1
The White House had grown silent, but Calix had only vaguely noticed it. Hyperfocus, one of his college professors had taught him once. The ability to focus on a task so completely he didn't take in anything about the world around him. It had explained a lot to Calix, for example, how he could sink into a book and not hear his husband calling his name a thousand times. Matthew had come to accept it over time, but he'd teased Calix mercilessly.
His assistant, Sheila, had left hours before, but Calix had wanted to finish reading the reports on his desk. He should've known that was an impossible task. Three hours later and he'd barely made a dent in the pile. In his defense, he still had a lot to learn, so he couldn't quite distinguish between what was important and what he could safely delegate. After all, he'd been on the job for only a couple of months, and both he and Del had expected to have much more time to prepare for the transition.
No, not Del. President Shafer. He had to stop calling him by his first name, a habit that was hard to break. They’d known each other so long, but dammit, he'd address him properly before the man left office. Del cared little for formalities, but Calix was embarrassed when he slipped up in front of others. It had been one thing when Del had been vice president, but now that he was president, it mattered.
Calix closed the report he'd finished reading and leaned back in his chair. With a precise move, he dropped his head to the left, holding it for a few seconds, then stretching the other side. His neck hurt; it always did. The pain had become a constant companion. He'd consulted every specialist, tried every therapy from acupuncture to foot reflexology, but nothing worked, so he'd accepted he'd have to get used to the ache.
He pushed his chair back and got up, then did a few more stretches in a futile attempt to get the kinks out of the muscles in his neck, shoulders, and back. He'd better make sure to get a good run in, in the morning. He'd been working too much, even by his standards, and his body was paying the price.
A quick check on the clock told him it was past nine in the evening. He really needed to go home. Not that there was anyone waiting for him, but working eighteen-hour days had become a bad habit. No matter how grand his office in the West Wing was with its dark blue carpet, the mahogany desk, and classic chairs that had probably cost more than all the furniture in his house combined, it wasn't home. Not that his house even felt like home without Matthew waiting for him.
He was just packing up the last stuff when a faint noise drifted in from the hallway. He frowned. Del had left for the residence already, hadn't he? Yeah, he'd gone up around seven for dinner with Sarah and Kenn. So who was still here?
Calix had sent Levar home early. It was a slow news day, and they weren't expecting anything else today that warranted the press secretary's presence. Besides, the guy deserved to be with his boyfriend every now and then. He and Henley really were too cute together, and that was coming from a man who rarely shipped couples. Between those two and the new lovebirds Seth and Coulson, the Secret Service Agent and FBI agent who had found each other, love seemed to be in the air. But not for him. Never again. He'd had the love of his life…and he'd lost him. That part of his life was over.
He walked into the hallway and almost ran into Rhett. "Hey, what are you still doing here?"
Levar had recommended Rhett Foles for the position of White House photographer, and Calix had gladly followed his advice, wanting someone who could be trusted more than anything else. Rhett was not just Levar's longtime friend but his roommate as well, and so far, he'd done a terrific job, earning every high praise.
Rhett took a step or two back. "Earlier today, the president asked me to take some photos of the family dinner. I'm sorry. I should've checked it with you. It's not an official White House function, but I think he likes the idea of preserving memories for later."
"Oh, that's all right. No need to explain. Whenever the president asks you to do something, you don't need to come to me first."
Rhett's face filled with relief. When dealing with him, Calix should consider his vulnerability more. They all had their trauma from the Pride Bombing, but Rhett seemed to be still struggling more than others. Not that Calix blamed him or thought he was weak. Everyone was different and handled the horrific events of that day in their own way and at their own pace. Rhett seemed to need more time than others.
"Okay, that's good to know. I wasn't sure if I should ask you or not, but it didn't feel right to question the president's requests either."
Calix smiled to assure him. "Yeah, you're caught between a rock and a hard place. Technically, I'm your boss, but obviously, the president trumps me at any time, so good luck figuring out that chain of command."
Rhett blinked. "That's very helpful. Thank you."
Calix loved the slight cheekiness in that statement. "How are you doing otherwise?"
Now that he'd bumped into Rhett, he might as well check in with him. The faint smell of vanilla hit his nose, and he took a quick whiff. Where was that coming from? Was someone baking cookies? How could that even be? The West Wing had no kitchen.
"I'm okay. Good, I mean. I'm good."
Calix refocused and cocked his head, studying Rhett. He was thirty-two, if Calix remembered correctly, but at times, Rhett appeared much younger than that. Not immature or inexperienced, just vulnerable. Almost fragile. Like a child he wanted to protect. Maybe because Calix was fifteen years older? Fucking ancient compared to Rhett. "Which one is it, okay or good? We both know there's a vast difference between the two."
Rhett looked at the floor, shuffling his feet. "I didn't think you were asking me to share the details of my troubled existence. I figured 'good' would be the appropriate answer, since it's not like I'm dealing with any urgent disasters or calamities."
Calix chuckled. "The details of your troubled existence, huh? That description covers a lot. A touch dramatic, but I like it."
Rhett peeked at him from beneath his lashes. "It's kind of a running joke between Levar and me. I shouldn't have used those words. I promise I'm good to work here."
"Rhett, I wasn't criticizing. I thought it was funny, a little tongue in cheek and self-deprecating, which I can appreciate."
He kept his voice gentle. Rhett reminded him of an animal, a rabbit that would flee if you came too close, or a kitten that hadn't decided yet if it could trust you or not. Skittish, that was the word.
"Oh, okay. Sorry."
"And my question wasn't purely work related. You're doing an outstanding job, your photos are amazing, and I have no concerns whatsoever about your performance or your ability to carry out your duties."
The tension between Rhett's eyebrows disappeared. "That's good to know. Thank you. I really like this job."
"Yeah? What do you like about it? Because it seems to me, it's so…passive? You're recording what others are doing. Again, that's no criticism at all, but it feels to me like you're always the observer."
Rhett's face lit up, his blue eyes coming to life. "Exactly, and that's what I love about it. I've always preferred to watch from the sidelines. Even in high school, I was the one who did the videos for the football team, took photos for the school newspaper, worked on the yearbook committee every single year. The idea of recording history for prosperity appeals to me."