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The rainbow of sparkling lights dancing in lines as Leo and Ellen wrap it around the tree swirls the panic in Alex’s brain into a very merry and bright shitstorm. He lets his eyes go unfocused and be overtaken by red and blue and green and yellow dots as he feels his heart rate stop before it picks up again at a much too rapid tempo.
This is fine , he thinks to himself.
Henry is coming tonight.
He says as much to June.
“Henry is coming tonight,” he tells her, and she turns around, her pony-tail bouncing as her face settles into the mocking oh, really pout that she gives Alex far too often. He’s too stressed to be pissed.
“Is he now? Is that why you’re turning into an anxious, twitching, potted plant? Seriously, help me,” she punctuates her demand by dropping a tub of ornaments into Alex’s unprepared arms. Struggling, he shuffles and drops it closer to the tree, hoping everyone else will know what to do with it. As June noticed, he is clearly occupied with a neurotic episode about the forthcoming arrival of his royal British boyfriend.
It would be their first Christmas officially together.
The thought of Henry being with Alex during a White House Christmas, as his boyfriend, a member of his family, was so joyous that Alex’s heart did somersaults every time he thought of the two of them, strolling along the marble halls with the wreaths and the lights and the music . Alex would never tell anyone, but he loves Christmas music so much . Especially cheesy covers in Spanish. It’s not Christmas until he can’t look out a window without Blanca Navidad playing in his head on a loop for the rest of the day.
Christmas at the White House is the one time of year when he doesn’t miss Texas.
Well, not too much , anyway.
It wasn’t the presents (especially since June was the worst gift giver and Alex usually got his own things that she’d forgotten she’d taken), or the hot chocolate, or any of that. It was the smell of pine trees, the warmth of the lights and smiles against the cold snow, and the snow , catastrophically beautiful.
As someone who loves to set goals and make plans, New Year’s should have been his holiday of choice. But no. He always dreaded it, as it meant he had to wait all year for the next Christmas season. If he had any judicial power, he’d petition for a second Christmas season in March. On his birthday, preferably. Although, that could get awfully troubling if anyone thought he was comparing himself to Jesus. Separation of church and state and all. Although, in that metaphor, Ellen Claremont would be God, which Alex had to say was a better image of God than the one that a considerable amount of the population had.
Anyhow, all that his current goals account for are getting Henry next to him and under the mistletoe ASAP. He pulls out his phone.
“If you’re planning on asking Henry when his flight gets in, stop,” June holds out her hands before taking his shoulders, her features considerably less disapproving and nearly empathetic, which, for June, is as close as it gets. She shrugs. “Two hours. I already checked.”
Alex’s heart promptly and dutifully stops beating, but June’s teasing smile revives it enough to keep Alex breathing.
“Oh, calm down. You look like a Victorian lady who’s corset is tied too tight. Sit down before you have a fainting spell.” Her voice lowers. “How’s the present coming?”
She knows exactly the chord she struck, and Alex dissolves into a new anxiety fit, full with hand-wringing and hyperventilating.
“Really, sweetie,” Ellen pipes in, turning to Alex and clutching a heaping pile of sparkling silver garland. “Is it because you’re embarrassed of us? This is his first Christmas with the family, after all, and yes, we tease you, but – “
“Mom,” Alex stops her calmly. “I’m too old for you to embarrass.” He tries to say it as a joke. The words come out strained, and they don’t even manage to soothe him, especially after Ellen shoots back a gleaming grin.
“Oh, really? Well, we’ll see.”
Alex, in addition to being insanely nervous, is now also terrified for his life. It truly cannot get any better.
“Nora!” June shouts, but she’s laughing. “Stop hanging the garland in dick shapes.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” Nora replies, grinning and continuing to string silver and gold whammies onto the tree. Her Santa hat bobs as she jumps down from the ladder haphazardly, which everyone observes worriedly. She lands unscathed and with a flourish and a bow.
Alex groans. “I’m going to go to the kitchen and drown myself in eggnog.”
“Hey, save some for me!” Nora calls to him.
“It’s my stress eggnog, ” he calls back, and doesn’t stick around to hear any of her indignant defenses. He has a vat of Christmas goodness awaiting him and his worries.
Alex may have consumed too much eggnog, as he wakes at an indeterminable but definitely darker hour sprawled out on the kitchen counter, his mouth sticky and head fuzzy. Groaning, he raises his head, wiping his face but only finding his hands as sticky and wet as his lips. His vision swims into focus and he sees that he had fallen asleep in a puddle of eggnog, mingled with his own drool. How lovely. Numbly, he stretches his limbs from their sleepiness and fumbles to stand, but not before he hears a small chuckle.
Alex rolls his eyes. “Ha, ha, June. Don’t you fucking dare put this on Twitter like last time – “
But he turns, and it’s not June, it’s Henry, leaning against the counter by the sink, snickering behind the Doctor Who mug he leaves there and uses every time he comes to visit Alex.
Alex freezes. “Oh,” he says.
“Need a napkin, dear?” Henry asks, still laughing, and Alex frantically goes to wipe his face on his sleeve, but Henry is prepared and slides onto the stool next to Alex, holding out a stack of napkins.
Alex doesn’t look at Henry, but tells him seriously as he cleans himself off, “These are non-reusable napkins. Who let your environmentally dangerous presence into my White House? You’ll have to answer for your carbon footprint at the end of the age, you know.”
“What, is Mother Nature scheduling a rapture now, as well?” Henry asks playfully.
“Well, actually – “ and that’s all Alex can say before his lips are on Henry’s, his hands in his hair. Henry’s surprised and falls back on his stool a little, his tea splashing on the counter as he struggles to put his mug down as Alex is attacking him. Even his eggnog coma has no bearing over him when he’s holding Henry. He’s as alive as he could ever hope to be, his heart thrumming in a rhythmic affirmation of yes, yes, I love this man with everything in me, yes.
Henry puts up no struggle against Alex’s advances, but he’s still giggling, like how he does when he’s tired. His hands settle on Alex’s waist and the weight of them is so familiar and warm that it sends a shiver through Alex’s whole body, but the kind that’s tingling with warmth, not frigid, not at all.
All Henry says between kisses and giggles is, “My dear, you’re sticky.”
“I’ve missed you,” Alex ignores him and murmurs, resting their foreheads together but holding Henry tighter.
His eyes soften. “You saw me two weeks ago.”
“And?”
“We face-timed this morning.” Henry’s lids droop.
“And?”
“We…”
His defenses are used up, Alex knows by the slope of his lips and the sleepiness of his eyes, how he tilts his chin up to press a small kiss against the corner of Alex’s mouth. Alex can’t help but feel victorious, like how he always does when he succeeds in making Henry succumb to sentimentality.
This kiss is softer, more patient. They have time, after all. And it’s Christmas.
Henry pulls away and licks his lips, then laughs. “Okay, you really need to clean your face. Christ, you’re like a toddler.” Henry pats Alex’s hair lovingly, and Alex teases him with a small, sticky kiss on his nose.
“C’mon, you have to like eggnog.”
“I prefer to drink my beverages and not lick them off someone’s face.”
Alex waggles his eyebrows. “Well, we all have our preferences.”
He stands from his stool and goes to the sink to get a washcloth and obediently dowses his face until the whole front of his sweater is wet as well.
He’s surprised to feel Henry come up behind him and settle his head on Alex’s shoulder, his arm around Alex’s waist.
“I’ve missed you, too,” Henry murmurs.
Alex sinks into the embrace.
Christmas with Henry .
How much he’d give to stop time, to live in a snow globe of this moment.
For now, though, he settles for his sopping shirt, sleepy eyes, and Henry’s arms holding him together, like they so often do, and he forgets that the next three days will feel far, far too short.
“Oh, for Chirissake, her husband cheated on her! Dump him, Helen!” Bea shouts, tossing a handful of popcorn at the tv. Of course, Bea and Pez are also there to join in the celebrations, but they had promised Alex that he could have Henry to himself whenever he wanted, wink wink. Going on the fifth hour of their Christmas movie marathon, Love, Actually has them all in different states of emotions. While Bea is distraught, Nora is patiently wiping away June’s tears. Alex and Henry, however, are engaged in the bitterest battle they have ever had: a bake off, Christmas style.
Alex is doing considerably well, he thinks, considering his baking experience consists solely of watching the Great British Bake-Off with Henry.
It was truly his own hubris and Nora’s demonically conniving idea that got him into this situation, and though he should be begging for mercy, he’s not willing to give up so easily. Especially when it comes to Christmas cookies.
Yeah, he’s definitely going to lose, but he won’t go down easily.
Besides, Henry looks really cute in an apron.
“I want my sugar cookies!” June screeches amidst her tears. Now Alex is stressed with not only beating Henry, but the emotional burden of providing his sister with her Sad Cookies. It’s too much for him to handle. He’s sweating, and not just because he opened the oven to take the cookie pans out. Thankfully, he had not burned them, but there were still several more prep stages in which calamity could strike.
And then there was Henry, peacefully humming to himself as he mixes icing. Ugh, his arms. It sure doesn’t help that Alex finds competition hot. It’s truly remarkable that he hasn’t fallen over yet, watching Henry be so Henry that it physically aches.
Oh, he is so going to lose. He resigns himself to the fact that Henry’s prize will probably be beneficial to Alex as well, and it doesn’t hurt that he’ll get some baked goods out of it.
Nora sneaks up behind him as his hands shakily prep a bag of bright blue frosting. She rests her head lightly against the side of his arm, in no way helpful to Alex.
“Are you, you know,” she says suggestively, “actually going to frost them?”
“Stop, please,” Alex says. Oh, lord, is he going to cry? How do they do it on all those baking shows? It’s worse than torture. All the pressure. Everything that can go wrong. Give him an election any day.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were a baking contest wimp .” She shoves him aside with all the determination her small frame will allow and he yelps, which Alex assures himself is only because she caught him at a wounded moment. He thinks he might hear Henry huff out a laugh, but Henry’s dead to him until this is finished. Alex drags up what’s left of his self-respect and sterns his face, ready to bitch at Nora for taking over.
“Now, you see here,” she begins condescendingly, motioning the frosting bag deliberately to teach him how to frost, like he’s a three-year-old with hand-eye coordination issues. “You’ve got to – “
“Nora, I – “ he says at the same time, opening his mouth wide to object to this whole exercise. But as he prepares to tear into her and reclaim his frosting bag, something wet, sticky, and sweet lands in an elongated swirl across his face.
Nora stifles a laugh.
Alex closes his eyes, feeling the frosting slide down his face.
“Nora.”
“Mhm.”
“You have about three seconds to run.”
He doesn’t give her three seconds. Turning swiftly, he scoops up the tub of powdered sugar and in a practiced motion dumps it completely over her head as she shrieks, spraying him with more frosting.
Henry protests the shenanigans that he’s in the path of, but he is drowned out by Alex and Nora’s accelerating battle of baking materials. Though, as it’s Henry, he tries to play diplomat and is only rewarded with a large glob of blue on his nose. For a moment, they pause, and Henry turns for the bag of flour.
“No!” Alex and Nora scream and go to run, but they skid on the mess on the floor, and by then Pez and June have blocked their exit and have armed themselves with chocolate and caramel syrup.
The mess is catastrophically sweet. All of them are sticky and sliding and dusty and laughing so hard it hurts, a truly beautiful mess. The Residence’s kitchen will likely never get everything off of the cupboards and the floor and the woodwork, but none of them care, at least in the moments when they’re huddled on the floor, laughing and smearing frosting all over each other’s faces. Henry’s is striped with red and white, and gently he dots Alex’s face with blue stars. Alex doesn’t protest, he’s already a mess, and Henry’s hands move as delicately as if he were indeed painting a masterpiece. Both of them miss Bea snickering and snapping pictures of the wreckage, astoundingly unharmed.
“Aw, shit, I think I have caramel down my pants,” Nora whines, breaking the moment only slightly.
June and Pez snicker and ask simultaneously, “Can we help?” before giving each other a high five. Nora pouts, but pointedly does not say no.
Just as Nora starts to rise, complaining stickily, a creak signals to them a door opening down the hall and they all hush.
It was likely not the sight Ellen Claremont expected to see in her kitchen that evening when she went to make herself a cup of tea, but it was.
She approaches, looks down at the mess, surveys Alex most guiltily, which his mouth is too stuck and heavy to even try to protest, and sighs. It’s not an angry sigh. Ellen does not usually have time for anger unless it is of the productive sort.
As they all watch, still frozen, Ellen maneuvers around the mess, fetches a mug and a tea bag, and retreats back to her room with one final sigh.
The five on the floor and Bea look at each other but still don’t release their breaths until the oven timer goes off. Nora waddles over to Alex and patiently says, “Your cookies are done,” before shuffling away from the disaster zone.
Alex knows he’s going to be the one left to clean it all up, but he looks at Henry and his smile, and he doesn’t care.
Christmas Eve. Lights, music, laughter, food, family. Perfect.
Except it isn’t. Alex is more nervous than he’s ever been, even the election. He can’t get his hands to stop shaking. Even wrapping them tightly around a warm mug of hot chocolate isn’t helping. He’s almost spilled it on himself so many times. Henry noticed, giving Alex concerned glances all throughout dinner, but Alex just smiled weakly, only increasing Henry’s look of skepticism. Shit. It’s all going to be shit.
Ellen and Leo always gave out their gifts in the orderly and traditional manner, but Nora always found out what everyone was giving and getting and spoiled it all, so the gift exchange between her, him, and June had always been of the spontaneous sort. Alex isn’t sure if he’s grateful or not that it gives him more time to think about where, when, and how to give his gift to Henry, but he’s too anxious to not be thinking in circles. His knee bounces the whole night and his mom asks him if he’s trying to run a race.
A social hour among the other Hill staffers and officials gives him time to pace to himself, as Henry is off charming some Senator from Nebraska with his knowledge of classical American Literature, or something. Alex bolted as soon as he could, and he’s now pounding back eggnog shots in the kitchen.
June finds him, as she always does, and leans against the counter, smiling knowingly.
“You’re having an episode,” she tells him.
“What? No, I’m fine,” Alex brushes her off with a raspberry and another gulp, which she psh-es in protest.
They exchange looks, the ones that only they can interpret and that drive everyone else crazy, until Alex finally gives in, like he usually does. June is relentless, and Alex is in a weak emotional state, so he decides it’s not a total loss of pride for himself. He’s deserving of a breakdown, after all.
“I’m so nervous.”
“No, shit. But why?”
He doesn’t know if he can say it, or if he has the words to say it. Not that he can’t tell June. It’s just that it’s stupid and he knows it’s stupid and he knows saying it out loud will make it worse.
Alex sighs, looking into his mug. “I’m scared.”
June waits.
Alex takes another deep breath. “I’m scared that… I don’t know. That this is all a dreamy eggnog haze and I’m going to wake up tomorrow and everything I thought was perfect will fade away and I’ll be alone and – “
His breath catches, and though he’d planned to go on, he doesn’t when he sees June laughing.
“What? C’mon, can’t you let me have one dramatic, emotional moment in my – “
“You’re unbelievable,” she snorts, and Alex fights the indignant look on his face.
“What do you mean?”
“Are you actually insecure enough to think that you’re not Henry’s entire world? Really, Alex. I thought you weren’t that obtuse.”
Alex pauses, because though June is being mean, she’s not entirely out of place. “I’m not his – “
“You’re everything that matters,” she tells him firmly. “And you should know that.”
With one more wide-eyed, pointed look, she turns, having said all she needed to and now returning to champagne flutes and politically flirty small talk.
Alex is still at the counter, her words ringing around his head and into his nearly empty mug. He swirls the dregs before setting it roughly on the countertop, punctuated by a “fuck it”.
Whether or not June is right, Henry is his world, and he’s just being a paranoid bitch if he lets any fears or questions get in the way of that. They were one of the few things Alex could always count on, him and Henry, the most complete when they were together. This was their first real Christmas together, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.
Alex stomps off to find Henry and to embrace the lovesick fool he is.
It’s getting late, almost to the part of the evening when they all retire to the East Room and listen to the choirs and bands invited to perform Christmas carols, usually children’s choirs that leave Alex in tears. He can hear them starting up Little Drummer Boy from down the hall, but he’s focused on his task. In his hand he clutches the wrapped volume and he turns, trying not to trip over his feet as he scans each crowded room for Henry.
And he finds him in none of them. Rather, Henry is lazily sitting on a cushioned bench down a quieter hall, looking dazed yet still regal in his absent solitude. Maybe it was just Alex’s loving gaze or the holiday glow of the shadowy golden lights, but he looks angelic, a true Christmas miracle. Alex’s miracle. His breath stutters, and that’s when Henry turns and sees him, and his frame seems to soften, or maybe it’s just Alex’s vision going fuzzy.
Alex begins walking quickly over to Henry, who stands. Alex wishes he hadn’t. This would be so much easier sitting down. He always knew he had the swooning disposition of a Victorian lady, just like June says, and it was Christmas and he was with Henry and he was nervous and there was a children’s choir singing down the hall and he was almost definitely going to fall over.
“I thought you’d abandoned me,” Henry chuckles. “I’m not as eager to discuss Nebraskan weather patterns for as long as you might think.”
Alex smiles weakly, and the soft glint in Henry’s eyes radiates love and concern. Alex hopes he hasn’t blown this. He really was an asshole, leaving Henry alone. But he couldn’t change that now. He could only go forward. He hopes Henry will be able to forgive him. Henry is always the first to understand when everything becomes too much for Alex, though, so he tries not to dwell on what would happen if this was perplexing enough for both of them. Was he capable of that?
“I’m sorry,” Alex breathes, and Henry tugs on his lapels and pulls him closer.
Henry smiles sweetly, knowingly. “What’s wrong?”
Alex, nervous as hell, tries to play it off and grins his dashiest. “Just – “
“Alexander, you look absolutely pale and frazzled. What is going on?”
Thankfully, Henry ushers him onto the bench to calm his nerves and ease his shaking legs. Alex breathes in and out and tries to bring his mind back into his body, Henry’s hand on his steadying him and making him ache for more, wishing he wasn’t divulging into a neurotic episode.
“It’s going to sound stupid.”
Henry grins. “Try me.”
Alex tugs at his lip, unsure even how to phrase it. It was one thing telling June, who, even if she didn’t completely understand, would offer sure and knowing advice. But if he told Henry, would he think there was something wrong? Because there wasn’t, there really wasn’t and Alex didn’t want to worry him at all… but…
Could something be so much and so right that it’s overwhelming? Not that he wants less. It’s just, what he has with Henry has taken on another life, another form, and Alex isn’t sure how he fits into it. He’s tried to find the mold, to guide him, but there is none. It’s perilous and scary, even though right now they feel like they’re coasting, with no international scandals or elections to worry about. But that’s all out of their grasp, and the storm that Alex has been wrestling with is of his own unwilling devising. He can’t crunch the numbers and scan the data or find a catchy way to phrase it to divert attention away. He’s changing, stretching to fit himself around this new thing. Growing around it, swallowing it, and when it bleeds, so will he.
Alex stares at their hands, intertwined and steadying, and he looks up at Henry.
“I have something for you.”
Henry doesn’t say anything when Alex hands it to him, and he untwines their hands to carefully peel back the wrapping.
Alex’s nerves settle to a simmer when Henry looks at him, smiling but questioning.
“It’s, uh, genuine nineteenth-century binding. Gold leaf pages. Just, open it, please.” His voice sounds so weak, but Henry obeys, his brows crinkling and lips softening as he pages through the collection Alex made of all their messages, all the quotations they shared, all the poems Alex has read since that reminded him of Henry when he was missing him. The salvation, the damnation, the words that had made Alex pace and curse and the ones that had made him feel something he didn’t think was inside him. It was all there. Their own story. A choppy, piece-meal story, but Alex hoped the presentation made up of that.
Henry settles on the dedication in the front cover, where Alex’s careful cursive wrote only “Inextricably Yours”.
He stays on those two words for a while, and Alex watches as his fingers lightly trace over the ink, solemn and reverent.
“Alex,” Henry says gruffly.
And that’s all it takes for Alex to return to his senses. Well, his most annoying ones, at least.
“I didn’t really know what to get you because you can really have anything you want, so I figured it had to be something you can’t just get. And, I don’t know. You love books. So, I really figured I couldn’t go terribly wrong with that. But then I panicked because putting it together made me worry that so much of that is past us and I don’t remember exactly what it all felt like, and things are so good and calm right now, but every night I go to bed and miss you and feel like my whole world is spinning in circles and – “
Henry shuts him up with a kiss. It’s a sure-fire method that Henry has mastered, and it’s like Alex is suddenly frozen, having forgotten everything that was making him jittery and unfocused. Henry focuses him. Henry’s hands, steady and sure, and Alex holds on.
When they finally separate, neither of them acknowledges the slight tears forming in their eyes. Henry laughs, looking at the book. “It’s beautiful. I feel foolish now about what I got you.”
He pauses, like he’s thinking, or wishing he could take it back, but he turns and takes a small box out of his jacket pocket. “It’s, well, it’s nothing really special, but – “
Before he can finish Alex has the box open, entirely too eager, and Henry laughs. It’s a saturated one, and Alex wishes he could bottle it up and carry with him.
On a soft cushion in the box sits a two-faced watch.
“So,” Henry starts shyly, “you’re keeping time for both of us.”
Alex smiles. He loves it. He loves it so much that he has to diffuse it somehow. After a moment of gnawing on his lips, he speaks.
“Is this because I’m always late?”
Henry bursts into laughter so loud that it echoes down the hall, and Alex can’t contain himself either.
When he regains his breath, he goes on. “Really, Henry, I don’t see how this will help. I don’t know if I can miss a class and tell my prof, ‘Ope, sorry, I was on London time!’”
They laugh, just the two of them in their own little world, and when they finally settle, Alex presses a kiss to Henry’s forehead.
“Thank you.”
Henry helps Alex fasten the watch onto his wrist, and the ticking next to his pulse is assuring and grounding. Definitive of both their distance and their promised proximity.
For a minute, they lean on each other. Alex breathes like he hasn’t in weeks. He doesn’t feel strange having his eyes closed or being still. Henry’s here, Henry’s close, and now they both have another piece of each other to carry with them.
The lull settles, and Alex hears the quiet revive into a peaceful melody as the music starts up again down the hall. He grins next to Henry’s ear.
“Come with me,” Alex says, and holds Henry’s hand as he leads him back to the East Room, where they make it in time for the final echo of the round.
“Sing choirs of angels
Sing in exultation
Sing all ye citizens
of heaven above
Glory to God
All glory in the highest
O come let us adore Him
O come let us adore him
O come let us adore Him
Christ the Lord.”