need to do. This is my last year at Georgetown. I was planning on starting the research for my senior thesis, and looking into some stuff for reelection, and-”
“You’re not working the campaign,” both Zahra and June say simultaneously.
In his brain, he counts to three, because he’s never had the patience for five or ten. “Okay, well. Sounds great. Are we done here? I need to go for a run.”
Yeah, maybe the counting hadn’t helped.
“Family dinner in the residence tonight with our royal guests,” June says with a squeeze of his knee that says she understands where his head is at right now, or at least as close as anyone else could.
It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask why the royals are staying in the residence, but he’s sure he was told at some point and his brain didn’t retain the information, because fuck his brain sometimes, seriously.
“I’ll be there.”
With that, he makes his escape.