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Phillip was staring out the window when she stepped into their room. He hadn’t even remembered to loosen his tie, which was odd because he hated wearing them and always removed them as soon as possible.
“Hey.”
He turned, smiling slightly when he saw her, “Hi.”
Martha stepped up behind him, hooked her chin over his shoulder and looked out to what he was staring at. Henry and Alex were in the courtyard, holding hands, Bea with them and they were all laughing.
“They look happy.”
Phillip nodded.
She pulled him away from the window gently, sitting them both down on the ornamental sofa which he had once told her was probably more decorative than functional, and took his hands in her own.
“What are you thinking?”
“They released their photos today.”
“Alex and Henry’s?”
He nodded, staring down at their joined hands.
“Hey,” she said, nudging his chin up so he was looking her in the eye, “I thought we were supporting them.”
“We are,” he replied almost instantly, “of course we are, I want Henry to be happy.”
Martha nodded, carefully, “So what’s the problem?”
“Have you seen them? The photos?”
She shook her head, “Why?”
Phillip glanced back towards the window. “They looked happy. Real. Like they were actually in love.”
“They are.”
“I know!” He cried, pulling away from her. “And so are we!”
“Pip, love,” she rose to stand in front of him, “I don’t understand.”
He sighed, dropping his head onto her shoulder and making a small noise when she ran her fingers through his hair. “Ours looked fake.”
“Our photos?”
She felt him nod.
“And you’re… jealous?”
He stiffened slightly, raising his head. “Yes. I suppose I am.”
“Is there something else?” she pushed gently, seeing his eyes stray back to the window again.
“He- Henry- he said he wanted to live his truth.”
“By being gay.” she prompted.
He nodded, absently, as if that wasn’t what he was trying to convey. “And Bea, too, she can be open now about her addictions.”
Something clicked in Martha’s head then, “Both of them are able to be themselves after being supressed.”
“I did that.” He said miserably. “I didn’t mean to, but I did that. And I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Do you want to be someone else?”
He paused, drawing away from her and walking over to the mantlepiece, “Will you always love me?” He asked, suddenly the quiet, shy boy she had first met who was mostly overshadowed by the prince.
“Always.” She replied. “Even if you tell me that you’re also gay, I’d be very heartbroken, but I’ll always support you and love you.”
He laughed slightly at that, “No, no, I’m not…” he frowned, turning serious again, “I don’t like children.”
“Alright.”
“And I don’t want to be a father.”
“We don’t have to have children.”
“But the monarchy-“
She stepped forward again, cupping his face in her hands, “You have two siblings and plenty of cousins. It doesn’t just fall on us.”
He nodded, not meeting her eyes, “I just feel like something will go wrong if we don’t.”
“Things could go wrong anyway.”
“I suppose. I wish I could talk to them.”
They had somehow managed to drift back to the window and were looking out again on Henry, Alex, and Bea. Catherine had joined them, and she hugged both her children and Alex fiercely.
Martha paused, “I might have a solution for that.”
*
“Family therapy?” Bea repeated, a little incredulously.
“Yes.” Phillip was standing opposite the three of them, Alex having been sent back to America, and desperately wishing he had brought Martha with him.
“Oh, so after all those years of…”
“I think it’s a great idea.” Catherine interrupted loudly, cutting off whatever angry rant Bea was building up to.
Phillip glanced over to his brother who had remained silent for the whole discussion, “Henry?”
Henry startled at the sound of his name, as if he hadn’t been expecting to be called on. “Uh, I agree with mum.”
“You do?” Bea asked.
He nodded, “I think we need this.”
“Need what?” Bea demanded, “some stranger digging around in our issues?”
“It’s more some stranger helping to solve our issues.” Phillip offered, shutting up when she sent him a glare.
“Well,” Catherine said, attempting to stave off an argument, “that’s three votes for yes. So, we’ll try it.”
“Were you going to invite gran?” Henry asked, glancing at Phillip and then away again. He still seemed incredibly awkward around Phillip, but then Phillip had a lot to answer for.
“No. I don’t think she would…”
There were general mumbles of agreement from the other three.
“Alright.” Catherine clapped her hands together, as if sealing the deal. “Pip, did you have any in mind, or would you like to look together?”
“Martha recommended a few, I thought you might like to look at.”
“Then we’ll look.” She smiled at him, proud of his planning and it hit him in the chest like a bullet.
*
“You think that was the first time she had smiled at you in a while?” the Doctor asked once they had finished recapping how they arrived at family therapy.
Phillip nodded, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
“Alright.” She made a few notes in the notebook she had brought.
Phillip used that moment to look around the room. They had managed to choose a therapist who was willing to come to them, so they didn’t have the security risk of them all leaving the palace together, and Catherine had volunteered one of her rooms to be used. She had called it a ‘neutral area’, but it just seemed like a reminder of what they had lost.
He hadn’t been in her rooms in years.
“Beatrice,” the Doctor continued, looking up,
“Just Bea, please.”
She tilted her head in acceptance, “Bea. Why did you have such a strong objection to this?”
Bea wriggled slightly. “I had to see therapists when I was in rehab.”
“Bad experience?”
“They just dug around in my head and kept asking questions about Dad that I didn’t want to answer, but they forced me to.”
The Doctor’s brow creased slightly. “That won’t be what this is like, you only have to share what you’re comfortable sharing,” she paused to glance around at them, “all of you.”
“Thank you.” Bea mumbled.
“But I do think we should start with the death of your father.”
Phillip looked around at their reactions- Bea was steadfastly looking at a spot on the wall over the Doctor’s shoulder, Catherine was attempting to be open and make eye contact, but the effect was mitigated by the tension in her shoulders, and Henry was the only one of them who looked ready to sit through the session. Apparently having individual therapy helped as a preparation for family therapy.
He thought the Doctor might have drawn the same conclusions because she turned to Henry first, “How did you see everyone else’s reactions?”
“Mum pulled away,” he began, quiet but strong, “Phillip was on the other side of the world anyway, but he seemed to think he needed to take over, and Bea became addicted to cocaine.”
She nodded, “It was cancer, yes? So you knew it was coming?”
“That didn’t make it easier,” Catherine objected.
“No, not at all.” She paused, setting her pen down. “In some ways that actually makes it harder, the feeling that you could have saved him in some way or the feelings you get from watching him wither away are ones that you don’t get if people die in sudden and unexpected ways.”
Catherine relaxed back in her seat, frowning down at her hands, as if considering the Doctor’s words.
“So, Henry, you didn’t tell us how you reacted to your father’s death.”
Henry froze, obviously not expecting that question, “I saw everyone else’s reactions.”
“And you lived your own.”
“I guess I just pushed myself to be perfect.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I’m seeing some similarities here in your reactions: both Catherine and Bea pulled away from reality while Phillip and Henry tried to control what they could.”
“I didn’t pull away!” Bea objected, “I was always there for Henry.”
“Except for the time that you forced him to track you down and talk you into going to rehab.” Phillip found himself firing back.
Bea paused, eyes wide, and then turned to Henry as if she had just had an enormous realisation. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, “I never thought…”
“That’s why we’re here.” The Doctor pointed out gently. “To think about each other.”
Bea nodded, but she was still watching Henry, unsure of his reaction. The Doctor let her for a few moments before moving on.
“You also said that Phillip seemed to think he needed to take over, Phillip do you think that’s an accurate perception?”
“Yes.”
They were obviously all waiting for him to say more, but the words were half forming inside his head and leaving again.
“Alright, why did you take over?”
He paused, remembering the days after his father had died, when their mother had pulled away and refused to leave her rooms and the Queen had dragged him into her position, filling his head with finances and rules.
“Gran said that Mum broke a rule.” He began hesitantly. “She married someone the crown did not approve of.”
He heard his mother’s slightly horrified gasp before she spoke.
“Are you saying she said his death was a punishment for breaking a rule?”
Phillip looked down at the carpet, willing the Doctor to ask another question or change the subject. She didn’t.
“Yes,” he heard himself reply, as if from a distance, “that’s what she implied, she said if I ever broke a rule, things like that would happen to me, and cancer can be genetic so I thought…” he trailed off, the words getting stuck in his throat, but Bea filled in the rest for him.
“You thought me or Henry would die if you stepped out.”
He risked looking up, expecting to be mocked for his stupid ideas, but all he saw was Henry, looking at him like he finally saw him through the façade he always put up.
“And you thought if we stepped out of line, something bad would happen too?” Bea asked, Phillip looked at her and saw the same understanding that had been in Henry’s eyes.
“And something did go wrong.” Henry said, quiet, hushed. “The emails.”
“I just wanted to protect you.” He found himself whispering back. “I’m sorry.”