"Fuel on."

"Fuel on."

"Chocks are in position. Switches are off."

A pause. "You sure about this, sir?"

Philip snorted, reaching for the glasses Townsend had warned him to wear. "When I got married, my in-laws made me marshal of the Royal Air Force, as a result, I'm the most senior airman in the country and I can't bloody well fly."

Townsend didn't respond to that beyond a small grunt of what might have been amusement, and Philip muttered, "Yes, I'm sure."

He thought he could almost Townsend's grin. "Right-o, sir."

The plane took off then, peeling down the smooth grass that served as a runway, following along the blinking white lines painted into the grass before lifting rather more quickly and haphazardly than Philip had been expecting into the air, the world tilting dangerously upwards as Philip reached out and steadied himself instinctively.

The wind whirred about them, ringing in his ears and flapping at Philip's clothing, and he grinned, resisted the sudden urge to throw his arms out to both sides.

Another pause, and he watched Townsend's gloved hands work at the dials of the small plane, before he called out, "Ready, sir?"

Philip squared his jar. "Ready!"

"Here we go."

The plane dipped into a turn that had Philip clenching his teeth, the world tilting as the plane executed an almost perfect 360, and for a moment Philip thought he would go flying out of his so carefully placed restraints, would fall into the field below them without ever seeing Elizabeth again.

He had never seen a view quite like the one below him, the sky green and the world beneath his feet blue, and he stared as fields gave way to thick forest and then to houses, so many of them dotting across the ground.

"Whoa," the air seemed to have been knocked out of him, and he focused on breathing for a long moment, wondered if perhaps this had been a foolish idea, after all. "Very good. Okay."

The plane pulled back into formation, leveling out slowly, but with ease, and Philip let out another chuckle now that they were right side up once more.

His air seemed to be returning to him now, in slower, easier breaths, and Philip let out a slow breath, glancing round.

"Blimey," Philip murmured, releasing his hold on the useless controls, since Townsend was the one flying the plane, to mop at the bit of his forehead that he could get to. "Christ."

"All right there, sir?" Townsend called back to him.

Philip nodded, sticking his head out and staring at the view, of the world a thousand feet below them now as the plane slowly began to settle, to even itself out, England made of splotches of green and brown and blue, hidden beneath several layers of clouds.

It was beautiful.

"Yes, yes, fine," he agreed, waving the other man off when he realized that he had never given an answer.

He heard Townsend chuckle again, wondered how many times Townsend himself had been in a plane like this one with another person, rather than alone. What it might be like, to fly one of these montsters alone.

When Philip had approached the man about flying lessons, he had known Townsend was quite the good pilot, of course, even if he hadn't exactly expected the other man to agree.

Everyone and their cabinet wanted to keep Philip from doing anything that might be considered strenuous, or, God forbid, interesting, but Townsend had agreed almost too quickly.

He had been in a plane, of course. Plenty of times, and it seemed far more these days than he was ever on a ship, but all of those planes had been far larger than this one, had not given off the impression that if he stuck his arm out the side, it might get taken off by the propellers.

And the world had been enclosed then, a small window that he didn't often look out of after the novelty of doing so wore off on the second time up.

Riding in this plane, barely large enough for two men to squeeze into sitting down, the world touching him instead of outside of a plane of glass, was perhaps the most exhilarating thing that Philip had done since Elizabeth's papa had died.

"Now it's your turn," Townsend called to him, and Philip started, stared at the back of the man's head incredulously for a moment, before remembering that this what they had come up here for.

"You have control," he heard Townsend say, and Philip swallowed hard.

"I have control," he repeated, watched as the bow of the plane dipped when his hands pushed the controls downward.

Townsend shouted to him to balance the plane, to keep his eyes on the altimeter, and Philip moved to comply, unable to keep the grin off his face which had appeared there earlier.

He was flying a plane.

"And level," he heard Townsend say. "Good."

"Noisy, isn't it?" Philip called to the other man, as the wind threatened to tear off his glasses, his hat.

Townsend, of course, had a solution for that.

"How's this, sir?" he asked, a moment later, when the rotors of the plane had stopped, and silence filled the air. Peaceful in a way that the flying a moment before had not been, for all that it was a welcome release from his days as a pandering monkey.

"My god," Philip murmured.

He was vaguely aware that they were falling, that the fields below them were slowly coming into sharper focus, but Philip thought he could close his eyes and live forever in this moment, that he'd very much like it to last forever.

For a moment, he didn't feel the restraints holding him into the plane. For a moment, the world below them didn't exist at all.

"Isn't it wonderful?" he heard Townsend call out, and Philip opened his eyes once more.

"Heaven."

He didn't think Elizabeth had quite worked out yet what it was about the flying that was so important to him, wasn't sure he planned on telling her if she asked, for she had grown shorter with him and he with her as the argument they'd been having since Philip came to understand just what would be expected of him as the future queen's husband continued, uninterrupted by menial things like weeks or sleep or upcoming coronations.

But he was glad that she was making this effort to fight for him, even if she seemed to find his stubbornness on the issue rather petty. She had made it very clear in the last few months, what she thought of his reaction to the loss of his autonomy, the loss of any freedom he might have had before their marriage.

She thought he should have expected that, coming into the marriage. Should have been prepared for all of this, the moment he said 'I do.'

And he supposed, in a way, that he should have been. Philip had gotten numerous lessons, from his uncle, from the government of England which made its opinion on his marriage to its royal daughter very clear, from Elizabeth's mother, a consort herself.

He would spend the rest of his life walking one step behind Elizabeth, once she was named queen. He would have to defer to her on any true matters of importance within their family, would have to accept her decisions, then. Would not be able to continue his naval career.

He had known all of this, in some abstract understanding of the word.

He just had not expected it to happen so quickly, had expected the universe to grant him a few more years as just Lilibet's husband, as just without all of the pageantry that came with being the queen's husband.

He supposed his one saving grace in being able to keep the activity was that Lillibet was just as stubborn as he, and found the Prime Minister's stubbornness on the issue of her husband's being able to fly a plane even more petty, what with the fog to help support that pettiness.

He knew his wife, knew why she was fighting so hard for this that she was willing to go up against her entire cabinet just because they wanted to take away Philip's last amusement.

And when she won it for him, like a knight winning a lady's favor, Philip kissed her cheek and pretended the thought of giving it up had not been quite so difficult, for all her effort.

Lilibet would have known, would have understood besides the amused glint in her eyes as she tilted away from the kiss he gave her, always shy about someone seeing, before telling him that she had to go oversee some new statue being unveiled, of some lord he'd never heard of from London who'd recently died.

He'd thought perhaps he had her back there, for a few moments before she spun away and became Elizabeth II once more, and he found himself wondering if she'd won the flying lessons for him or to show her councilors that she was not their puppet.

God, he missed his wife.

He picked up his telephone, hemmed and hawed his way through the elaborate operating system until he found himself patched into Townsend's secretary, found himself telling her that when Townsend got back from wherever it was he'd swanned off to, he wanted to speak to him.

And then he was asking Townsend's secretary if she could just pass along that he would like another flying lesson, as soon as possible. Tomorrow, if Townsend was free. He still needed to practice to get that certificate, after all.

Christ, he wondered if he sounded like a bored housewife yet, begging her friends to invite her to tea and away from the humdrum existence of an empty house.

Elizabeth watched him walk into the parlor to pick at his cooling breakfast each morning with a look of rapidly growing amusement, as each day passed and the skies did not clear.

He'd been nearly faced with the prospect of not being allowed on the skies again, after her cabinet had gotten involved in the whole convoluted affair, and now that he had finally gotten their oh so gracious permission, he couldn't go out, anyway, because there was no one to take him.

And each time her eyes flashed and her lips twitched, Philip found himself growing ever more annoyed. With Townsend, for claiming that he would not be able to give his lessons this week, and for being the only pilot around brave enough to go up against the cabinet, permission given or not, with Mike, for getting wrapped up in his newest lady friend, and with Elizabeth, for finding amusement in the whole thing.

Though, a small part of him could admit that it was likely Elizabeth had found very little to be amused by, in recent weeks.

A part of him that sparked guilt through Philip, annoyed him enough to have him grumbling and picking at his eggs and sausage once more, lest he have to stop and dissect the feeling further.

She'd already finished her meal, of course. Was sitting, neat as you please, reading one of the two papers that had been laid out for each of them, a picture of her Prime Minister on the front page.

He cleared his throat. "Charles and Anne have already eaten, I take it?"

Elizabeth glanced up, gave her husband the pinched sort of smile she'd taken to in recent days, the Queen's smile, he'd started to think of it.

"Of course," she nodded, looking somewhat surprised; he wondered whether it was at the question, when Charles and Anne were kept to such a strict routine, or the fact that he had bothered to speak to her at all.

That feeling, just inside his chest, got a little tighter, and Philip picked up his glass, downed his no longer steaming coffee in two gulps.

He stood. "Well." Patted down his trousers. "I'll just go and check on them, then."

That seemed to finally get her attention, and Philip wondered when he had become a child, acting out to get his wife's attentions.

They hadn't really spoken since he'd bowed to her at her coronation. He wasn't sure which of them was angrier, at the present moment, but he knew that talking about it now wasn't going to solve matters.

More likely, they'd start fighting again, and he was so tired of fighting.

For a moment, as he paused in the doorway leading out of the parlor, he thought she might have called out to him, might have asked him to wait.

He turned back, saw her immersed in her reading.

Philip kept walking.

Philip supposed that he had been spending rather a lot of time flying, these days. And nights out with Mike, tiptoeing drunkenly back into his bed in the early mornings as if everyone didn't know he'd been out all night, anyway. Only to sleep until noon, get up, and fly until it was too dark to continue, as a novice.

He'd been doing less of the drunken outings with Mike lately because he was beginning to realize just how much Elizabeth must have hated it, now that he'd watched her interact with Mike, however innocent.

But he was not willing to give up his flying again, to be resigned once more to the tedious existence of the Duke.

And a small, bitterly resentful part of him was surprised that Elizabeth had even noticed his absence.

"You're not leaving again, are you?" she asked, walking into his rooms just as he was walking out, straightening the jacket he'd bought for these flights.

He'd thought it looked rather good on him, and was rewarded for it when he saw Elizabeth's eyes flick down his form before finding his own once more.

He nodded, reaching up to cinch at the helmet he needn't have put on until he was actually within sight of the flying range.

Elizabeth sighed, a small tuft of her hair lifting at the movement, and Philip looked away, found he couldn't quite meet her eyes.

Things were...not quite right still, he knew that. He'd apologized, for Porchey, would have kept on until he was blue in the face if he thought it might do any good.

Porchey was not the problem, and they both knew it, which was why they were sidestepping so neatly about one another even now.

"Townsend's been rather busy lately. He suggested it, before he gets dragged away again."

Her gaze darkened at the other man's name, and Philip bit back a sigh.

Townsend had gone away when she had sent him, but he was back now, and Philip knew there was pressure on her to keep him away, to tell him he could not marry Margaret, not that Philip thought she would agree to her councilors' demands, on that front.

He still believed in his wife yet, and the thought rather shook him, for Philip had thought he'd given up on that front the day she'd made him bow to his wife in front of millions of people.

"What is it about these flying lessons that's so imortant to you?" she asked, for he thought she'd finally to come to understand, to some extent, that this was more than just a mere hobby.

He would have been concerned if she hadn't, by now. He'd certainly spent long enough of the past few months entrenched in the activity.

Philip opened his mouth, wondered if he could just give her some flippant response, tell her that he enjoyed being away from ruddy London, when his teeth clicked shut once more.

Because they'd had something once, something important and beautiful, and something he wasn't sure he was yet willing to give up, pride or no.

"Perhaps I could show you," he murmured, and she blinked at him, still looked bemused even as he held out his arm for her to take.

"What, now? Philip, I have to meet with the Prime Minister in under an hour. He made it sound like it was something of importance-"

"The Prime Minister can wait," he told her, lips curling into a grin he couldn't remember his mouth forming in some time. "Come on, Lilibet. You'll like it."

He had no idea if she would agree until the last moment, when her eyes lifted to meet his once more and something moved behind them, something he hadn't seen since before she was Elizabeth, curiosity and that other emotion, and her shoulders slumped.

"Oh, all right."

He grinned triumphantly, started to drag her down the hall despite her half-shouted, scandalized protestations that she would at least have to inform the Private Secretary.

"Townsend," Philip said, still pulling Elizabeth along by her elbow as her heels started to dig into the gravel at the sight of their pilot.

He doubted she'd forgotten just who they were about to see, after all, not from the look that had been in her eyes when he'd first mentioned the man's name.

"Your Majesties," he dipped his head slightly, his face reflecting the surprise he felt at seeing the two of them, and Philip found himself rather wishing that Elizabeth would hurry up and make up her mind already.

It might be nice, to have a brother-in-law who was also a pilot.

Elizabeth had won out earlier, had forced Philip to wait for her to call her Private Secretary, and change into something more suitable for their outing.

Philip had acquiesed solely on account of the idea he'd gotten while watching her slip out of her gown and into something less cumbersome.

"We'd like to take one up, today," Philip told the other man, and found two sets of shocked looks on him.

"Philip-"

"Your Majesty-"

Townsend stopped the moment he realized he was speaking at the same time as the Queen, and Philip groaned.

"Lilibet wants to see why I like flying so much, and I thought I'd show her."

Townsend frowned. "Sir, I don't think you should be taking someone else up on your own-"

"Philip, I didn't actually mean I wanted to climb into one of these little contraptions-"

Another beat of silence, and Philip turned pleading, wide eyes on his wife.

Pride be damned.

"Oh come on, Lilibet," he goaded her, reaching out to pinch her nose. "I went with you to all of those horse breeding stables."

It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it the moment the words came out of his mouth, and Elizabeth's face closed off. They didn't need that reminder, after all.

He sighed. "I'm sorry. But this," he gestured toward the plane sitting in the grass just beyond where they now stood, "I'd very much like to share this with you."

He hadn't realized that until this moment. Hadn't realized that, while this had been the one thing that was his, that he didn't have to give up or cede to the higher authority of his queen, Philip very much wanted to share it with her, as they had everything before the throne had stood between them.

They didn't share anything, these days. Not the same bed, not the same breakfast, not even the same last name.

His wife looked at him, a long, open look full of the vulnerability she'd shuttered away since placing her father's crown on her head. He owed it to her not to look away, in that moment, and at the same time felt entranced by those eyes, lost in them.

He never want to look away.

"Mr. Townsend," she looked away first, and the spell was lost. "I don't suppose this will find its way back to Buckingham Palace?"

"He's a good chap," Philip said, inwardly crowing as he reached out and clapped Townsend on the shoulder. "You won't tell anyone about this, will you?"

Townsend glanced between the Duke and Queen, and a small smile twisted his face. "No, sir. Ma'am. Your secret is safe with me."

Philip turned back to Elizabeth, grinning like a child. "There, you see?"

His wife didn't quite look like she did see, hesitation furrowing her brow as it had been doing for far too long now, and Philip barely withheld a sigh.

Then his Lilibet smiled, the coy little smile that started at the corner of her mouth and slowly branched outward, the one that always made him want to kiss those lips and damn whoever was looking.

And when they came down from the plane some hours later, Elizabeth murmuring that it had been terrifying while her smile whispered that it had been just as wonderful as he had thought she would find it, her hair in wind swept dissarray and eyes wide and bright, Philip pulled her into his arms and did just that.