Rhett leaned forward, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "It's not the story so much as the cinematography. The way they shot the landscape…those buffalos. And I know it's slow, but it fits the tediousness of his existence. I must have seen it ten times by now, and every time I discover new shots I admire."
"I can't even imagine. I couldn't finish the first time we watched it, and god, Matthew was annoyed." He stilled as the smile on Rhett's face faded. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't keep bringing him up."
"No, you should. I want you to."
"Why?"
Rhett's eyes shone with kindness and empathy. "Because he was the most important person in your life, and he deserves to be acknowledged. It's not like avoiding mentioning him will change anything. It will only make it awkward."
Calix put his fork down, his chest suddenly tight. "I don't talk much about him. Not a lot of people still want to hear about my sadness, my grief."
"That's their loss."
"It's not a sexy topic… I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to be reminded of him all the time."
Of course Rhett didn't want that. For fuck's sake, Calix had told him not to put on his shirt and that he was sexy, and now he was bringing up his dead husband. Again.
"Calix," Rhett said, his voice unusually firm. "I do want to hear about him. I don't think we'd be truly friends if I forced you to act like he never existed, but also… He matters. He's still a part of you, of what makes you you, and I want to get to know him."
Calix's throat was closed off, every breath labored as he fought against the tears. How was it possible that such a simple remark hit him so hard? "Thank you," he managed finally after a minute or so.
Rhett just nodded, and Calix loved him for not forcing more. He ate his steak, the tightness in his body slowly easing. He was just about to ask Rhett if he wanted dessert when his phone rang.
"Fuck," he said, recognizing the ringtone he'd set for the White House. "Sorry. I need to take this."
He didn't walk away as he took the call. "Calix."
"Hi, this is Max. The president has requested your presence."
Calix pinched the bridge of his nose. Del wouldn't ask that unless it was important. "Did he say what it was about?"
"He said to tell you Special Agent Padman was coming over."
Something about the investigation, then. "I'm on my way."
He ended the call, then looked at Rhett. "I'm so sorry. I have to—"
"Go. I understand."
"I'd hoped we'd have the whole evening and night together." God, he felt awful about this. All his plans to give Rhett the night of his life had gone up in smoke with one phone call.
"We knew this could happen. It's okay. I'll go get dressed."
"Stay." The word was out of his mouth before he'd realized it, but once he'd spoken it, it was all he could think of. "Please stay. I don't think I'll be out all night, and we could have breakfast tomorrow at least. Would you want that? Would you be okay staying here by yourself?"
Rhett hesitated, then nodded. "W-would it be okay for me to burn my vanilla candle? Just for a little bit, not while I'm sleeping."
Calix's heart ached for him. "Burn anything you want. Spray the whole place with vanilla if that's what you need. Anything you need to feel safe."
"Then I'll be here."
Relief coursed through him. At least Rhett would still be there when he got back. He got dressed in a hurry and checked he had everything: phone, keys, security pass, wallet. Rhett was waiting in the hallway, looking all kinds of sexy and adorable in his sweat pants.
"Do you want me to text you when I'm on my way back?" Calix asked.
"Yeah. If I'm asleep, I may not answer, but I'm not sure I will be."
"Okay." He stepped in and kissed him firmly. "Sleep well, sweetheart."
He stood outside, shivering in the cold, when it hit him. It had been five years since he'd kissed someone good-bye when he left…and had someone waiting in his bed when he came home. And that brought as much joy as it did sadness, the thought of Matthew filling him with love rather than pain. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he'd take it over the aching void in his soul.
When he reported to the Oval Office, Del was waiting for him. He was chatting with Coulson and Milan, so it didn't look like they had started without him.
"Let's get this show on the road," he said. He wanted to get this done so he could go back home and snuggle up with Rhett.
Del raised an eyebrow. "You in a hurry?"
Maybe he was being overly sensitive, but he didn't like the implication of that question. "Are you suggesting I wouldn't have anything better to do on a Saturday evening than work, Mr. President?"
Yes, he was snappy. No, he didn't feel like apologizing. Not in this company. Milan was their friend, and Coulson could be trusted. Del might be his best friend, but that didn't mean he could be an ass and not get called out on it, even if it was in a little passive-aggressive way.
He'd told him about Rhett, for fuck's sake. Okay, he'd been skimpy on the details, merely informing him he and Rhett were seeing each other. Del hadn't said much. Oh, he'd given him one of his patented looks that spoke volumes, but he hadn't protested or asked questions.
Del drilled him with his gaze, saying nothing, and a little frown formed between his eyebrows. He had picked up on the pushback. "All right, Coulson, what do you have for us?"
Coulson was immediately all business. "We have some crucial new information, which originates from the investigation into Naomi Beckingham's background. We suspect they never expected us to be able to track her because unlike the other players we have stumbled upon, her background is not quite so squeaky clean. It turns out she applied to the FBI a little over a year ago, but she was turned down due to red flags in her background check."
Milan leaned forward. "What kind of red flags?"
"This is where it gets interesting. The notes on her file say she had multiple friends who were antigovernment survivalists, including her boyfriend at the time. And not just your run-of-the-mill survivalists, but the white nationalist, antigovernment, antigay survivalists. Basically white pride, but under a more marketable name."
"Wow," Del said. "That's quite the skeleton to have in your closet when you apply to the FBI."
Coulson nodded. "It's not clear why she thought we wouldn't discover that. Granted, those are not the kind of organizations that have an official member list and issue membership cards, but they're also not that hard to track. For obvious reasons, we keep a close eye on all antigovernment organizations."
"Why did she apply to the FBI?" Calix asked. "That's not what you would expect from someone who's involved in a white nationalist movement."
"We're not sure. She has a law degree, and when she applied, she had a year of experience working for the district attorney's office in Kansas City. That in itself made her underqualified, but candidates with similar backgrounds have been hired if they have a strong motivation, a clean background check, and do well on the tests. But she already failed the initial background check, which isn't even that thorough. We don't dig deep until someone has shown to be a serious candidate."