Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.

Pairing - HarryKingsley

Word Count - 494

Written for the pairing the character challenge, on HPFC (it's been a minute!)

The Reality Of It

"You did everything you could," Kingsley said softly, running a hand through Harry's soft, dark hair.

Harry sighed. "Doesn't feel like it."

"We can't always save everyone, Harry. As hard as it is, sometimes, people are going to die before we can do anything."

"I… intellectually, I know that," Harry agreed. "I'm struggling with the reality of it."

Kingsley nodded and pulled his husband closer. As an Auror, Kingsley understood the pressures and the pain of losing someone. Harry being a healer made no real difference, in this, their professions were all too similar.

"I'm going to run you a bath, and when you're done, we'll cook together and stay home and snuggle, okay?"

Harry frowned, pulling away to look at Kingsley. "The Ministry ball is in three hours. You're the Minister, you can't—"

"You are more important," Kingsley interrupted gently. "They will manage without me for one night."

Harry shook his head. "I'll take a bath, and we can eat, but then we'll go to the ball. You need to at least show your face, Kings."

Kingsley opened his mouth to argue, even though he knew for a fact that Harry was indeed correct that he should really go for at least the beginning of the ball. He wrinkled his nose and then nodded.

"Okay. We'll come home early though, okay?"

Harry nodded and pushed up slightly to press a lingering kiss to the corner of Kingsley's mouth. "Okay."

…

True to his word, Kingsley tugged Harry towards the exit only an hour and a half after they arrived at the ball. When they arrived home, Kingsley didn't let go of Harry's hand, pulling him gently to the bedroom.

He stripped Harry slowly, pressing delicate kisses to each part of his body as it was revealed, until Harry was naked. Kingsley stripped himself off much faster, and they climbed into bed together.

Harry seemed to relax fully for the first time since he'd returned home from the hospital, and Kingsley held him tightly. When the first tear hit Kingsley shoulder, he simply cradled Harry close and let him cry out the frustration and pain from his lost patient.

"I love you," he murmured, into the jet black hair repeatedly. He didn't tell Harry it was okay, because it wasn't. Loss of life was never okay, and he knew that saying it would be a redundant sentiment that Harry didn't want. "I love you."

Finally, when the tears stopped falling, and Harry, red eyed and tired looked at him gratefully, Kingsley caressed his cheek, wiping away the remnants of wetness.

"Thank you," Harry whispered. "I love you too."

If Kingsley held Harry a fraction tighter that night, if Harry woke up with fresh tears on his face in the middle of the night with his heart beating frantically in his chest, if Kingsley made love to Harry softer and gentler than usual the next morning, neither of them mentioned it.

They didn't need to.