by Tal Bauer
“You don’t have to!” Jack’s jaw had fallen open and his mouth had gone dry, his tongue hot and heavy and useless when Ethan had appeared, his bare chest in front of the camera. He swallowed. “I mean, you can. If―if you want to. But… you don’t have to.” He shrugged, a helpless smile tugging on his lips.
Ethan reappeared, his head poking back on camera. Wide eyes, and a shy grin, and… shirtless. He sat back down, his cheeks flushed, but cleared his throat. “How is it going?”
“Good so far. President Puchkov and I are making progress.”
“You guys done for the night?”
“Nope. Still working hard. He stepped out.” Jack spun his laptop, showing Ethan the silent Security Council chambers. “And that―” He pointed inside the camera’s feed to the spread of papers and files strewn across the council’s table. “Is our big mess.”
Ethan laughed as Jack spun the laptop back around. Jack folded his arms, braced them against the tabletop, and leaned close to the screen, smiling. His eyes, though, kept bouncing down to Ethan’s bare chest. His tanned skin. His muscles. His chest hair. “How was your day?” He forced his gaze back up.
“Good.” He talked about his case, and in the middle of walking through a piece of evidence they were puzzling over, he crossed his arms. His biceps joined the call.
Jack groaned, his head falling forward. Ethan laughed out loud. “Jack… Really?”
When Jack looked up, he saw the nervousness Ethan was trying to hide in his eyes. The corner of his lip being bitten. Jack sighed. “You caught me.” He grinned. “I’m sorry. I am so attracted to you.”
And there was the full flush, staining Ethan’s cheeks and chest crimson as he looked down. “I’m… uh… really attracted to you, too.”
It was sweet, the way they were flirting. Like they didn’t devour each other every weekend they could. Like it was still new and fragile.
In some ways, it was.
A creaking door across the chamber made Jack look up. President Puchkov came striding back in, holding two paper cups of coffee. He held one out for Jack.
“President Puchkov is back.” Jack smiled at Ethan on-screen. “Gotta get back to work.”
Ethan nodded. He blew a silent kiss to the camera.
“I love you, Ethan.”
Ethan’s eyes went wide.
Jack laughed. Of course Ethan wouldn’t have expected him to say it out loud in front of another head of state. But he would. He’d say it in front of everyone. In front of the whole world.. Endlessly.
“I love you too,” Ethan said softly. His eyes were blazing, burning up with love for Jack, a heat he could feel even a thousand miles away.
Jack blew a kiss as Ethan waved. The screen cut out. He closed his laptop, taking a deep breath, and then looked up, meeting Puchkov’s gaze.
Puchkov smiled. He headed back for their messy papers, setting down Jack’s coffee for him before he tugged one of their chicken-scratch drafts free. “So, Jack―” He stopped. Turned to Jack when he drew near. “May I call you Jack?”
Jack sipped his coffee and nodded. “Please do.”
“And you will call me Sergey.” Puchkov dipped his head and turned back to the draft. “So, Jack, I think we must adjust this sentence here. We must make it clear we are partners in this section as well as the others…”
9
Des Moines
Ringing speared through Ethan’s sleep.
He jerked back, rising from a facedown slump in his pillow to his elbows and fumbled for his cell on the bed.
It was Jack.
He swiped to answer, flopping to his back and scrubbing his hand over his face. “Hey, baby.”
Jack exhaled, breathless relief crackling over the line. “Hey.”
Ethan blinked hard and scooted up on his bed. “You all right?”
“Getting there.” He sounded shaky. “Hearing your voice is helping.”
“Nightmare?”
Jack sighed. “Yeah.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry I woke you up. It’s early. You should go back to sleep―”
“Hey, it’s fine.” Ethan moved the phone away from his mouth so Jack wouldn’t hear him yawn. “I’m glad you called. I don’t care what time it is.”
“Thanks.” Jack’s voice was soft, almost a whisper.
“What happened?”
A long sigh, and Ethan heard Jack moving in his hotel bed, blankets and pillows shuffling around him. “Al-Karim. When he had you. Made that video. But this time―”
Jack didn’t need to say it. Didn’t need to fill in the blanks. It had been only blind luck that he hadn’t had his throat slit in the first video. If Jeff Gottschalk had had his way, Ethan would have been killed then, on-screen, and Jack would have watched his beheaded body hit the dust as he stood next to the man who had made Ethan’s capture possible. Who had offered Jack false words of comfort and friendship.
“I’m here.” Ethan’s heart ached. What he would give to be there, holding Jack. “I’m here. I’m all right.”
Distraction, that’s what Jack needed. Something that wasn’t about war or terror, about darkness and nightmares. Something that would make Jack laugh. “I have a confession to make.”
“Huh?”
“Do you remember that big speech you’d recycle on the campaign trail? About American strength and prosperity?”
“Yeah…” Jack sounded confused.
Ethan grinned. “So, Scott and I were off duty one night. We rotated out, and Daniels and Inada were taking the lead. It was… Boulder. No. Salt Lake City. It all blurs together. We stayed in the hotel and watched your speech on TV and… we made a drinking game out of how many times you said ‘American strength and American prosperity’.”
Jack burst out laughing, music to Ethan’s ears. “How drunk did you get?”
“Pretty wasted. Scott gave up first. We were knocking back tequila we got from the gas station half a block down from the hotel. It wasn’t pretty.”
“I guess I did use that phrase a lot.”
“A lot? It was on bumper stickers, buttons, billboards, posters. Hats. T-shirts.” Ethan kept listing everything that had Jack’s pseudo-slogan. “It was everywhere.”
“It was a good call to action. American strength and American prosperity are things to be proud of.”
“Okay, I know that was a line from the speech. Do I need to get my tequila?”
Jack laughed again. “At four thirty in the morning? No!” He kept laughing, but then quieted, and Ethan listened to his soft breathing over the line. Then, Jack spoke. “Do you remember the first day we met?”
“Monday, July eleventh.” He didn’t even have to think.
“Wow.” Jack’s voice was full of wonder, a smile building in between the letters.
“Secret Service provides protection for major candidates one hundred and twenty days before the election. That was the day I reported to you.”
Snorting, Jack chuckled. “That was almost sweet.”
“You were wearing your blue suit. The one that makes your eyes look like stars. And a yellow tie. Everyone was teasing you about the tie. I thought you looked amazing. Presidential.”
Silence. “That made up for it,” he breathed. “You thought I looked amazing? Even then?”
“Always, Jack. I’ve always thought you were amazing. And looked amazing.”
“You intimidated the hell out of me.”
“What?” Ethan frowned. “I didn’t mean―”
“You were the first real thing that meant I could actually win. I was on the way to the White House. The poll numbers were there, but it wasn’t until you walked in the door that I realized I actually―seriously―had a chance at winning. At being the president.”
“And I intimidated you?”
“You can be fierce, Ethan.” Jack was smiling. Ethan could hear it in his voice. “You were… larger than life. The head of my Secret Service detail on the campaign. My new shadow. And I didn’t see you really smile. Not once.” He paused. “Until Chr
istmas.”
“I thought you were going to report me after Christmas.”
“Why would I do that? You were looking out for your team. For your guys. I thought it was great. Made me realize there was more to you. You were someone I wanted to get to know.”
Ethan snorted. “It’s admirable, you know, how you achieve the goals you set for yourself.”
Jack laughed again, and Ethan grinned as he chewed on his lip. He grabbed a pillow and held it close, as if it were Jack.
“There are some days,” Jack began, sighing, “that I wish I’d never run for president. But being president brought me to you, and I wouldn’t trade us for anything.”
His throat clenched, his heart thundering. “Neither would I. Not for anything.”
“Even with―”
“Not for anything.” Lying in the dark in an empty apartment while Jack was shaking off a nightmare wasn’t ideal, but it was something. It was theirs, a future they’d worked hard for, built despite all odds stacked against them.
“Thank you,” Jack whispered. “I think I needed to hear that.”
Ethan frowned. “Second thoughts?” He shifted, his feet rubbing together, and rolled onto his side, trying not to let his heart gallop out of control.
“Fears.”
He waited. “What about?”
“If you think the cost is too high for you. If you ever regret―”
“Never.” He sat up, leaning forward, even though Jack couldn’t see him and wasn’t there. “Never. I would make the same decisions again. Choose this every time.” In the silence that followed, Ethan’s chest ached, and he pressed his lips together as his palms slicked with sweat. “Would you?”
Jack didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Fears they couldn’t name, couldn’t face in the daylight, now spoken in whispers over the phone, half a continent between them. Answers Ethan needed to hear more than he could admit. Warmth flooded through him, and a wide smile stretched his cheeks. Made them ache.
“You still there?” Sounds over the line, like blankets shuffling. Jack had rolled over.
“Yeah.” Ethan cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“It’s almost five. I’m going to get up. Head down to the hotel gym. This amazing guy once told me that the best stress relief for a president is working out.”
“Amazing guy, huh?” He plucked at his sheets, still grinning.
“He’s such a hunk.”
Chuckling, Ethan fell back in his bed. “Have a good morning, okay?”
“Will you be able to get back to sleep?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” He chewed on his upper lip. “I’m really glad you called.”
“Me too. Thank you.” Jack chuckled. “‘Baby’.”
Ethan laughed at his cute greeting that had slipped out in his sleepy state. He’d never called Jack “baby”, or any other pet names. It seemed strange, somehow, to call the president of the United States “baby”. Maybe there was something else, though. Some other sweet nickname he could give Jack.
“Anytime.”
Silence, until Jack spoke again. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Jack’s address to the UN Security Council was big news. Big enough to break into the daily news cycle on a Friday and keep cameras locked on the deliberations. Ethan had the entire thing streaming live on his cell phone, his headphones plugged in as he worked in his cubicle, waiting for Jack’s big moment.
The true deliberations happened behind closed doors, in the consultation rooms off the Security Council chambers. Those conversations would come later, Friday evening and into the night, and even through the weekend, as the delegates debated after Jack delivered his and President Puchkov’s joint resolution to the Security Council asking for immediate approval on a joint invasion to combat the Caliphate-held lands in the Middle East.
When the blaring “Breaking News” alert flashed, he rose and headed for the breakroom, pocketing his phone only when he was in sight of the large flat-screen hanging on the wall and tuned in to TNN.
On-screen, Jack was adjusting the microphone. Flipping through his papers, until he had the start of his speech ready to go.
Ethan gripped the edge of a metal folding chair, the legs squeaking as it slid on the linoleum.
“Good morning,” Jack began, nodding around the Security Council chambers. “It has been twenty years since the United States was last here, making a request to the world for global unification in the fight against terrorism. As a nation, and together with the world, we learned a great deal. And we sacrificed too much. I,” he said, exhaling. His breath shook, just faintly. “Am a product of choices made twenty years ago.”
Ethan nodded at the screen, as if he could encourage Jack through the television.
“We are faced now with a new threat, one that has struck terror into all corners of our globe. The Caliphate has risen in the Middle East, born of the ashes of hate and an ideology that perverts the religion it purports to uphold. Radical sociopaths operate under the veil of Islam, devastating the lives of millions of many faithful, loving Muslims. Hundreds of thousands of people around the world have felt the touch of terror in their lives and have lived through horrors that should never have been.”
Behind Ethan, footsteps shuffled. Someone entering the breakroom. He didn’t turn.
“For too long, the world has stood without unity. We have not come together against this threat, and the Caliphate has taken advantage of our separations and distance. From strikes in Europe to attacks against their own people, the Caliphate has been left alone, given too much freedom to destroy and devastate. As nations, we have all carried out actions individually―” He gestured to himself and to President Puchkov, next to him. “―air strikes and special forces—”
To the United Kingdom’s delegation. “Air strikes and sophisticated intelligence networking—”
To the Saudi Arabian delegation. “Intelligence support, arms and financial backing to those who opposed the Caliphate—”
He glanced down at his notes briefly. “And, we have all done what we could to try to welcome those who have escaped from the horrors the Caliphate perpetrates against their own people. Accepted refugees who left everything, desperate for a chance at life without fear.
“The Caliphate has taken advantage of our goodwill, though. There has never been a more heartbreaking choice between welcoming people desperate for a chance at living free from the horrors of their devastated homeland hijacked by the forces of terror, and the fear that hidden within these people who need our care is a Trojan horse, waiting to destroy us from within the arms of our compassion. Europe has felt this terror too many times.”
Ethan’s lips moved with Jack’s, reciting the words of the speech. They’d practiced over and over, endlessly tweaking and refining the words and Jack’s delivery through the week, until Jack could say it all, his chin held high and without his voice wavering. For Jack, there were too many memories embedded in the speech, too many ghosts hanging in the words and between vowels and consonants.
“I come here today, united at last with a great ally.” Jack clapped President Puchkov, sitting next to him, on the shoulder. Puchkov smiled, and he reached back for Jack, gripping his shoulder for a moment before they both let go. Another first for the Security Council. “Together, we have come to the decision that the continued and ongoing threat posed by the Caliphate must be addressed, and addressed immediately. The Caliphate must be stopped, and their hateful ideology must be eradicated. We offer to the council today a proposed resolution asking for the world to join with us in our fight. Make no mistake. The United States and her ally, the Russian Federation, will take the lead in this effort. And we will act. But, we wish to do so united with the world, and not in opposition to her.”
Jack flipped another page. Subtly rolled his shoulders, a movement so faint Ethan was probably the only one who noticed. But he knew Jack’s body, knew it inside out, all his movements and quirks a
nd what they meant. “Bring it home, Jack,” he breathed. “Almost done.”
“The dangers of inaction are clear. We have already seen and felt the tragedies of the Caliphate’s actions. No one, anywhere in the world, has done anything to deserve these attacks, these horrors. Most especially not the civilians held hostage in the lands captured by the Caliphate. We, in this chamber, have a duty to the world. To address head-on the horrors that can lead to unspeakable tragedy. To set courses in history toward safety and security for all nations and all peoples.
“We ask today that the world join us. Join our will. Join our resolve. Rise to what our joint responsibility to this world is: to secure peace and freedom in every place, and serve the peoples of this great world. New realities have shaped our lives, and it is up to us to react justly to such realities, to choose to support freedom and liberty for all, and to make true peace a lasting reality. Our strength as a people―as a global force―lies in our bonds of unity and our steadfast commitments to supporting one another. Our compassion for our fellow man, and our resolve to stand united against the darkness, and to do battle with those who choose hatred.”
Ethan watched Jack press his hands to the table, flattening them. Another of Jack’s signs, a quirk that revealed his stress, his need to ground himself. He’d seen it, learned what it meant, and he swallowed hard as he watched.
“We bring before the Security Council our proposed resolution for immediate action against the Caliphate for your review and your vote. Thank you.”
Jack leaned back, breathing deeply as he schooled his expression to confidence. Ethan watched the slow rise and fall of his tie over his chest.
Puchkov stood, clapping and reaching for Jack, pumping his hand as he squeezed his shoulder. The delegate from the United Kingdom rose and clapped, as did the Saudi Arabian delegation. The Germans nodded.
France’s delegate glowered over their glasses. Japan’s stared. The Gambia’s president’s eyes narrowed. Nigeria’s president scowled.
Ethan watched as the camera panned over the Security Council chambers, the anchors talking over the Security Council president announcing a recess for deliberations. He tried to watch Jack through the movements of people, through the hustle and bustle on-screen, but he lost Jack as he stood with Puchkov, greeting the British prime minister and ambassador.
