by Tal Bauer
“Merry first Christmas, love,” Jack whispered into his ear.
Ethan pulled back. “First?”
“Our first together. More to come.” He said it like it was a declaration, a promise, something Ethan could cling to and build a future on.
“Merry first Christmas, Jack.”
Ethan made breakfast in his boxers while Jack sat and watched from the kitchen island, tangling his feet around Ethan’s thighs every few minutes. When the cinnamon rolls were in the oven, Ethan pounced, lifting Jack from the island and carrying him to the couches in the West Sitting Hall. Laughing, Jack pulled Ethan down, and they made out while the snow tapered off outside the windows and the smell of warm cinnamon and fresh-squeezed orange juice filled the Residence.
They fed each other, Jack making a show out of licking the sticky mess off Ethan’s fingers and giggling absurdly. Ethan swiped frosting on the tip of Jack’s nose, over his chin, and along his neck, and then took far too long licking it off.
Jack’s parents calling interrupted their antics. Jack answered with a hoarse voice, a little too raspy and a little too low, and Ethan flushed.
His mom and dad didn’t mention it, though. Ethan traded his first nervous hellos with Jack’s parents over speakerphone, Jack’s warm eyes fixed on him, a soft smile permanently on his face.
“Ethan?” Jack’s mother said. “Is it really you? After all this time, we’re finally talking?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s me.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry―”
“It’s all right; we’re finally talking now. You two having a good Christmas so far?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He hoped his huge smile translated into his words, into his voice, for Jack’s mom.
“Well, I’m looking forward to meeting you, Ethan. Come down to Texas sometime. Bring my son, too.”
Ethan laughed. “I will, ma’am. I’m looking forward to meeting you both as well.”
“We’ve got to meet the guy who has made our son this happy.” A new voice broke in over the line, an older man. Ethan froze as Jack’s head dipped, but he kept smiling, looking up at Ethan as he braced his elbows on his knees. “Haven’t seen him like this in years. Whatever you boys are doing up there, keep it up.”
Ethan coughed. Jack laughed and reached for the phone. “Okay, Dad, thanks for embarrassing him.”
“What? I didn’t say―”
“So what are you both up to today?” Jack redirected the conversation and winked at Ethan, and they listened to Jack’s parents talk about making their way to church and then dinner with a few friends later that day.
“Next year,” Jack’s mother said, steel in her voice, “we’ll all be at the White House together. Right?”
“Right.” Jack elbowed Ethan, and a moment later, Ethan echoed him. “Right!”
Snorting, Jack shook his head. “All right, Mom, we’ll let you go. We’ve got to get ready for stuff here.”
“Merry Christmas, dear. Merry Christmas, Ethan.”
They wished Jack’s parents well and hung up.
Jack turned to Ethan, suddenly serious and clutching his phone tight.
“Every year…” He hesitated. “Every year, I call Leslie’s parents. I know it’s been… forever. But I still do it. Is that okay with you?”
What could he say to that? Ethan’s stomach flip-flopped, but he nodded. Of course Jack would keep in touch with his dead wife’s parents, would keep that connection alive.
Jack laced his fingers through Ethan’s as he dialed and held his hand through the call.
Leslie’s parents asked about him. Over the phone, Ethan heard them tell Jack they were happy he’d found someone again, finally. Were happy he was happy.
When Jack hung up, he leaned into Ethan and kissed him softly.
They got ready after that, showering and shaving and dressing in khakis and sweaters. Ethan traded “Merry Christmas” texts with Scott, Daniels, and Inada, and a few other agents. Sent one to Becker, after thinking too hard about it.
At noon, they headed downstairs, hand in hand, and helped the White House caterer set up a Christmas lunch Jack had arranged for the staff. Ham and turkey, stuffing and cranberries, cornbread, sweet potatoes, and green beans stretched across the State Dining Room’s grand table. Jack stacked plates and rolled napkins stuffed with silverware, and Ethan helped ferry the heavy dishes and trays of glassware.
Ethan brought down a stack of Christmas cards that Jack had signed for everyone on duty and laid them out. Inside each, Jack had slid a hefty gift card to DC’s premier steakhouse.
As they finished prepping, the first of the Secret Service agents came through―younger agents Ethan had supervised before his bump up to command and then his transfer away. They grinned and shook his hand, but took a much more professional and sedate tone with the president. Daniels trailed behind the younger agents, and he and Ethan hugged and wished each other a merry Christmas.
“You took the day?”
Daniels nodded, standing beside Ethan and waiting for his agents to grab their food. “I’m a single guy and my family is all in Cali. I’m not going to fly back for just a day. Besides, I learned from someone else that a great leader takes the sacrifice.” He bumped Ethan’s shoulder.
Ethan said nothing. Daniels gripped his shoulder before he moved off, and Ethan watched him save two seats at the big table after he grabbed his food.
Watch Officers from the Situation Room showed up next, and then the stewards and White House staff. Ethan and Jack hung back until everyone had gotten their food, and then they dug in and sat down with Daniels, surrounded by everyone. Jack, naturally, dove into a dozen conversations.
Lunch went long, everyone reluctant to leave, and they ended up laughing over empty plates well into the afternoon. Duty called, though, Watch Officers wandering back to the Situation Room, Secret Service agents bleeding away, until Jack and Ethan were alone. They cleaned the room themselves, stacking plates and glasses and knives in bins for the kitchen and bunching up dirty tablecloths onto a cart in the corner.
Daniels poked his head back in when they were finished. Jack detoured to the Residence before they followed him down to the garage and slid into one of the blacked-out SUVs, bundled up in wool coats, scarves, and gloves. Daniels drove them south, through the empty streets of DC as Ethan and Jack held hands and watched the city slip by outside the windows.
Eventually, they pulled to a stop within Arlington National Cemetery, snow crunching beneath their tires. They were alone, the cemetery a still, silent place. Marble headstones poked above the white snowdrifts, and beyond, frail branches scratched the sky next to evergreen trees dusted with powder.
Ethan unfolded a map showing the newer section of burials, and Jack collected the bouquet of winter-white roses he’d placed in the SUV.
Daniels hung back after they walked to the section of new graves. “Levi.” Ethan turned to his friend. “Come with us?”
Daniels nodded.
Together, they walked through the recent burials, finding the eleven Secret Service Agents who had died in Black Fox’s attack on the White House. Jack placed a white rose in the snow at each of their headstones as Daniels and Ethan shared memories of the fallen agents, stories from on duty and off, jokes and memories and pranks they had all pulled on each other. Jack listened to every word, smiling and sad at the same time, his eyes bright with both joy and grief and lined with unshed tears.
Dusk had fallen by the time they finished. Daniels led them both to the SUV with his flashlight, holding out his hand to steady Jack over the slippery ice frozen across the pavement. They drove home in silence, Ethan holding Jack close and Daniels glancing at them in the rearview every few minutes.
Ethan gave Daniels another hug when they got back. Jack shook his hand, and Daniels disappeared back to Horsepower while they headed to the Residence.
Ethan detoured Jack, though, tugging him toward the East Room.
The dance floor from the Christmas Ball was still sp
read out, the decorations still up. He turned just the chandeliers on, dimming the lights, and pulled out his phone. A few taps, and then slow Christmas music started up.
Ethan rested the phone on the mantel as “Santa Baby” belted from the speaker. He held out his hand.
Jack laughed but took Ethan’s hand and spun in his arms. “You lead this time,” he whispered, cupping Ethan’s cheek with one hand as Ethan held the other to his chest.
They danced alone in the ballroom as the songs rolled on.
Eventually, Jack led Ethan back up the Residence and to the Study. A fire was already going, and Ethan’s packages had been added under the tree.
Jack grabbed all five and carried them to the couch. Grinning, he passed the first present to Ethan. It was small and light, and Ethan’s heart skipped a beat as he ripped the paper.
An ornament sat in his hands. A silver frame, and inside, a picture of him and Jack in front of the tree in the East Room when Daniels had taken their picture. It was after the kiss, when Jack was laughing out loud, turned toward the camera, and Ethan was staring at Jack, grinning like a little boy. On the bottom of the frame, engraved in bold swirling strokes, it read, “Our First Christmas.”
Jack was quiet as Ethan stared at the ornament.
“It’s perfect,” Ethan whispered.
Jack gently plucked it from his palm and went to the tree. He picked a high branch, dead center, and slipped the satin ribbon around a finger of evergreen. It bobbed and bounced, but the ornament stayed on. “Now it’s perfect.”
When he sat, Ethan passed Jack the bigger of his two boxes. He couldn’t smother his grin at all.
Jack tore into the wrapping paper and then the box. He burst out laughing, his head tipping back against the couch, before he slid the teddy bear out. “Aww.” He fingered the curled bit of shoelace going from the bear’s ear to his suit and the engraved sunglasses hiding his eyes. “Is this my stand-in Secret Service bear when you’re not here?” Jack’s eyes twinkled.
“Something like that.” Ethan’s cheeks were on fire. “I thought it would make you smile.”
“I love it.” Jack tucked the bear against his side and leaned over for a kiss. “He’s going to be well loved. Almost as much as you.”
Ethan chuckled, and then Jack tossed him a squat, small box, wearing a wild smirk. Suspicious, Ethan tore into the paper carefully, and then flipped the lid on the plain cardboard box inside. He pulled out a coffee cup.
But not any coffee cup. Someone had taken a picture of Jack and turned his portrait into a rainbow of modern art. Jack, from his campaign posters, with his amazing smile, done in streaks of bright, brilliant rainbow.
“I found it online.” Jack laughed, still holding the teddy bear against him. “I thought it would make you smile.”
“This is amazing. I’m going to take this to the office. They won’t know what to do.”
“No one will steal your cup, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, God, no.” Ethan set his new coffee cup on the table.
He hesitated. His smile faded. Chewing on the corner of his lip, he passed Jack his second and final gift. Had he gone too serious? Jack’s gifts had been light and fun, but his next veered sharply from all that.
Jack turned to face Ethan, tucking one leg beneath him and plopping the bear in his lap as he picked apart the wrapping paper.
Ethan’s lips thinned when Jack got to the dark blue satin. He couldn’t look away.
Slowly, Jack lifted the lid and froze.
“Wow,” he finally breathed, just when Ethan thought his heart was going to burst.
“This is a… really nice watch.”
He’d gone all-out, getting something tasteful and classy, not boastful, but something he had to dip into his savings to afford. “I, uhh.” Ethan cleared his throat. “I had the back engraved.”
Jack’s eyes darted to his before he plucked the watch from its satin pillow. Ethan watched him read the words Ethan had agonized over for days: J, All of my hours and all of my minutes now belong to you. ~ E
He held his breath, waiting.
“Ethan…”
“There’s, uh, a long history of first ladies giving presidents watches. In the old days, pocket watches. And then wristwatches.” He scratched the back of his neck, trying to hide his grimace as Jack stayed silent. “I just thought it would be, you know, a historical touch.” Silence. Ethan wanted to disappear.
Jack held out the watch in one hand and turned his other wrist over. “Will you put it on me?” His eyes were burning, his gaze brimming with joy―with love―and he had one of the biggest smiles on his face that Ethan had ever seen.
His fingers shook as he wrapped the leather band around Jack’s wrist, and his gaze lingered on his engraving right before the words pressed against Jack’s skin. It felt bigger than just a watch, bigger than just a Christmas present, and he kissed the inside of Jack’s wrist above the clasp after he finished.
Jack reached for him, tugged him close, and kissed him soft and sweet. “I love it,” Jack whispered against his lips. “I love everything about it. Thank you.”
Smiling, Ethan pressed his forehead to Jack’s and closed his eyes.
“You have one more gift.”
He reached for Jack’s last present. It was slim and flat, and as Ethan tore into the paper, it was Jack’s turn to bite his lip. Jack gripped his new bear, his eyes wide. The wrapping paper fell to the carpet.
A book sat in Ethan’s hands, hardbound in navy blue. Printed on the cover, beneath the same picture of him and Jack from the Rose Garden that he had tucked away on his desk in Des Moines, were the words “Year One.”
He breathed in slowly, flipping the book open.
Pictures from the campaign dotted the first half page, followed by Jack’s election victory night. In every picture, Jack was there, but so was Ethan. Him, in the corner of the frame, serious and glowering over the crowd. Him, protecting Jack on a handshake line. He turned the page. Jack, just before the Inauguration Parade, and him at his side.
“I asked Pete to pull every photo of the two of us. Even ones before we were together.” Jack shrugged, and his fingers played with his bear’s tie, plucking at the fabric. Photos of him and Jack at Camp David, laughing side by side, captured by the White House photographer. Images back in DC, him holding the door for Jack as he entered the Oval Office. They were both smiling, and there was something there, something in their gazes that stole Ethan’s breath. Even before everything, even before they were secretly hanging out―not even dating, not even friends― there was raw electricity crackling between them.
Pictures of him hanging out in the Oval Office, chatting with Jack. Before The Kiss, but after he’d given Jack his cell phone number. When they were… not dating, but more than colleagues.
Him and Jack, walking back to the Residence at the end of the day, the Rose Garden on their right in brilliant bloom. Jack, his jacket off and thrown over one shoulder, laughing at something Ethan had said. Ethan, shaking his head and looking down, supposedly escorting Jack and not planning on sneaking up to meet him in the Residence shortly after.
Prague. His fingers stuttered on the page. Between the last picture and Prague, his foolish kiss had happened beside the pool table in the game room.
There was a picture of him at Jack’s side, climbing out of the presidential SUV right before he met with Puchkov for that fateful early morning meeting. Jack had leaned into his side, and Ethan had wanted to grab him and hold on forever. Jack’s face was tight and Ethan looked ready to brawl, but they were angled toward each other, almost desperately, as if they wanted to turn toward the other and melt into his arms. He had felt exactly like that, but he thought he’d done a better job hiding it.
Another image, him shadowing Jack making the rounds at the cocktail reception after. His eyes were fixed on Jack as Jack spoke with the German chancellor.
And then, the next page, when Air Force One landed stateside after Prague. Someone had c
aptured a picture of Jack passing him his jacket that he’d left in Jack’s cabin on Air Force One, and the way they were beaming at each other―
Well. It was no wonder Scott had figured it all out that moment.
Pages of pictures after, mostly official ones from the White House photographer. Apparently they had been a favorite subject of his. No guessing why. There was something in each photo of the two of them. Something special. Something electric. Something hidden and raw, like there were secrets in the depths of their eyes, in the touch of their hands. Of course, there were. In one photo, Ethan escorted Jack down the West Wing hallway, his hand ghosting over the small of Jack’s back.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I always loved it when you did.”
More pictures of the two of them drinking coffee in the White House mess. Jack perched on the Resolute desk, listening to Ethan outline a security plan for one of their trips. The two of them in the Rose Garden, passing a football back and forth as Scott and Daniels watched, bemused. Them, looking into each other’s eyes as Jack passed by Ethan, walking into the Oval Office and so close they were almost touching. Walking side by side down the Cross Hall, a little too near for propriety’s sake.
Selfies from Jack, the first of many. Them on the Truman Balcony. Them side by side on the couch. Jack laughing next to a blushing Ethan, standing in just his boxers and holding his pool stick. A picture Ethan had never seen, him asleep against Jack’s shoulder on the couch and Jack pressing a kiss to his hair as he looked at the camera.
Ethan’s cheeks ached, and he took a shaky breath. “This is…”
“Keep going.”
He turned the page.
Jack accepting his folded flag in Arlington, looking like his world had ended.
Jack, one hand hovering over Ethan’s coffin.
Jack, sobbing, nearly collapsing into the coffin, barely able to stand.
“I didn’t know if I should leave those. But they happened. They’re part of us.”
It took a few swallows, but Ethan finally managed to get past the lump in his throat. His fingers traced over Jack’s bowed back, the despair in his face.
