The weekend before Harry's departure was spent at Highgrove with family. Charles and Camilla had been up for a few days and Maddie and Harry met Will, Kate and Arthur there on an unseasonably bright Saturday afternoon. While their things were unloaded, they all took advantage of the weather and set out on the grounds. They had time before dinner, before games and laughter.

Harry carried Arthur, telling him tale after tale of the mishaps of his older brother while Will laughed and rolled his eyes in the background; counterpointing nearly everything Harry said with his own version of the truth. Camilla and Kate strolled leisurely behind discussing their respective holidays, their other families. And Maddie brought up the end; a slower pace, slower thoughts. She took in the land, taking note of where work was being done, where she should pay attention in the spring. She inhaled the fresh air and tried to relax; tried to push all the muck from her mind.

And then she had company.

Charles, noticing her meander, noticing her preoccupation, dropped behind the group and took stride with her. Though he never spoke a word, never forced himself into her space, he offered her a smile and a companion and he kept pace with this young woman whom he knew was fighting with a whole host of storms inside of her. And for whatever reason that Maddie simply couldn't delve into at the moment—the way he reminded her of Harry, the way he reminded her of her father—Maddie felt better. She felt lighter and easier and safe. So she smiled her thanks and she continued on.

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Sunday morning came too soon. Their evening spent in warm spirits drew quiet and the new day woke them with more clouds, more chill; less warmth. The brothers woke early to hunt with their father, leaving their wives and Arthur at the house; playing and preparing for the next day.

As part of the grand plan, the larger picture, Maddie and Kate had been schedule to attend an event that would overlap Harry's departure and travels and then another into the evening. Though deals had been made for media silence, they weren't taking any chances. A grand diversion had been orchestrated and Maddie and Kate were a part of the show. It made sense; Maddie knew that. She just hoped that she would be able to stand up and walk tall and do what was being asked of her.

And a lot was being asked of her. She knew that. Harry knew that. They all knew that.

"She'll do wonderfully," Charles assured his son as they stilled in the cold air; the ice and snow crunching under their feet.

"They are going to swarm her," Harry's voice was low as he pulled back the bolt action of his rifle, sliding it back into place and lifting it to his cheek. "When the announcement is made, they'll surround her."

"Yes," Charles nodded, his eyes lifting and squinting at the target in Harry's sites.

"I'm only asking that you not leave her hanging out there alone," he paused, inhaled and fired. "Keep her close."

"Of course," William reloaded his gun, finding the reminders misplaced and unneeded. After all he had seen from his sister-in-law, he couldn't imagine ever needing to pull her in—and he couldn't imagine a moment when he wouldn't do so even without Harry's requests.

"You do know we're going to look after her," Charles spoke up, watching the exchange between his boys. "There's absolutely nothing for you to worry about back here."

"I know," Harry exhaled and cocked his gun. "But she's stubborn sometimes, not always open to help and intervening."

"I can only imagine what that must be like," Charles' dry voice drew both sons' eyes to him and he chuckled. "How the two of you managed to seek each other out is a tale to be told I'm sure."

"Sorry, are you making fun of me right now?" Harry lowered his rifle and turned bemused eyes to his father. "I'm pouring my heart out and asking a favor and you're poking fun?" He couldn't help the way his lips tipped up at the pleased look on his father's face.

"She'll be fine, son." Charles moved forward and placed a warm, steady, assuring hand on his shoulder. "Nobody is going to let her fend for herself. Nobody is going to let her waver in the press alone. You should know that by now."

"I do," Harry exhaled and looked down, stubbing the snow with his toes. "Kate's ready for tomorrow?" He swung the attention away from him, to something he felt more comfortable with.

"I would say she's excited for tomorrow," Will lifted his rifle, closing one eye as he peered through the sites. "And not just because you'll be leaving for four months." He smirked and fired; his eyes flashing to his brother as he lowered his gun.

"Lovely," Harry grinned despite himself. He could always count on his brother to keep it light, to keep it leveled.

"She's excited for 'girl time'," Will's eyes rolled slightly on their own accord, as though it was something that happened automatically, something he made no thought of. "She's been wanting to ease back into things and I think that going out with Maddie, being there to try to help her...distract..." He shrugged at his choice of words, not sure if that's what he was going for. "I think it's going to help both of them to be completely honest."

"Fair enough," Harry nodded, scrubbing his hand rough over his face. "You'll keep an eye on..."

"Oh for Christ's sake," Will huffed as he lifted his gun; firing, reloading, and firing again before he turned to Harry. "I'll keep an eye on her. Father will keep an eye on her. Kate will keep an eye on her. What would you have us do? Move her into the guest room for four months? She's going to feel like she has stalkers if we're following her every move." He watched his brother flinch at his words and a part of him felt bad for the harshness in them. Taking a breath he took a step forward and his voice lowered. "She's been through worse than you flying around in a helicopter for months. She's a strong woman who would be driven mad by everyone constantly on her." Will's hand stretched out, slapping Harry's cheeks lightly. "Have faith in her brother. And we'll be here if she needs us."

"Fine," Harry's jaw tensed as he pushed his brother's hand away and looked off on the horizon. "Fine."

Harry took a shot and lowered his gun but before he could turn back to the two of them, Will spoke up again.

"Don't make this the worst thing she's been through," he was quiet and Harry could hear the sadness through the cold air. "Be careful and come home. I would hate to have to hand her another loss."

Harry's head nodded; heavy and slow. Blinking at the ice cold tears that pricked to his eyes, he cleared his throat and reloaded. "I love you too big brother."

He lifted his gun, inhaled, and fired.

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It wasn't long before Will sloughed off, leaving the hunt to head back to the house. He wasn't having much luck at the shot and he had other pressing things to attend to before they all left for London. And he wanted to give his father time with his brother; time that was spent abandoning the stalk and turning towards the grounds.

They were well away from the house, deep into the grass and the chill when Charles came to a stop and took a breath. Harry watched his father move; waiting for the lesson, the words that came in moments such as these. There had been so many between them over the years; conversations twisted up in walks, resulting in transitions. From boy to man most often. Harry tucked away those memories and he watched his father ponder.

"It's coming too fast..." Charles shook his head, his eyes squinting out across the horizon. Harry's head turned in the same direction; facing the light and the wind and searching for what his father spoke of. "And I'm always too far away."

"Are you..." Harry's voice cracked into the cold air much like the snow and ice below them. "Sorry are you writing poetry right now?" The grin on his face was half way there, as if even his lips weren't committed to his attempt at humor, as if even his mouth knew what was happening there that chilled morning.

The silence softened between them as Charles turned to look at his son; his baby. So much like him, so much like himself. He regarded him with warmth, with eyes that remembered him crawling around their home at Kensington, sticking his tongue to reporters through windows while he squirmed in his mother's arms. He chuckled to himself, humored at the idea that he was still sticking his tongue to reporters—in his own way, through his own methods.

"Too far away to keep any of you from trouble," though he smiled as he said it, his eyes were stuck in someplace else; running over the list of times he wished he had been there but hadn't—couldn't. Harry opened his mouth, ready to offer some glib, wise remark; about Vegas or weed or the most recent photos of his wife's hands all over him, but the words fell silent and he took a step back. He understood his father in that moment—as most he could without being a father—the guilt that came, the responsibility.

"I'll be alright," he offered; hesitant and unsure. Was that what he wanted to hear? Was that what he wanted him to say? "I know what I'm doing and..."

"I don't doubt that," Charles nodded, his large, strong hand coming to rest on the shoulder of his son. In silence he swallowed, adjusted his breathing. In silence, his fingers tightened their hold on him, as though it were twenty years earlier and he was pulling him back from a jump he was about to take off a cliff into the water, pulling him back from bolting without looking. His fingers tightened their hold on him and his thumb stroked love there; protection and love. His father through and through.

Harry's eyes pricked wet with unexpected emotion, with waves of something that rendered him breathless for a moment. Without looking to the old, warm, wise man next to him, he lifted his hand to pat over his; pressing his protective hold closer, holding him tighter as he tried to sit in the space for a moment.

And he felt afraid. He felt young and inexperienced and afraid—and he blinked against it. But he got it, he understood this poetry his father was speaking. Too fast, too far. He got it.

The moment in Bendal when he realized a shot had been fired.

The moment the first photos of Maddie were offered up to the press.

The moment they knew her name.

The moment he heard his father on the other end of the line talking of and earthquake and then the call about aftershocks.

The moments between that call and Maddie's.

The moment she said yes.

The moment the code was called and Jim had held him back.

The moment he watched his brother worry over Kate in the operating room while loving over his son.

The moment Khenda had left this world; her love, her son.

The moment he watched Maddie crack at the news of his deployment.

Too fast. Too far away.

He could only imagine the images that flooded his father's mind.

He felt his knees give just a bit and at the same time he felt his father's fingers; strong and supportive and holding him there—upright and strong.

"You're doing your duty," Charles spoke in low, calming tones. "We all know the responsibilities and guilt and...devotion with which you walk." He squeezed his son's shoulder. "We feel it too. We feel it towards you. You do what you're supposed to do; your call to Queen and country. And we'll do what we're supposed to do and...when you come home, we'll all walk a little easier." He cleared his throat and with one final squeeze, he lifted his hand from his son and took a few steps away. "It's always too fast Henry. It never slows down."

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The drive home from Highgrove that afternoon was dark and dreary and the cold in the air permeated through the Range Rover and settled into their bones. As the countryside drifted away, giving ground over to the city, Maddie turned her eyes from the now drizzling rain to look across the backseat to her husband; quiet and pulled inside.

"Did you always know?" She called out to him in the grey space between them; her hand tucked closely into his.

"Know what?" He turned his face towards the sound of her voice; his eyes gazing distant and far off.

"That you wanted to be in the Army..." She smiled as his eyes snapped back to the moment and she drew his hand into her lap; sandwiching it with both of hers. "You wanted it since you were a child, no?"

"I did," he nodded, his fingers flexing around hers. "It was hard not to. My grandfather served, my uncle served. We've been around the military and the regiment of it all since we were born..." He smiled and took a deep breath. "My brother and I used to play at it when we were young and then...I don't know. Somewhere along the way I realized it was an actual option." His thoughts blinked back over his memories of training, of schooling.

"You love it, don't you." She didn't need an answer, she knew it; just as well as she knew him, she knew it.

"I do," he answered, tugging her hands towards him, his other hand leaving its home on his knee and moving to cradle hers. "Though this part gets more difficult; leaving you."

"I know," she whispered her agreement; feeling tears prick at her eyes. She turned for a moment, letting her eyes flitter over the scenery that was flying past. "Tell me your favorite part?"

"Of the Army?" His eyebrows lifted; the surprise evident in his voice.

"Mmm," she nodded and sniffed, turning her eyes back to him; a smile pressing through her sadness, her worry—something in her thinking it might help them both. "What's the best part? Is it the normalcy that comes with it? The brotherhood? The food?" She took a stab at a joke and was rewarded with a laugh; and her smile tugged wider.

"All of those things..." He tightened his hold on her; falling more in love with her for what she was trying to do right then. "Even the food sometimes."

"Nice," she grinned, allowing her lungs to ease up just a bit, noticing that they were turning through the gates of Kensington. "What's your favorite meal?"

"The breakfast..." He answered; feeling tired and weary of what the next twenty four hours was going to bring his way. "There's a pretty good hot breakfast ration. Though...to be fair, we eat in the mess mostly."

"Good. Good," Maddie's voice grew quiet and the car drew to a stop, the crunch of the gravel below the tires the only sound that roughed up the silence.

Their doors were opened and the chill rushed in, pulling them both from this blip of warmth, of humor they had found in the cloud that followed them; the promise of departure. It was heavy and unavoidable and they desperately wanted to keep it away just a moment longer. Just a little bit longer. But the chilled air surrounded them and their fingers slipped apart as they stepped from the vehicle out into the drizzly afternoon.

Maddie rounded the car to him and was not at all surprised to find him waiting for her. He didn't take her fingers back into his, he reached instead for her shoulders, wrapping a strong arm around them and tucking her into him. With her arm wrapped around his waist, they fell into step up the walk. Their team stayed behind; loading into the cars, returning to posts.

And it was just them. Them and this slow pace Harry had fallen into. Maddie's cheek pressed to his coat, the wool rough and soft at the same time; his scent just everywhere. For a beat she closed her eyes, letting it all blow around her; the crisp air, the smell of him, the warmth from his body. She just let it happen—like so many other things around her.

"I think..." Harry's voice was slow as he pulled her tighter; wanting her closer. "I think when I get home we should have a serious discussion about my future with the Army." He felt Maddie's feet stop below them, felt the surprise rush to her brain even before it registered there and her eyes pulled open. "I think we should talk about what this is going to look like for our family..."

"Harry..." She shook her head, her emotions bubbling up and threatening to spill. Her hands pressed against his torso, hard and muscular from all of the workouts, trying to stop him. "You don't have to..."

"Shhh..." He squeezed his hold on her, bringing her closer. "When I get back."

"Harry..." She moved then, pulling herself from the warm confines of his arms and moving to stand in front of him; the wind tossing the strands of her hair every which way as they came to a stop outside their door. His hands seemed to not know where to go without her under his arm, so they pulled close; tucked into his pockets. And she shook her head, blinking at tears she wasn't ready to cry. "You don't have to leave something you love for..." She couldn't say it, not out loud, so she closed her lips; pressing them together in a pink, trembling line and she held his eyes.

Without comment, he turned his eyes from hers, looking far into the distance and he could hear his father's voice, he could feel his hand warm and strong on his shoulder and he could feel the bottom of his stomach giving out and he hated so much about what was happening right there—but he loved it even more.

Without words, he turned back to her. His hands slipped from his pockets and moved straight to her face; cupping her cold cheeks in their warmth and before she could speak, his lips were on hers; his mouth taking her next words.

Her body flinched in surprise; moving towards him instinctually—as she always did when he drew her in. Her hands lifted to his chest, her fingers curling as though they intended on fisting his coat in them, as though they had plans to jerk him closer. But they were full of the same sort of sadness as the rest of her and they fell flat against his chest; pushing inside his coat, seeking closeness to him. To his heart.

"Tomorrow," he whispered against her lips before he pulled away. His fingers stroked at her cheeks, his eyes pressing closed as he committed this version of her to memory. "Tomorrow I'm leaving something I love for another..." His hands moved from her face then. As one reached behind her to open the door, the other slipped into her coat bypassing her blouse and moving straight to skin. He needed the closeness too. His eyes pulled open and found her already watching him. "When I get home we're going to talk about it."

His words were final, his voice resolute and his eyes were the kind of serious she knew he held onto, he reserved, for moments when he meant it. He dipped back to her then, kissing her once more before he took a step back. His hand gestured inside, his forehead nodding in the same direction. Maddie let her hands fall from him as she turned and took the few small steps into their entryway.

Harry had followed behind, his eyes never tearing from her, his thoughts never straying as the door shut and closed them off from the rest of the world. As she unwrapped the winter from around her, shedding a scarf and a coat, slipping off boots and shaking the cold from her bones—he watched. His hands worked quickly over his own coat, over his own layers of wool and cashmere and before long they were done. Winter had been shed and the heat from their home was bringing a new color back to their cheeks.

The need he felt for her was primal. He felt it so much deeper than his bones, so much further than that pit in his belly. And the gasp that fell from her