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The President's Son Ch. 01

By: DWSimon



It was Christmas Eve, nearly midnight when the couple settled into their bed for the night. They had tucked in the grandchildren with kisses and promises of presents tomorrow. Their excited bodies refused sleep, until grandma sang softly to them and watched them drift to sleep. There was a game of pool set up for the brothers and brothers, the four of them joking good naturedly and ribbing each other, tossing back a drink or two. The couple was smiling contentedly, happy that the family was together for the holiday, all healthy and whole. As the couple settled down into bed, holding each other after they made love, content in their own happiness, the niggling worries of a mother moved to the forefront. Neither person could easily shut their minds off. This wasn't a family that could. For this wasn't just some simple suburban house, nestled in the glow of a small town Christmas. This was the White House and the couple was President John McNeely and his wife Madeline.

As the afterglow smile slowly faded off of Madeline's face, John looked down into his wife's eyes and asked what was wrong. Her reply was simple. "I'm worried about James."

John sat up straighter and looked into his beloved wife's eyes and could only nod, for he had seen James that day too. "He's not very happy, is he?"

She gave her husband a sad smile. "He's thrilled to be here, with the whole family. He loves each and every one of his brothers and sisters and their families. But he couldn't hide the look." She chuckled. "At least not from me. He never could."

John remembered that day so clearly, almost ten years ago, when his son had come into his study at the governor's mansion. He didn't flinch, he didn't fidget, but he could tell that James was nervous as hell. At seventeen, James had the courage of many men twice or three times his own age. "I'm gay dad. I know you are planning a run for the White House, I just didn't want anything else to come up and surprise you." That something else was his older brother Sam and his excessive sleeping around. The press built it up into a media frenzy of course, but the damage was still extensive. Sam had been caught at a sex party where there were lots of drugs and willing bodies. Sam hadn't taken any drugs, the toxicology report proved it. But he had been with at least four of the women. But it was a scandal that had been weathered well. John remembered the shock and fear that entered his heart. This was his boy, his baby that he'd cradled in his arms. The words didn't scare him, but what the world could do to him did. He didn't want any of his children to suffer, and this road was going to be filled with even more struggles than any of his other children would face. He stood and wrapped his boy in his arms, sad beyond words as James relaxed against him, obviously relieved. "I don't care James. It doesn't matter. You're my son and I love you. No matter what."

John was brought back to the present by his wife's voice. "He's lonely John." Her own voice was haunted, remembering the smiles at his nieces and nephews and the longing looks that one of his siblings got when they were holding their spouse. She frowned, realizing that she didn't even know if her son dated. "He doesn't have anyone in his life. You should know, the secret service watches over him once he leaves base. All he does is captain the sub and take an occasional leave."

John looked out across the bedroom, seeing the Washington Monument through the bedroom window, lost in thought. James had gone far in a very short time. He had enrolled and excelled in the Naval Academy. He was now Captain James McNeely, skipper of the USS Baton Rouge, a nuclear attack sub, stationed in the Pacific Ocean at Pearl Harbor. He had a great tan, but little else. Madeline was right; James was alone. "I'm ashamed to admit it, but I never thought about it. With the 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' policy still in place, I doubt if he has much of a chance to build a relationship."

Madeline sighed and followed her husband's eyes out onto the night sky of Washington. She felt guilty for being so wrapped up in her projects to not know that her son was hurting. Madeline knew he'd never admit it, but James was not happy. "Perhaps we should get him to have more of a social life. We could ask him to the state dinner next week."

John laughed. "I doubt seriously if he'd really want to dress up and toast to the new President of Burundi."

She smacked his still firm chest, stopping for a moment to tweak some salt and pepper chest hair. "Okay, so the situation isn't the best, but it is a social situation." She stroked John's chest and looked at him imploringly. "We need to help him and this is a start at least."

John captured his wife's hand, stilling it from tantalizing him anymore. "He ships out on a three month mission on the twenty-seventh. He won't be available."

Madeline rolled her eyes and plucked at another tuft of his chest hair. "You are the Commander in Chief. I'm sure you can see to it that that trip is delayed. Say for three weeks?"

John chuckled and pulled his wife in for a kiss. "Yes, I guess I can do that."

She kissed him back deeply, savoring the rise in passion between them. "I love a really powerful man." His chuckle was drowned out by her kiss as she straddled his still lean hips and moved against him before slowly taking him inside. "Very powerful, Mr. President."

* * *

The pool game had been over for an hour, basically breaking up when Sam's wife Martine stood in the doorway and tapped her foot. Sam grinned like the devil and made his excuses before picking her up and carrying her off to one of the many bedrooms. The others followed suit quickly; this left James alone with way too much time to think. He hadn't meant to feel jealous. But that's what he did feel. It really only hit him at times like this, when everyone was together. He loved playing with his nieces and nephews and had long ago accepted that he really wouldn't be having children of his own. But it was watching his brothers and sister. They had found love. They had someone to share their lives with.

As he wandered the halls of the White House, looking at paintings and the clutter of over two hundred years in each of the rooms he passed, he wondered if it wasn't just the holiday blues. James stood in the Yellow Ball Room and stared at the portrait of George Washington, wondering how old George would have handled the concept of gays in the military. Don't ask, don't tell was a bitch, but he knew of many people who somehow made it work. In the Academy, he hadn't wanted to push it. His dad was up for his first term and all of the kids were being watched. If Sam could screw up, the media vultures hoped one of the others would too. But James kept his nose in his books and graduated with honors. Then he started his very rapid rise in the ranks, and now he captained his own sub. He was proud of his crew, of the job he'd done. It wasn't the biggest or brightest boat in the fleet, nor was it the pack leader, but it was his. He took pride in it. While on board, he funneled everything that he was into that ship. It was only when he had shore leave that he began to doubt. Those doubts were getting louder with each passing day. But it had been so long since he'd even tried to date that he knew he was fiercely out of practice. Hell, the embarrassing part was that he had never even kissed someone, let alone had sex.

James continued to stand in front of Washington's portrait for a few more minutes, lost in thought when he noticed something outside. He walked up to the window and spotted the first flakes of falling snow. His smile was near bursting and he wanted so badly to go upstairs and wake all the kids up so they could see it. But he stopped the impulse. They'd get to see it in the morning. James turned and wished his secret service guard a good night as he walked up to the second floor and into the Lincoln Bedroom. He pulled off his clothes and crawled between the sheets, chuckling at the large size of the bed. He fell asleep while watching the snow fall outside, his problems forgotten for a few hours at least.

* * *

Christmas day was a fun one for the family, only interrupted by the President's speech to the nation. For once, the family got to spend it together. The next day, James flew out to Hawaii, ready for his next mission, the holiday blues forgotten. When he got on base, he headed straight for his ship, hoping to catch his Lieutenant before they were underway. Alec Masterson and James had been sailing together ever since James got his commission. They got on well together; disagreements were few and far between. They even hung out together for a beer or two during shore leave. James had been over to Alec and his wife Corrine's house several times for dinner. He liked the man and was glad that he had found such a capable and compatible coworker. He was a few years older, and he never seemed to mind that he served someone younger. When he arrived on dock, Alec was already in place, seeing to the stores when James walked up to him. They shook hands and greeted each other warmly. They were discussing the mission when a jeep pulled up and a messenger handed James a message, calling him into headquarters.

"Uh oh James, who'd you piss off this time?"

There was confusion in his eyes as he looked up at Alec. "No one recently."

"I'll see you when you get back." He got a quick salute before James walked off. "Oh, and by the way. Merry Christmas."

James turned around and smiled. "Thanks Alec. I hope you and your family's was good too."

As James walked off towards headquarters, Alec couldn't help but stare at his ass. The man wore military khakis like no one he'd ever seen. He didn't even try to hide the lust that he felt for his captain anymore. There just seemed to be no need. The man was oblivious. Of course he'd never admit it out loud. So he hardly ever slept with his wife anymore. Okay, so he'd keep his cabin's door open, hoping to catch the captain in the morning during his jog, when he'd run around in only his shorts. The man had an amazing chest, darkly forested with deep chestnut hair. The flopping of the obvious girth inside his shorts was a nice feast too. He'd lie back in his bunk many a night and think about that vision as he stroked himself. Alec had only gotten worried that one time, when he'd moaned James's name when he came. But no one heard it. No one knew his secret. A secret he would take to his grave. 

* * *

James stood at attention, waiting for Admiral Benson to acknowledge him. He had had a few run-ins with Peter Benson. The admiral didn't like having to kowtow to the son of the President. It didn't matter that James McNeely worked his ass off nor got as far as he did by his own merit. There was just something about him that pissed the admiral off. James accepted it for what it was; a personality conflict.

"At ease, Captain."

After James had relaxed his stance, the admiral handed James an envelope. "Your mission has been delayed for three weeks. You are to report to Washington immediately."

James groaned internally. He was just there. What the hell was going on? "My orders, sir?"

The admiral laughed. "You are to be the escort of the First Lady to a state dinner for the President of Burundi."

James didn't keep this groan internal. "I see. I'm sorry sir. I wouldn't have come back if I'd known they were planning this."

The admiral actually softened a bit at the captain. Perhaps he was what he seemed: a good sailor. "Don't worry. At least I'm not the one who has to dress up and play nice at a state function."

James was shocked by the reaction. He was expecting to get his ass chewed. Instead, he got what could only be called sympathy. "I'll make sure nothing like this ever happens again, sir."

"I don't doubt that in the slightest. Dismissed."

* * *

James fumed the entire ten hours of his flight to Washington. And it didn't help that he had the secret service with him. Because of the last minute nature of the flight, he had to fly commercial. By the time the plane touched down at National Airport, he was steamed. He grabbed his bags and crawled into the limo. He didn't even speak as they drove through the gates at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. He was pissed. He walked into the White House, bypassing security and headed straight for the oval office. He was still dressed in his whites. He had no idea at how many heads turned as he stormed through the halls on his way to the west wing. He stood for a moment outside of the oval office and calmed himself, waiting for his father to be free. Once the door opened he marched in and gave his father a perfect salute.

"James. What the hell are you doing?"

James stood at attention, enjoying seeing his father's perplexed look.

John stared at his son and recognized the square set of his jaw. He was pissed. He was afraid this might happen. "Now James, your mother is worried about you. She only asked so you could spend some time with us."

When James didn't even blink let alone move; John got fed up. "Oh for Christ's sake, at ease!"

James relaxed his pose but still stared straight ahead. About thirty seconds into this he realized he was being immature, but he didn't stop. In his best subordinate voice he barked out, "Reporting for duty, SIR!"

Now John was truly pissed. "You will not take that tone with me young man. I diapered your butt and wiped your nose. Do not for a minute think that I won't take you over my knee and teach you a lesson."

James lasted perhaps three seconds before he burst out laughing. John quickly followed suit. John walked up and hugged his son, wondering when the last time it was that he had. When he pulled away, James was smiling.

"I'm sorry dad. It just steamed me to fly all the way to Hawaii only to be called back."

John smirked. "If you hadn't taken off so early, I would have stopped you."

James looked down at his feet. "Yeah. I'm sorry about that."

John reached his hand out and cupped his boy's face. He needed to shave, but it was damn good to see him. Just then Madeline walked into the office and he decided now was as good a time as any for them to talk. "We got you here because we're worried about you."

James knitted his brows in confusion. What did they have to worry about? "Dad, we're at peace, nothing is going to happen on my ship."

John shook his head, wondering why he could talk to the nation and dance circles around the press, but he had a hell of a time talking to his own son. "This has nothing to do with the Navy. We're worried that that is all you have in your life."

Madeline looked at James and wondered how far to press it. Deciding that at this point it didn't matter, she forged ahead. "I saw how you were on Christmas Eve James. You're lonely."

James rolled his eyes. "Mom, everyone gets a little blue at Christmas time."

John looked at his boy, seeing that he was growing uncomfortable. "Blue is one thing. But this is different. Do you date at all son?"

James blushed a bit and shifted his feet, not wanting at all to discuss his sex life, or lack thereof, with his parents. "That has nothing to do with this."

Madeline came up and touched her son's face, pulling him to look into her eyes. "You're alone James. I can see it in your eyes."

James's blush grew deeper and his discomfort ratcheted up a notch. "This really isn't any of your business."

The answer wasn't good enough for his mother. "All we've ever wanted was for you to be happy. Can you honestly say that you are?"

James looked into his mother's eyes and wanted so badly to lie. But he couldn't. He lowered his head and mumbled out one word. "No."

John was curious, afraid he already knew the answer, but had to ask anyway. "Why have you kept yourself alone James?"

James looked out the window, anywhere but at his parents and he grew angry, not wanting to deal with any of this. "How can you ask me that? After what happened with Sam? You were running for President." He looked right into his father's eyes and told him everything. "I came out to you because I knew that you didn't need a single secret hiding to bite you in the ass. I locked myself away in the Academy because the press followed me everywhere I went while you were campaigning. Then you won and I graduated. Don't ask, don't tell." His voice scoffed. "It should be don't ask, don't tell, provided that your old man isn't the President of the United States."

The raw bitterness in his voice made tears prickle Madeline's eyes. "Are you saying what I think you're saying James?"

James looked away, feeling absolutely humiliated. John had to clear the lump in his throat. "I never asked you for any of this. You didn't have to do this..." His voice trailed off as he watched his son's shoulders droop.

His emotions raw, James felt absolutely naked and vulnerable. "You never asked, but I gladly gave. I believe in you dad. I always have." Madeline walked up to him and placed her hand on his shoulder, but he only shrugged it off. "To answer your question mom, I've never gone out on a date. I've kept myself completely alone, so there would never be any question." His voice was thick with tears that he didn't hear. "My God, I've never even kissed anyone."

With those final words, James left his parents and walked into his father's private office and suite, heading for the bathroom to splash water on his face. His parents stood in the oval office, staring at each other in horror. The tears ran unchecked down Madeline's face as she looked at her husband. His eyes were filled with tears too, guilt hitting him hard in the gut. "I had no idea. No idea at all."

Madeline walked up to her husband and pulled him into her arms. "I didn't either. Oh John, what have we done?" Then she burst into tears, feeling horrid at the pain and loneliness that her son was living with. She felt her husband's sobs as he cried out his pain too. She knew that he was blaming himself for this. But it really wasn't entirely his burden to bear. She shared in it equally.

James stood in the bathroom, looking at his reflection in the mirror, ashamed that he had shared that with his parents. He never wanted them to know. His sacrifice didn't seem that great. His reasoning, that you cannot miss what you've never known, seemed so shallow now. Fear is a great motivator, especially when you can hide behind such solid reasons. But the time for hiding was over. He dried his face and walked back out into the oval office, staring at his parents holding each other, rocking back and forth gently. That same spear of jealousy hit him again. In his mind, James knew that this was something he should have. He had a great pair of role models in his parents. His siblings had found this happiness too. It can't be that hard. But that first step scared him to death.

"Mom? Dad? I'm sorry. I'm sorry for hurting you."

Madeline stood away from her husband and walked over to her son, embracing him hard, kissing his cheek, his forehead over and over. "No. We should be the ones to apologize. You've done nothing wrong."

John came up behind them, holding both of his loved ones in his arms. "Your mother is right James. This isn't your fault."

James swallowed deeply, figuring that if today was the day for clearing the air, the least he could do was be completely honest. "I was afraid. I'm still scared." He swallowed audibly in the hush of the room. "I don't know what the first step is, so I never tried to take it. I used this as an excuse. Because I'm really a coward."

John chuckled, but there was no mirth to it. "You are the bravest person I've ever met."

Madeline agreed completely. "If you don't know what the first step is, we'll help you. Your brothers and sister found someone. You can too. You are too good a person with too much love in your heart not to."


The President's Son Ch. 01



James smiled for the first time, a genuine, warm smile that lit up his bright blue eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I think I should make that first step on my own. You know, the whole learning from my mistakes thing."

Madeline smiled up at him. He was so darn tall. If he had been an inch taller, he probably wouldn't have been able to be in the Navy. At six-four, he was too tall to be a pilot, and that had been his first choice. He was just as handsome as her husband, with some of her features thrown in to soften the sternness of John's harsh Scottish heritage. That deep brown hair and square jaw were sure to melt some man's heart. She was sure of it. "You can make those mistakes; just don't forget that we're here too. Don't shut us out."

James kissed his mother's cheek. "I promise."

John turned his son around and hugged him properly, holding on tightly. "Don't ever do anything like this again. I love you too damn much to have you hurt."

Once the embrace was over, the three left the oval office and walked to the residence. They shared a pleasant dinner and talked about Madeline's plan to use the state dinner to have him socialize a bit. James had never been comfortable with the concept, but figured that since he was ordered to be here, he might as well make the best of it. He went to bed shortly after dinner, two days of flying and unburdening his heart made him sleepier then he could ever remember being. He crawled into the Lincoln Bedroom and slept until noon the next day.

* * *

Malcolm Richardson looked at the invitation again, rolling his eyes at the idea of another dinner at the White House. He'd only been in office for four months, but he'd already had dinner there three times. There were days when he could shake his dad for dying on him. He still missed the old man. He had worked so hard to get reelected and now he was gone. The old man dismissed the warning signs and died of a massive heart attack right on the steps of the Capitol Building. God! He missed that man.

Governor Mitchell used his authority and selected Malcolm to replace him. Having just turned thirty the week before, having a couple of very high profile cases that he'd won for the Los Angeles County Prosecutor's Office helped make the decision. So now here he sat in his father's old office in the Georgetown brownstone, the junior Senator from California. He missed his old life in LA with the string of parties and the nightlife. Okay, so he missed the sex. He had had a string of long standing relationships since he'd left college and his slut days behind. Malcolm's last relationship had just ended the month before his father had died and he hadn't really felt like finding anyone new. Five and a half months without any sex was making him a bit edgy. He had had some offers; he never kept his sexuality a secret. There were office pages and messengers aplenty who offered their body to him. But he wasn't interested in easy, free sex. But as the weeks passed and he found he had less and less time to himself, he realized he just might have to resort to it. For a wicked moment, Malcolm wondered at what kind of scandal it would cause to hire an escort to accompany him to the White House. He chuckled to himself, knowing it would be silly and a ploy that would be wasted. President McNeely was a very liberal man, and his stance on gays was well documented. He'd probably find it tacky rather than shocking. God he needed to get laid.

The night in question was freezing of course. Tuxedos never seemed to be warm enough. He was frozen through by the time he passed security at the White House. He handed his coat over and walked into the dining room. At least the food would be good. Malcolm scanned the room, searching out the President and his honored guest. His eyes stopped moving when he spotted the man standing beside Mrs. McNeely. My God! Who was that man? He was gorgeous. He had broad shoulders and a sexy smile. His hair was thick and dark, military short but not lacking in style. His eyes were the bluest he had ever seen. The man stood a good three inches taller than his own six-one. He simply stole Malcolm's breath away.

As Malcolm stood in the receiving line, waiting for his turn to make his greetings to the President, he kept glancing at the tall man. He looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place him. While shaking the President of Burundi's hand, he remembered where he had seen him. The formal dress uniform, the takeoff of the standard tuxedo only in dark navy blue with medals and insignia should have clued him in. So this was Captain James McNeely. He remembered the exploits of his brother Sam and had always thought that the brothers would all take after their mother. The pretty, blonde Sam was nothing like his younger brother. James was tall and dark, tanned a deep bronze. Even though he had probably shaved just before dinner like Malcolm had, his beard was starting to shadow his jaw. Just like his father.

Malcolm reached the President and reached out to shake his hand. "Good evening, Mr. President."

There was always a polite smile for Malcolm Richardson. Not only was the man a successful prosecutor, but he'd also taken over his father's term. That couldn't have been easy and he had John's respect. "Good evening Senator. You know my wife of course?"

Malcolm had always found Mrs. McNeely to be a ballsy, tough woman who stood her ground and fought for what she believed in. Her work on child welfare and AIDS was monumental and more effective than half of what Malcolm worked on in the Senate. "A pleasure as always Mrs. McNeely." He bent down and kissed her hand, making the First Lady blush.

The man was full of shit, but Madeline couldn't help the blush that crept up her cheeks. "You are much too much a flatterer Malcolm." She blinked hard and glanced at her son, noticing how James stared at Malcolm. Why not? The man was gorgeous. He had qualities that wouldn't have made it in Hollywood or as a model, but he had that rugged, handsome look that would melt just about anyone. Romance novels were written and sold on that certain quality that Malcolm oozed. "Have you met my son, Malcolm?"

The relief he felt at being introduced both excited and irritated him. He was beautiful to look at, but he'd been with more attractive men; but there was something, some deep awareness that spoke to him. If he were blindfolded, Malcolm was sure he could have picked James McNeely out of the room just from the crackle of awareness he felt just standing three feet away from him. "I haven't had the pleasure." He stuck out his hand. "Malcolm Richardson."

When James McNeely placed his hand in his, the electricity that shot through Malcolm's system could have fried all the circuits in the room. It caused him to breathe in deeply and he caught the man's scent. It was faint, like the residual smell from the soap from his bath or perhaps the shave cream he had used. Nothing artificial or overpowering and underlying the whole thing was his specific scent. Malcolm had never once believed in pheromones, but at that moment, he became a true believer. It was after a couple of seconds that he realized James hadn't spoken and was staring at him with the same dumbfounded look he was sure he had on his face.

James stood shell-shocked. He couldn't draw air into his lungs. The man was captivating. He'd seen him walk into the room and tried not to pay attention. He was good at that; he'd been doing it for years, and ignoring the attraction he felt. It worked for a bit, until they had touched. He wanted to check his palm and see if there were scorch marks on it. James was sure he'd be feeling that simple caress for days. It took a moment to realize that their hands were still clasped. The look on Malcolm's face was just as confused and aroused as he was feeling. "Um... James McNeely."

Malcolm had always been quick to recover; he had to be while prosecuting. "It's a pleasure to meet you, James. I'd stay longer, but the line is moving." He looked down to their clasped hands and looked up, smiling. "Can I have my hand back?"

James blushed deeply and let go immediately. He was so embarrassed that he mumbled his apology. It wasn't until Malcolm had wandered off that he became aware of his surroundings again. He tried to calm his breathing, willing his pounding heart to calm. Thank God the Navy insisted upon dark navy clothes. He was so damn hard he was surprised there was any blood left in his body for it was pooled in his groin.

The dinner itself was deliciously prepared, peppered with several varieties of politics, seasoned with bargaining and flavored with hints of posturing. To cleanse the palette between courses there was of course the usual gossip and backstabbing. Malcolm had had more fun getting a root canal. If it weren't for the tall, dark and dangerous man sitting at the head table, Malcolm probably would have fallen asleep. His blood quickened at the thought of someone new. There was something very special and extremely appealing about the Navy Captain. He was a mixture of spicy sexuality, bold confidence and innocent wonder. It swirled through Malcolm's mind, trying to be pigeonholed and filed neatly into his tidy order. But the man was contradiction itself, laced with a lethal dose of charming that stirred Malcolm and made him forget what's-his-name. Actually, it made him forget all the what's-his-names. Of course Malcolm could still count on his one hand the number of men he had been with more than once and he could count on the other the number of men he'd only been with once. In modern times, it would probably label him a prude. Malcolm couldn't count the number of times he'd had sex, a super computer couldn't accomplish it, but he was choosy and selective about his bed partners. As he stared at the President's table and the man on the opposite side of the First Lady, Malcolm was seriously considering the possibility that James McNeely was going to be number four. But what scared him shitless was that he also felt like there would be no five. If Malcolm hadn't felt that incredible electrical connection, he'd have run so far and fast from the White House and to the safety of his brownstone. But that spark was as inescapable as the universal truths of death and taxes.

Malcolm shook his head, amused by his mind's silly ramblings. His breath was stolen when the dinner was done and the music started up for dancing. It was amazing to watch as the stewards pushed the tables out of the way so that people could dance. Malcolm only had eyes for James McNeely though. The man glided across the floor, twirling his mother and laughing into her eyes as he moved around the dance floor. For such a tall, big man, he moved with incredible finesse and ease. He was graceful, for that was the only word for him. Malcolm looked down at his flat belly, wondering if his softening middle would be impressive. It had been months since he'd been able to keep to his strict exercise regimen. He still jogged daily and rode his stationary bike while reading over the next day's meeting notes each night, but the rich food and rushed lunches were allowing him to too often forgo a salad in favor of a rich, thick burger and fries. Ice cream is a gift; whoever first made it should be thanked. Of course Malcolm also hoped that that person had died in a fiery inferno of his own making for creating such an addicting substance, but he was grateful for its creation just the same. As the number came to a close, he shook his head, keeping him from obsessing as to whether his body was good enough. Hell, he'd had no complaints from anyone, including himself. But, one tends to be one's worst critic. Christ! James was heading his way, his eyes not wavering from his. Malcolm felt like a virgin at the prom, a lamb heading for slaughter and the last item at a 90% off clearance sale. This isn't him. He never got nervous over just meeting someone. But he was.

James crossed the room after dancing with his mother. Just a few days ago, if he had felt an attraction to someone, he'd have ignored it, perhaps even ran away from it; but no more. That spark he'd felt, that connection that had caused the swelling in his trousers made him feel alive. For the first time in his life, he was going to act on it. It scared the hell out of him, but he wouldn't deny himself anymore. He just didn't know what to do. What is the first step? What should he say? What should he do? There should be a manual. A sort of Idiot's Guide to Gay Mating Rituals would have been nice. As he approached Malcolm, his palms began to sweat and his pulse pounded in his ears, but he didn't falter. He approached, to the outside world calm, but internally dying of fear.

Malcolm couldn't help the goofy grin from spreading across his face, not realizing what his dimples did to James. "You dance beautifully, Captain."

A deep blush darkened James's cheeks. "Thank you. She insisted we all had lessons, just for such occasions."

Malcolm's deep chuckle sent a shiver down James's spine. "She knew that you would have to go to some stale state dinner for the President of Burundi?"

James's own chuckle, nervous and endearing rang out a bit too loudly. "No, of course not. She wanted to make sure we could dance on our wedding day." James looked down, feeling a moment of sadness and mumbled, "At least it came in handy at some point." His grin was back, but there was a hint of sadness lurking in his eyes that did not go unnoticed.

"Don't ask, don't tell is a real bitch, huh?" At James's panicked look, Malcolm was quick to reassure, with a hand on his arm. "Don't worry, if anyone asks, I don't tell." He gave a smile with his words, and he did get a smile out of James, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Hey, what's the matter?"

James swallowed deeply, and damn it all if it didn't make Malcolm sweat, watching the muscles in his throat work. "I'm new to this and I'm still a little uncomfortable. I'm sorry." James moved to walk away, feeling a dejection he had never felt before. He didn't make it a half step before Malcolm's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Just where do you think you're going?" James looked into Malcolm's eyes and saw nothing but sincerity. He gave a quick smile that was both apologetic and sheepish at the same time. "I can understand how you feel. You can't be open while in the military. That's cool. But don't walk away."

"I'm sorry Malcolm. You have no idea how difficult this is for me." He offered a guiding hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "How'd you like a tour of the residence?"

"Sounds more entertaining than watching the mechanics of Washington politics play out." Malcolm smiled as he followed James's lead out of the dining room and into the hall, towards the main stairs. "I've never been anywhere in the White House but the reception areas and dining rooms."

"You've only been a Senator for a few months. I'm sure you'll be invited to several cocktail parties and those are almost always held on the second floor." James gave a grin before heading towards the main solar at one end of the White House.

The two men stepped out onto the balcony surrounding the rounded edge of the building. Technically, it is what connects the President's rooms with those of the First Lady. But the two didn't feel a need to separate, so the other rooms were used for when family visited. As they looked out on Washington's gilded night, they stood in companionable silence, both thinking thoughts of the other. Malcolm thinking that this was like nothing he was used to. James was sexy, he was striking in his uniform and he walked around with an incredible air of authority tinged with extreme innocence. He had no clue as to how to move forward, unsure if the signals he was receiving were real or not.

On the other hand, James kept wondering what he should do. Who made the first move? Oh hell, was there even a move to make? He was so unprepared for all of this. Twenty-six was too old to be starting fresh. He had never even been hard with another man present. Then of course the million doubts set in, ranging from the proverbial pick up line nightmares to wondering if the garlic in the appetizer was still lingering on his breath. James turned to Malcolm and could have sworn there was a flash of nervousness in his eyes as well. It did a lot to calm him.

James gave Malcolm a smile and gestured towards the door, it was after all late December in DC and it was freezing. As the two men stepped inside, Malcolm stopped and started laughing. When James turned around to ask what was so funny, Malcolm just pointed up. James saw the mistletoe that his precocious nephews had hung and started to smile underneath his ever-crimsoning cheeks. Before he could even form words, Malcolm was cupping his face in his hands and brushed his lips against James's. To say that the kiss was electrifying would not do it justice. But to say that the kiss put all other kisses to shame, putting the most romantic and famous of movie kisses into a class of cheap thrills, would be a falsehood. Malcolm knew that something was different. James just sort of let his mouth hang open. He moved his lips, but it seemed so incredibly awkward that Malcolm was contemplating moving away until he heard James moan heavily against his mouth. 'So he felt it to' was all he could think as he deepened the kiss further, brushing his tongue against James's lower lip and further, deeper into his mouth.

After an unknowable time had passed, Malcolm stepped away from James, looking at this man who was two parts charm, three parts sexuality and about twenty parts mystery. He stared at James who still had his eyes closed. His face was flushed and his body was trembling. There had been no missing of that incredible bulge that had pressed against his crotch. But there were more questions then answers when James finally opened his eyes, looking both shy and extremely happy.

Malcolm had a questioning smile and a slight pinch to his eyebrows. "What just happened there?"

James really wanted to joke his way through this and ran a hand through his hair. "Unless I'm mistaken, that was a kiss."

Malcolm gave a brief chuckle, surprised at the bravado. "No, seriously, James. You acted as if you'd never kissed before."

When James looked anywhere but at his eyes, Malcolm knew that he had his answer. Shock and surprise flooded him followed quickly by about a million questions. "Never?"

James fidgeted, furious with himself for doing it, remembering the last time had been in the third grade. "No. I'm sorry it was so obvious. Was it that bad?"

Malcolm could only chuckle. "It was anything but bad." 

With that, Malcolm took James's lips again with his, moving over them delicately, nibbling and tasting, flicking his lips and tongue with his own. Malcolm moved his hands from James's face, hooking one at the nape of his neck, keeping him in place. The other hand moved over his shoulders, feeling the hard plane of his shoulder blade as he pulled him closer. The wall of his chest, the flat, hard plane of his belly and the heavy ridge of him pressed against all that was James. His thoughts spiraled, going from thoughts of breaking the kiss and trailing James to one of the bedrooms and having incredibly hard and hot sex to wanting to compose sonnets and woo the man with sweet music. Then all thought stopped for Malcolm when James took over the kiss, using his tongue to flick and taste, tempt and torture. His deep, throaty moan filled both of them when James wrapped his arms around Malcolm, moving his fingers into his hair and gently massaging Malcolm's scalp.

They kissed for a while, neither noticing the passage of time. It wasn't until the discreet cough from the secret service that James pulled away. Malcolm was lost to sensation; his lips still tingling and his eyes slumberous. James stepped away and Malcolm missed the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms, and the feel of all that turned on man pressed against his crotch. As his breathing slowed, he took in his surroundings. The beautiful old building he stood in, the coughing secret servicemen who hide so well and the President and First Lady, grinning and trying not to smirk. Malcolm let loose a stream of curses that would have made a priest burst into flames, internally. His only outward show of his disappointment and embarrassment at being caught was a slight groan.




The President's Son Ch. 01



James could only remember one other time he'd felt this embarrassed and this wasn't anything like being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, teetering on a mishmash of boxes and tumbling down into his dad's arms. He shot a quick, appreciative wink to the secret servicemen who'd given him the warning. He wanted badly to wipe his hand across his mouth and turn around to adjust himself. But he did nothing but give his parents a small smile. "Is the dinner over already?" He was dismayed at the husky timbre to his voice.

Madeline was only feeling slightly guilty for interrupting. "All the guests have gone home. It's almost two." She tried not to laugh, really she did, and she mostly succeeded, except for the snort from between her lips.

Malcolm walked behind James, checking his watch, wondering how the hell so much time could have passed. "My apologies. I didn't realize it was so late."

James grabbed at Malcolm's arm, following him to the stairs. Malcolm turned around to look at him, feeling mortified at being caught kissing the President's son for the past two hours. 'It hadn't felt that long' was all Malcolm thought. He was going to pass off some banal 'later', when he saw James's face. He was sorry that his parents had interrupted them, but not sorry it had happened. Malcolm touched his face again and whatever control over his arousal he had gained was gone as James pressed into his hand. "Will you come to dinner, New Year's Eve?"

James smiled wide and looked at Malcolm with joy. "Of course."

After Malcolm left, James was half-expecting the third degree from his parents. But they had both gone to bed, leaving James alone to do whatever he wanted. He went to bed, stripping out of his dress uniform. When he got down to his boxers, he was dismayed at the mostly transparent cotton. As he went to relieve himself in the bathroom, his pubic hair was matted and sticky, his balls soaking in his excitement. Who knew he could have gotten so excited? James reclined in his bed, thinking about stroking his still plump shaft to thoughts of what had just happened but instead rolled over and fell asleep to dream of Malcolm instead.



The President's Son Ch. 02



James sat in his car, looking up at the old brownstone building in which Malcolm lived and wondered just what the hell he was doing. He'd spent half the afternoon wondering what he should wear. He spent a good ten minutes trying to decide if he should wear cologne or not. If he were given the task of mapping out an underwater course through the Philippines without having to surface, he could do that in about three minutes without a second guess. Where had his backbone gone? Smooth and calm James McNeely was nervous. Not only was there a question of what to wear, but also in the back of his mind, he kept wondering if tonight was the night he would finally have sex. It was like a giant elephant sitting in the room with him. He kept trying to ignore it, but it wouldn't be denied an audience.

After a couple of minutes, James grabbed the bottle of wine he'd snagged from his parent's reserve and got out of the car. Just like in all things he'd ever done, he put his mind to it and pushed forward with a grim determination that would intimidate most people. He took the steps to the front door two at a time and rang the bell. He smoothed the front of his shirt down under his coat, ran his fingers quickly through his hair as one last nervous gesture and plastered a smile on his face as Malcolm opened the door.

Malcolm had watched as James sat in his car. Even though he was trying hard to quell his nerves, James's smile was nervous once he opened the door. Malcolm stepped back to let him in and took his coat. The truth was, Malcolm was just as nervous. The raw attraction and the new, strange feelings he kept getting whenever he thought about James McNeely were like being on a roller coaster, terrifying and fun at the same time. After he'd hung up his coat, Malcolm had to pause, as he looked his guest up and down a few times. The man was the reason blue jeans were invented. They molded to his body like an old glove, contouring to muscular, strong thighs and a really incredible ass. His simple, white button down long-sleeved shirt hinted at strong muscles and a scintillating back. Malcolm's mind wandered, as it so often does, and all he could think about was seeing those legs and that wide shouldered, well muscled back under him as he licked the back of his neck and thrust deep into James's body. James turned around and smiled and Malcolm almost wanted to say to hell with dinner, but stopped himself.

Malcolm was dressed in black slacks with a burgundy shirt that looked like silk. The sleeves were rolled up to show a dusting of golden hair. His shirt had the top three buttons undone, showing off Malcolm's throat and a slight sprinkling of chest hair. James looked down at his own shirt and realized that he'd dressed like he always did, all but the top button done, sleeves fully covering his arms. He wanted to undo some of his buttons, but figured it would look odd. The appreciative looks he was getting from Malcolm put James at ease. Malcolm showed the way into his home and they walked into the dining room and had dinner.

* * *

Dinner had been more than companionable. The two sat and ate their dinner interrupted often by laughter and conversation. They spoke of childhood and college. They shared commiserating stories about growing up in the public eye. They drank the bottle of wine slowly and it added a nice mellowness to the situation that erased both their nervousness and reserve. James was smiling while Malcolm described some of his antics in college. Then he burst out laughing, loud and deep, echoing through the room. "I can't believe you did that!"

Malcolm was wiping tears from his eyes. "Hey, if someone is going to offer me forty bucks to take a dare, I'm going to do it."

James was chuckling. "But to strip naked and dance in the school fountain?"

Malcolm grinned. "I was young and stupid. Come on, I'm sure you have tales to tell too."

James smiled, but it was a bit sad. "Actually, when I was going to school, my dad was in the middle of his campaign. I walked the straight path, never looked to the sides at all."

Malcolm covered James's hand with his. "That must have been very lonely."

James's smile was a little sad. "It was. But, I don't regret it."

Deciding that that sad smile needed to go away, Malcolm grabbed James's hand and led him out of the dining room. They marched up the three flights of stairs and through a den before they reached the ladder to the roof. Malcolm grabbed the buttons on James's shirt and started undoing them. He stood apprehensively as Malcolm slowly peeled his shirt off of him. Malcolm stood for a moment, admiring James's chest. For it was a chest to have sonnets written about. It was a chest that sculptors weep over. It was a chest that said 'get ready, I need to be worshipped for hours.' Malcolm grinned and reached for James's belt buckle. James's hands stilled Malcolm's. "What's going on here?"

Malcolm simply brushed his lips against James's and whispered, "Trust me."

Soon James stood in his boxer-briefs, feeling odd and a bit silly until Malcolm started stripping down as well. James watched as the silk shirt slid to the floor and he could see Malcolm's chest. It was tanned and firm without being overly-defined. It was dusted with hair, just a smattering compared to the deep forest that covered his own. James let out some of his nervousness in laughter as he watched Malcolm hop from foot to foot trying to take his shoes off. Then he was standing before him in his briefs. The man was only wearing simple, white cotton briefs, but the whole picture made James's pulse pound and his flesh lengthen. Malcolm stared at him for a few moments, grinning as his eyes tracked over his body. They downright gleamed when he saw the effect he was having on James's body. He kissed him again and grinned. "That'll keep for later."

Malcolm opened the door to the roof and pulled James outside. It was freezing cold. Both men's nipples contracted into tight points. Goosebumps erupted on their skin. But Malcolm didn't stop until he had pulled James to the ledge. They stood on the rooftop, just a few minutes before midnight in their underwear. James had never felt so foolish or aroused in his entire life. Malcolm checked his watch and started the countdown at one minute to twelve. Once he started counting, he slipped his briefs off and raised his eyebrow to James, clearly challenging him. Before he could stop himself, James slid his underwear off, gasping as the cold air caressed his body, instantly killing the slightest bit of arousal.

Malcolm looked at his watch then walked up to James, wrapping his arms around him and whispering in his ear before he bit it. "Happy New Year." James moaned at the sensation and barely heard the fireworks and the morons in the street banging pots and pans. His shyness forgotten, he kissed Malcolm deeply, running his hands up and down his back. His body was on fire, the feel of all that warm flesh pressed against his felt so good. But before they got carried away, James looked at Malcolm. "Can we go back inside, my balls are freezing?"

Malcolm laughed and led them back inside. Once they climbed down the ladder, they both felt the cold even more. James hustled to get his boxer-briefs and shirt back on. Malcolm dropped his briefs and grabbed a blanket from the back of a couch in the upper den. "Okay, so it wasn't one of my better ideas. But it was fun."

James laughed. "Yeah. It was great. But I'm freezing."

Malcolm grinned at him and stepped back, opening his blanket a bit. "Why don't you sit down here and we'll work on warming up?"

James was in the process of buttoning his shirt, but Malcolm's sultry words stopped him. He walked like an automaton to the couch and sat. Malcolm sat beside him, hip to hip, and fanned the blanket around the both of them. Malcolm stared into James's eyes and used his hands to rough some heat into his arms. Excited, aroused panic poured through every vein in James's body. What was going to happen? What was this the start of? He swallowed deeply.

"Malcolm, what is happening here?"

Malcolm gave a small smile. "I'm not sure. But I like it."

"I've never been with anyone before." His voice stammered and his body shook, with excitement and with fear. "I don't know if I'm ready."

Malcolm felt a warm, happy feeling suffuse his body. Malcolm turned his body, slipping one thigh over James's. He cupped James's face in his hand and brushed his lips gently against James's. "Then I think you should set the pace." He rubbed his thumb along James's cheeks and felt him thicken against his lap. "We won't go any faster or slower than you decide."

His hands went flat on James's chest, his fingers sifting through the hair. James moaned as his fingers grazed against his nipples. Malcolm leaned in and kissed James, delving deep into his mouth, kissing him completely. James's hands moved up to Malcolm's back, skimming over the smooth skin. They flowed as if of their own accord. He hesitated from moving too far down and Malcolm grabbed James's hands and moved them down to cup his ass. James moaned again, liking the feel of the warm, hair dusted globes in his hands.

Malcolm was melting as James kneaded his ass. His body was strumming with pleasure, and all they had done was some kissing and light body stroking. He moved his hands down and undid the two or three buttons of James's shirt, feeling his erection smooth into the silky hair on James's belly. The top of Malcolm's thigh pressed into the bulge under James's underwear. He kept a slight, lazy, random pattern of pressure going as he kissed James. Malcolm loved tweaking James's nipples, hearing him moan against his lips. He was leaking against the furry belly beneath him; he could feel the slight pull from the hair. He kept going, wondering when James would stop him. But that moment never came, despite James's ragged, pained breathing and heavy moans into his mouth. Then Malcolm felt his belly quiver beneath his cock and his legs tense under his. James threw his head back and moaned, crying out as the spasms of completion racked his body. Malcolm's thigh became sticky from his release and it was by the barest margins that he kept from following James over the edge.

James's body was electrified beyond pleasure as the last of his orgasm passed. His body was on fire and he felt drained and energized at the same time. He had also never been more embarrassed in his entire life. He never lost control. Not once in all his years had he let go. The experience thrilled him. But more than that, it terrified him. He just wasn't meant to go from stand still to full marathon right away. Malcolm rolled away from him and James stood, grabbing his jeans and pulling them on, dismayed at how soaked his clothing was and how even after that release, was still almost completely erect. He didn't even bother with the buttons on his shirt. He grabbed his socks and shoved them into his pocket and practically sprinted for the stairs, Malcolm's voice chasing him.

James made it to the front hall, hopping while slipping on his shoes. He grabbed his jacket and rushed out the door. He hadn't made it three feet when Malcolm rushed out the door and called out to him. "James, don't leave. Please?" 

The heartache in his voice made James stop and turn to face him. "Malcolm." He didn't know what else he could say.

Despite being barefoot and wrapped toga like in his blanket, Malcolm stepped down to James and cupped his face. "Don't be embarrassed. It happens more often then you might think."

James's blush deepened. "Malcolm, I'm so sorry. This is really too fast for me." He looked down, embarrassed by his old-fashioned values. Jesus! He was almost a Victorian prude when it came to this. "I want to, very badly. But I'm just not ready."

Malcolm leaned in and kissed James quiet. When James had melted against his body, Malcolm looked in his eyes. "It's okay. I told you we'd go at your own pace. I meant it."

James smiled big; his relief apparent in his eyes. "I won't always be such a prude."

Malcolm threw his head back and laughed. "I swear if you got any less prudish, I'd have been right there with you. That I can promise."

James blushed and kissed Malcolm again, walking towards his car, knowing the secret service would pull out discreetly behind him and follow him back to the White House. Malcolm went back inside, smiling as he climbed into bed. His mind filled with images of James as he completed what they had started earlier. He went to sleep shortly after, his release going cold on his belly.

Neither James nor Malcolm knew it, but their goodbye kiss on the front stoop of Malcolm's brownstone was photographed. The young, naïve, mostly out of work freelance photographer just happened to be walking home from a party when he saw the two men. His camera snapped several shots of them. By dawn, the photos were in the news data files. By noon, the story was whizzing around the world. By evening, they were front page worthy stories.

* * *

James stood, staring out from his window in the Lincoln Bedroom. His grin was wide and not stopping as he remembered the night before. It was early, just after dawn. He hadn't slept much. His body was still humming from the previous night. His mind was lost in contemplation. He was going to be twenty-seven soon. Somehow, someway, he had fallen in love. In his heart, he knew that he hadn't known Malcolm long enough. He really knew nothing about him. Although their conversation from the night before let him know that he was fun and free. He was a good man, someone thrust into a responsibility he never planned on taking but was striving to do the best job he could. James admired him. But more than that, he liked him. His body made his sing. His eyes were kind and caring, almost reverentially loving whenever he looked at him. In his heart, he knew it was too soon. He didn't know him well enough. But it didn't matter. His heart had made up its mind and decided to fall. Perhaps this is how it was supposed to be. Maybe love happened fast and furious, with no pause and little logic.

He left the bedroom, searching for his mother. He found her having breakfast with his father in the solar on the second floor. They invited James to join them. They smiled at him, and James felt himself blushing, as if what had happened last night were flashing in a neon sign over his head. Madeline took one look at her son and felt the prickling of tears sting her eyes. Her son was in love.

"So he's the one?" She caressed James's face, staring into his eyes.

James shifted in his seat, not quite meeting her eyes. "It seems like it's too soon."

John laughed and clapped his hand on his son's back. "I knew that your mother was right for me about three minutes after I met her."

James stared at his dad, with a mixture of admiration and wonder. "That fast?"

John shook his head. "I fought it. I denied that it was real. But it was. I guess that's why I waited three weeks before I asked her to marry me."

James chuckled, "Thank God. I was afraid there was something wrong with me."

A secret serviceman interrupted them, "Excuse me Mr. President. Senator Richardson is here; he'd like to see Captain McNeely."

John turned to his son and winked. "Let him come up, Roger. Thank you."

Malcolm walked in, only mostly disappointed that James's parents were there with him. Not that he disliked them, but he really was hoping he could grab some kissing this morning. "Good morning Mr. President. Mrs. McNeely. James."

No one mistook that Malcolm's voice deepened and thickened when he said 'James.' Madeline invited him to sit and join them for coffee. They sat in companionable silence, drinking coffee, finishing breakfast, and sharing looks. After a couple of minutes, Malcolm piped up, unable to handle the silence any longer. "Well, has anyone heard a good joke lately?"

It broke the tension and everyone laughed. Malcolm reached over and brushed his hand along James's arm, causing him to break out in goose bumps. When he was about to speak, the secret serviceman came to the table again. "Excuse me, Mr. President, but Alan Espinoza is on his way."

Sighing deeply, John stood. "It wouldn't be a normal day without the press."

A tall, slender man cleared the stairs and came to the table. "I'm sorry to interrupt Mr. President. There's a story that will be hitting the wires in a few hours. Thought you'd like to know about it."

John turned to his press secretary and nodded. "Do we need to take this private?"

Alan cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. "Um... it involves Captain McNeely and Senator Richardson."

John's eyes shot over to the two men sitting with his wife. "How?"

Taking a file from under his arm, he laid it on the table. "There's a photograph from last night. Looks like someone caught a kiss on film."

James stood with the picture in his hand, appalled that he'd been caught, and how turned on by how erotic the visual reminder of last night he'd become. "Damn! Who did this?"

Alan bored his eyes into James. "A freelance photographer was walking home from a party and caught this outside the Senator's home." Turning back to the President, he calmly asked, "How do you wish to handle this sir?"

"There's nothing to handle. My son went on a date. Most dates end in a kiss."

Clearing his throat. "Sir, your son is not openly gay. He's a naval officer. There is going to be a lot of questions on this."

Seeing his son get paler with each passing word, John wanted to dismiss Alan Mendoza. "Then the answer is 'no comment.'"

"Mr. President—"

"No. I'll see you downstairs for the briefing in ten minutes."

"Sir—"

"Go, Alan."

When the press secretary had left the room, John walked to his son and placed his hands on his shoulders. "It's okay, James. It doesn't matter."

"I knew something like this would happen."

Madeline chimed in with motherly concern. "James, nothing's happened. Nothing's wrong."

Pain filled eyes lifted to hers. "Yes, there is."

Malcolm, getting more pissed with each passing minute, calmly said, "And what is wrong?"

James turned pained filled eyes to Malcolm. He swallowed deeply and John caught the mood and cleared his throat. "I'm sure the free world needs us, Madeline. We'll leave the two of you alone."

After they had left, James had no idea what to say. He'd been insensitive. "Malcolm, I'm sorry."

Malcolm stood, clearly agitated. "What was so wrong? What happened that was so bad?"

James sat still with his eyes closed. How could things have fallen apart so quickly? All he'd wanted was to have what everyone else had. Was that so wrong? Obviously it was. It killed him to do it, but he was going to have to let Malcolm go. Before he could even say the words, Malcolm had his jaw in his hands.

"Don't!" He kneeled down. "Whatever you're going to say, don't. Forget it. I'm not leaving."

James looked at him in wonder. "How'd you know I was going to say that?"

Malcolm's voice came out as a snort. "Let me guess... you can't see me anymore. What happened, although pretty damn incredible, isn't worth the scandal." He stood and paced a few moments then turned back. "How close was I?"

James shrugged. "Pretty close. Although I wouldn't have said what happened last night was 'pretty damn incredible.'" When Malcolm went to say something, James held up his hand to stop him. "It was the best time I've ever had." He shrugged one shoulder and shifted embarrassingly in his seat. "Even if it was one-sided."

Malcolm came back to squat before James's chair. "That doesn't matter. What happened last night wasn't wrong. It was beautiful. It was mutually fulfilling, and I don't want it to be over."

"Neither do I."

Malcolm's grin was wide and happy. James covered his mouth with his hand. "But it doesn't change some things." He stood and walked to the windows, looking out at the lawns. "I'm a Naval officer. I've just been outed by the national press. No one asked, and I didn't tell, but that doesn't mean I'm not in violation of the rules of military conduct."




The President's Son Ch. 02



Malcolm crossed the room to stand behind James. "You wouldn't be dismissed from the Navy. Your father would see to that."

James whirled around on him, anger sparking in his eyes. "Would you want your father to make an exception for you when hundreds of men and women don't get the same treatment? Would you? Huh?"

Malcolm looked away briefly. "No. I wouldn't." He turned back to look into James's eyes, so he could see his sincerity. "But it's too late. You can't take last night back."

"I know."

"James, if I could go back and keep that picture from being taken, I would. But I can't. Please don't throw this away because of something that we have no power over."

James walked up to Malcolm and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face into his shoulder. "I don't want it to be over. I'm sorry. Please forgive me for being afraid."

Malcolm's arms wrapped around James and he held him close. "Don't. I'm sorry too." He kissed the side of James's head before stepping back. "What happens now?"

"I'm not sure."

"What would you like to have happen?"

James swallowed deeply. "If I'm going to be hanged for last night, I'll be damned if I go to the gallows without actually committing the sin."

Malcolm's pulse skittered into his throat. "What are you saying?"

James reached a shaking hand out to take Malcolm's. "How'd you like to see the Lincoln Bedroom?"

Malcolm's whole body began to tremble. "I need you to be explicitly clear here."

James lowered to nip at Malcolm's earlobe. "I want to take you into my bedroom, and fuck you senseless."

Malcolm shut his eyes as a myriad of sensual images filled his head. Then reality intruded. "I can't."

James stood back, looking shell-shocked. "Why?"

"I came here this morning to invite you to lunch. I'm not exactly prepared for a late morning of heavy loving."

"I don't understand."

Malcolm smiled at the confused, sweet expression on James's face. "Some props are necessary for what you have in mind." At the blank look on James's face, Malcolm continued. "Condoms. Lube. That sort of thing."

James blushed and looked away for a moment. "I didn't think... I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

As Malcolm rose to kiss James, the President reentered the residence, calling out for James. The two men broke apart, but reluctantly. They turned to face John, who had a determined look on him.

"James, the Vice-President is leaving tonight for Australia. He'd be more than glad to drop you off in Hawaii."

James's protest died on his lips as his father held up his hand. "The morning press briefing didn't go well. On base, or better yet on a mission, the press can't follow you. At least until this dies down a bit, it would be best if you were out of Washington."

The President turned to Malcolm. "I'm sorry Malcolm, but I'm afraid you will bear the brunt of this."

"The press has never bothered me before. If I can handle having to grieve for my father while being hounded for being the first openly gay senator, I can handle this."

James felt the situation spiraling out of control. "When does the flight leave?"

"Ten."

James made a decision right then and there. If he were to face the firing squad, he'd at least have today. No matter what happened tomorrow, he would enjoy this day. "I'll be at Andrews at eight." He turned to Malcolm. "Shall we?"

John looked at his son, surprised. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'll be on that plane, but I'm taking today. No matter what, I'm going to enjoy myself today."

John nodded, thinking quickly. "We'll have to do some creative work to get the two of you out of here." He stepped back to pick up the phone and ask for his chief of staff. "I don't care where you go or what you do, but I'd like to know, just in case." 

James looked at Malcolm. "Any ideas?"

"The press already knows I'm here. There is no way to sneak you into my house." Shrugging his shoulders, he looked between James and the President. "It would be easier to stay here, and then I can leave a bit later, and draw the press away before you head over to Andrews."

Nodding at the sound advice, John looked between the two men. "Very well. Madeline is in Baltimore all day today. I'll be in the Oval Office or in meetings until five. You have the run of the residence until then."

He turned on his heels and left, James and Malcolm watching him leave. Once he was gone, James felt shy. "What should we do?"

Malcolm glanced at him, smiling devilishly. "I'd still love to see the Lincoln bedroom."

The blush that exploded across James's face was endearing. "But you said—"

"I know. But that doesn't mean we can't fool around a little."

James held out his hand. "This way."

The door closed behind them, leaving two secret servicemen in the hall. One of them impassive and mildly bored; the other happy for the young man who'd darkened the White House's lonely halls at night. He understood the Captain's loneliness. He'd been there himself.

* * *

As the photos of the Senator and the Captain made their way through the information superhighway, the Society for the Preservation of American Morals had a special session. For once there was now evidence. There was proof. There was ammunition. The leader sat in his chair, smiling broadly at the photos in the file before him. He turned to his second-in-command and clapped him on the back. "Good work."

"Thank you, sir."

"Bring the entire file on Captain James McNeely. Everything. This is too good an opportunity to waste."

After his subordinate left, the leader sat back in his chair, his brilliant mind working fast, running through possibilities and scenarios. Some plans were too simple, others too complicated. The most effective required an inside man. By the time the file was before him, he knew exactly what he was looking for. His laughter echoed through the room when he discovered the exact thing he was looking for. 

"Who do we have in Hawaii?"

The answer made him smile as he dialed the phone and relayed his plans to one of their better operatives. James McNeely would soon be in his grasp then the President would suffer. It was turning into a very good new year.

* * *

Alec Masterson sat in his comfortable chair in front of his computer. His wife and kids were out shopping, taking advantage of the last of the after Christmas sales. He took a moment to surf the Internet for some porn, sitting in his chair in his underwear, tented and leaking, as he looked at picture after picture of dark haired, tall, muscular, men with hairy chests; if they happened to look like James so much the better. When he spotted a man who was almost exactly like James, he clicked on the corresponding video and watched as the almost-James fucked a man to orgasm. All the while, Alec stroked his flesh, moaning as the James look-alike moaned. When he pulled out and ripped off the condom, unleashing a huge torrent of cum against the other guy's back, Alec bit his lip as he unloaded his cum in his underwear.

Leaning back in his chair, he clicked the button to stop the film then clicked on his email. When the national news wire came on, he clicked on it to see the latest headlines. While he did a quick search and destroy of all the porn files on his computer, he read through the headlines: unrest in the Middle East, jobless rates in America, and rumors. When he saw James in a photo and the blurb under it, he sat up in his chair, shocked. As he skimmed through the article, anger welled up inside Alec.

Furious, Alec shut down his computer and walked into the bathroom, taking off his sopping briefs. He turned the shower to scalding and stepped under it, rubbing furiously at his skin with the soapy washrag. He couldn't get the image of that kiss out of his head. Damn him! He was gay. How could he do this? Anger, hurt, and confusion swamped Alec as he continued to wash his body. When he went to wash between his legs, he was surprised to see how hard he was. The excitement of knowing that James was gay and possibly available entered his mind. Perhaps. Just perhaps it could happen. If James could want a man then why wasn't he seeking Alec Masterson?

Gripping his shaft, he began to frantically stroke it, moving so fast his hand was a blur. Within seconds, he blasted the walls with a second load of cum. After he was out of the shower and he'd hidden his cum soaked underwear, Alec dressed in a pair of shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. The doorbell called him out of his musings. When he answered the door, a man stood before him that he didn't know.

"Lt. Alec Masterson?"

"Yes?"

"I have a proposition for you that I think you'll find mutually beneficial."

Inviting him inside, Alec listened to the man talk, outlining a plan that could indeed benefit Alec very much. By the time the man left, Alec was hard and aching again. He'd barely shut the door on the man when he dropped his shorts and began stroking his cock again. Forcing himself to calm down and take this one slow, Alec walked down his hall to the bedroom. Slipping off his clothes, he crouched beneath the bed and opened a case he kept locked. Taking out his treasure, he lay back on the bed and sniffed at the cloth in his hands, remembering the scent that used to be in the cloth. Feeling his cock lurch in his hands, he took the cloth and wrapped it around his shaft, letting the soft cotton rub his cock as he stroked slowly. As his body quickened and his mind filled with all the possibilities that the stranger had told him, Alec quickly came, dribbling cum on his hand and the prized cloth. After his breathing calmed, Alec looked over at the clock and cursed because his wife would be home soon. Redressing, Alec sniffed once more at his prized possession, liking the mingling scents of his cum and the older, fainter smell of the previous owner. With a demented grin, Alec locked away a stolen pair of James McNeely's underwear under the bed.

* * * 

James and Malcolm lay on the sprawling expanse of Abraham Lincoln's bed, their arms entwined. James's shirt off, Malcolm's unbuttoned, the two men had spent several hours alternating between kissing and talking. Either way, they both lay in a way they could touch each other completely. Looking to the bedside table, seeing the late hour of the day, James sighed.

"It's getting late."

"I know."

James kissed Malcolm's hair, sniffing deeply, taking in the scent of his shampoo. "I'm going to miss you."

Malcolm sat up straighter, bracing on his elbow. "I will too." He leaned down and brushed his lips against James's. "Will you be able to call me at least?"

"I don't know. But I'll try."

James drew Malcolm down into a deep kiss, rolling them over so he could lie mostly on top of Malcolm. His kisses grew bolder, deeper as his hands trailed over Malcolm's body. His fingers trailed through the smattering of chest hair, brushed over an erect nipple, and then trailed and teased his navel. Moving down to kiss Malcolm's jaw, his hand moved lower over his belt, defining and caressing the hard ridge of Malcolm's erection. As his hand closed over the heavy bulge, Malcolm cried out and grabbed James's wrist.

"What are you doing?"

James's voice was husky and his eyes were cloudy with lust. "I want to give you what you gave me last night."

With a deep groan, Malcolm grabbed James by the back of his head and kissed him deeply while letting James's wrist loose to do what he wanted. James kept feeling Malcolm, learning him, learning what he liked, what made him squirm and what made his breath catch. When Malcolm bit into his bottom lip and his body tensed beneath James, he knew a moment of extreme jubilation as he brought Malcolm to the edge, and then tripped him over it. With throaty cries, Malcolm released his pent up lust into his trousers, kissing James senseless. When the last tremors of his orgasm subsided, James lay back against the bed, drawing Malcolm's trembling body with him.

After a few minutes in which both men cuddled through the trembling they felt, Malcolm rose up to look into James's eyes. "Thank God I wore black."

James burst out laughing, practically snorting. At least it broke the heavy, sad mood. With a regretful sigh, James stood and put his shirt on. Malcolm followed suit, buttoning up his shirt and slipping on his shoes. When they were both dressed, they left the privacy of the bedroom to find Madeline sitting in the main hall. When she saw them she rose and crossed to them.

"Malcolm, John Stanton is downstairs ready whenever you are."

"Thank you Mrs. McNeely."

She rolled her eyes. "Still a charmer." She patted James's cheek before moving off. "James, I'll see you in the dining room for dinner whenever you're ready."

When she was gone, James turned to Malcolm, regret and sorrow in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Malcolm. I feel like a coward for leaving you to face the press alone."

Malcolm scoffed. "I can handle the press. No worries there. I wish I could be with you for whatever you'll face when you get to Hawaii."

James shrugged. "It'll probably be ugly. But I can handle it."

Leaning in to kiss one last time, James wrapped his arms around Malcolm when their lips met. When they broke apart, John Stanton was standing at the top of the stairs. James looked deeply into Malcolm's eyes. "I'll see you as soon as I can. You'll get a call before I get back. I promise."

James watched Malcolm leave before joining his mother and father for dinner. After the meal, he left for Andrews Air Force Base, boarded Air Force Two, and then spent the majority of the flight in seclusion, asleep. Whatever he would face once back on base, he was prepared to be strong.

* * *

Malcolm left the White House, his heart heavy with melancholy. As he arrived at his Georgetown home, he groaned at the throngs of press on the street. The thing he liked most about the old house he now hated, because the house had no garage. He couldn't dodge the hounds of hell. Stepping out of the White House aide's vehicle, he nodded his thanks then turned to face the mob.

"Senator! What is the nature of your relationship to James McNeely?"

"Sources say you were at the White House the entire day. Any comments on Captain McNeely's future with the Navy?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes as the questions came at him in a blinding barrage. He and James had discussed the types of questions he'd be asked. For the amount of education these people had, their questions were very unoriginal. "No comment." He didn't agree with hiding, but he followed the President's recommendations. He'd follow them until the questions inside him were answered as well as James's future in the Navy.

After pushing and shoving his way to his front gate, Malcolm made his way quickly up the stairs, shutting out the noise and flashes from the cameras. Going upstairs to his bedroom, he shucked his clothes and made his way to the shower, scratching his belly as he went. Malcolm hadn't cum in his shorts since he was a teenager making out with his first boyfriend. He'd been nowhere near as hairy as he currently was. Damn cum was like cement.

The shower calmed and soothed his nerves. Malcolm decided to call it an early night and grabbed his briefing notes for tomorrow's meeting of the Senate Armed Services Committee. It was going to be a long few days.

* * *

The Society for the Preservation of American Morals worked long into the night, from the moment their sources discovered James McNeely's plan to return to Hawaii and the Naval Base at Pearl Harbor. Lt. Alec Masterson stayed up all night, working with his contact in regards to the plans. A simple loading entrance, a van from a local laundry, and a couple of doses of chloroform were all ready to go. A plane stood ready at an airstrip on the north side of Oahu, laden down with extra fuel tanks, providing up to ten hours of uninterrupted flight. The leader of the Society sat in his office, laughing softly as his subordinates reported in, confirming that all steps were complete. Now they waited for James McNeely's plane to arrive at Hickam Air Force Base.

* * *

James woke when Vice President Vince Baldwin shook him. Blinking sleep from his eyes, James stretched and yawned in his seat before speaking. The Vice President waited patiently for the young man to fully wake before giving him the news his father had spoken to him about a few moments before.

"Good Morning, Mr. Vice President."

Smiling at the young man's formality, Vince looked at the son of a good man and a better friend. "James. Your father has arranged a few things for you."

James rolled his eyes then groaned. "I'm afraid to ask."

Vince chuckled. "No worries. The secret service will accompany you to your base housing. The news reports have died down, but the FBI is worried that someone might take advantage of the situation."

"In what way?" James asked.

Sighing, Vince decided to level with the Captain. "There are rumors about, but nothing substantiated. Your father is very popular, and when he's that popular, the dissident population gets bold. It's just a precaution."

Nodding, James pondered what he'd been told. "It can't have been easy. Admiral Benson doesn't like my notoriety as it is. He's going to hate the secret service."

"Being President, your father ordered the Admiral and all of ComSubPac to allow it."

"Great. One more thing to worry about." Muttering under his breath, James voiced his displeasure. "Can't anything be easy?"

Chuckling deeply, Vince figured the boy could use some honesty. "Never. Life isn't easy. If it were, we'd be bored silly." Pulling the man's chin up, Vince continued. "My brother was gay. He didn't have an easy time of it at all. My parents threw him out of the house. You have the full support of your entire family." Vince handed James a telegram. "That's from your brother Sam."

Standing, Vince looked at the young captain, smiling for once. "We'll be landing in an hour. It's four in the morning. The press shouldn't be bothering you for the rest of the night. I'd suggest you get back to your place and sleep."

Thanking the Vice President, James tore open the telegram. Reading the words, James's eyes filled with tears. "Dear Bro, It's about damn time someone else did something to attract the press. By the way, great kiss. I love you. No matter what. Martine and I would like it if you'd stop by sometime when you get leave. Bring the Senator if you want. Love, Sam."

As the plane's captain announced their arrival, James wiped away the tears in his eyes, grabbed his bag and waited for their arrival in Hawaii. Once the plane had set down and taxied to the loading platform, James and his two escorts from the secret service left the aircraft and walked to a waiting car. The drive to his on base house was less than ten minutes, but James sat in the back like he was supposed to. Once at his house, he waited in the car until the secret service had secured his house. Going into his bedroom and shucking his clothes, James fell face first onto his bed and slept as soon as he set his alarm.

When the alarm went off, James rolled out of bed then took a long, soothing shower. Once done and dressed, he made coffee and offered some to the Secret Servicemen outside. While finishing up his second cup and after reading the newspaper, a knock at the door brought him out of his musings.

"Captain? There's a Lt. Masterson to see you."

"Thank you, Jason. Let him in."

James watched as Alec entered his house. This would be the first of many tests. James stood and faced his lieutenant, waiting for his response. Alec stood before him for several minutes before walking up to him and shaking his hand. "Damn James. Can't you do anything the easy way?"

Relieved laughter escaped James's lips before he smiled. "Hell no. How do you think I got this far?"

James offered Alec some coffee before sitting down to discuss the upcoming mission when another knock at the door broke in. "Excuse me, Captain. A messenger from the Admiral's office sent this over."




The President's Son Ch. 02



Standing and absently thanking the other secret serviceman, James tore open the envelope. Reading it quickly, Alec stood over his shoulder, waiting. "I'm to report to the Admiral's office first thing."

"I'll come with you."

Smiling, James shook his head. "You don't have to."

"I'm heading over to the laundry anyway."

"Why?" James asked.

"Yeoman Thomas has appendicitis. He'll be recovering when we get underway. I'm interviewing his replacement."

James rolled his eyes. "Alec, no one interviews for that position."

Alec chuckled. "I know. But I love fucking with them." He clapped James on the back. "When you're done with the brass, head on over. It'll be fun."

James smiled and shook his head. "Okay, I'll meet you over there. Hell, we have a lot of work to do before we get underway."

The two men left in a jeep with the Secret Service driving. They made it to Admiral Benson's office and Alec walked over towards the laundry building. James walked up the stairs and stood outside the Admiral's office, waiting for permission to enter. Stealing himself for what could be a major battle, James didn't have to wait long.

Once inside the office, James stood at attention, saluting the Admiral. "At ease, Captain."

James relaxed his stance and waited for the Admiral to speak. "This is a hell of a mess, McNeely."

"Yes, sir."

The Admiral sized up the Captain. He'd read his file cover to cover the previous night. The man was a good sailor, honest, hardworking, and true. Such a stupid little thing to ruin a career. "I'll be brief. You are in violation of the rules of military conduct." He waited for an answer from the Captain, but none came. "Don't you have anything to say?"

"No, sir. I agree. I am in violation."

Nodding his head, the Admiral admitted that he expected no less from the man standing before him. "The reports have been filed and are under review with the Pentagon. The final decision will be made by the Secretary of Defense."

"Yes, sir. I understand." James stood there, watching his career wash down the drain. Unless the Secretary of Defense found James to have a useful and singular skill, he was out. He knew it. He could even accept it.

"As of this moment, Captain, you are still on active duty. Your ship will sail on Friday. If a decision is made while on duty, at the next port of call, you will be relieved of said duty." Wanting to test the man's mettle, the Admiral continued. "Considering who your father is, I doubt if it will ever happen."

James seethed under the comment, but kept stoic. The anger built as the Admiral continued. "Hell, getting into the Naval Academy must have been a snap. No one would turn down the son of the future President."

Admiral Benson continued to stare at the Captain. If it hadn't been for the eyes, he wouldn't have believed the man was affected at all by what he'd said. But the eyes, they seethed with fury at his words. The next few minutes would prove very interesting indeed. "Anything you care to add, Captain?"

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

James schooled his mouth. He was beyond furious at the high-handed, holier-than-thou attitude. But he kept it in check, barely. "Sir. I have never, ever asked my father for a thing. My application to the Academy was done in secret. I found a sponsor outside my father's political friends. Never once have I gotten special treatment. I won't ask for it now, either."

Admiral Benson sat back in his chair, staring at the Captain before him. The boy had style. He was a true sailor. He would have felt shame over his dismissal of his abilities and thoughts on nepotism, but it wasn't in him to do so. "Is that all, Captain?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Good. Now listen up. I know your father hasn't done a thing for you. If he had, you'd be jockeying a desk at the Pentagon or White House right now." Watching as James McNeely's face registered shock, the Admiral continued. "I've given you a hard time. I won't apologize for it. This is a stupid rule, Captain, and I'll deny that I ever said that. This is a piss poor way to drum out a good sailor, when it takes three times as much to get out a green recruit that should never have signed up in the first place."

James stood, feeling shame for what he'd said. "Thank you, sir."

"I understand what you're up against, Captain. It wasn't that long ago when a black man could do nothing more than wash dishes or cook in this Navy. The times will change, but probably not before your career is over."

"Thank you, Admiral."

Nodding at the man before him, Admiral Benson nodded his head. "Return to duties, Captain."

James left the office, but stood outside the door, his mind reeling, his hands shaking. Hurdle one had been cleared. James left the building and walked over to the laundry facility, his two shadows in tow. When he got inside, the laundry was devoid of people except a sweaty, red-faced kid and Alec. James chuckled, recognizing the drill the yeoman was going through. The yeoman had a basket of sheets to fold, run across the length of the building to Alec, have them inspected, then run back to the table and stack them. A completely pointless exercise, but one which had been used from time to time.

Walking up to Alec, James shook his head at his Lieutenant then said, "Well, how's the new Yeoman working out?"

"He'll do. I guess." Alec grinned at James then dismissed the kid. Before he could leave, James shook the boy's hand. "Welcome to the Baton Rouge, Yeoman."

"Thank you Captain."

When he left, James couldn't contain his laughter any longer. "Damn, Alec. What was his time?"

"Eighteen minutes, twelve seconds."

Nodding at the numbers. "I'm impressed. That's almost record breaking."

Alec chuckled. "I know. I love messing with them though."

"I know. Come on, let's go check out the ship."

As James and Alec turned, he heard a commotion behind him and saw Jason grab for his gun before he heard two gunshots. Flattening himself on the ground, James stared into Jason's eyes as they went glassy with death. Reaching out for his fallen gun, James spun on his back and shot one of the three men in black clothes that were stepping out of the large laundry bins. The man James hit fell down, dead before he hit the ground, when James turned to aim at the next man. He stopped cold when he saw Alec with a gun pressed to his temple, being held in place by one of the men. "Put the gun down, Captain."

Finding no other option, James lowered the gun to the ground. "Scoot that over here." James followed orders and pushed the gun, barrel first towards the gunmen. "Good. Very good, Captain."

James watched as a white cloth was brought up against Alec's mouth before Alec sank to the ground. "What the fuck do you want?"

The two remaining gunmen walked towards him, guns aimed at his chest. "Only you, Captain. Stand up please." He complied, looking for a way out, perhaps a tackle, but there was no escape. "Turn around Captain."

James felt the cold metal of the gun barrel press into the back of his head. He smelled the sickening smell of copper as the cloth covered his face and blackness descended. He wasn't even aware of hitting the floor.



The President's Son Ch. 03



The drills had been run several times, at various times of day. Once clear of the base's gates, it would take the driver approximately thirty minutes to reach the cove where the modified seaplane was kept. Losing a man hadn't been part of the plan. Captain McNeely was a crack shot, that hadn't been in his file. Paul Johansen slapped his hand against the van's dash, letting the frustration and fury loose for a moment. Then, as he was trained, he put it away. The temporary glitch forced him to compromise. With one of their own men dead, there was no choice but to bring Masterson along. The original plan called for his disposal. That changed.

Paul drummed his fingers on his thigh, smiling slightly, hiding his anxiousness at reaching the plane. Once they rounded the bend in the road to the North Shore, the cove came into view. The plane sat in the water, bobbing slightly breached on the beach. Designed after the Pan American China Clipper, it was sleek, meant for long hauls, and could land where they were going. Ditching the van, the two assailants hefted Captain McNeely onto the plane. For a split second, Paul considered leaving Masterson in the van, to be the scapegoat for the abduction. Instead, he ran back, and dragged Masterson to the plane.

Once secured, the plane's engines roared and the plane began to cut through the spray, gathering speed. With a mighty rumble, the plane lifted from the sea. Keeping low, below most radar, the plane circled until it headed north, the cliffs and mountains of Oahu slipping further and further behind.

* * *

Twenty minutes after the plane had taken off; the two bodies of the secret servicemen were discovered along with the body of an unknown man. By unknown, his record was non-existent. He had no finger prints. No identity. When the USS Baton Rouge was searched, when James's base housing scoured over, it became apparent he went missing. With a quick call, the FBI's Honolulu office started the intelligence network to begin hunting the kidnappers of the son of the President of the United States.

* * *

On the first Wednesday of each month, the President sat down with his entire cabinet. They discussed current goals, issues, and concerns. He met with each member individually as needs required. Some, he met with more often, like the Secretary of State, others, less frequently. The meeting had been progressing well, comfortably, when a page entered and whispered into the ear of the Chief of Staff. He excused himself and stepped away from the room to find his deputy waiting for him.

"What is it, David?"

David Branson found his job enjoyable, even fun, until this moment. "There is a situation in Hawaii. Captain McNeely's secret service guards are dead. He's missing."

Chief of Staff Ken Simonson cursed vividly under his breath. "How long?"

"The bodies were discovered an hour ago."

"Christ, David. This is going to be ugly." Pacing away, he turned sharply. "Any information?"

David shook his head. "Not much. The Captain's lieutenant is missing as well. There was another body found, but so far, no one knows who he is."

"A ghost?"

"The FBI hasn't determined anything yet."

Muttering under his breath, Ken paced slowly. When he stopped, he looked at David. "Where is the Vice President?"

"He's just touched down in Australia."

Ken nodded. "Call him back." Walking back to the door, he cursed again. Because the FBI fell under the jurisdiction of the Justice Department, the Secret Service under the Commerce Department, and since the incident took place on a Navy base, the Secretary of Defense would need to stay behind. But before they could talk to the President, Ken had to tell the man his son was missing.

* * *

John was discussing with the Secretary of Agriculture the plans he'd tried for the six years he'd been in office to increase grain yields and cattle production in Wyoming and Nebraska, while working to increase the buffalo population. As Ken Simonson entered the room and the brisk nod he gave his people, John felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Excuse me, Mr. President. I must speak to you."

John looked at Ken, and somehow knew this was important, but would cut deep. Excusing himself, John stood and walked ahead of Ken, directly for the Oval Office. Sitting behind his desk, he waited for Ken to shut the door.

"Mr. President, there is a problem in Hawaii."

Before the last syllable had left Ken's mouth, John felt his blood run cold through his veins. James. "What's happened?"

"James's secret service guards were found dead. There's a third body, but no one knows who he is." Ken looked down on he file he was given as they walked to the oval office. "No one knows too much, I'm afraid."

John stood and clutched the back of his chair. "Where's the rest of my family?"

"Your wife is on her way back from New York. Sam and his wife are at their home, the children are with them. Luke and his wife are being escorted from their work. Lisa and her husband and kids are accounted for."

Shutting his eyes, John paced to look out the windows. Cursing silently beneath his breath, he turned to find Ken watching him expectantly. "Any hints who did this?"

Shifting from foot to foot, Ken looked down for a moment. "None." He cleared his throat and braced himself. "Mr. President, the Vice President is on his way back from Australia."

Shaking his head, John looked at his Chief of Staff. "The Australia trip is important. Why's he coming back?"

"We will have to invoke Amendment twenty-five, Mr. President."

"But..." The words died on John's lips. The questions, the morals of the situation made him pause. Of course he'd have to sign the paper. When faced with the issues of the world or the safety of his own son, the President of the United States became simple John McNeely, father. Turning away, John nodded his head. "You're right. Get the letter ready. I'll sign it and send it over to the Speaker and Senate."

Ken stepped towards the desk, putting the file on it, bracing his hands on either side of it. "We truly don't know what has happened. It could be—"

"No! I know something is wrong." Schooling his temper, John turned back to his trusted adviser and friend. "If it were your son, what would you do?"

Nodding, Ken stood erect. "The Vice President will be in California within eight hours. By the time Congress is made aware; he'll be ready and on American soil."

Rubbing the tension from his neck, John let out a huff of breath. "Bring the Secretary of Commerce and Defense in. Bring the Attorney General as well." Chuckling without humor, John strode toward his suite. "This is a jurisdictional nightmare."

Ken left the office quickly to follow his orders. John sat down on the sofa and told himself he could give in for just a moment; a brief moment to be a father. He shut his eyes to keep the tears at bay. Flashes of memories passed before his eyes, like a slide show of James's youth. He opened his eyes to look at his fingers and cursed because they shook. John stood and walked into the suite, to grab a bottle of water. With his hands busy and the water to cool the acidic lump in his throat, he was nearly calm when the knock came at the door. "Enter."

As Joanna Lyons walked inside, he let out a small smile. He'd chosen her over more popular choices for Attorney General. The political backlash was harsh and she nearly didn't get confirmed. But she had served far better than anyone had expected, John included. "Joanna, thank you for coming."

"Mr. President, I'm—" She was interrupted by another knock on the door.

Ken entered with Commerce Secretary Craig Stubinsky and Defense Secretary Randall Thompson. They came into the room and sat on the sofas before the fire. John took his seat at the head. Ken stood by the wall.

John looked at each in turn before speaking. "Your jobs just became more complicated. As your boss, I could pull rank. But I won't." He paused and though bitter in his mouth, he spoke the words anyway. "Craig. I promise my family will not make the Secret Service's job harder. They will cooperate completely. We simply ask that they keep us all safe."

Craig nodded and looked at Ken. "They are protected now. They won't get by them."

"I'm sorry for the two men in Hawaii. They will be given full honors." Turning to Randall. "This happened on military ground. I ask that you cooperate and have the Navy cooperate fully with the FBI."

Randall looked at Joanna Lyons, and though his lip wanted to sneer, he couldn't begrudge her the good work she'd done. "It will be rough, but we'll cooperate."

"Thank you." Turning away to face Joanna, John's smile grew a bit stronger. "Since the FBI reports to you, I ask you do your job, and don't give in to any sense of favor you might feel you owe me." He looked at the three members of his staff. "I will remove myself, temporarily, from office. Barring an objection from the Secret Service, I'd like to have my family moved either here, or to Camp David. Within eight hours, you'll answer to the Vice President. Thank you."

Standing, John walked back to his desk and stared out the window. He heard Ken take the others out of the room. Not much time passed, John only watched the gate guards pace the grounds three times before the door to the office opened again. "John?"

Shutting his eyes before turning; opening them to see the scared, panicked look on his wife's face, hurt to the bone. "Maddie."

They crossed the room together, meeting in the middle, coming together in a relieved embrace. Kissing her brow, John kept chanting her name. She clutched his shoulders, rocking in his arms. "What's happened to our baby?"

Pulling back to look down into her eyes, his thumbs gently brushed the tears away. "I don't know. I only know what they found, not what happened."

"And the rest?"

He patted her back and drew her face to his shoulder. "They're on their way here. All of them." He whispered into her ear. "We'll go to Camp David, or stay here. We'll be safe."

She shook her head and punched his shoulder. "Not all of us."

John's voice cracked as he ran his hand up and down her back. "No. Not all of us."

* * *

Malcolm was making his way from the Senate floor, heading across the street to the office building when the press surrounded him. It had been two days; the scandal surely should have died down. Rolling his eyes, he walked off the steps, squaring his shoulders to face the throng, a sweet smile crossing his lips; remembering why he faced the press. Malcolm wondered where James was. Was he underway, under the sea? He probably would never know.

"Senator! Senator! Have you spoken with the President?"

Walking forward, intending to make his way through the crowd, Malcolm plastered a false smile on his face, prepared to say 'no comment' one more time. Slowly, as the barrage of questions heightened, he became aware that they had nothing to do with the picture. Slowing, nearly stopping his steps forward, he looked to one reporter, one he'd worked with in the past in California. "What's going on?"

He stepped towards Malcolm and whispered in his ear. "James McNeely is missing, his guards are dead."

Malcolm blanched before breaking into a run, scrambling through traffic, towards the safety of his office. Slipping into the building, he never made it to the elevator. The Secret Service stopped him in his tracks. "Senator. Please come with us."

Malcolm nodded and stepped into the back elevator. Flanked by four secret servicemen, Malcolm stood in the middle of the elevator, wonder, fear, curiosity flooding through his system. He barely noticed when the doors opened and he was ushered into the back of a limousine. The car left the underground garage and quickly waded its way through traffic towards the White House. Bypassing security, quickly going through the gates, Malcolm stared off into nothing as the car slowed before the main entrance to the mansion.

Malcolm lost two of his escorts at the main door. He was led down the main hall into the Blue Room where he saw a man and woman sitting in chairs, staring off into space. The man stood, and gave Malcolm a slight smile. His hand rested against the woman's shoulder as the secret servicemen left them alone. Tall, blonde, handsome, Malcolm recognized him as James's brother, Sam. He stuck out his hand and offered a friendly smile. "I'd hoped to meet under better circumstances. I'm Sam. This is my wife, Martine."

Martine stood, her dark, curly hair flowing down her back, her dark brown eyes sad as she took Malcolm's hand. "I'm very happy to meet you, Malcolm."

Malcolm absently shook her hand and looked back and forth between the two of them. "What's going on?"

Martine wrapped her arm around Sam's waist and gave a supportive squeeze. Sam looked down then straight into Malcolm's eyes. "James has been taken. His guards in Hawaii are dead." He looked into his wife's eyes and the grief in them was nearly too painful to witness. "We don't really know anything else. Dad's had us all brought here. Just in case."

On an exhalation of breath, Malcolm muttered, "I think I need to sit down." He plunked into a chair, his head dropping into his hands, resting on his knees. "Oh God."

Sam put his hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "He's been missing for about five hours now. There hasn't been any word yet." Malcolm looked up and Sam shrugged. "Dad's having us all brought here. Luke will be here in a couple of hours. Lisa and her family are flying in from Seattle. It will take them a few more hours to get here."

"What can I do?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing. We're waiting until the family is all here, then Dad wants us to go to Camp David."

Malcolm stood and began to pace. "I can't. I... Shit."

"I agree." The words were spoken from the door. Malcolm turned around and saw the first lady, standing in the door. She came into the room and hugged her son and daughter. She smiled at both of them. "My grandchildren are wondering where their parents are."

Sam and Martine left the room, leaving Malcolm alone with Madeline. She came to stand by him and stare out the window with him. "I know how you're feeling Malcolm."

Malcolm laughed. "No offense, Mrs. McNeely, but I think you're feeling a lot worse than I am."

She turned to Malcolm. "Don't be cute. I know you're scared for him too."

Malcolm turned and stepped away. "That wasn't what I meant. You're his mother. I don't have children, but I can only imagine how scared you must be."

"You're right. I'm terrified." She came up to Malcolm and put her hand on his arm. "But you have feelings for my son. New feelings, yes, but you do care for him."

Malcolm shut his eyes. "I didn't even know him two weeks ago."

"And this changes things how?"

Malcolm laughed and took Madeline's hand. "I'm sorry. I'm not at my best right now."

"No one is."

"What happens now?"

She smiled and took his arm and led him to the room's door. "That's for my husband to decide." She looked up at Malcolm's face. "And the secret service. And the FBI."

"Okay. If you can point me to a phone, I need to make some calls."

"Why not wait a bit on that. We really need to wait until we hear something."

Malcolm shook his head. "I was right about you."

"How so?"

Malcolm chuckled. "You are the strongest, ballsiest woman I've ever known."

"Hardly. I just look good under pressure."

They both laughed as they made their way upstairs to the residence, to wait. To worry. To pray.

* * * 

A low level thrum was the first thing James became aware of. The constant noise impeded on the tranquil oblivion he rested in. Pushing it away, he rolled to the side, and bumped into cold metal. Pausing, keeping still, he slowly opened his eyes. He saw metal walls, slightly curved at the floor. Without moving, he checked as much as he could see. When he saw no one, James slowly rolled to his back. 

Blinking his eyes fully open, James tried to recognize what he saw. Steel girders, a few windows, some seats, facing forward, like an airplane, but not any airplane he'd ever been on. Sitting up, finding his hands tied behind him, James knelt between the seats and looked out, and saw a wing coming from the roof of the cabin and two large engines, spinning very large propellers. Looking to the rear of the aircraft, James figured he was on something similar to the Pan Am Clipper, an airplane that could only land on water.

The last of the day's light began to fade very rapidly. The front of the aircraft had a wall, which looked like something added as an afterthought. Except for a door with very secure looking locks, it appeared James was alone with Alec. The sound of locks turning caused James to lie flat on his back, still, forcing his breathing to calm. The door opened, racking into James's ankle. He hoped he stayed still, didn't show any pain or wince. 

James called his breathing, trying to appear unconscious. He thought he'd succeeded until a deep, slightly southern voice spoke. "I know you're awake, Captain."

James lay perfectly still but opened one eye, searching in the waning light for who spoke. It was the man who'd held the gun on Alec. "What do you want?"

He chuckled. "Direct and to the point. Thank you, Captain."

James barely contained the bitterness, and deep down fear he felt from coming out. "You're welcome."

The man laughed deeply. "How refreshing." He knelt by James, showing the gun he held in his hand. "Cooperate, Captain, and this will be over with... eventually."

Shutting his eyes to hide his fear, he breathed a small prayer for strength, before opening his eyes. Every ounce of hatred, fear, hurt, betrayal, and every other negative, harmful emotion spilled from his eyes, spearing into his captor's face. Practically spitting his animosity, he quietly spoke, "One day soon, you will pay for this."

The man blinked once before letting out a burst of air from between lips gone tense. He swallowed before speaking, as if his voice were lost. "I agree, Captain." Sitting back, as if to distance himself from the fury that filled James's face, the man took his gun and put it in his pocket. "But are you willing to die for it?"

Using what strength he had, James slowly pulled himself up until he was sitting back braced against the metal seats. "I swore to protect my country, up to and including death. You are a common criminal, a cockroach unworthy of my dying for you."

His captor smirked, but with little conviction. "Me? I am worthless, Captain. But what I believe in is not."

"What are you hoping to accomplish? My father stepping down? The FBI to come down on you and yours? What is so important?"

The captor shook his head and smiled sadly. "When terrorists hijacked airplanes and used them as missiles, we learned how lax we were. But we've relaxed, allowed the terrorists to gather strength. This country and its people are not safe."

James stared at the man, disbelief in his eyes. "You're kidding?"

"Not at all. How safe can any American be if we can take you from a secured Naval Base, out from under the guard surrounding you, in the middle of the day?"

James merely shook his head. The man continued, pontificating, as if he had a rapt audience of thousands. "I could care less if you're gay. But you have been in the news now for three days solid. The entire country knows your name." His eyes bored into James's. "They will know who you are and that you've been taken. And no one will be able to find you."

James merely whispered the words, "You're crazy."

"I'm not crazy. I'm pissed." He stood and headed towards the door. "We'll be arriving soon. Get some rest." He opened the door and walked mostly through it before turning back. "You'll need it."

The door shut with a resounding thud. Over the propellers outside, James couldn't hear the locks turn, but knew that they had been secured inside. Using the seat as leverage, James forced himself up until he stood. He paced around the small area of the cabin, a space with about six rows of double seats towards the rear bulkhead. The first four or so rows had been removed and Alec lay there. James checked each seat, each row, finding no seatbelts, no loose pieces he could use of any sort. Dejected, James sat in the first row of seats and used his foot to gently prod Alec without success.




The President's Son Ch. 03



With nothing more to do, James sat sideways, staring out the window, trying to find some slight landmass to pinpoint where he was being taken to. The plane hit some turbulence and James was pitched forward onto the floor. Pain shot up his arm from where he'd rammed his shoulder. His knee hit Alec somewhere in his belly, but he didn't get a single groan from him. Lying back, turning to his side to relieve the pressure from his newly bruised arm and the pain from having his hands tied behind his back, James settled down to try and get as comfortable as possible. Time seemed to pass quickly, and James slowly fell asleep.

From his prone position, James felt the plane touchdown, bouncing along the waves. Unable to see out any of the windows, except to the sky and stars above, James had no idea where they had landed, but could only guess, that they were far from Hawaii. It had been early morning when he'd been captured, and since it was night, he could only assume that they'd traveled either west or north, away from the setting sun and the perpetual daylight of the southern hemisphere.

As the plane settled and began to bob gently in the water, the cabin grew cold, as if chilled from the water. North. James definitely concluded they'd gone north of the warm waters of Hawaii. Alec remained unconscious by his side, either from a larger dose of the chloroform or sensitivity to it. Either way, his continued sleep concerned James. As the plane bumped, James figured they'd either docked or beached against something and mentally braced himself for his captor's return.

* * *

Malcolm stood on the roof of his Georgetown brownstone and faced the Washington Monument. The gleaming spire was lost to his eyes. Lost in thought, Malcolm turned and paced the rooftop before collapsing into a deck chair he'd placed there. Grabbing a beer from the bucket of them he'd brought up to the roof, Malcolm settled back into the chair. He'd refused to go to Camp David with the President and his family. Concern over his constituents had been the lame excuse he'd given, but it didn't touch why he really chose to go home. Before leaving the White House, he'd called and contracted for personal security, his physical safety wasn't that much of an issue. In fifteen hours, not a single other member of the McNeely family was approached let alone touched.

Clad in thick wool socks, navy, thick sweat pants, and a couple of shirts covered by a sweatshirt, Malcolm figured he could sit out on the roof, sipping beer until he was numb; from the cold, from the beer, from the thoughts that continually bombarded him, hounding him, making his pulse race and pound thickly in his chest. He had two desires and needs. He thought of the committee notes he had sitting in his briefcase in his office downstairs. He could go down into the warmth, sit in the rich leather chair and lose himself to the political and legislative files he needed to pore through. Perhaps he'd find surcease in the study on the annual rainfall and wind erosion of the outer channel islands of North Carolina. Perhaps he'd find refuge in the cost study of replacing the jetties in Grays Harbor County, Washington. And perhaps Malcolm would only read the same sentence over and over again as his mind relived every moment of his time with James.

Shutting his eyes and taking a pull off his third beer, Malcolm decided the legal papers waiting for him would have to wait. He couldn't focus. His mind was only concerned, could only focus on James and his concern over what he could be going through. Was he okay? Was he hurt? Malcolm's eyes squeezed tighter as he pushed it all away, forcing the images his over active imagination put before them far away. Standing, wiping his nose that had gone runny in the cold, Malcolm went to the edge of the roof and stared down at the naked trees, devoid of leaves on the street below.

Congress had been sworn in the day before, the committees were reconvening. Malcolm served on his father's seat on the Appropriations Committee. He didn't have time to stop everything and go to Camp David. He didn't have time to be worried about a man he just met after Christmas, which he'd first kissed under a sprig of mistletoe, that he'd had almost-sex with on New Year's Eve. Turning around, Malcolm hurled the beer bottle against the roof, watching it shatter into many pieces, the remaining few swallows bubbling on the roof, spreading quickly on the tar paper. Rubbing his eyes with his fingers, Malcolm groaned out loud, rubbing at his face, dismayed at the wetness on his fingers. Fucking crying. Jesus. What was the matter with him?

Sniffing deeply, Malcolm scrubbed his face with his hands, turning around and muttering, "fuck," quite loudly. Walking across the roof, Malcolm made his way down the ladder and realized how cold he was once the heat of the house enveloped him. Pulling off his sweatshirt, Malcolm walked down the stairs to the second story and his bedroom. Stripping off the rest of his clothing, Malcolm slipped naked between the sheets. He'd barely turned off the bed table lamp when his cell phone rang. Snatching it quickly, he flipped it open to read the display. "Hello?"

"Malcolm? It's Sam."

Malcolm swallowed deeply. "What's going on?"

He heard Sam's inhalation then sigh. "The FBI has gotten some new information. They know how he was taken and figured out where they left Hawaii. But they don't know where he is."

Malcolm shut his eyes in relief. "Have there been any demands?"

"Not yet."

Shutting his eyes, letting out his held breath slowly, Malcolm gripped the phone tighter. "Thank you for letting me know."

Sam chuckled lightly. "Yeah. No problem."

"How's the family?"

"We're going to be okay." A heavy pause ensued before he spoke again. "How about you?"

"I'm fine." He spoke too quickly, too fast to be believable. "I'm not, but I have to be."

"I hear you. I'll let you know if we hear anything more."

"Thanks." The phone became dead air. Malcolm lay back in the dark, and watched the shadows creep across the ceiling, sleep a far off possibility.



The President's Son Ch. 04



The rocking of the plane was starting to annoy James. He had an iron stomach and motion sickness never usually fazed him, but, with the pain in his shoulder and the chloroform, he started feeling nauseous. And to top it off, it was very cold and getting colder. Through the lit cabin, he couldn't see anything but darkness outside the windows, but he did catch an occasional fleck of light. If he wasn't mistaken, he'd swear it was snow. Great.

Within minutes of landing, and the stopping of the propellers, the door unlocked and the man with the gun from earlier stepped in, brandishing the pistol. He was followed by two other men, dressed entirely in black, with heavy sweaters. They leaned down and grabbed James and hauled him to his feet. The marched him through the door and down a gangplank onto a dock. James blinked his eyes and waited for the darkness to become less. He spotted land at the end of the dock, barely broken by a building with a few lights on them. The shore was nearly unbroken with nothing but conifers. Unless he was vastly mistaken, he was either in Eastern Russia, Alaska, or Canada.

As they left the dock, he was led into the building. It was almost utilitarian, nothing but cinder blocks, painted a dull grey. There were four doors off the long corridor. At the end, it looked to be a bathroom. They led James into the furthest door on the right. Inside was a lone table, three metal chairs, some bare light fixtures, and a cabinet. They pushed James down into a chair, untied his arms, and secured his right arm to a metal eye in the middle with handcuffs.

The main captor was silent the entire way through the building. Once he was secured, the two other men left, leaving James with his captor. The man went to the cabinet and opened it, riffling through the contents of a drawer. When he turned around, he had a metal lock box. He sat it on the table and watched James for a moment.

When he sat down on one of the other chairs, he pulled the lock box to him and opened it. "Captain. We will need some things from you. It won't be too painful."

He pulled out a pair of surgical gloves, a pair of scissors, three manila envelopes, and a metal container. He stood and started to move around the table. Before he reached James, he stopped and took his gun out of his pocket. He slipped the safety off and looked at James. "I hope you won't make this difficult. I don't want to have to secure your other hand."

James let all the emotion off his face and stared at the man. "What do you want?"

He chuckled. "A lock of hair, the insignia and ribbons, and a vial of blood."

"Why my blood?"

The man made a negligent shrug. "How else to prove who you are and that we have you?"

The captor opened the small metal container, revealing a hypodermic, rubbing alcohol, and a tourniquet. James nodded his head and held out his left arm, palm up, exposing his elbow. A knock at the door stopped the captor. He called for them to enter, and one of his two escorts stepped inside. The captor handed the man his gun before he leaned into James and removed his collar insignia and ribbons. Taking the scissors, he cut a bit of hair from the back of James's head. He put the hair in one manila envelope, the insignia and ribbons in another. Taking James's arm, he tied the tourniquet around James's bicep and swabbed the crook of James's elbow before he stuck him, not unkindly, and drew a small blood sample. The vial went into the third envelope.

James let his arm relax once the tourniquet was off. The captor put the three envelopes into the lock box and handed it to his goon. "You know what to do with this?"

The goon nodded and left the room. He came back in after a couple of minutes with a camera. The goon nodded at the captor and he smiled. He turned to James and shrugged, his cocky grin still in place. "This should get interesting, Captain."

Without pause, his fist came out and connected with James's jaw, snapping James's head back. The second punch came just as fast, splitting James's lip. James felt the rip in his skin, tasted the slight bit of copper pool in his mouth. He stood quickly, pulling at his chained arm, unable to reach his full height. His captor moved away, feinting with his body, almost in reach of James as he punched back, missing. Tiring himself, he stood still, waiting for the next move. James's captor stood just out of reach and laughed. 

James glared at him with every bit of hatred in him. It was only a small sense of satisfaction that the man's smile faltered a bit. "You will pay for that."

He chuckled and moved further away. "Not yet, Captain."

With a motion of the man's hand, the goon came up and pushed the captain back into his chair then punched James's eye again. James sat in his chair, not defeated, but deciding to merely choose his battles. The captor stood against the wall and lit a cigarette, nodding. "We'll wait a few more minutes for the bruises to show." He stepped forward and smiled. "It'll make the pictures a bit more authentic."

James felt a bit of relief; if this was only for show. He knew it was a false hope, a wrong idea, but it was hope. For now he felt afraid. Adrenaline might have blocked it, but now he really felt terrified. A bar fight, a misunderstanding in high school, a drunken brawl after basic, those James had been a part of, but he was powerless, with no alcohol to deaden the pain, no anger to fuel his body. And without being able to fight back, it only made him feel powerless. Sitting back, using his free hand to touch his split lip, he glared at the man who held him prisoner.

Before James could say anything, the flash from the camera lit the room, momentarily blinding James. The picture that came out of the camera was handled by the man who'd hit James with surgical gloves. It was placed in an envelope and the goon with the camera left. James's captor turned to face James, smiling slightly. "You'll be shown to your room shortly. But first, I'll need your uniform shirt."

James looked down. "You have everything that identifies me off of it."

He smiled as he took his gun and pointed it at James. "I didn't say you'd be comfortable while you were with us."

The captor indicated the buttons on his shirt and James stared, furious, frightened, then began to take off his shirt.

***

Alec awoke in a dark room, feeling very dizzy. As his eyes tried to adjust to the dimness of the room, he moved his head to catch the slight light he could see. The motion was a mistake as his stomach revolted. Biting back the gorge rising in his throat, Alec turned himself over quickly and took several deep breaths, trying to keep the meager contents of his stomach in place.

After a few moments, his stomach began to calm, but the trembling in his limbs grew more pronounced as he tried to stand. So much so, that he collapsed onto his knees. Inching his way around in the dark, he discovered a wall which he leaned against. Shutting his eyes that did nothing to help him discover where he was, he began to take stock.

The man, Paul, had lied to him. He was never supposed to leave the base. The chill made him aware that he wasn't in Hawaii anymore. But where the hell was he?

His thoughts shattered when the door opened and the room flooded with light. Alec had a split second to take in the small room, cement brick walls and a cement floor. He couldn't see any windows and there was no furniture. The light from the door was blocked as people moved about. A body was tossed into the room and two men followed him, leaning down and grabbing Alec. Fear rose in his throat that was never uttered in even a minor squeak as he was taken from the room. Before the door shut, he heard James call out to him, which did much to calm Alec. As long as James was near, nothing truly awful would happen to him.

As they dragged him down the hall, Alec couldn't stop the pounding of his heart. The raw fear had him ready to beg. If the walk down the hall had been any longer, he probably would have. As he was shoved into another room, Alec looked up, shocked to see the man who'd visited him only days before in his home in Hawaii. "What's going on?"

"Calm down, Lieutenant. Nothing but a slight change of plans."

"I wasn't supposed to leave the base. I was knocked out, didn't see what happened, a credible witness." He knew his voice was panicked, but then again, he wasn't supposed to get involved. "Why did you bring me here?"

"The Captain is a good shot. He took out one of my men, and you were needed to keep him in line."

Alec sat at the table and thought for a few moments. If he was there, James would be less likely to do something. A bit of insurance; for when they were released or rescued, he was simply a captive, just like James. He looked at the man who put this all in motion and nodded. "Fine. What do you need me to do?"

The man smiled and started across the room. "We need to rough you up a bit."

The first blow was a shock; the second and third merely painful. When it was over, the man stood back and admired his handy work. "Good, the Captain will never suspect you delivered him into our hands."

Those words made Alec stop worrying about his split lip and bruised cheek and stare at the man before him. For the first time Alec knew that it really was him. It was his fault. A simple idea, a moment of weakness, and now, James was in serious trouble. What had he done?

***

The plain manila envelope, no return address, printed in square block letters from a non descript pen, landed on the desk of Jennifer Trineholt. It was wedged in a stack of mail addressed to the local FBI office in Austin, Texas. Jennifer finished her cup of coffee, checked on her office email, and placed her purse securely in her bottom drawer to be locked in her desk. Taking a letter opener, Jennifer began going through the mail. The first letter was a rambling conspiracy concerning the additives in gasoline which caused the author's gas mileage to plummet in recent months.

Jennifer sighed deeply and added it to her growing pile of fact-less, ranting complaints that must be responded to, taking her away from vital work. Now, because she'd done so well, so tactfully with the crazies of America, she was given all the mail, all the correspondence. Not that she wouldn't do what she could but, it really didn't amount to much. She picked up the second and actually smiled as she read. Kentucky Fried Chicken had a secret fryer that injected cocaine into the food, making it addictive. Amusing, but clearly false.

As she picked up the third envelope, she felt something solid inside. Instantly on alert, she opened the envelope, upending it, a digital video tape, a few photos, and a typewritten letter landed haphazardly on her desk. The photos were of Captain James MacNeely, the President's kidnapped son. A purpling bruise spread across his cheek, blood trickled down his chin from a split lip. Grabbing her phone and hitting the numbers faster than she'd ever dialed before, she called her superior. Within three minutes, the vial was on its way to Washington, the photos and letter taken into evidence, and a long, twisting inquiry into the United States Postal Service began.

***

James's escorts took him down the hall, back to the room where he'd been punched a few times, had his uniform taken from him, and photographed for the world to see. Frankly, it infuriated him to no end. He worried about his family, his parents, Malcolm. How would they take seeing him with a cut lip and bruised cheeks? As they led James into the small, windowless room, and James saw what awaited him, his throat went dry, his pulse hammered, and he knew that his family would hurt more.

The leader stood against one wall, ankles crossed, watching James be escorted in. His eyes met James's and for one second, some unknowable emotion flashed into his eyes; gone before James could even begin to name it. He gestured to the chair against the opposite wall and the goons forced James into it. The cuffs went around his wrists, attached to the bottom legs of the chair. The goons stepped away and James rocked against the chair, testing his fetters, finding them immovable. With a sickening thud, his heart leapt into his throat as his stomach plummeted to his feet.

Shutting his eyes, taking a deep breath, James calmed himself as best he could then looked directly into his captor's eyes. "So what will it be today?"

James received a half smile from his captor before he signaled the two goons to leave. When the door shut, he turned and paused the camera mounted on its tripod and gave James an appraising look. "A little more to give the national networks."

James nodded once and looked at the camera. "All for affect? Or a personal desire?"

The captor chuckled slightly. "I don't care for torture. I care for causes." He took out his cigarettes and lit one. "Roughing you up simply makes a better statement." He inhaled deeply and blew out the smoke. "I don't want to do this, but hey, enjoyment? Why not?"

The two goons returned with a steel basin and a large water jug. James looked at the new devices and shut his eyes. He kept his eyes shut, concentrating on breathing as the goons removed his shoes and socks, placed his feet in the basin and turned the jug of icy water to empty against his feet. Two more sets of cuffs were placed around his ankles, securing him completely to the chair, bolted to the floor. James's fingers felt along the chair, hoping the metal was aluminum, but figured he wouldn't be that lucky. 

One of the goons left the room, the ominous clicking of the door forced James to open his eyes and saw his captor set up the camera, positioning it to face James squarely. "You know, there is no information that you can give, because I won't ask a single question."

James focused only on the voice. "Then why do it at all?"

A small smile bloomed around an exhalation of smoke. "To hear you scream." He stubbed out his cigarette and leaned against the table, lowering his face directly into James. "The press will try to keep it private, but the video will find its way out into the world. Everyone will know about it. See it. You will scream, eventually."

James swallowed hard, felt his pulse race in his throat, choking him. For the first time, James truly wondered what would happen to him. The assurances for his safety, his eventual release could almost be believed. But hearing his own future torture, James began to wonder if he would ever see beyond the walls of his prison.

The door opened one more time with a goon carrying a car battery and some jumper cables. The icy water swirling around his feet sucked the last of his warmth from his bones and James began to tremble. The battery was set before James and his captor turned the camera on. James shut his eyes as the goon hooked up the jumper cables. The sparking arc and snap of ozone from the two ends being rubbed together brought his eyes open again. 

The goon brought the two ends of the cables together once more for effect; for the camera. "Brace yourself, Captain."

Sitting shirtless, defenseless, James took a deep breath and waited for it, braced himself for the pain. When the cable first pressed against him, nothing could have prepared him. The muscles of his chest and arms instantly tightened, he felt his heart struggle, and his lungs froze. Teeth clenched tight with the electric current singing though him, James couldn't have screamed if he wanted.

As quickly as it started, the electrodes were removed and his muscles collapsed. The breath he'd been holding shuddered out of him, followed by horrible coughing spasms, as his beleaguered diaphragm struggled to find its rhythm again. Someone spoke, but James couldn't focus for the pain. When the coughing stopped, James turned tear filled eyes to his captor, focused on the man's lips, and made out what he was saying.

"We can stop or start your heart, Captain. Don't make us."

James shut his eyes and forced his aching muscles to relax as much as possible. With one last ounce of energy, putting all his hate and fear into the action, he opened his eyes and spat as hard as he could and as much as his dry mouth would allow. "Go to hell!"

The electrodes met his skin again. And finally, harshly, James screamed.

***

With a plain envelope, one of the eight men sequestered with James and Alec left the hideout with explicit instructions. He got on one of the boats and sailed across the water. Minutes, hours, days, time had no purpose, no meaning. The boat pulled up to a dock and the man boarded a plane, flew as far away from the hideout as possible. At the first large airport he came too, he was met by another associate who took the envelope and dropped it into the night drop at a local television station. By morning, the tape had been viewed, the stories written, and the FBI informed. Less than forty-eight hours after his kidnapping, the electrocution video was all across the world news.

***

Malcolm sat across the table from the President of the United States, sequestered at Camp David, waiting for some word, some clue, some hope. He had been sitting in his Georgetown townhouse for hours, the press camped outside his door, the Secret Service following him around. The guards were polite. They were courteous. But they were there, constantly; watching every move, every motion. On orders from President Baldwin, he was escorted to Camp David, on a special request from President MacNeely. He had been sitting at Camp David for six hours. During that time, he had been fed, had greeted the entire MacNeely clan, and had waited for any news.

John MacNeely looked like he'd aged twenty years in the last few days. He kept rubbing his temples. Malcolm wondered, more than once, if the man were having a stroke. With a brisk motion, he stood and paced around the room once before he stopped in front of Malcolm. "Don't ask, don't tell is utter bullshit!"

Malcolm stayed sitting, shocked at the vehemence of the man's voice. "I agree."

John walked back and forth to the window a few times before he sat down, defeated. "When I ran for office, when I first considered it, James came to me, told me the truth." He shook his head. "My baby boy told me he was gay and was entering the Naval Academy and I never thought about what that would mean to him. Not one thought." 

Malcolm said nothing and watched John struggle with his emotions. "The letter of the law is simple. Don't act on it, don't talk about it, don't anything. Just live your life alone, miserable, and afraid."

John looked up at the sharp, reproachful tone Malcolm hadn't meant to use. But his anger at the double standard leaked out. John merely nodded his head. "You're right. I did this to my son. I made him afraid and hurt him more than if I'd handed him to the kidnappers."

Malcolm shook his head and chuckled. "It's hardly your fault."

John merely snorted. "He only wanted one thing, what all of his friends, what his family had. And because I was too busy being President, I kept him from having love, a relationship, the simple things that I have taken for granted."

Malcolm sat back in his chair and debated whether John needed a drink or a punch in the jaw. "You can't take all the blame. He chose this too. He just didn't have all the facts or the life experience to let him deal with his feelings. If you want one simple thing to blame yourself for, it is allowing that law to stand."

John turned his head just a bit and wiped a tear from his eye. "I promise that when I am back in office, I will do everything in my power to fix this."

Malcolm sat back and let all his thoughts percolate for a few moments. "My appointment is only until the special election in November. I sit on the armed services committee. Let me introduce it. They will expect it."




The President's Son Ch. 04



"I can't—"

"Bullshit. I expect your support, but let me take my licks on this one. Trust me, with what has happened, I doubt if it will take much to change it."

John leaned back in his chair and smiled. "If you aren't running, you should. You are a natural."

Malcolm roared with laughter. "I haven't thought that much about it yet."

"You should."

Malcolm stood, to leave the man in peace when the door opened. James's brother entered the room, shouting. "Turn on CNN."

The television came on to footage of the anchor, breaking into the latest story. "This footage, was delivered early this morning to a local new station. The FBI continues to work any and all leads on the kidnapping, now in its third day. This video, which to be warned, is quite shocking, delivered just this morning."

The video played, showing James on a metal chair, chained to the floor. His feet were planted in a steel drum, filled with water. The electrodes from jumper cables touched his chest and Malcolm nearly vomited as he watched all of James's muscles clench. Malcolm stopped hearing the voices around him, and simply watched James suffer. The world went black.

The next thing Malcolm knew, Sam knelt over Malcolm, from flat on his back on the floor. Sam smiled down at him and gave him a hand up. "Don't worry about it. I threw up."

Malcolm laughed once then rolled to his side and did just what Sam told him he'd done.



The President's Son Ch. 05



The President's helicopter set down about twenty minutes after James was brought in. John, Malcolm and Madeline were escorted by the secret service to the Emergency Room. Stan Baxter stood outside, waiting for the President so he could fill him in on the updates into the investigation. While in the helicopter, John tried to decide how much he should prepare his wife for. It wasn't that he thought she wasn't strong enough, he knew she was far stronger than most people. He just didn't want her to read what had happened until after she had seen their son.

The moment they descended upon the emergency room, a nurse went into the exam room. She informed Admiral Johnson that the President had arrived. Johnson had only a preliminary workup, and wanted to wait until the X-rays had come back before he spoke to the family. Outside, Stan Baxter called on his cell phone to the Director of the FBI, getting the latest update from the compound in Alaska. John McNeely waited until Baxter was off the phone, but it felt like an eternity.

Baxter joined the President with grim determination. "Mr. President. The abductors videotaped the majority of what went on once they arrived at the compound. We are reviewing those tapes now and have pieced together most of what happened. Apparently, there were four captors, two of which left shortly before we arrived. We are searching, but so far, haven't found them."

John stood and listened, feeling angry and helpless at the same time. "Where is Masterson?"

Baxter didn't want this question, but didn't flinch from it either. "Lieutenant Masterson is being held at a local hospital in Anchorage. He is under arrest and has four guards on him at all times."

John spared a glance at his wife, sitting on a bench, looking pale. Malcolm was holding her hand. "Is he injured?"

Baxter shook his head. "He isn't." He paused, not sure if he should go on, but decided it would be worse to hold the news back. "He's wondering why he can't be with Captain McNeely. They sedated him because he became too agitated. The preliminary psych evaluation is being worked up."

John was going to ask more questions when Admiral Johnson came out of the exam room. He walked straight to the President and waited a few seconds for Mrs. McNeely and Malcolm to join him. "Captain McNeely is in stable condition. We're going to have to take him into surgery soon."

Madeline's heart lurched into her throat. "What is wrong with him?"

Johnson looked at the First Lady and felt all the admiration he'd felt toward her strengthen. The woman had guts. "There is an orthopedic specialist who is going to repair his knee. The preliminary X-ray shows that at least four tendons are detached or torn. We've set his right arm and it is now in a cast." Johnson paused, not wanting to be blunt, but knowing that sugarcoating it wouldn't make it any easier. "We're going to have to remove his tonsils. There is also some tearing that needs to be stitched around his lips. We've done the stitching already on his rectum."

Madeline wanted to be sick. John had told her the bare facts about the situation and what her baby had gone through. But the damage that the Admiral was describing made her feel weak in the knees. Malcolm's calm hand on her arm helped steady her. "Can I see him?"

Johnson looked at Madeline McNeely and admired her strength. Now came the hard part. "Your son is in a catatonic state. His eyes are open, but he isn't aware of his surroundings. You can see him, just don't be surprised if he doesn't respond."

John shook the Admiral's hand and escorted his wife into the exam room, lead by a nurse. Malcolm waited out in the hall, wondering what he was supposed to do. He felt so damn helpless. He was filled with this rage that wanted to consume him. Anger poured from him. But there was no target. Masterson was thousands of miles away. The abductors were in prison or on the run, out of his reach. So he paced, letting the hate build where there could be no outlet. Stan Baxter watched the Senator pace, feeling helpless, wanting to go out and help hunt down the people who had done this. For the rest of his life, he'd never forget the sight when he'd walked into that room and seen Alec Masterson rutting on top of James McNeely. Nor would he forget the pitiful cries and hysterical ranting when they separated them and handcuffed Masterson. Either the man was crazy, a sadistic fuck or both.

When Madeline saw her son, her first thought was simple: this couldn't be her boy. He was draped with a sheet, covering him from about his belly button down. His chest and upper arms appeared to be one giant bruise. His jaw was swollen and his lips were cracked. His eyes were open and once she saw that deep blue, she knew that this was her son. It took everything she had not to break down and weep uncontrollably. But even with her iron control, the tears still streamed down her face. She stood beside him and touched his hand, taking it gently in hers. Lowering to his face, she was hoping there would be some flicker of awareness, but his eyes didn't even shift. He stared at nothing, not even blinking. She knew her son was strong. She could only imagine what horrors he must have faced. John leaned down to his son as well, but got the same non-response. John and Madeline stood together, her slightly in front of him, his arms around her and she holding his hand. At that moment, they weren't the President and First Lady. They were just Mr. and Mrs. John McNeely, watching over their son. After a few moments, a nurse directed them out of the room.

They wheeled James's gurney out of the exam room, on its way to the operating room. Malcolm got his first look at James. His eyes flooded with tears, seeing this kind, wonderful man in such a state. Madeline joined Malcolm as he watched the gurney disappear down the hall. Admiral Johnson stepped out of the exam room, and offered his office as a waiting room. The three of them accepted and went to the small office and paced and worried for several hours. All the while they waited, the media got a copy of one of the tapes the society had created. After hunting down a source at the FBI, the press began to piece together what had happened. The same group that made James McNeely and Malcolm Richardson's kiss a national scandal became the champions of the Captain and his courageous fight for survival.



The President's Son Ch. 06



At the Pentagon, the Secretary of the Navy, Alan Freeman, sat in his office with a file on his desk. It had been sitting there for two weeks, needing his attention. Normally, such a file would never cross his desk. Don't ask, don't tell could and would be handled on the local level. A base commander, ship's captains, anyone but Admiral Alan Freeman; and yet, because of the sensitive nature of the sailor in question, it had been passed directly to him. 

He let out a heavy sigh, and opened the file. The entire career of Captain James McNeely lay in a few pages before him; the Admiral was disgusted as he read. Four years at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, excelling in all his studies, the letter of recommendation from the former Congressman of Washington's sixth district, and his first posting in Virginia told of a good sailor, no, a great sailor. 

Outstanding reviews, accomplished tours of duty, no reprimands, no disciplinary issues. Nothing. The man could not have lived a cleaner life. And yet, by law, his career was done, over.

Admiral Freeman stared at the file for a long time before he turned around and flipped the sound on his television. The news media were parked outside of Bethesda Naval Hospital, waiting for an update, a word. The same people who outed the man were now vultures around the carrion of James McNeely's career. Sighing again, Admiral Freeman signed the forms and left the file on his secretary's desk. The law was his sworn duty. He'd just carried it out, no matter how dirty it made him feel. A damn shameful waste of an exemplary career. But it was over. James McNeely, once the formal inquiries were done over his kidnapping, he'd have one last inquest to stand in front of, James McNeely would then become a former captain. Shaking his head, he slipped his overcoat on and made his way out of the Pentagon, his heart heavy, and headed for home.

***

Chief of Staff Ken Simonson sat in his office, reading through the numerous memos, letters, reports, and various other sundry items of running the nation required. Nothing special, trade reports, financial memos, and several press requests for information about James McNeely. The President was still under the twenty-fifth amendment, waiting like the grieving father he was. Ken couldn't blame the man for wanting to be there. He muttered under his breath as he read the latest public opinion polls. The American people no longer seemed to care that the Captain was caught in a kiss. They only wanted to know if he was okay, if he was recovering. 

A knock on his door took his attention away. Ken looked up and was surprised to see the President at his door. "Mr. President." He stepped into the office and shut the door. "What happens now?"

Ken tried to stand, but he was waved down. "How is he?"

The President sat down and looked out the office window and shook his head. "He's still catatonic. Other than that, there is no change."

"I'm sorry, sir. What can I do for you?" John McNeely sat back in his chair and smiled tightly. "I need to get back to work."

"Agreed."

"How do you want to handle this?"

John smiled and started to laugh. "Could we be any more formal?"

Ken smiled and reached behind him for the bottle of water on his desk. He indicated an extra glass, silently offering. The President shook his head but laughed. "Got anything stronger?"

After Ken had poured a finger of scotch in the President's glass, they sat back and sipped a bit. "When do you want the press to know, John?"

"Tomorrow morning. The country needs to know I'm available. It also sends a message that what has happened isn't quite as bad."

"Q and A or a set speech?"

"We'll let Richardson give a statement. James's condition, the transfer of power, and so forth. Then I'll take some questions."

Ken nodded and gave a small smile. "And about the inquest?"

John stood and kicked at his chair. "This wasn't supposed to happen. He's a good kid, a great sailor, and doesn't deserve to lose all that because of one kiss."

Ken stood and nodded. "I agree. He deserves much more than that." Ken moved towards the man he'd worked with for over fifteen years. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I know what I want to do."

Ken smiled and leaned against his desk. "Now that you've gotten the knee jerk father reaction out of the way... what do you want to do?"

John turned away from the window and smiled. "We're going to need to rouse the speech team."

"Timing?"

"When does James's dismissal become official?"

"As soon as he stands before a formal inquest."

"That evening then."

Ken smiled and shook his hand. "Welcome back, Mr. President."

***

Malcolm sat beside a solitary bed, shrouded in dim lighting, raspy sounds, and beeping noises. He'd sat there for over six hours each night; waiting. And yet, the man lying in the bed hadn't moved. He didn't blink. He didn't respond in any way. Malcolm would talk to him night after night; hoping, praying for some slight response. But none came.

For three days, Malcolm had taken turns with James's family, hoping, waiting for some slight response from him. His face looked worse today, the bruises ugly and raw, but he didn't look quite so gaunt. Although without solid food, the best they could do was make sure he didn't lose any more weight. Malcolm hated seeing James like this.

The doctors said that he was catatonic. Malcolm and the whole family did nothing but talk to him on the off chance that he could hear what they were saying. So far, nothing. Trauma from his injuries, the shock of being attacked by his friend, and the general torture added to his distress had simply forced him to shut down. It was great to know what caused James to be out of it, but with no clue as to when he would wake, it was starting to grate on Malcolm's already frayed nerves.

So he continued to talk. "You should see the pile of letters, cards, and telegrams." 

"And all the flowers."

"CNN ran a news story about your recovery."

"Your academy record is all over the internet."

"I miss you."

"Your mother was forced to sleep by the doctors."

"Everyone is concerned about you."

And with every sentence he said, the three words he'd been feeling but unable to say, pounded in his skull, begging to come out. "I love you." Malcolm held his breath, hoping the words would break through the coma, provoke some sort of response. Tears welled in his eyes as nothing happened. The first started to drip down his face as he squeezed James's uninjured hand. Hoping, begging, pleading that James would simply open his eyes, give him some sign that he'd heard. But after a couple of minutes, Malcolm's held breath escaped in a defeated sigh.

"It's okay. I understand." Malcolm wiped the tears from his face. "But it is true." Staring into James's still bruised face, Malcolm sighed again. "Where were we? Oh yeah, when I was five..."

***

Chief of Staff Ken Simonson stood outside of the speech writer's bull pen and listened as the staff brainstormed the latest speech. The process always fascinated him. How they could argue and work so hard on just one word always amazed him. And this speech was vitally important. All throughout history, a good speech could always be made better if only for a proof reader or some help with wording. Alas, this was one time where this speech needed to be perfect. To change an entire aspect of the constitution, to redo hundreds of years of military procedure, and to basically accomplish in one grand move, what had taken hundreds of years for women and blacks could be accomplished swiftly and quickly. An ambitious endeavor, long overdue, and perhaps most easily accomplished with what had happened to the President's son.

Ken could see the President's worries very easily. To many, he would be seen as taking advantage of his son's pain and suffering. And yet, this was undoubtedly the only way that these changes could be done. For too long, the needs had been pushed away, forgotten about as politically imprudent. But for every person that it affected, this was the most vital piece of legislature that could come forward. The argument of course being that if the laws denying James McNeely his position in the navy and all of his rights under the military, then he wouldn't have been targeted, or if he were the one targeted, it wouldn't be because he had just been caught kissing a Senator.

As Ken continued to listen, the speech staff clearly understood what was being changed, the legal logic steps taken, and the implications if such legislation were to pass. What they couldn't not agree on, was how to word the needs, the pain, the hurt, the heartache of a suffering people into one solid voice that would silence those who would oppose such changes. Ken stepped into the room and all voices became silent. "Where are we with the speech?"

Paul Freeman, head speech writer smiled and leaned back in his chair. "The main language is decided upon, the arguments. We are having a difficult time deciding how to begin. Should it be started with something very personal about Captain McNeely and how he is doing, or whether it should be an entirely different member of the military."

"I believe the only answer to that question will have to come from the President."

Paul nodded. "I agree. But, we have decided to write both, see which he prefers."

Ken nodded. "I think you are probably right. Have the copies done and on my desk in the morning; we'll present them to the President at ten."

Ken turned and left the room, smiling. The entire staff had worked diligently to bring many changes to this country, but in his heart, he knew that this time, this change, would resonate throughout time. Perhaps not as grand or sweeping as the Declaration of Independence or Gettysburg Address, but there would always be this one day in history that will be remembered.

***

On day six of sitting by James's bed, something unexpected happened. Malcolm fell asleep. The nurses came into the room periodically to check vital signs, and in all the nights that Malcolm had been there, each time one of the nurses came into the room, Malcolm would just sit, holding James's hand, and talk. All night long the man talked. By the time morning would come and he'd leave, the man's voice would be nearly dead.

Malcolm sat in the chair; his head bowed against James's hand on the bed, and snored softly. The nurses left him alone, let him sleep, and tried to be as quiet as possible. At nearly five that morning, Malcolm woke up because he'd felt a twitch under his cheek. Instantly alert, Malcolm sat back in his chair and stared at James's face, waiting for any sign, any motion.

He held his breath, hoping, until his chest ached from it. Then James's eyes opened and Malcolm let his breath out in rush. James turned to look at Malcolm and Malcolm smiled. James screamed and his casted arm came across Malcolm's face, knocking him off the chair. Malcolm hit the ground as James began to flail in the bed, his long scream of 'no' did not end, did not break as he tried to get out of bed, pulling his tubes and electrodes out. One of the machines started alarming, and the nurses came running.

A doctor was quickly on the first nurse's heals, rushing in, pushing a just standing Malcolm aside. A hyperdermic was brought in and injected into the IV. James stopped screaming and looked at Malcolm, tears welling in his eyes, brimming over, and running down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Malcolm."

Malcolm sat in stunned horror as James's eyes slowly closed and he collapsed against the bed. The doctor started checking James's vitals and the nurse began redoing all of the electrodes and tubes that James had pulled out. All the while, Malcolm just stared at James, his heart breaking.

"Senator?"

Malcolm brushed the hand on his shoulder off and shook his head. But it became more insistent. "Senator. You need to come with me."

Malcolm turned and looked at the nurse. "I'm fine. I need to stay here."

The nurse knelt by him and put her hand on his shoulder. She nodded towards Malcolm's chest and he glanced down, at the spreading bloodstain on his chest. "What happened?"

The nurse looked at Malcolm and tried to help him stand. "I think your nose is broken."

Malcolm just shook his head. "No. I feel fine."

The nurse was insistent. "Why don't you come with me and we'll check it anyway."

Malcolm stood and walked out of the room to the nurse's station and sat in a chair. "I'm fine."

The nurse leaned down and applied a cloth to his face and instantly, Malcolm's face exploded in pain. Suddenly, Malcolm realized just how hard he'd been hit. But, with a little pressure, the bleeding stopped. An hour later, after some ice, a mild pain reliever, and some stitches for a cut on his cheek, Malcolm was allowed back into James's room.

As Malcolm walked into the room, he saw Mrs. McNealy. "Madeline?"

She turned to face Malcolm and gasped. "What happened to you?"

Malcolm looked away then squared his shoulders. "James woke up."

"And?"

Malcolm swallowed. "He was screaming and hysterical. They sedated him." Malcolm touched his bandaged cheek. "He accidently hit me with his cast."

She reached to touch Malcolm's cheek. "Are you okay?"

Malcolm smiled. "After the lidocaine and the codeine, I'm really not feeling anything." She smiled. "I heard he'd woken up and they had to sedate him, I just didn't know you'd been hurt. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He was so scared."

She turned away, blinking away tears. "The doctor warned us he could wake up as if no time had passed, as if he were still in the moment when..."

Malcolm put his hand on her shoulder. "I knew too, I just didn't realize that he'd lash out. Has he woken up again?"

She shook her head no. "The doctor isn't sure how long he'll be agitated, his words, not mine, and what kind of condition he'll be in when he wakes up again."

"Well, it is Saturday. I'm not going anywhere." Malcolm stood in front of Madeline. "Are you?"

"No way."

Malcolm nodded his head and pulled up the second chair. "We might as well get comfortable."

***

Where once was only darkness, grayness now intruded. And with the gray came sensations. And with sensations, came memories. Memories that hurt, that terrified. James forced himself to come forward; towards the world. Opening his eyes, James looked around the room, taking in the dim light, the dark outside his window, and the tired looking Malcolm sitting in his room. The panic tried to take hold, but the groggy, drugged feeling kept the terror at bay. Clearing his throat, James croaked through the fog, "Malcolm."

Malcolm instantly sprang forward in his chair, shaking his head once, twice, as if clearing the fog from his mind. "James."

James shut his eyes, blocking out the memories, the hurt, the fear. "How long have I been out?"

James opened his eyes when he heard water pouring. He watched as Malcolm brought the glass towards him. He noticed the nasty welt and blackened eye and glanced at the cast on his arm. "I hit you."

Malcolm waved it away as he held the cup to James's lips. "It doesn't matter. You woke up very upset."

James took a small drink of water, instantly feeling better. He cupped Malcolm's jaw. "I'm so sorry."

Malcolm smiled and placed his hand over James's. "Don't worry about it. I'm okay." Malcolm squeezed James's hand. "Better now that you're awake."

James stared around the room. "I feel foggy. Where am I?"

Malcolm sighed. "It's the medication, some form of tranquilizer. And you're in Bethesda Naval Hospital."

"Bethesda? How did I get here?"

Malcolm smiled. "Jet. You were stable enough to fly, and they wanted you as close to Washington as possible."

James nodded once. "How long?" James licked his dry lips. "How long was I gone?"

Malcolm looked at the door but quickly met James's eyes. "You were missing for four days before you were found, catatonic for three days, and drugged for four more."

"Eleven days." James shook his head. "I feel like I'm swimming through life, I don't really feel anything."

Malcolm took James's hand. "Let me go get the doctor. And they'll see about tapering off the drugs."

James shook his head. "No. I want to talk to you first, before the panic comes back." Malcolm nodded and sat straighter in his chair. "Go ahead."

James looked down at his casted arm, Malcolm's fingers laced around the knuckle or two above the cast. "I'm sorry I hit you. I'm sorry I was taken." James shut his eyes as the tears began to well. "I'm sorry I wasn't stronger. I'm sorry I was beaten. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." His breath came in sobs as the tears started flowing harder. "I'm so sorry."

Malcolm sat on the edge of the bed and pulled James to him, holding him, shushing him, rocking him gently as James sobbed. A few minutes, perhaps a half hour passed as Malcolm held James, letting him let out the pain and hurt. The anger would come later, James could feel it building, but first, he had to let go of the pain. 

Pulling away, James wiped at his face with his empty hand. "What happened to Alec?"

James felt Malcolm tense before he let out a harsh breath. "He's under arrest. They think he let the kidnappers on base."

James nodded. "I know he did. He told me." Malcolm sat back and let the confusion pinch his eyebrows. "He did? When?"

James looked away. "After the first, before the second... time." He looked down at his cast. "They gave me a shot of morphine for this when they left. I wish they'd left more."

Malcolm held his hand. "You're safe now."

"I know. But it would be a lot easier if I didn't remember everything."

A nurse stepped into the room and immediately called for a doctor. Malcolm didn't leave, which James appreciated, but they didn't again have a chance to talk. Within an hour, the FBI arrived to interview. Although James could add some details, he didn't really add new evidence to their proceedings. James was relieved when he was told that two of the four kidnappers had been apprehended, but the other two remained at large.

Within three hours, James was released to the world. He was escorted to the hospital basement where he was driven to the Pentagon. After another hour of formal questioning, Captain James McNeely was dishonorably discharged from the Navy. James McNeely sat in the back of a limousine as he was driven to the White House to see his family. The press saw him leave the car and was pushed in a wheelchair into the Presidential Mansion where he was hugged, kissed, and fussed over by his entire family. In an utter fog, he sat and smiled, laughed, tried to feel something other than disassociated with his surroundings.

Later that evening, James sat in the main lounge, staring outside, amazed at how much had changed in just a month, when he'd looked outside and wished for something more. The tears slid down his face slowly as he realized that he had found something more, but the road to the greatest discovery of his life, was wrought with so much heartache for all concerned. As the disillusionment over his career, the pain of his loss, the heartache over Malcolm, the still strong feelings, the still passionate responsiveness, the fear of ever feeling strong enough, emotionally, to physically express that love, brought James to tears much stronger, much harsher. And even though the Secret Service were nearby, they conveniently forgot he was there, to give the man privacy.

James turned his wheelchair around and went back to his room, to stare out into the night, sleep never having been so elusive before.

***

President John McNeely strode out to the podium, his speech prepared, his heart settled. His son's tears from the previous night stirring him on, giving his soul a sharp pang of regret that he'd suffered so much. The speech wouldn't give him his life back, but, in some small way, would start to unravel the damage.




The President's Son Ch. 06



"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I first want to say thank you to the American people, in fact, the people of the world, all of whom sent well wishes and prayers for my son and his safe return and speedy recovery. Yesterday morning, James was released from the hospital after being interviewed by the FBI. And although not all of the answers or perpetrators of his kidnapping are answered, those who are responsible will be brought to justice.

"Once released from the hospital, my son went before an inquiry for the Navy, where he was dishonorably discharged for violations of the Code of Military Conduct. As Commander-in-Chief, as President of the United States, the Navy's ruling stands. I will not, cannot, make an exception in the laws of our country. My first priority is to support and enforce the laws of this nation, no matter my personal feelings. The discharge stands as ordered and will remain in effect as long as said law stands."

John felt the crowd of reporters' energy heighten. He felt his own resolve growing. "The laws of this nation, for whatever their origin or intent, are meant to be flexible, to grow and change as the times demand it. This rule, this law, has served its usefulness. I urge Congress to revisit this law and update the Code of Military Conduct. I have spoken with several members of the Supreme Court, the Senate, and the House. This nation was built on the beliefs that no one shall be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without the right of due process. How many people have been denied their true calling? How many people have been denied their ability to serve their nation over an antiquated law? The numbers are too many to count.

"This nation can and does correct its mistakes. It may take years. It may take generations to do so, but this vast country will correct its errors and make right the freedoms of all its people. No one should be deprived of their right of liberty and property because one of the basic tenets of life is love, nor who they should love should keep people from their liberty. 

"I will not overturn the decision of the military and the dismissal of the gay and lesbian members who have been discharged. But, no one, not one single American should ever be forced to decide between life and their desire to serve their country."

John paused and straightened his papers. "My son will not be available for interviews for at least one week. I ask that his wishes for privacy be respected. I wish you all a good day. Thank you."

As quickly and decisively as he entered, the President left the room to a cacophony of questions from the press. The course of change, no matter how difficult to steer, had begun.

***

Two months later, James stood on the stoop of a familiar brownstone. The snows and bitter cold of the New Year had faded to the budding greens of early spring. He stood, unsure, scared, and anxious, just like he had almost three months before. Although they had spoken often, agreed to a lunch or dinner, they had spent very little time together. Between physical therapy, counseling, and criminal investigations for James, and Malcolm's busy schedule in committee, there had been no time to meet face to face. Long phone calls, some lasting hours into the night, but only once or twice had they both been free to meet.

Steeling his courage, James rang the bell. And waited. He rang the bell again. And waited. Just as he was about to ring a third time, the door opened. Malcolm stood there with a smile on his face. Dressed in jeans and a white tee shirt in stocking feet, James let a slow smile spread across his face. This is what he'd wanted. Someone who could let himself relax when work didn't call and just be. "Hello, Malcolm."

Malcolm's own smile was infectious as he grabbed James's hand and pulled him inside. He noted the longer hair, the slightly rumpled but pleasantly so clothing, and the slight limp as James came into the house. The bruises completely gone, the cast off his arm, and just a slight stiff knee was all that remained physically of James's ordeal. The mental issues, the nightmares, though less, were still present. But James looked relaxed, easy, and almost calm. Malcolm smiled and led James up the three flights of stairs and up the ladder to the roof where he'd set up the barbeque and had James sit. "You look good, James."

"You do too. I like the non-suit look."

Malcolm laughed and poured some sparkling drink from a pitcher and handed James a glass. "My own mixture of limeade and tonic water. Refreshing, tart, and really good with vodka."

James chuckled and took a sip. In his mind, he kept thinking about what Dr. Cooper had said to him, over and over. Not only was this a first date of sorts, but, it didn't have to lead to sex. It didn't have to end with anything other than a kiss. James wanted to set the glass aside and take Malcolm in his arms and go to bed. He also wanted to run out of the building and never come back. "I'm nervous, Malcolm."

Malcolm paused in flipping something on the grill before turning. "I am too."

Malcolm grabbed the grilled meat and added it to two plates before setting one of them before James and taking a seat across from him. "Dig in."

James stared at Malcolm for a moment before he picked up his fork. He took a bite and smiled at the normalcy of it. He hadn't had much of it since he'd been out of the hospital. Between interviews, meetings, and medical appointments, he hadn't had a spare moment. Relaxing even more while eating, the anxiety levels started to drop and he began to enjoy his time, not worrying about how today might end and only hope for tomorrow and all the other tomorrows.

They continued to eat in silence. Not a silence filled with awkward tension but sweet companionship. James set his fork down and watched Malcolm eat. His hand shook slightly as he cast quick glances at James. James smiled at him and Malcolm's fork hit the plate. Malcolm stood and gathered plates. James reached out and stopped him. "Can that wait?"

"Of course." Malcolm stood and looked around and shuffled out of James's personal space. James took his hand and pulled him into his arms. James wrapped his arms around James and pulled Malcolm's face into the crook of his neck. 

"I'm not afraid, Malcolm."

Malcolm only nodded into his neck. "I am."

James pulled back to smile. "I can't promise I won't tense up, but I know it's you. I'm not afraid of you."

Malcolm swallowed deeply. "Oh God. This is really intense."

"Regrets?"

Malcolm laughed on an exhale of breath. "Not on your life."

James leaned down and pressed his lips to Malcolm's. "I love you."

"I love you, too."