Chapter One
They say you're not supposed to remember everything if you were drunk. But Prince William remembered. He remembered the hard rubber of the steering wheel under his arm as his hand gripped the top. The body heat and scent of sweat from six of his friends crammed in the mini-car. He remembered the slow song on the radio and remembered how they had managed to headbang to it out of rhythm. Singing, laughing, yelling... till there was no rhythm at all.  He remembered the sour taste of liquor in his mouth, someone was still passing around a flask in the back of the car. He faintly remembered the party in the house they were about to leave. William looked in the rearview mirror and turned his head to look over his shoulder to see if anyone was behind them. The view was a bit obstructed by arms, shoulders, and grinning heads having a good time. He slowly eased out of the parking space.
"Wills, crank it up!" someone called. The rest howled in approval.
William bent over to turn up the radio volume and proceeded to back up.
The thump as the car hit something.
A girl's laugh was heard, thinking it was hilarious.
A serious male voice. "William... I think you may have hit someone."
Blood drained from the prince's face in an instantly sobering moment. He could feel cold sweat droplets, icicles, on his neck. William immediately turned off the engine, the rough edge of the metal keys dug into his hand. He remembered thinking that the sound the keys made reminded him of the jangle of a sixties song.
The group met him outside of car. The form seemed inhuman at first. A hump; like a full grabage bag someone left behind on a curb to be picked up. Someone burped. Someone hiccupped. The girl that had that uncontrollable giggle was muffled by her boyfriend's hand and dragged to the back of the crowd that was forming.
"Look at all that blood."
William bent over the young male body. A pale, British face with red rivers of blood streaming over it. When William looked up, all he saw were faces of shock and disbelief. No face that could tell him what to do. His friend, Nicholas Hillsbury, bent over with him and placed his fingers on the boy's neck to feel a pulse. "I'm calling an ambulance," he told Wills.
William nodded in automation. His stomach churned as he suddenly felt alone. The only one near the ground with the motionless boy. The boy's arm lay limply across his lower torso. William's hands acted on their own accord. They loosened his tie and brought the expensive cloth to his own lips. William began wiping away the blood.
When he was finished, the face of his brother, Harry Windsor, was underneath.

*        *        *

Three of them were making jokes over the kitchen table after finishing bowls of coffee ice-cream.
Kristin Roberts caught the lovesick look in Camilla's eyes as she laughed, caressing her neck, her gaze focusing on Charles. Charles was more subdued, doing his best to diplomatically treat both females of his audience as equals but every once in a while his eyes would rest on Camilla and stay there. He wore the same enamoured expression.
"Kris, why do you come here so often?" Charles demanded, mock-sternly.
Kristin grinned. "I'm in love with Harry I suppose."
Charles eyebrows went up. "You suppose?!"
Kristin took the bowls and washed them in the sink.
"Why in so early tonight?" Charles asked Harry's friend as he kissed Camilla's hand and clasped it between his two.
Camilla blushed, leaning closer to the man she loved.
At the memory of the loud, cramped, house, Kristin wrinkled her nose. She shrugged. "Didn't feel like staying." She took a towel and dried the bowls.
"Are Tom and Laura still at the party?" Camilla asked with parental concern that never went away.
Kritin stretched her small frame to place the bowls in the high cupboard. "I suppose so. Tom was with Hans and Eddie. He might be going with them later. Didn't they have a trip to France planned? Laura was with Jax. The party seems like it'll be on of those all nighter types."
Camilla laughed. "It sounds like fun. You should've stayed."
Kristin came back. "In other words --" She placed her head between them. She looked at one and then the other. " -- you two want to be alone." She winked.
The two adults smiled at each other.
"Go ahead." Kristin threw her hands up. "Go up. Do what grown-ups do." She plopped herself comfortably on the couch. "I won't bother you." She channel surfed.
Charles and Camilla made their way up the stairs talking in soft, intimate whispers.
Left to herself, Kristin looked at the clock hanging on the wall and checked her watch. She ran her fingers indifferently through her hair. Harry would be home soon. William... who knew?
The news came on.

*        *         *

Kristin burst in when Charles had his hand on Camilla's shoulder.
He looked up. "Wha--"
The girl came to the bed on rushed, wobbly, legs. "I'm sorry Charles, you have to see this." Kristin sniffled through a runny nose, her voice scratchy. She turned on the television set. She pried the two away from each other and sat herself down. "Just look!"
Even in the dark Charles saw the girl's eyes were red.
The picture of stretcher being boisted into the back of the ambulance was shown on the colored screen.
Charles and Camilla looked at Kristin questioningly.
She waved unspeakingly to the set, for them to continue watching.
The screen cut to the trembling features of Prince William. He had a set of keys in one hand, the prince emblem keychain flickering, and his bloodsoaked tie on the other. He looked up and the media audience saw the terror in his eyes as the camera was shoved into his face. He shielded his face palm upward, like Dracula from sunlight. Microphones jabbed at him from every angle. "Your Highness, can you tell us what happened?"
Three friends hurriedly escorted the prince away.
"Hey watch it!" a body stepped in between the prince and the camera. A palm was placed protectively over the lens.
"Yeah? Or else what?" the camera guy taunted.
The boy took his hand off the lens and slugged at the camera's side. The camera swung away, then shook epileptically, and was now pointing to the smog-filled starry sky.
The screen cut to the news anchor. She blinked, caught off guard. She starightened her hair. "Though details are unknown about this terrible accident, officials have informed us that Prince Harry is alive, though his condition is deemed critical. Right now, he is being taken to the nearest hospital, London Medical, where he will be receiving the best of care--"
Charles picked up the phone.

Chapter Two
William's hand was shaking as he leaned over the counter to fill out the medical form. Concentrate on what you have to do. Just concentrate on what you have to do, Wills told himself.

Name: HRH Prince Henry Charles Albert David Mountbatten-Windsor
DOB: 9/15/1982
Father: HRH Prince Charles Philip Arthur George Mountbatten- Windsor
Mother: Diana Spencer (deceased)
Brothers/sisters:

His right hand was holding his left hand steady. His right hand held the pen like a dagger. Despite his best efforts, the large print was slowly becoming intelligible chicken scratches.
The receptionist slipped a piece of paper under his nose. "Can I have your autograph?" it asked.
William raised her eyes to look at her. He fought the urge to slap her smiling, hopeful face.
Nicholas came up behind him. "Wills, sit down. I'll take care of this."
William nodded his thanks and sat on a chair. His elbows dug into his upper thigh as he held his face in his hands.
"Wills..." Nicholas called softly, approaching. "Healthcare card?"
Automatically, William reached for his wallet. He stopped himself in time. "Harry should have it on him..." his voice was on the danger of cracking.
"All right." Nicholas forced William to look him in the eye. "I'll get it." He went to the nurses' desk. "Where can I get the patient's belongings? Wallet? Clothes?"
The nurse cast a sympathetic glance at the prince. "Yes. I'll try and get them for you right away."
Someone came up to Wills. "Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee, Your Highness?"
William looked into the lady's concerned expression. "No. It's all right." He moved to a corner and kept to himself. He hid behind a compuer magazine that he wasn't reading. The last thing he needed was a friendly face and a sympathetic ear who tomorrow would turn out to be a reporter.

*          *         *

Camilla had gone home, agreeing with Charles' suggestion.
Kristin looked at Charles who shared the silent ride with her to the hospital.
She remembered the party:

From the loft she saw the four boys in a circle raising their glasses up in a toast. The glasses swung left and right like an Irish drinking song.
"On top of spaghetti," one of them started. "All covered with cheese..."
His friend slung his arm around his shoulder and joined in. "I lost my poor meatball..."
A third person, "When somebody sneezed! "
All of them: "Achoo! (laugh)."
William grinned, "It rolled off the table, and onto the floor, it rolled through the kitchen and ooout the door!"
The first again, "It went to the garden..."
The second: "... and into a bush..."
The third, "...and now my poor meatbaaaall..."
All for of them barked, "Is nothing but mush!"
They raised the tumblers to their lips and downed the glasses at the same speed. The sound of "ahhh!" wafted through the group and more laughter.
Kristin rolled her eyes. Yep, you really wanna walk down the wedding aisle with Wills after THAT performance! She prepared to leave. She jogged down the stairs and squeezed through smooching couples to get to the door.
"You're going?" Harry asked, separating himself from his group.
Kristin looked back.
Regret etched itself on Harry's features. He had been the one to invite her.
"You know this isn't me, Harry," Kristin told him. She jutted her chin to where Wills was the center of attention.
Harry nodded. If she couldn't be friends with his friends... did that mean they couldn't be friends? "Wills has a had a bit too much, huh?" Harry observed, embarrassed as if Kristin had caught him being drunk.
William bumped into someone and was shoved forward. Half the contents of his glass spilled onto the floor.
"A sober man wouldn't waste good liquor like that."
There was no reason to force her to stay. "I'll see you at my house," Harry said. Someone called his name and he waved that he'd join them later.
Kristin hugged Harry farewell. "Take care of your brother."
"Mmmmm," Harry mumbled. He waggled his fingers in a good-bye, watching her go.
On her way out the door, Kristin stepped in a puddle of vomit.

*         *          *

William held the handicapped railing and vomited into the toilet. "Gahhhh!" he screamed, the sound cleansing his throat. He coughed and spit. He gripped the railing again and waited. It came and was over. It came again and took a bit longer to be over the second time. When he was through, he collected water from the sink, drank from his hand, cleaned his mouth and spit back into the toilet. He wiped his hands with a paper towel and flushed everything.
The walls of the small room appeared to be closing in on him.
He walked slowly and braced himself against the hard, porcelain edge of the sink. He spashed water on his face. In the mirror, the boy that looked back at him seemed like someone else. The frame of his hair was edged with sweat. His cheeks and nose were flamed red from the effects of liquor. His shirt was wrinkled and had three buttons open. Now, the seams were wet as well and aligned with yellow from when he couldn't aim at the bowl properly. The boys eyes stared vacantly. William stared back.
First thought: this is a tabloid picture to covet.
Second thought: Mum, I'm glad you're not here to see me like this.
William splashed some more water on his face. The room began to sway slightly and Wills waited for it to steady itself again. When it did, he grabbed several hand towels and wiped his face. He combed his hair with his fingers the the best he could. He grabbed his coat which was hanging on the doorknob an threw it over his arm. He went out into the hallway. His shoes squeaked as he walked back to the waiting room.

*          *          *

"Excuse me, Sir," Nicholas tapped the shoulder of the man. He lifted the disposable camera from the man's coat pocket and destroyed it beneath his heel.
"I was taking picture's of my son's delivery," the man protested. He cast a glance at the prince who had passed by.
"You're in the wrong part of the hospital." Nicholas said. He exposed the film and threw it in a nearby trash can.

*         *         *

They ignored her. She was used to it. When you're with the Windsors, how can someone pay attention to you? There's always another person more important to feast your eyes on. Willful Wills, Controversial Charlie, and Harry.
Kristin was grateful for her anonymity in the hospital's waiting room. If someone had decided to speak with her she was sure she'd scream. She sat in one of the waiting chairs and did her best to be invisible. She watched Charles question the receptionist. "How is he?... Where is he?... How soon can I see him?... He'll need to be transferred to a private room as soon as possible." The answers seem to come so slowly. Kristin felt a headache coming on. She forced herself to be calm and patient. The less interruptions there were from her, the faster things would get done. The faster they'd get to see Harry.
Kristin saw a boy she knew from the party.
"Kristin," the boy called. He held two styrofoam cups of hot chocolate.
Kris almost knocked down a nurse running to him. "How is he?... Where is he?... Have you see him?... Is he okay?" Kristin closely parroted Charles. This was done in hushed whispers.
"He's ICU. Haven't been allowed to see him yet," Richard gestured that they walk. "William's taking it pretty hard--"
"Kris!" Charles waved her to enter a hall; the door being held open by a doctor.
Not waiting for Richard to finish, Kris rushed to Charles' side.

Richard set the styrafoam cup on the table. It was covered in vending machine litter. Opened packages of powdered doughnuts. Cookie crumbs. Chips. Crushed soda cans. William and Harry's friends sat around, wiping sweat from their chests and their eyes struggling to stay open. They leaned against each other and draped themselves over the hospital chairs.
"Your father's here," Richard informed Wills. "He's with that new girl of Harry's."
Kristin, Wills thought. The picture of the girl Harry had made friends with in his riding class filled his mind. William let out a deep breath. It was because he was tired. Wouldn't that be a yawn? Yawning would be rude.
"You wanna go see him, man?" Nicholas asked, nudging Wills with his knee. He forced his mate to drink the hot liquid.
William looked up at nothing. "Only two visitors allowed at a time in the ICU..." His stomach rumbled objecting to the intruding substance. Another trip to the toilet god seemed plausible.
Nicholas cast a glance at the nurses. He set the cup down. "I'm sure they'd let you..."
"No."
Richard shrugged at Nicholas worried expression. "Fine, mate." He found a space between two girls and propped his feet on the coffee table.
Everybody waited.

Kristin looked at Harry lying on the bed. How pale he looked. Even his freckles looked pale. The royal boy's frame looked frail against the white sheets and breakably thin and lost in the loose pale-blue hospital gown. His arm was injected with various tubes that connected him to plastic fluid bottles and machines that had blue lines running through their screens. His head was bandaged, the start of a deep scar peeked from under. His nose had bled and had been wiped off but there were still dried up remnants of the incident. His mouth was filled with an intubation piece.
She was afraid to touch him. Afraid to be yelled at  by the doctors if she touched him. Afraid to hurt him if she touched him. Afraid, so very afraid, that if she touched him he might die.
Behind her Charles covered his mouth with his hand. His eyes glossed over with unshed tears. He shook his head unable to speak. There he stood. The Prince Of Wales. A father. What a humbling day it is when you find out you're not God.

She walked into the waiting room and saw guests from the party sitting around.
"I guess the party's over," Kristin said quietly. Searching for something to do she grabbed the wrappers on the table and threw them in the trashcan. She brushed the crumbs onto a magazine cover and trashed them as well. She shoved one boy's feet onto the floor to get to takeout burger bag.
"Hey!" he objected.
She shot him a venemous look. Several people stood up ready to restrain her.
Richard came to her side. "Kristin..."
Kristin stared at the empty soda cans in her hand. "Who was driving the car that hit him?" she asked to no one in particular. She wiped her sticky hands on her thighs.
Silence was her only answer.
She abandoned the cans and approached a boy, hands on her hips. "Was it you, Tommy?" She raised her tear-stained face upward.
"No..." Tom said. His hands were on his sides tightly clenched. In front of a jury it would've sounded like a guilty yes.
Kristin marched toward three boys. The spaghetti singers and jabbed her pointer finger into each of their shoulders. "You guys? Well?"
They said nothing. Their eyes averted to the hospital's white walls. The potted plant. The donated art. They couldn't look her in the eyes.
"Tell me!" she raised her hands to the ceiling. A manic smile was on her face as she surveyed the group. The corners twisted into a frown. "Because I really want to know." She let out a sound. It was a laugh. It was a sob. "Who's responsible for Harry being in--" She cut herself off. Her voice rose. "Who was driving the f***ing car!"
The confession came from the doorway. Undisguised and matter of fact. "I was." It was repeated again softly. "I was."
Kristin raised her eyes and found confirmation in the hazel gaze of William Windsor.

Chapter Three
Kristin fancied herself in being able to read William's mind.  At the very least she's able to read his face. He didn't like the silence in the car. On the ride home... he didn't like the silence. He wanted something to fill the void that stood between him and his father. Between him and her. Between him and everybody...
William would've asked that the radio be turned on but that would mean drawing attention to himself. He didn't want that. His eyes met Kristin's in the dark and she looked away. The accusing, disappointed expression Kristin wore reminded William of the way he felt inside. He touched the band-aid on his forehead and leaned back, every once in a while closing his eyes and caressing it.
Kristin glared at William in the dark. Was he feeling enough pain? Enough pain and suffering to compensate in case Harry dies??? Was Harry feeling pain? Are you feeling any pain now, Harry? Do you feel pain before you die?
The next time William opened his eyes, they were tear-filled.
Something in Kristin's heart began to hurt. No! she thought, begging weakly. Don't look at me like that. Her jaw fixed itself so that her teeth ground against each other. Don't make me feel sad for you, or care about you... not when you've hurt me so much! Don't make me, you SOD!!!
As though William heard her and was merciful... he looked away again.
She couldn't see his face anymore. And she couldn't tell what he was thinking. It wasn't as if he would be able to go through this night unchanged, Kristin gave him that much. She could only imagine what demons he must be handling inside of him. He must need someone to help him battle them.
Kristin thought, it just can't be me.

*        *        *

Kristin heard footsteps approach the bed and her heart raced... It was Harry, she thought. He's going to wake me up. He always sneaks up on me, to scare me awake. He does crazy things like that. He'll tickle my feet... She threw the covers off to greet him with a smile.
William stood leaning on the door frame. "For a crazy moment there I thought --" He looked at Kris in her pajamas. "-- I thought you were Harry," he said weakly.
"Same," Kristin told him honestly. She had slept in Harry's bed. It happens.
William's eyes are blue.
How can eyes so blue hold so much sadness in them? Kristin asked herself.
There were dark circles under William's eyes. He hadn't slept well either. He rapped door with no particular purpose. His opened his mouth to speak. On his lips were apologies needed to be heard. Needed to be said.
Charles was breezing down the hall adjusting papers into his briefcase. "Morning, Kristin."
"Morning," Kristin looked over William's shoulder at the man.
"Morning, Papa," Wills mumbled.
Charles stayed focused on the girl. "Will you be visiting Harry?"
"Yeah." It shouldn't have even been questioned.
"I'll go with her," William offered.
Charles told Kristin. "I have a meeting and will try to make it short." He checked his watch. "I'll be at the hospital at three. Two if possible. If he wakes up, call me. You have the number. I'll manage to get there as soon as I can." He turned to leave.
"Papa..." William pleaded weakly. He touched his father's arm forcing him to look.
Finally Charles did. "Take a bath Wills," he ordered curtly. "You reek of alcohol."

*         *         *

William closed the bathroom door and undressed. His gray trousers first, then his blue boxers. He dumped them into the laundry basket. He unbuttoned his white shirt. It was damp with sweat, drool... He raised it to his nose and sniffed. Wills took a step back. His father had been right. He tossed the shirt into the basket as well. The blood-soaked tie spilt from his trouser pockets. William took his forgotten keys out and brought the tie to the sink. The dried blood fell as rough flakes into the sink bowl. William ran cold water over the cloth and watched the blood dissolve and streak away from the silk. He got liquid soap and rubbed it in vigorously. He rubbed the tie against the edge of his palms. Back and forth, like an Indian with two sticks trying to make fire. Washing, soaping, rubbing. An old fairytale his mother used to tell him when he was a kid came to mind. "Bluebeard's Wife." It wasn't a fairytale, his six-year-old self decided after he heard it. It was a nightmare. William wondered why he was thinking of it now. The attempt was hopeless. He tossed the tie back in the basket. It landed on his shirt. The tie left a pinkish tinge on the white below it. Debating, William took them out of the basket and threw both ruined pieces of clothing into into the garabage bin. He dropped tissues over them till they were completely covered. The trashbin resembled a peach ice-cream scoop in the cup. Backing away from the sight, William got in the shower.

*         *        *

It was back to being invisible girl again for Kristin. Around her, St. James' servants, secretaries and staff answered the phone and took in faxes. Not to imply that St. James was a compressed beehive but every time Kristin went into a room to be a lone with her thoughts she'd pass another person who'd be on some errand or the other. All in all the people she encountered summed up to five. She passed Charle's office. The mail had been brought in spilling onto the large oak desk then divided. Important. Very Important. Could Be Important. One male secretary saw Kristin watching the process and smiled comfortingly. "Normal day," the smile said. What a liar.

*          *           *

"Look at that," Tom Parker Bowles looked outside the fourth story window of Harry's private room. Reporter's camped outside of the hospitals entrance in the rain. Huge black umbrellas polka-dotted the crowd. They were most wore professional gray. Other's subdued browns. Some wore black.
Nicholas came to his side. "They look like they're in mourning," he commented. He put the curtain back down.

*         *         *

He saw his reflection in the silver knobs of the shower. Huge nose, slitty eyes... the grotesque and distortion you'd laugh at seeing it in a funhouse mirror. William didn't laugh. He turned on the shower and waited for the cold shower to become warm before immersing himself under the liquid fall. He felt his hair get heavy and matted. The dry blonde locks turning to wet spotly brown in front of his eyes. His hand moved out and turned the water off. It searched blindly, taking the rose-color soap from its holder, his hand rubbed the scented bar in circles over his broad chest. He stared ahead at the center faucet control. He did his underarms. The water sloshed as bubbles formed over his skin. His hands moved down to his muscular legs. Hairy. He bent over to meticulously clean the spaces between his toes. He placed the pink soap back on the holder. He took the wash towel from where it hung on the wall and scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed.

*          *         *

"Don't tell anyone about last night," a guy in a gray suit told her. He thanked the person who brought his mug of coffee and took a satisfying gulp. He set it down on the table, black and half-empty.
"I have a friend--" Kris ventured to speak.
The man shook his head.
"My mother--"
Another negative.
"Do you know what happened last night?" Kris peered at the man.
"Until I do the Windsors can't have one person, say you, expressing one emotion and another person Nick--"
"Nicholas," Kris corrected.
The man waved, showing irrelevance. "-- expressing another. It can be harmful to the entire family. To Harry." the man pointed out. A female came up to his chair and mumbled, "Scotland Yard," she side-glanced Kristin. "(cough) the breathalizer tests of William's peers..."
"Oh yes," the man got to his feet. "Nice talking to you Kirsten."
"Kristin," Kris mumbled, rubbing her neck. She looked at the clock. Near eight in the morning. William, what's taking you so long, you bastard!

*         *        *

William turned on the shower again. A hot spray hitting his chest. The water made the colors in his reflection streak like a ruined water portrait. Closing his eyes, William braced himself against the white shower wall, palms flat. The water puddled soapily around his feet, swimming in a quick escape toward the drain. William felt the piercing droplets on his back. A soothing massage... Who was he kidding? They were lashes of a whip. Tiny daggers into his flesh. Soothing all the same. William took deep breaths, the water running down his tan chest. The water dripped into his open mouth, like rain does to an abandoned cave. William opened his eyes. I'm not drowning, he thought as he watched the water go. I'm not drowning. He choked on the water.

*         *         *

William's hair was still wet when he went down. Someone suggested he blow-dry it."It's raining. The effort would be pointless," he responded. To a suggestion of breakfast he grabbed a cup of coffee, but dumped it in the sink the moment their backs were turned. He saw Kirstin sitting by herself in the living room. Maybe he shouldn't have ditched that cup of coffee.
Kristin sat with her hands in her lap and let her eyes pass over the pictures of Harry as he was growing up. Diana carrying Harry outside of the hospital. Charles holding Harry as a baby on the balcony of Buckingham; huge blue shorts over an equally huge diaper. Harry attempting to fish, his line getting caught in Charles' sweater. Harry watching a parade, his right shoe slipping off. Harry in the Eton uniform.
"Ready to go?" William asked Kristin.
"The car's ready. Charles arranged it." Kristin told him. She grabbed her purse and was out the door.
William followed her. He understood his father's non-verbal message. Simply, it translated into: you're not driving. Complicatedly it translated to... well, too many complications to name. William couldn't say he blamed the guy.