by Tal Bauer
Jack nodded, gripping his hand too-tight. His eyes pinched, but he stared at the tree as Ethan held his hand. “The names are on the stars,” Ethan whispered. “Her name is up there.”
Jack closed his eyes. He pressed a long kiss to the back of Ethan’s hand, breathed in, and then turned away. “What’s next?”
Ethan led him down the hall, pointing out the oversized snowflakes hanging in between the garlands. Glittering and suspended almost in midair, they twirled slowly, winking in the soft light of the hall. “Fifty-six snowflakes,” he said. “One for every state and territory.”
From room to room they went, from the China Room, and its army of snowmen and a flocked tree trimmed with glittering lights, to the Library, where winter forest creatures played on the bookshelves and a rustic woodland theme seemed to sweep the room away. Thick velvet and holly berries twined with the evergreen garlands, and a squat pine sat in the center of the room, bedecked with antique ornaments. The fire crackled, and oversized stockings hung from the mantel, cradled by delicate snow bunnies and porcelain reindeer.
Secret Service agents had shown up in twos and threes, filing into the rooms and watching Jack and Ethan. They were relaxed and casual, and Ethan’s heart warmed in the Blue Room when he figured out what they were all doing.
“During the holidays, the Secret Service helps out with the tours,” he said, leaning close to Jack. “We all really like it, actually. People are always nice, and it’s the only time visitors can take pictures. We stand post in the different rooms and give a little presentation. Tell them what’s there and the history of the room. The decorations.” He nodded to the agents hanging out by the tree. “Looks like they’re putting on a private tour for you.”
Jack beamed and headed for the agents. Beech, Caldwell, Hawkins, and Hanier stood off to one side next to the official White House Christmas tree. They smiled at Jack, shook his hand, and then Jack was off, asking question after question about the tree―decked out in white ornaments, white lights, and white satin ribbon―and the decorations around the room―golden baubles and snowflakes that hung in the windows overlooking the South Lawn. Beyond, the Washington Monument rose into the night sky, lit up for the world.
Daniels sidled up to Ethan, his hands in his pockets and chuckling at Jack posing for pictures with the Secret Service agents in front of the tree. Each agent had to stand for two pictures―one for their camera and a selfie on Jack’s.
“Thanks.” Ethan met Daniels’s bright gaze. “This will mean a lot to him.”
Daniels clapped him on the back. “Means a lot to us, too. Having you both here.” He squeezed Ethan’s shoulder. “It’s not the same without you.”
What could he say to that? Ethan looked away, squinting, but smiled when Jack headed back. “It’s a peace tree.” Jack whistled, looking the tree up and down. “Did you know it is eighteen feet and two inches tall?”
“Eighteen two?” Ethan took his hand. “It was seventeen eleven and half last year.”
“We’re supposed to go to the Red Room next.” Jack grinned. “I was promised a good story there.”
Ethan laughed and led Jack out into the hall. “This one is all on Scott. And he’s not even here to protest.”
They made their way into the Red Room, once a salon to first ladies in the 1800s. Ruby walls and rich-red furnishings gave the room its name, and cranberries were the decoration of choice. Three delicate Christmas trees stood in an arc, circled with cranberry garlands, pomegranates, and bright-red apples. Painted cardinals perched on branches and evergreen boughs were draped along the walls, twinkling with sparkling lights.
Miniature evergreen trees and topiaries made from cranberries sat on the tables in between flickering candles and silver sculptures of snowmen and reindeer.
“So,” Daniels said slowly. “No joke, Agent Collard once tried to eat his way through this room.”
The other agents laughed as Jack’s jaw dropped. “He’s lucky this is all edible.”
“It was the year everyone made a big deal about being organic. I don’t know what was going on with him. Maybe he was hungover, or―” Ethan shook his head. “But he was starving, and in between every tour, he’d start munching on the cranberries. Swiped a bunch of apples. At the end of his shift, he had to smuggle out this urn he’d stuffed his fruit cores into.”
“The urn is still down in Horsepower,” Hawkins called out. “Hoffer put it up on the main desk.”
“Hoffer was the lead before me.” Ethan’s arm snaked around Jack’s waist. “He retired, and I got the job.” His lips thinned, and Jack’s hand fell to his, holding it in place on his hip. He’d gotten the job, the best position in the Secret Service, and had lost it in less than a year.
“He tried to turn the cranberry trees so no one could see the eaten parts.” Daniels shook his head, laughing along with the other agents. “You could hear the screeching all the way in Virginia when the florist discovered the wreckage.”
“Did she figure out who did it?” Jack’s eyes twinkled.
Ethan, Daniels, and all the agents shook their heads. “We kept that one in the ranks.” Daniels winked. “You’re an honorary agent now, I guess, Mr. President.”
Jack grinned, and they all filed out, Jack shaking his head and chuckling. They moved down the Cross Hall again, beneath the glittering chandeliers and the softly spinning snowflakes. Jack kept his fingers laced with Ethan’s, their footsteps muffled in the thick red carpet running the length of the hall.
“This next room—” Ethan’s throat tightened. “This was my room. I held post here for years during the holidays. It’s the best.”
Jack squeezed his hand.
And then the agents ahead pushed open the heavy wooden doors to the East Room, the largest room in the White House, where all the balls and receptions took place. Ethan’s breath caught, Jack’s jaw dropped, and even Daniels whistled as the group wandered in.
Iridescent and gold icicles hung from the ceiling, alongside shining globes and crystal snowflakes. Champagne, winter-white, and silver fabric draped the walls, sweeping along the crown molding and tumbling to the floor. Wreaths trimmed in golden ribbon hung on the walls. Four Christmas trees, smaller than the official tree, but not by much, lined the back wall between the windows, covered in dazzling icicles, pearl garlands, vintage jewels and gemstones, and gold and snow-white orbs. Over the fireplace, an overlarge mirror had been decked in garlands and champagne ribbons, and golden stockings hung from silver snowflake hangers. “President of the United States” had been stitched on one of the stockings, and next to it, “Vice President of the United States.”
Ethan’s heart did a flip-flop, his chest tightening. “They have other stockings,” he said softly. “Usually there are ones for the First Family up there, too.”
Jack’s thumb brushed over Ethan’s bruised and scabbed knuckles. “These stockings are nice.” He leaned into Ethan. “But we’ll have our own upstairs. Yours will be right next to mine. Where it should be.”
He wanted to kiss Jack, but there were agents with them. Other than when Ethan had appeared back from the dead, they were circumspect in their public displays of affection. Another piece of their puzzle―trying to keep media attention away from them, away from their lives.
Though, there were no cameras in the room, no media; just him and Jack and agents who had been Ethan’s friends and comrades for years.
But still… he held back.
“Tell me about what you did here.” Jack tugged him around the room, inspecting everything, listening as Ethan relayed story after story of standing post in the East Room. From his first holiday season twelve years ago to the last, a year before he joined Jack’s campaign. Little kids he remembered awed by the decorations, shyly waving at him from behind their parents’ legs. Endless pictures he took of tourists in front of the trees and the fireplace, trying to get people to laugh when he took their picture by calling out something ridiculous instead of “cheese.”
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��All the holiday parties are in here, too. The big Christmas Ball. All the others.” He frowned, and Daniels made his way over. “Levi, how many photo lines is Jack doing this year?”
Daniels whistled. “Oh, way, way less. Only two, actually. The big Christmas Ball and the Hanukkah Festival of Lights. The rest are parties without photo lines, and even those are way down.”
“Good.”
Jack’s eyes darted from Daniels to Ethan, and his eyebrows quirked up.
“Photo lines are hard on everyone, but especially the president. You stand here―” Ethan pointed in front of one of the trees, next to the fireplace. “And you shake hands and take a photo with every one of your guests. It takes hours. And you’ll get the weirdest people there. People who have just vilified you. They’ll stand in line and take a photo with you at Christmas like nothing is wrong.” Ethan shook his head. “The congressman who led the impeachment against your predecessor? He came here for a Christmas photo.”
“Yeah, Mr. President, between your travel schedule, your weekends already being booked, and the sensitivity of everything, your chief of staff pulled out all but ten Christmas parties at the White House.” Daniels ran his hand over his mouth, exhaling. “It’s still a lot. You are only scheduled for the two photo lines, Mr. President, and the other eight… Well, you’re actually out of town for three of them. VPOTUS will take those.”
Jack’s eyebrows had continued to climb, almost all the way off his forehead. “Lawrence cancelled holiday parties because of the sensitivity of the situation?” His eyes flicked to Ethan. “You’re not talking about Ethan and I, right?”
Daniels shook his head quickly. “No, Mr. President. The upcoming combat operations. Going to war. Never looks good to celebrate before a war.”
Jack exhaled, but nodded. “I agree. But we also can’t let go of traditions that unite and define us. That give us hope.”
“This is a good balance, Mr. President. This time of the year gets hectic, and you’re already traveling a lot. You don’t need a ton of appearances on top of that. You’ll run yourself down.”
Ethan stood at Jack’s side, listening to Daniels gently counsel Jack into agreement. It was part of the Secret Service job, guiding the president at times to the right decision for his safety and security. And sanity. “The Christmas Ball is great.” He rested his hand on Jack’s lower back. “You’ll love it.”
“Will you be there?” Bright hope shone from Jack’s gaze.
Ethan looked to Daniels.
“It’s two days before Christmas.”
The day he arrived for his Christmas vacation. No matter what Shepherd said, Ethan wasn’t the kind of guy to just blow off his job, his responsibilities, or the oath he took when he became a Special Agent. He had his vacation days and he was sticking to them, no matter that he wanted more with Jack. “I will be. I’ll get in that day.”
Jack pressed a kiss to Ethan’s cheek. “Hey, let’s get a photo in front of the tree.”
They went for the big tree next to the fireplace, and Daniels snapped pictures on his and Jack’s phones, first of everyone gathered together and then of just Jack and Ethan, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, smiling for the camera. The rest of the agents clustered behind Daniels, watching and grinning.
“C’mon, Ethan. Act like you like the guy a little bit. Give him a kiss!”
The agents whistled and cheered, laughing as Jack’s ears flushed a ruby red. But he turned to Ethan and smiled, a question in his eyes.
It was all on Ethan.
They tried to be circumspect everywhere, tried to nip the media frenzy in the bud, but this was their home. These were men who Ethan had served next to for years, men he considered friends, and who were cheering them on, literally and in every other way imaginable. Did he need to hold back in front of such support?
He cupped Jack’s cheek, his thumb stroking Jack’s warm skin, and leaned in, capturing his lips in a slow, heated kiss. Jack smiled against him, moaned softly, and slid his fingers through Ethan’s hair as Daniels and the rest of the agents catcalled and clapped.
“Whoa, whoa!” Daniels kept taking pictures, practically a hundred of them kissing in front of the tree. “Do we need to vacate? Give us a minute to give you the room, sir!”
And then Jack was laughing, turning away from Ethan with crimson cheeks, but he gripped Ethan tight, clinging to his shoulders. Ethan held his waist, and they shared a lingering look as the agents started to file out.
Daniels made his way back to their side, handing Jack his phone. “Ready to head home? Or want to hang for a bit?”
Jack laced his hand through Ethan’s and brought it to his lips. “Home.”
“Will you tell me what happened?”
Jack traced the scabs and bruises on Ethan’s knuckles, almost but not quite healed from when he’d tried to murder the boxing bag in the Des Moines field office gym.
They were in the Residence’s kitchen, leaning against the counter, sharing a beer and laughing at the pictures Daniels had taken on Jack’s phone. Unbeknownst to them, Daniels had flipped the camera at one point and the agents behind him had all smiled for a group selfie.
Ethan chugged for a moment, not looking at Jack. “I was frustrated.” His voice was low, and it ground through his throat.
Jack waited.
He finished the beer and rolled the bottle back and forth in his hands. Sighed. Set the bottle on the counter behind him and closed his eyes. “You know the case I was working on? The one I told you about?”
“The counterfeiting ring. The one you just made the arrests on?”
“I… had to give it up. Transfer it to another agent. I’m not allowed to run any investigations on my own anymore.”
Jack frowned, a deep line furrowing between his eyebrows.
“I still build the cases, and I’m still investigating… a little. But I have to turn everything over to Agent Becker.” He snorted. “Blake Becker was twelve years old when I started in the Secret Service. Twelve.”
“Why? Is this punishment?”
“It’s containment.” Chewing his lip, Ethan scuffed at the floor with the toe of his shoe. Rubber squeaked on tile. “If I were to lead a case that went all the way to court, my whole history can be brought up. My character. The kinds of decisions I’ve made.” He couldn’t look at Jack, not with this. “Any case I manage would be destroyed in court.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry,” Jack breathed.
“Not your fault.”
Ethan could feel the burn of Jack’s gaze on his profile. “It’s not yours either.”
It was Ethan’s turn to stay silent.
“I made my choices―” he finally started.
“We made our choices.”
“And I knew the price when I made them.” Finally, he turned to Jack. There was pain in Jack’s eyes, frustration and anger. “I knew this would be the price I had to pay. Losing this.” He jerked his chin, trying to encompass the whole of the White House. “Losing privileges. Losing credibility.”
Exhaling hard, Jack leaned on the counter, his forearms on the marble. His eyes flashed, raw anger surging and scaring away the pain. “You shouldn’t lose any credibility. You’re a hero, damn it. You saved everyone.” Jack swallowed. “I mean that. Everyone.”
Ethan turned and shouldered up to him. “I’m okay. I have what’s important.” He nudged him and tried to smile. “It’s all worth it for me because I get to come here and do this.” He leaned in, dropping a kiss to the corner of Jack’s lips.
Jack didn’t seem ready to let it go. He frowned. “Your boss can’t help at all? I thought the Secret Service was close. You would do anything for your guys. Hell, you did do everything for them. You and Agent Collard saved so many lives when you retook the White House.”
Snorting, Ethan shook his head. “No. Shepherd would rather see me bounced out of the Secret Service. If he could take my badge and gun, he would.”
That didn’t help. Jack’s
anger surged back. Ethan could feel it thrumming through Jack’s body, tightening his muscles.
Jack shoved back from the counter and went for the fridge, pulling out another bottle of beer. His gaze, though, landed on Ethan’s scabbed knuckles, and all the fight seemed to flee out of him. “So,” he said, coming back to Ethan’s side. His fingers traced over Ethan’s battered knuckles again. “What happened?”
“Beat a punching bag a few hundred times.” Ethan tried to smile, tried to turn it into a joke, but it came out sad.
“Call me instead? I’ll always listen.”
This time, Ethan really did smile. It was small and soft, but it was there. “Okay.”
“And… is there anything I can do?” Earnestness had replaced the anger in Jack’s gaze.
“People already think I get special treatment.” He leaned over, kissing Jack’s cheek. “I don’t think getting you involved will put that rumor to bed.” Jack grumbled but drank his beer.
And then he turned back to Ethan, a sly grin curling his lips. “I know this one agency, though. Real workhorses. You may have heard of them. Called the IRS.”
Ethan laughed out loud, his head tipping back. “No.”
“What? Surprise audits going ten years back for all the people who have even looked sideways at you. Everyone will be too busy to bother you anymore!”
He kept laughing, pulling Jack to him and burying his face in Jack’s hair. “It would be too many people to audit. You’d need more IRS agents.”
“Done. For you? Done.”
Ethan pressed kisses to Jack’s ear, light and delicate. “I’m okay, Jack,” he said softly. “Really. This―” Smiling, he squeezed Jack’s shoulders. Pressed his forehead to Jack’s. “This is what matters most to me. Right here.”
They went to bed after that, lounging naked in Jack’s bed, talking. Jack wanted to hear everything about Iowa. About Shepherd, about Blake Becker. About the case he’d built, and how he’d had to give it all away. Jack’s eyes were full of sadness as they lay face-to-face on the pillows, talking softly with the lights off. Ethan had one leg hitched between Jack’s and one hand tangled in Jack’s hair, his thumb stroking Jack’s temple.
