Chapter Text
26 August 1988
Her arrival at Highgrove is unexpected. Unwanted, she suspects. She wasn’t due to meet him and pick up the boys from their week with him until the following evening. His surprise when she walks into his study, the subsequent tightening of his features, is not masked quickly enough by the smile. He stands and makes his way toward her, leaning in to peck her cheek, hands on her upper arms.
“Hello,” she greets him.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” he responds, and she shrugs.
“I should have called.”
“No, this is your home too. You’re always welcome.” She shoots him a skeptical look, but he doesn’t notice, already walking away. “I’ll have the boys informed you’ve arrived. Zara and Peter are here, and they’ve all run off on some adventure or another,” he begins to pick up the phone.
“I’d rather you didn’t tell them I’m here yet,” she tells him. “I snuck in to see you first…I wanted to–”
A sob makes its way out of her, and then she falls silent with her hand over her mouth, swallowing hard, and he places the phone back down, looking up at her with a frown. They’ve rarely been together of late, nor spent more than a necessary moment together since their anniversary, and when she has seen him, he’s been quiet, contemplative, even more so than normal. She realizes she has no idea what’s going on behind her husband’s eyes, and that is completely mutual.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I need to talk to you,” she says softly.
“You’re pale,” he notes. “Are you forcing yourself to be sick again?”
“No, it’s not that,” she leans against the back of a chair, gripping it, knuckles white, trying to ground herself with something. He walks toward her, studying her, but not in a way that’s critical. His gaze is soft and concerned, and she wonders at the change as he stands just in front of her. She feels another panic attack coming, swallows deeply, but not before the shaking starts and the shallow breathing. Her knees start to buckle, and she catches herself as she begins to go down, and then she finds herself in his arms, her weight caught against his chest, his arms tight around her, keeping her up. His breath is on her forehead, and his heart beats rapidly beneath her ear. For the first time in a long time, she clings to him like a lifeline, her shaking hands bunching around his shirt.
“Diana,” he breathes out quickly. “Are you alright?”
“I’m sorry,” she loosens her hold, pulls away from him, blinking rapidly a few times, and putting both hands back on the chair to hold herself together. He’s searching her, eyes flitting up and down all over her, and she quakes under his scrutiny because she can’t remember the last time he actually looked at her for longer than a quick scowl of disappointment.
“Are you… are you pregnant?”
They were together recently enough that it would be possible, some sort of duty he seemed to think he had to perform on their anniversary each year, but she’s not sure if he’s implying it would be his child or accusing her of a continued affair.
She breathes out the most cordial response she can manage, making sure to let him know there hasn’t been anyone else since him. “I’m not that stupid that I’d force that on you again. We used protection, remember? No. I’m not pregnant.”
There’s a flicker of something across his face, but he masks it so quickly she figures it was her imagination.
“I’ve had a scare, Charles.”
“What sort of scare?”
“My doctor found a place of concern under my left arm, in a lymph node. They found it a couple of months ago, and watched it for a while. It hasn’t gone and they think it might be– ”
A deep frown flickers across his face. “Cancer?”
“Maybe. They called this morning, and scheduled a biopsy on Monday afternoon,” she admits. “That’s why I came today. I was hoping to see the boys, but ask you to keep them until Tuesday, so I don’t have to worry about them when…”
“Of course. Of course. I’ll make sure they are cared for,” he nods quickly, looking at her in that serious, studious gaze of his.
“What, Charles?” she asks when he stares a little too long. “Just say whatever it is.”
“Diana, why didn’t you tell me when they found it?”
She laughs bitterly. “Don’t pretend like you care.”
“Care? Of course, I care; you’re my wife, the mother of my children.”
“I didn’t come to fight,” she says sharply.
“I’m not fighting against you, Di. I’m fighting for you to know that, of course, I care. Deeply.”
“You’ve never—” she stops herself. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m a bit on edge. I’d appreciate if you gave me the grace to be so for once,” she sniffs, quickly brushing a hand under her eye.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he mutters, and the genuineness of his heartbreak catches her off guard. His hands go to her upper arms and he steps closer. She lets her head fall to his collarbone as she lets it all catch up to her as she’s standing in front of him. “Not to you.”
“God, Charles. I…I know I’ve done a lot of idiotic things to myself, struggled to be healthy, but I don’t want to die. I know it would be easier for you…for everyone, but–”
“Don’t say such things,” he snaps, yanking away just enough to look at her, fire in his eyes. “How could you even say that?”
She sighs heavily, avoiding eye contact with him, and gives a lame shrug. “How else are you going to get out of this marriage that’s making you hate me more and more every day?”
He glares at her, truly, wholeheartedly glares. “Don’t ever say that. I’d never want something to happen to you. Don’t you dare accuse me of being that heartless, Diana. Don’t you dare.”
Diana presses her fingers to her eyes to block the flow of tears. He’s reaching for her elbow, guiding her to a chair, and kneeling before her, her hands folded into his where they rest on her lap.
“I’m coming home with you.”
“Don’t be silly,” she argues. “I’ll phone you once I know. We can begin to make decisions from there if it is the worst outcome.”
“No. You’re not going to be alone when you find out. I’m coming to Kensington with you. Or you can stay here and–”
“Charles. Please,” she argues.
But he’s already crossing the room and making arrangements with his private secretary, telling him to clear his schedule and what to pack up to take to Kensington. She watches, leaning back in the chair, letting the exhaustion wash over her. She catches the glances of Charles’ private secretary, wonders what her husband has said to him behind her back all these years, wonders what he’s thinking about her now.
She can’t help the manipulation of the public, even if the public consists of one private secretary. She places her hand low over her belly. Let them think she’s pregnant, as Charles had just moments before. Anything better than the real possibility. The last thing she needs is a possible illness plastered all over the news pages, and a royal baby is speculated often enough when she and Charles appear together in public, those people out there wanting so desperately believe that their’s is a happy marriage, that she’d rather feed that rumor instead.
It isn’t long before he’s standing before her again, telling her that the boys are out in the garden with their cousins. She wants to see them more than anything but is afraid she will burst into tears at seeing them. Still, she stands and makes her way in that direction, aware Charles is just behind her.
She’s never been sure where their relationship is worst: at Highgrove, his happy place where he can be himself, but where Camilla’s presence makes him resent Diana’s presence, or at Kensington, where she’s at home, and he’s crawling the walls for lack of privacy from them. But she’s very aware and nonetheless shocked when she feels his hand on her lower back, warm through her blouse when he absolutely does not have to be touching her.
He’s doing it voluntarily.
Her pace slows just a bit, and they come outside to the lawn, his private secretary trailing behind and then veering off to talk with the children’s caregiver in the yard. She still hasn’t been spotted, but she spies all four children rolling around in the grass, Zara peddling away on a small bike. Tears rim her eyes as she imagines the worst: that time is dwindling on how long she will be able to be here, to watch them play and grow. Her hand flies to her mouth to stifle her tears, and Charles steps a bit closer to her side, arm tightening around her waist.
“Will! Harry!” he shouts. “Look who is here!”
With joyous shouts, her boys come running, and she kneels to catch them in her arms. She buries her face in their hair, kisses their faces, and holds them tight, aware that Charles hasn’t removed his hand from her once. It has slid up her back to hold firmly to her shoulder. She half expects to find a photographer hiding behind the shrubs, prepares herself to put on a show of happiness. But it’s just them and her niece and nephew, and Charles’ hand is on her for no other reason but to show his support.
It’s enough to make her want to sob. But she doesn’t. Not with the boys there.
The boys talk a mile a minute in their little boy gibberish about what they’ve been up to in the days they’ve been here with their father, Peter interjecting comments here and there and Zara nodding along. Diana finds herself sitting on the top step and him sitting next to her. She finds him wrapping his hand around hers, his thumb rubbing her engagement ring absent-mindedly.
“Diana,” he says softly as they watch the children play and await Anne’s arrival to pick up her children.
“What?” she turns to look at him, gasping slightly at the strong gaze looking back at her.
“For all the trouble we’ve had, I’d never want you to think that dying would…would solve anything,” he says.
Oh, so he’s back on that conversation again. In truth, she hadn’t expected such a passionate reprove of her remark.
“Wouldn’t it?”
“No.”
“Come now,” she says bitterly. “You’d be free to be with her whenever you wanted without anyone judging the poor widower Charles.”
“I don’t want to talk about her,” he says.
“That’s a first.”
“I haven’t seen much of her in a couple of months,” he admits. “They’ve been overseas, and…she and Andrew are having another baby.”
“She and Andrew?” Diana clarifies. “It’s not yours?”
He springs off the steps, whirling around on her, fire in his eyes. “Of course, it’s not mine! As I just said, I haven’t seen her alone since a gathering at their home three and a half months ago.”
He’s claiming to also not have been with anyone else since her? That would be the longest he’d gone since before Harry was born. She had a few doubts.
“How far along is she?”
“Six weeks. She said…well they’re recommitting to each other or something like that. They’ve gone away to do that.”
There’s only a hint of bitterness in his voice. Mostly, he sounds indifferent, and he’s holding her gaze. She wonders how long he’s been processing all of this to be so calm about it now.
“You mean she ended it?”
“Yes. Or rather…I think, I think I did…a while ago,” Charles sighs. “I don’t want to discuss it. But the point of all of it is that no, I don’t think it would make anything easier for anybody if you died, Diana, and I never want to hear you say it again. The world…it would be a wretched place without you. I can’t bear the thought of your heart not beating in it. William and Harry…they’d be so lost without you. So whatever this is, if you’re ill…promise me you’ll fight it. That you’ll fight to stay.”
“I can’t,” she whispers around a lump in her throat. “I’ve been fighting too many things for too long. I’m exhausted. And I don’t have anything left.”
“I know,” he nods, kneeling in front of her, placing a hand over her knee. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
Her eyes fly to his in surprise to hear an apology slip past his lips. It’s so completely out of character for him, and she studies his face.
His hand reaches up to her cheek. “I’ll fight it with you. Us against them this time, all right?”
“You mean that? Truly?” she asks, leaning into his touch.
Their eyes are locked, staring into one another’s souls.
“Yes. I’m coming home with you,” he tells her, “not for appearances or duty. But because it’s time I stand beside you and mean it. And if this doesn’t give me a reason, then I think I’m a worse person than everyone thought possible.”
She kisses the palm of his hand softly, and he smiles so faintly that she almost misses it. He sits beside her again, and she slips her hand over his mid-thigh, holding on tight, feeling him jolt from the contact. His arm slips around her back, drawing her to his side, and her head falls to his shoulder. Warm fingers slip their way under her blouse just above her hip, and her skin shivers beneath the touch. She isn’t sure if the touch is accidental or purposeful, but he doesn’t remove it.
“Somehow, I think I’ve missed you,” she admits.
“Somehow?” he asks.
“You weren’t exactly kind the last time we were…intimate like this.”
He breathes shakily. “I remember that night differently, I suppose.”
“I was referring to the morning.”
“Ahhh,” he acknowledges the memory of yet another fiery argument that ended in a slammed door and Diana sobbing between the sheets of the bed they’d shared for one night.
“And it’s not as though you’ve touched me since,” she mutters
He sits very still, and she’s not sure he heard her, and then his lips are on top of her head and she jolts in surprise. Then he presses a feather-light kiss to her forehead, his fingers slipping further across her skin under her shirt to her belly, drawing her impossibly close to his side. A fire within her is rekindling, and he’s fanning it to flame ever so slowly. Her hand slips further up his thigh, taunting him. She’s rarely known him to desire her so openly, and she drinks from this new source of adrenaline coursing through her like a lifeline.
“Di, the children,” he warns, voice deep, and she withdraws a few inches, having some sort of mercy on him.
And that’s how Anne finds them when she steps outside behind them to pick up her children. She does little to hide the surprise on her face when she steps down the steps to look up at them, her eyes trailing across Diana’s hand on the inside of Charles’ thigh, his hand under her shirt holding her close, and neither of them making a move to separate even though she’s watching them. Charles withdraws his hand to the outside of her clothing but doesn’t release her.
“Hello,” Anne says, her tone laced with distrust as she eyes them. Diana wonders how the world turned upside down, and her presence at her husband’s side would cause more surprise and suspicion, than her absence, to his family.
“Anne,” he greets.
“You two look…different,” she settles on a word.
Charles ignores the comment.
“I’m going to Kensington with Diana and the boys. I don’t know when we’ll be back.”
She studies Charles, and then looks at Diana. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” he supplies, hand stroking up and down Diana’s arm. “We’re leaving this afternoon.”
“I don’t suppose this has anything to do with Camilla’s pregnancy,” Anne guesses, watching Diana for a reaction. Whatever she was hoping to see, she doesn’t, Diana staring right back at her with an unflinching face.
“Anne…” Charles warns, his tone biting. “You best not imply what I think you are.”
“Don’t pretend I’m the only one who will wonder. Your sudden absence might look like–”
“Like I’m going home with my wife and children,” he cuts her off. “Nothing more.”
Diana squeezes his thigh. “Can we not do this right now?”
Anne sighs, seeming to give up on getting more information out of her older brother. “How were the children?”
They’ve caught sight of her and are running up to greet her. Charles stands to catch little Harry up in his arms, though Diana remains on the steps, not trusting her legs quite yet.
“Well behaved as always. Although, I do think Peter owes Will a new viewfinder. He tossed it over the balcony.”
Anne sighs again, fixing Peter with a stern glare as she tosses her hand through his hair. “He can have yours as a replacement, don’t you think, Peter?”
That settled, Anne and the children depart. It isn’t long before the Wales family is packed up in the car, Charles driving his family, with a string of cars following them, including someone driving Diana’s vehicle back for her. When Diana glances into the backseat shortly into their drive, she informs Charles the children are asleep. He reaches across for her hand, drawing her knuckles to his lips, and she gasps in surprise.
The tension is palpable. Like it was…before…so long ago, it seems, and on only a few occasions since. They seem to be vibrating with it, and she’s confused as to its origin. She has no doubt as to his desires, nor does she doubt her willingness to give it to him. But only time will tell if they make it through dinner and an evening as a family with that feeling still intact.
She’s taught herself not to hope for such things. And yet, both the look in his eyes and his hand on her thigh are unwavering. It’s the first unwavering thing she’s seen in him in a while when it comes to anything other than Camilla. She can’t make sense of any of it; his attention and desire for her, the apparent ending of his affair with Camila, his affection.