“Did you hear that, Jim?”  Pike asked in an excited voice.

“Hmm?”  So mesmerized had Jim been by the snow falling outside the window of the parlor car, he hadn’t heard the chatter of the telegraph.  Neither had he heard--nor even noticed--Jeremy Pike, his temporary partner, entering the parlor.  He pasted an amiable expression on his face and turned away from the window.  “No, I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention, Jerry.”

“Woolgathering,”  Pike accused cheerfully.  He held out the slip of paper on which he’d transcribed the message.  “We’re being given furlough for the next two weeks.”

“Generous of the colonel,”  Jim said.  “I wonder why he--”

“It’s Christmas,” Pike said with a grin, patting Jim on the shoulder.  “Maybe Artemus Gordon doesn’t celebrate, but I would expect that--”

“Actually, Artie always made quite a production out of decorating the parlor.”  Jim had to struggle to keep his tone light.  Pike’s comment rankled Jim, but he was determined to keep his partnership with Pike--the temporary  partnership with Pike--on civil grounds.  “Seemed like we usually ended up working on Christmas.”  He shrugged.  “I enjoyed Artie’s Christmas goose and plum pudding when we could find time for it, but I haven’t waited anxiously for Christmas Eve since I was a boy.”

“You know, I thought that I saw what looked like decorations back in Artemus’ lab.”   Pike glanced around the parlor.  “Wouldn’t hurt to--”

“If you’re going somewhere for Christmas and New Year’s, I don’t see much point in dragging them out.”   Jim frowned, but he didn’t quite know what had him out of sorts.

“I suppose you’re right,”  Pike said.  “No reason to stick around here.”   He patted  Jim  on the shoulder again. “My parents will be happy to see me.  How about you?  Where will you spend your furlough?”

“I don’t...”   Jim’s frown deepened.  “I’ll just stay here, I suppose.  If you’re gone, I’ll need to look after the horses.”

“There’s a perfectly good stable in town,”  Pike said, crossing the parlor and pouring whiskey into two crystal tumblers.  “Come home with me.  My parents would be pleased to have you.”

Jim considered making a joke that he’d rather spend Christmas with the horses, but it wouldn’t be all that amusing if Pike realized that he was telling the truth.  “I couldn’t intrude on your family,”  he said, accepting his drink with a grateful nod.

“I have two sisters,”  Pike shot back before tilting his glass back to drink his whiskey.

Jim smiled.  “That’s very generous of you, Jerry.  Gotta tell you, given your reputation with the ladies, I wouldn’t bring you home to meet my sister, if I had one.”

Pike grinned back, obviously flattered rather than otherwise by Jim’s not-entirely-honest comment.  “If I were judging entirely by reputation, I wouldn’t bring you home either.”   He turned to refill his glass.  “But since working with you, I’ve discovered that you’re a perfect gentleman.”

“I hope,”  Jim said with a grin, “I can trust you to keep that to yourself.”

Pike seated himself on the couch facing Jim’s, and his expression turned serious.  “Why don’t you go to Washington?  Go see him, Jim.”

“See who?”   Jim turned away with a frown.

“You never wrote him, did you?”  Pike leaned forward, balancing a half-full glass on his knee.  “You know, it was Richmond’s idea to partner us in Denver and send Artemus to Washington.”

“And he wouldn’t let Artie say goodbye, not even write me a note?”   Ashamed of the bitterness in his voice, Jim pulled a smile and stood up abruptly.  “Ready for another drink?”

“Maybe some dinner,” Pike suggested, and his too-gentle tone irritated Jim to an unreasonable degree.

“My turn or yours?”  Jim thrust his hands in his pockets.  The truth was that he was tired of his own cooking and Pike’s wasn’t much better.

“There’s a new place just opened in town,”  Pike said.

“Might as well try it out.”   Jim headed for the door to the sleeping quarters.  “I’ll just get my jacket.”   He didn’t wait for a response before closing the door behind him. 

To get to his closet, Jim had to pass through Artie’s lab, and he paused to glance around.  Pike had used the lab once or twice in the months he’d been there, but it retained the stamp of Artie’s ownership, and Jim had only to close his eyes and inhale to conjure up his missing partner.  A smile turned up his lips as he wondered how Artie would react to the news that the noxious chemical smell reminded Jim of Artie.

He rested his hand on the lab bench and wondered why he felt Artie’s presence so strongly in that room.  And why he hadn’t written to his partner--the dearest friend he’d ever had--to demand an explanation for his abrupt departure and subsequent silence. 

Jeremy Pike was right.  Jim had nowhere else to go for  Christmas.   He’d go to Washington. 

* * * * *

“Mr. Gordon did not tell me that you were coming to Washington,” the stern man behind the counter insisted.  “How did he expect us to save a room for you?”

“No, I’m sure he didn’t,”  Jim said, clenching his right hand against his side, almost regretting that he’d walked into that particular hotel.  But he and Artie had frequently stayed there when they were in Washington and couldn’t stay on the train for one reason or another.  “I didn’t tell him that I was coming.”

The man looked puzzled.  “How did you expect us to have an available room right before Christmas?  We’ve nothing until--”

“Mr. West!  How wonderful to see you!”  Mrs. Reynolds, the smiling proprietress of the hotel, crossed the room to take Jim’s hand between both of her own.  She was gray-haired, nearly fifty years old and probably had never been a beauty even in the full bloom of her youth, but her friendliness and enthusiastic welcome made her the handsomest women he’d seen all day.  “Mr. Gordon didn’t mention that you were coming.”  She shook her head with an affectionate laugh.  “It’s always such a pleasure to have two such handsome, well-behaved gentlemen in my hotel.”

“He said,”  the man behind the reception desk said gloomily, “that Mr. Gordon didn’t know he was coming.”

“Mr. Gordon has already left for a party at the White House,”  Mrs. Reynolds said, still clutching Jim’s hand.  She shook her head at Jim’s travel-rumpled appearance.  “Frank, carry Mr. West’s bags up to Mr. Gordon’s room.  Mr. West, you brought your evening suit, didn’t you?  We’ll have it pressed, and  we must get you to the barber next door.”

Jim ran his hand self-consciously through his hair.  He’d glimpsed himself in the mirror at the train station, but he’d forgotten what a sorry sight he was until now.  “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Reynolds, but I’m sure that--”

“I’m sure that Mr. Gordon will be pleased to see you however you’re dressed,”  Mrs. Reynolds said briskly, “but you can’t go to the White House looking like a scarecrow, can you?”

She was right, of course, so Jim closed his mouth on his protests and allowed himself to be hustled out the front door and placed in the capable hands of the barber.  He was fortunate: it was the same man who had cut his hair the last time he’d been in Washington, and the man had trimmed it to Artie’s exacting specifications.  Jim relaxed for the first time that day.  He even allowed the man to shave him.

He wasn’t particularly surprised to find hot water and his freshly pressed evening clothes waiting for him in the room to which Frank directed him.  Nor was he surprised to find that the room smelled pleasantly of Artie’s preferred cologne, brandy and fine cigars.  He had a moment of guilt as he looked around the room.  Certainly, they’d been partners and the closest of friends for seven years, living almost in each other’s pockets, but after a six-month separation during which time no communication had passed between them, Jim had a nagging suspicion that he should see Artie and ask his leave before he moved into his hotel room. 

Jim shrugged at the well-barbered man in the mirror and began to strip off his travel-soiled clothes.  He would use Artie’s room to dress, but he’d keep his bags packed.  Of course, he’d see Artie at the White House, and he’d explain that he’d acted on impulse by coming to Washington.  If Artie had other plans, Jim would just look for another place to stay.  He made a face at himself in the mirror.  If there were no hotel rooms available, he had no doubt that President Grant would allow him to stretch out on a spare couch in one of the unused rooms at the White House before he took the morning train back to Denver.

By the time Jim emerged from the room, he looked respectable enough to appear at the most formal White House function.  Even Frank turned approving eyes on him as he returned the key to the front desk.  

It was a cool night, not unusual for late December, but there was no sign of snow and not cold enough that he missed the winter cloak he’d left on the train in Denver, so he walked the six blocks to the White House.  Although Jim’s name was certainly not on the guest list, his position as Grant’s special agent gave him full access to the White House.  The man at the front door had been in Jim’s regiment at Shiloh, and they greeted each other with sincere enthusiasm before he  passed into the glittering splendor of Julia Grant’s Christmas  Eve  ball.

Jim nodded to several senators and their wives as he moved through the rooms, but when he spotted Colonel and Mrs. Richmond, he had little choice but to walk over to greet them personally.

“Hello, Jim,” Richmond said, extending his hand in greeting, his facial expression warm and open.  “Artemus didn’t mention that you were coming to Washington.”

“Good evening, Colonel.  Artemus doesn’t know I’m here,”  Jim said, shaking his commanding officer’s hand firmly before turning to bend over Evelyn Richmond’s hand.  “Good evening, Mrs. Richmond.”

“He’ll be pleased to see you, Mr. West,” Mrs. Richmond said with a smile.

“If you can catch him between dances, that is.”  Richmond glanced toward the next room where an orchestra was playing and the floor was thronged with dancers, and Jim, following his gaze, quickly spotted his friend in the arms of a pretty blonde who couldn’t have been much older than twenty.

Jim clasped his hands behind his back and smiled ruefully.  “Artemus has always been popular with the ladies, of course.”  He watched, mesmerized, as Artie expertly waltzed the girl around the floor.  Artie was perfectly tailored, of course, in an evening suit that Jim hadn’t seen before, but he wore an animated expression with which Jim was thoroughly familiar.  “I’m glad to see that he’s enjoying his assignment in Washington.”

Richmond laughed.  “Artemus has an enormous capacity for enjoyment, doesn’t he?”

Jim turned back to Richmond with a smile.  “Yes, sir.  It may be what I miss the most about being partnered with him.”   He paused and cleared his throat.  He hadn’t had anything to drink yet, but he felt oddly reckless.  “Speaking of which, Colonel, when do you think that you’ll be through with him here in Washington, and I can have my partner back?”

Richmond’s eyes flicked away from Jim’s.  “West, this is a social occasion.  If you want to talk about assignments, you’ll have to come see me in my office after Christmas.”

Jim flinched at Richmond’s unexpectedly harsh tone.  “Of course, sir.”   He turned to Mrs. Richmond.  “I beg your pardon, ma’am.”   

“Jim…”   Richmond’s tone was gentler than before, and Jim turned back to him.  “You should talk to him.  I know that he valued your partnership, but he was the one who requested the transfer to Washington.”

“I wish you’d told me that before, sir,”  Jim said in a hollow voice.  He clasped his hands together behind his back so hard that it hurt.  “He never told me.”

“You should talk to him,”  Richmond said again, and both he and his wife wore sympathetic expressions.  “Merry Christmas, Jim.  Come see me in my office next week.”

Jim nodded, his expression blank.  “Merry Christmas, Colonel, Mrs. Richmond.”   He turned away to search for his friend on the dance floor, but the pretty blonde had a new dance partner.  It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t eaten anything since buying a sandwich on the train at mid-day.  Before he faced Artie, he would visit the buffet to fortify himself. 

Certainly, he was stalling, but he’d waited this long for his answers.  He could wait a bit longer.

Jim fortified himself with both food and several glasses of champagne; also, conversations with several ladies and senators with whom he enjoyed good relations due to successful missions in the past.  He was actually beginning to enjoy himself--which was not all that common when he was forced by duty to visit Washington.  Generally, he preferred the more casual atmosphere of the Western territories and the reassurance of his gun on his hip over the studied formality of Washington society and the stiffness of the silk cravat around his neck.  Of course, Artie felt the opposite way, preferring the amenities to be found in society.  That reason alone could explain his request for a transfer to Washington.   

He was thinking about this fact as he stood at the edge of the dance floor, another glass of champagne in his hand, his ears ringing from the music of the orchestra, and his eyes dazzled by the candlelight and beauty of the dancers, when his casually wandering gaze locked on Artie’s. 

Artie was dancing with a brunette this time.  Jim could see that his partner had been talking a mile a minute, entertaining both the lady and himself with some amusing tale, but when he spotted Jim, he stopped speaking in mid-sentence, and his expression froze.  He continued to dance, but the lady’s expression turned to puzzlement, and when the music paused, Artie made a quick excuse and left her standing in the middle of the floor.

When their eyes met, Jim’s own expression froze, too, and he dropped his gaze to stare down into his champagne glass.  It was empty, and he placed it on a passing waiter’s tray but decided against a refill.  He gripped his empty hands in front of him, twisting them together nervously, but when he realized what he was doing, he thrust them behind his back and clasped them together, waiting for the music to end and an opportunity to speak with his partner.

However, as soon as the music stopped and Artie walked away from the brunette beauty, Jim fled the room, moving swiftly through the crowd with all the expertise of his many years as a special agent.  He passed the buffet table and through another room where a four-piece orchestra was entertaining a group of people with Christmas music.

He didn’t stop until he was out a little-used exit and alone in a little-known garden.  It was chilly out in the garden,  the rose bushes dormant.  He thrust his hands into his pockets and drew in a deep, steadying breath of the winter midnight air.  The moon was nearly full that night, and  he closed his eyes against its glare.

The door behind him closed softly.  “You know,”  said Artie’s familiar voice, “I’m fully trained in tracking down escaping fugitives.”

“Yeah,”  Jim said in a voice that sounded far steadier than he felt, “I know that, Artie.”  He clenched his hands at his sides, but then he opened his eyes and turned in the direction of the voice.  He dredged up a smile.  “I counted on it.”

“Oh-ho,” Artie said, the puzzled expression on his face quickly dissipating into a grin.  “You preferred that our reunion be more private?”

“Something like that.”  Jim tilted his head to one side, and his gaze roamed over Artie almost greedily, but his hands remained at his sides.  “You look good, Artie.”

“James, my boy...”   Artie stepped forward and enveloped Jim in an enthusiastic embrace.

Startled, Jim almost pushed his friend away, but then he relaxed, allowing the embrace, and eventually  returning it.  In fact, it felt wonderful to be held in Artie’s strong arms and inhale his familiar scent. 

“I wondered if I was ever going to see you again.”  Artie rubbed his knuckles down Jim’s spine.

Jim drew back, glaring.  “It’s odd to hear that from a man who asked for a transfer.”   He clasped his hands in front of himself and twisted his fingers distractedly. 

“Yes, well, just because I had my doubts about us working together doesn’t mean I never wanted to see you again.”   Artie clenched his hands at his side.  “I tried to explain, and when I didn’t hear from you, I could only assume that--”

“You tried to explain?”  Jim echoed.  “That’s exactly what you didn’t do.  You left Colonel Richmond to announce that you’d gone off to Washington.”   He turned away, ashamed of the choked sound of his voice, and took a steadying breath.  He sounded considerably calmer when he added, “Before tonight, I thought this was Richmond’s idea.  And that it was temporary.”

“I tried to make it clear in my letter,”  Artie protested.  “I told you that--”

“What letter?”  Jim asked coolly, turning back to face his friend.  “If you asked Richmond to give me a letter, I don’t know what he did with it.” 

“Of course, I didn’t give it to Richmond.  I left it for you on the train.”   Artie’s eyes widened.  “Do you really think that I’d go off to Washington without leaving you a message?”

“No,”  Jim said in a flat voice.  “At least, I would never have thought it before six months ago.”   He compressed his lips. “I looked everywhere on that train, and I didn’t find--”

“Why didn’t you write me?”   Artie clenched his hands at his sides.  “You knew where I was and--”

“You run off to Washington without saying goodbye, and you’re annoyed with me for not writing you?”   Jim shrugged.  “We never bothered much with fond farewells...”   He smiled to make it sound like a joke, but he didn’t look too closely  to gauge Artie’s reaction. “...when we were working together, and I just assumed...”  He took a few steps backward, sat down on a cold stone bench, and clasped his hands together between his knees.  “I’ve wanted you to come home, but I didn’t know how to ask.”

“I think,” Artie said quietly, seating himself beside Jim on the bench and reaching over to squeeze his shoulder gently, “you just asked me, James.”   He was silent a moment, a moment that felt like an eternity to Jim, before he abruptly said, “You never read the letter.”

“No, Artie,”  Jim said, with as much patience as he could muster.  “Maybe Jeremy Pike accidentally threw it away.” 

“Accidentally?”  Artie echoed, a sardonic tone in his voice.  He sighed and drew his hand away from Jim’s shoulder and placed it on his own knee.  “I can’t come home.  Not until we talk about this.”

Jim turned his head to study his friend’s profile in the moonlight.  “How bad can it be?  How can there be anything bad enough that you can’t tell me?”  He clasped his hands together tighter, forbidding his mind from imagining all sorts of terrible possibilities.

“I know you,”  Artie said, and he turned his head to meet Jim’s gaze.  “There’s nothing that means more to you than your devotion to your duty.”

“You’re wrong,” Jim said levelly.  “I’m sure that I knew it before, but I’m even more certain of it after being apart from you for the last six months.”   He took a deep breath before he reached over to place a hand over Artie’s cold hand.  “You mean more to me than anyone or anything.”

“I feel the same way, James.”   Despite the obvious sincerity of his words, Artie’s smile was sad.  “That’s why I can’t be your partner.”

Jim frowned.  “What are you talking about?  Don’t you know that--?”

“If it came down to a choice between the success of a mission and your life,” Artie said earnestly, turning his hand over to clasp Jim’s hand firmly, “I would choose to save your life.”

“I would, too.  Choose your life, I mean,” Jim said, smiling faintly, relieved that Artie’s revelation hadn’t been any more serious.  “That’s why I need you as my partner.  You know that I’m willing to take risks to carry out my duty.  It’s up to you to be a moderating influence.”   He brought his other hand over and held Artie’s hand between both of his own.

“I’m sure that our superiors feel differently about it!” Artie exclaimed. 

“It isn’t the job of a good soldier to get killed,”  Jim said, releasing Artie’s hand and sitting back on the bench.  “The job is to carry out the mission without getting killed.”   He shrugged.  “I know that I’m too intense  and  I take too many risks, but in spite of how it looks, I’m not really trying to get myself killed.”   He shifted on the bench to face his friend.  “When did I ever get angry with you for saving my life?”

“No, I guess that you...”   Artie shrugged and smiled sheepishly.  “When you put it that way, I feel like a fool for worrying about caring too much for you.  It’s all a matter of--”

“No, you’re right,”  Jim said suddenly.  “The only good thing about the last six months was knowing that you were safe in Washington, and I wasn’t conspiring with you to put you into harm’s way.”  He stood up and paced away from the bench before turning around to meet Artie’s uncertain gaze.  “As long as we work for the Secret Service, we are going to be walking into danger either separately or together.  We’ve just always trusted each other to be smart enough and lucky enough to--”

“And Jeremy Pike has been watching your back for the last six months.”  Artie looked and sounded annoyed. 

Jim shrugged.  “When you asked for a transfer to Washington, what did you expect Richmond to do?”

Artie stood up, too.  “Maybe we need to talk to Richmond.”

“He said he’d like to see me in his office next week.”   Jim smiled and tilted his head to one side, studying his partner’s face.  “Until then… do you have any plans for Christmas?”

“Nothing that I can’t change.”   Artie placed his hand on Jim’s arm, and his smile held familiar warmth.  “What did you have in mind?”

“I couldn’t find a hotel room, so Mrs. Reynolds let me use yours this evening.”   Jim paused a moment before adding, “I’d like to stay, if you don’t mind.  At least, until tomorrow, when I can get a train back to Denver.”

“Back to Denver?”   Artie frowned.  “Is Pike expecting you back for Christmas?”

“Of course not.”   Jim covered Artie’s hand with his own.  “He went home to his family.  He was kind enough to invite me, but I wasn’t particularly interested in meeting his sisters.”

“I want you to stay with me.”   Artie’s other hand moved to Jim’s shoulder.  “Did I mention that I’ve missed you?”

“I don’t think you have.”   Some instinct caused Jim to move closer, to rest his forehead briefly on Artie’s broad shoulder.  Or maybe it was just that he was very tired.  He hadn’t slept well on the passenger train the night before.  It felt good--both comforting and exhilarating--to be in the presence of the only man he’d ever fully trusted, the only man he ever allowed to see him when he was weary and vulnerable.  “I forgot to ask you, Artie,”  he asked suddenly, “what have you been working on since you’ve been in Washington?  What was so very important that it required Richmond to break up his most successful team?”

“I’ll show you,” Artie said with a low chuckle.  “At least, I can show you what I’ve been working on for the last week.”   He wrapped his arms around Jim’s shoulders and held him tight for just a moment, before they moved apart, and Artie led the way back into the White House.

Instead of rejoining the party, Artie led Jim through the house, pausing to open the doors of the lesser used rooms and heading toward the private living quarters.  “Turns out that Julia Grant dislikes decorating for Christmas, and the woman who has done it for the last seven years got married and moved to Atlanta.”

“You can’t be serious.”   Jim paused at the entrance to Julia’s sitting room.  “Does General Grant know that his best agent has been occupying his time putting up Christmas decorations?”

“Second best,”  Artie said with a grin.  He wrapped an arm around Jim’s shoulder and ushered him into the room.  “Of course, I’m doing other things--training new agents and lending my input on some tough cases--but for the last week or so the Christmas decorations have been my priority.” 

“You do have a flair for decorating.”  Jim walked around the room, admiring the effect of the greenery, red bows, and candles.  “I hope that it wasn’t your job to light all of these candles.”   He peered out the window.  Even the courtyard was ablaze with light.

“No.”   Artie joined Jim at the window.  “Nor is it my job to put them out again at the end of the evening.”   He brushed his fingertips over the back of Jim’s neck, causing him to shiver.  “If you just arrived in Washington today--”

“This evening, actually.”   Jim turned to meet Artie’s gaze.  “Yes, I am tired, and I’d be happy to go home.”   He rested a hand on Artie’s waist.  “Are you sure that you’re ready to leave the party?”

“Very sure.”   Artie’s expression was serious, they stood close together, facing each other, and Jim was about to ask Artie what he was thinking, but, oddly enough,  he wasn’t entirely certain that he  wanted to know.

“Mr. West, I had no idea that you were in Washington.”

Jim managed not to flinch guiltily and step away from his partner.  Rather, he turned with a smile.  “Good evening, Mrs. Grant.  I arrived  just  in time for your party.  Mr. Gordon was showing me the Christmas decorations.”

Julia smiled and stepped forward into the room.  “He did a fine job, didn’t he?”

“He did,”  Jim agreed, but his smile widened before he added, “I just wondered if the United States of America was so secure that we could spare an agent to spend his time on Christmas decorating.”

“Ulys grumbled about it, too.”   Julia put out her hand, Jim gallantly bent to place a kiss on her fingers, and she fondly stroked her other hand through his hair.  “Dear boy, don’t think you need to be quite as stern as my Ulys.”   She reclaimed her hand and turned to Artie.  “Do you know the first time that I met this young man, he was wearing no more than a towel?”   She smiled and tilted her head back at Jim.  “And it was a very threadbare towel at that.”

Artie’s eyes widened.  “No, I never heard that story.”   His eyes flicked over to Jim, traveled up and down his torso, and his expression was positively wicked.  “Some might say that you’re a lucky woman.”

Julia laughed comfortably.  “Little good it did me.  Already a happily married woman with a houseful of children.”

“I was washing in the stream,” Jim explained, unsuccessfully trying to keep from blushing.  “I had no idea that General Grant’s wife was expected that afternoon.”

“No wonder he sent you back to the cavalry, James,”  Artie teased.

“He brevetted me to major after Vicksburg, and General Ball needed another regiment.  It was a promotion, Artemus.”   Jim was smiling, but he gripped his hands together nervously.  “You said that you wouldn’t tell him.”

“And I never did,”  Julia insisted, resting a hand lightly on Jim’s sleeve.  “But I’ll always have it to hold over your head, won’t I?”   

“Julia?  Where are you, my dear?”

Much as Jim admired and respected his former general and current President, when Grant walked into the sitting room, the room felt far too crowded.  “Good evening, President Grant.”

“Gentlemen,”  Grant said, his glance flicking between Artie and Jim.  “Why have you abandoned the ball when so many deserving ladies remain to be danced with?”   He took Julia’s arm, the couple exchanged looks of deep contentment, and Jim felt a stab of envy.  He’d never met a woman who tempted him to marry, and he’d rarely seen another marriage happy as the one the Grants enjoyed.  Still, it was a pleasant  thought to think  that someday he would meet someone he wanted to share his life with.

“It’s late, Mr. President,”  Artie said.  “We decided to leave the dancing to someone younger.”

“You’ve danced your share, Mr. Gordon,”  Grant said, “but I didn’t see West out on the dance floor.  Not a one of the Washington society ladies can tempt you?”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid, sir,”  Jim said.  He was going to add something about admiring the White House’s Christmas decorations, but he recalled that Grant didn’t have much appreciation for interior decoration.

“Well, it’s good to see you, West,”  Grant said.  “It’s been several months since you’ve been in Washington, hasn’t it?” 

“Yes, sir,”  Jim said.  “There’s been enough going on out in the Western Territories to keep me busy.”

“But not enough to keep your partner busy?”   Grant held up his hand to forestall a reply.  “Julia and I will say good night and wish you both a Merry Christmas.”  He glanced around the room.  “I know that we have plenty of staff to keep an eye on these candles, but I’m ready to extinguish those in our living quarters.  Would you mind...?”

“Yes, sir.  We’ll put these out and head back to our hotel,”  Artie said.  “Good night and Merry Christmas, President Grant, Mrs. Grant.”

Jim said his goodbyes, too, the door closed behind the Grants, and Jim and Artie moved opposite directions around the room, extinguishing the candles. They were about to meet at the window when Jim got careless and dragged his hand across a still burning candle.

“Ouch!”   Jim flinched away.  “Of all the stupid--”

“Jim!”   Artie grasped Jim’s hand and peered at it in the moonlight.

“It’s nothing,” Jim insisted, embarrassed by his stupidity, but Artie bent over and pressed his lips to the slightly scorched hand.  And instead of protesting and pulling his hand away, Jim said softly, “Is this a new sort of medical treatment that you’ve just invented, Artemus?”  

The touch of Artie’s lips was oddly soothing and, mesmerized by the way the moonlight lit Artie’s hair, Jim put his free hand out to touch the dark curls at the base of his skull.

They stood so close together that when Artie raised his head, it seemed inevitable that their lips should meet.  Jim wasted little more than a second or two wondering who had leaned in the additional quarter-inch to bring their mouths together.  The hand that had been toying with Artie’s curls curved around to cup his skull.  His other hand remained clutched in Artie’s, practically crushed between them, as Artie wrapped his free arm around Jim to pull him closer.

Artie’s mouth was astonishingly soft against Jim’s, offering but not insisting, and Jim instinctively parted his lips to accept his friend’s gently thrusting tongue.  He squeezed his eyes shut, tasting the sweetness of brandy on Artie’s tongue and giving himself over to an even sweeter taste that was unidentifiable but unmistakably Artemus Gordon.

When they finally drew apart, breaking the kiss, their hands remained clasped.  Jim opened his eyes, and Artie’s pupils were dilated, turning his eyes black.  They regarded each other silently, and Jim was aware that a smile curved up his own lips, but Artie’s expression was somewhat wary.

“Artie, that letter you wrote me...”  Jim smiled what he hoped was an encouraging smile.  “Was there something more than you told me earlier?”

Looking somewhat shell-shocked, Artie lifted his hand and brushed his fingertips over his own lips and then over Jim’s.  “Do you mean, did I tell you that I was in love with you?”  He swallowed and moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue.  “I don’t think that I happened to mention it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jim said.  “All that matters now is...”  He leaned in and kissed Artie again.  To his delight, this kiss was even better than the first, and Artie returned it, matching Jim’s strength for strength in their shared embrace.

“James,”  Artie muttered against Jim’s mouth; wrapping his hands around Jim’s biceps, he gently pushed him away. 

Startled, Jim blinked at his friend.  Their embrace broken, he gripped his hands together and wondered how Artie could kiss him so enthusiastically without looking happy about it.  “Why don’t you...?”  Thoroughly confused, Jim allowed his voice to trail away.

“I love you, Jim.”   Artie’s grip tightened on Jim’s biceps.  “Truly, I do, but...”   He shook his head, his expression earnest.  “... I’m just not good at this.”

Jim’s eyes widened and then he laughed.  “Trust me, Artie, I have no complaints.”   He paused before adding, “And your reputation is that no one else has had any complaints either.”

Artie frowned and stepped away from Jim.  “I didn’t mean that I’m not good at...”   He made a vague gesture in the air.  “I am very skilled in the bedroom.  I’m just not good at the other part.”  He forced a shaky smile.  “I’ve never told you, James, but I’ve been married before, and I didn’t particularly like it.”  

“Who said anything about getting married?” Jim asked, his voice coming out more sharply than he’d intended.  Artie’s reaction to their kiss had killed his earlier exhilaration.  Turning away, he rubbed his hand wearily over the back of his neck, trying to sort through his jumbled emotions.  “I can’t believe that you’ve never told me that you were married.”  

Of course, it was ludicrous to think that he had marriage on his mind.  Still, he was annoyed with his friend for announcing that…  Suddenly, he remembered watching Grant and his wife together, remembered the sharp stab of envy, and he knew that was exactly what he wanted with Artie. 

And that was exactly what Artie had just announced he wasn’t interested in.

Jim shook his head, as if he could physically dispel the unpleasant thoughts.  “Forget it, Artie.  Let’s just go back to the hotel.  I could use some sleep.”   He turned around to look at his partner.  “I still have a place to stay tonight, don’t I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”  Artie asked, putting his hand on Jim’s arm.  He still wore that shell-shocked look.  “You have to know, Jim, that I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

Jim almost shook off that hand, but then he noticed how warm it was through the layers of fine wool and linen, and he smiled.  He knew he was attractive and, after all, Artie had confessed that he loved him.  He’d seduced others with far less to be gained.

“I know, Artie,” Jim said, smiling just enough to display his dimples, and seeing Artie swallow, he knew that Artie couldn’t resist him for long.  He covered Artie’s hand with his own, and said again, “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

They slipped out a back entrance, and as Jim breathed in the cool midnight air, he glanced over at the man walking beside him.  Artie was smiling again, chattering away about what he’d been up to during his stay in Washington and some of Jim’s exhilaration returned.  He could still taste Artie’s kiss on his lips, and he had no doubt that kiss wouldn’t be their last.

Although the White House seemed nearly bright as day from the candles lit in celebration of the season, their walk back to the hotel was lit by the full moon overhead and the more garish light of the gas streetlamps.  “Think it’s cold enough to snow?”

“Hmm?”   Artie glanced over at him and smiled.  “Dreaming of a white Christmas, James?”

“Doesn’t seem like Christmas without snow,”  Jim said, tucking his hand into the crook of Artie’s arm.  

Artie shook his head with a laugh.  “You’ve never complained when we’ve spent Christmas in San Francisco or Santa Fe.  Not much snow in either of those places.  Have you forgotten?”

Jim merely smiled, more content than he’d been in quite a while.

Frank was still at the front desk when they walked in together.  “I see that you’ve found your friend.”   His gaze flicked between them as he handed the key to Artie.  “I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Gordon, that Mrs. Reynolds put Mr. West in your room.”

“We’ll get along just fine,”  Artie said before turning away from the desk and leading the way to his room.

They were silent during their walk, and it wasn’t until they reached the room that Jim said, “After six months, I’m surprised you haven’t looked for something more permanent.”

“Every time that I’ve come close to sending for my belongings, I’ve changed my mind.”  Artie closed the door behind them.  “How about a drink?  I have a passable brandy.”

“Yes, thank you.”   Jim unbuttoned his evening coat and slid it off.

“You haven’t unpacked,” Artie said, extracting a pair of glasses from a cupboard.

“I wasn’t entirely sure I was welcome to stay.”   Jim unbuttoned his vest and loosened his cravat.

“You are.”   Artie poured two generous brandies.  “There’s not a lot of room in the wardrobe, but you should hang up your clothes before they wrinkle.”

“I didn’t bring much.”   Instead of unpacking, however, Jim continued to undress.  He unbuttoned his shirt and put it on a hanger with his vest and coat.

Artie’s gaze flicked over Jim’s bare chest before he handed him his brandy.  “Glad to see that you’re taking care of yourself.”   He gazed down into his own glass.  “To what shall we drink?”

Jim smiled and clinked his glass gently against Artie’s.  “To the most successful partnership in the Secret Service.  To us, Artemus.”

Artie nodded.  “To us, James.”   He drank down his brandy and, putting the glass aside, began to unbutton his own coat, a distracted expression on his face.

The brandy warmed Jim’s throat and belly and, unlike Artie, he took his time drinking it, savoring the rich flavor of the wine.  “This is a good brandy.”  He cradled the nearly-empty glass in both hands.  “I knew there was a reason that I missed having you around.”

Artie smiled faintly and sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes.  “Pike’s taste in brandy is a bit less refined?”

“Actually, he has pretty good taste,”  Jim said with a shake of his head.  “The problem is…”   Putting aside his glass, he seated himself beside Artie and removed his own shoes.  “…he drank up all the brandy  we had on the train and hasn’t bothered to replace it.”

“Ah,” Artie said, unselfconsciously rubbing his stockinged right foot before bending again to remove his left shoe, “you’re just looking for a free brandy.”

“No, Artie,”  Jim said, deliberately resting his right hand on Artie’s thigh.  “I’m looking for much more than that.”

Artie glanced down at Jim’s hand, and he swallowed audibly.  “I already told you that this isn’t a good idea.”

“Is that what you told me?”  Jim rubbed his hand lightly over the dark wool of Artie’s trousers.  “But you kissed me.  You can’t expect me to resist, can you?”

“You kissed me,”  Artie accused in a neutral voice.  “I just kissed you back.” 

“Just?”   Jim moved closer and slipped his arms around Artie’s waist.  Closing his eyes, he brushed his lips against Artie’s, kissing him lightly.  To Jim’s relief, Artie didn’t protest or push him away.  Rather, he parted his lips, gently inviting in Jim’s tongue, and Jim deepened the kiss, savoring the lingering flavor of the brandy.  “Mmm.” 

Artie’s warm hand slid around Jim’s waist and then tracked up and down his back, lightly caressing his bare skin.  He placed his other hand under Jim’s chin, tilting it up slightly, and his lips played over Jim’s face, brushing lightly over his closed eyelids, leaving warm impressions on the corners of his mouth, and trailing down to settle in the hollow of his throat.

“Oh.”   Jim’s hands clutched at Artie’s waist, and he forgot his own plans at seduction under the sweet exploration  of his partner’s mouth.  “Let’s get undressed,”  he choked out, his hands plucking ineffectually at Artie’s shirt.  His trousers were uncomfortably tight; in fact, he felt like his very skin was too tight to hold in his arousal.

“Patience,”  Artie murmured in Jim’s ear before biting down delicately on his ear lobe.

“Oh,”  Jim gasped again, dizzy with drink and arousal but more wide awake than he’d been all day.  “Should we turn down the lamp?”

“No.”   Artie lightly nipped at Jim’s collarbone.  “I want to see you.”

Weak with his own desire, he allowed Artie to lay him back on the bed, deftly unfasten his trousers, and strip him bare.  When Artie’s mouth closed around his cock, Jim arched up and cried out hoarsely, helplessly swept along in the tide of his partner’s desires.

“Must I gag you?”  Artie asked, sitting up to finish undressing, and Jim wasn’t entirely certain that he was joking.

Jim half-sat up, too, and watched Artie undress, admiring the broadness of his shoulders and the long muscles of his thighs.  His eyes flicked down to Artie’s stiff cock.  They’d lived in close quarters on the train, so he’d frequently seen Artie unclothed, and it wasn’t unusual for him to see his partner’s equipment in passing.  But it was quite another matter to see Artie fully aroused, to contemplate the generous size of his cock and to wonder how it would feel to have that engorged shaft pressing into him.  

Jim had no first hand experience with the mechanics of what two men did in bed, but he was no innocent and had a fairly good idea of what to expect.  Artie’s suddenly unleashed strength and ferocity, however, surprised him.  Once undressed, he pounced like a wild animal, pinning Jim’s arms over his head with one hand and taking his mouth in a fierce kiss.  Of course, Jim was strong enough that he could have fought back. 

If he had wanted to. 

Once he recovered from his initial surprise, Jim quickly discovered that he enjoyed being the object of such raw lust.  He gasped as Artie mouthed the side of his neck, and he swallowed a groan as Artie’s hand clutched his ass hard.  “Roll over,” Artie ordered in a choked voice, and Jim complied, trapping his own erection against the mattress, but then Artie’s hand slid over Jim’s hip and underneath to caress him roughly, pulling his shaft back against his belly. 

“Come up on your hands and knees,”  Artie said, and Jim obeyed.

Artie moved behind and clutched Jim’s buttocks to spread them.  “Oh,”  Jim gasped with surprise when Artie put his mouth on his ass and pushed his tongue inside.  It felt… strange, slightly embarrassing at first, but surprisingly wonderful--once he relaxed and allowed himself to enjoy it. 

Curving one hand around Jim’s erection, Artie lapped his tongue in and out of Jim’s ass; the twin sensations were unlike anything that he’d experienced before.  Jim breathed deeply, hoping that he wouldn’t spend too quickly.

“Have you ever…?”  Artie replaced his tongue with one finger, and that digit poked deeper, seeking and finding a place inside Jim that he had never known existed, one that elicited mind-numbing pleasure.  Jim had to bite his lip to keep from crying out, and he pressed his fingernails into his palms to distract himself, barely holding himself back from spilling over.

“No… I…”   Jim squeezed down on Artie’s invading finger.  “You may have to gag me after all.”

“I don’t think so.”  Artie leaned over to open the drawer of the bedside table, retrieved a bottle, and he drizzled a generous amount of cool oil in the crevice of Jim’s buttocks.  “You have the sweetest ass,”  Artie murmured.  He put aside the bottle and rubbed his cock against Jim’s opening.  “How is it possible that no one has ever fucked you up the ass?”  he growled in Jim’s ear.

“I never wanted it,”  Jim said, but he pushed his ass back against Artie’s cock.  “I’ve never wanted anyone before tonight.”   He swallowed; Artie’s warm, firm cockhead pushed against his perineum.  “Before you, Artie.”

“You would have killed any other man who tried it, wouldn’t you?”   Artie pressed two fingers against Jim’s ass, and the oil allowed them to slide in with little resistance.  “But now you want me to fuck you.”

“Yes.”   Jim pressed back, spreading his thighs wider. “Yes, Artie.”  And then he gasped as the hard, hot bulk of Artie’s cock entered him, opening him wide.  He saw stars, and he cried out incoherently.  It hurt so damn much!  Artie was very well-endowed, and he gave no quarter as he flattened Jim down on the bed and took him ferociously.  It felt as though he was being torn apart, but he didn’t fight back, didn’t resist. 

Artie wrapped his arms around Jim’s waist, seemingly determined to marshal all of his strength to crush Jim.  “Jim,”  he groaned and pushed deeper.  “Oh, god, Jim.”

Some sort of barrier was broken then, and the incredible pressure altered from being painful to pleasurable.  Artie’s cock swelled, battering Jim’s insides, pressing against that newly discovered center of pleasure, and set a torch to his soul.     

“Jim,”  Artie gasped, “I love you,”  and he sank his teeth into Jim’s shoulder.  He stilled suddenly, and Jim tensed, completely in thrall.  Artie’s hot seed gushed out, Artie’s orgasmic cry shook him and a levee broke inside of Jim.  His own cock swelled, trapped as it was between the bed and his belly.  Seed spilled from his cock, moisture spilled from his eyes, and he turned his head on the bed, gulping air.  He didn’t even recognize the sounds he was making, but then he recognized them as tearful sobs.

“Jim…”   Artie’s voice seemed to come from far away, his voice heavy with weariness.  His arms around Jim relaxed their possessive grip as he rolled them  over to  recline  on their sides.  “Jim.”   He was still inside of Jim, but his shaft had softened, relieving the incredible pressure, and Artie put a hand up to stroke the side of Jim’s face, streaking the remnants of his tears down his cheek.  “Forgive me, my sweet boy,”  he murmured in Jim’s ear.

“No.”   Jim’s voice was nearly a croak.  “Nothing to forgive.”   He thrashed weakly in Artie’s warm embrace, not trying to escape, rather trying to burrow closer.  “I love you, too.”  He closed his eyes, too weary to think of what came next.

“Isn’t that amazing?”  Artie murmured in Jim’s ear, his voice tinged with surprise and wonder, “It’s starting to snow.”

Jim considered opening his eyes, maybe rising from the bed, but tomorrow, he decided, was soon enough to see the heavy mantle of snow he envisioned as covering Washington City, burying her in a beautiful cloak.  For now, Jim was content to drift  himself.  He barely had the strength, but he lifted a hand to swipe at the tears drying on his cheeks.

Artie’s arms tightened around him, but then loosened again.  He felt Artie shift away, and he almost protested, but Artie wasn’t gone long.  A warm damp cloth swept across his cheek and then across his belly.  He opened his eyes, met Artie’s anxious gaze, and he cupped Artie’s cheek in one hand. 

Artie smiled somewhat shakily, and no words seemed necessary.  Jim slept.

* * * * *

The smell of coffee woke Artemus.  Even though the idea of coffee was rather appealing, he didn’t open his eyes immediately, but just burrowed deeper into the covers.  It had been warmer earlier, but the source of that additional warmth had deserted him--oh, he hadn’t gone far.  Artemus could hear him whistling softly--God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, a little out of tune, but recognizable.  Odd, because Jim ordinarily possessed perfect pitch.

Artemus cracked open one eye.  Early morning sun sneaked in through a gap in the curtains, stroking Jim’s bare, perfectly formed shoulder. 

He  stood before the mirror shaving, so intent on the job that he didn’t notice that Artemus was awake.  He was nearer forty years old than thirty; nearly two decades had passed since Artemus had first laid eyes on him in General Grant’s tent.  Artemus had  been in love with Jim since that day--well, perhaps, it had started as an infatuation. 

But it hadn’t prevented Artemus from making love to plenty of others.  And he knew Jim.  Knew that the young man was a romantic.  Knowing that, he’d avoided bedding Jim, determined that he would cure himself of his wandering eye before giving in to his love for his dearest friend.

One kiss had spoiled that resolution, and Artemus had to find a way to prevent a further ruin to their friendship, the most precious of his life.

He scarcely dared to breathe, wanting a moment to admire Jim unobserved.  Despite the years and the way he’d lived his life--constantly risking life and limb, battering and bruising himself in one brawl after another, and getting himself shot at, blown up and knifed--Jim was still as good to look at as ever.

Artemus’  gaze traveled down the smooth expanse of Jim’s strong back, down to the inviting swell of his blue-clad backside.

“You know,”  Jim said in a conversational tone, breaking into Artemus’  admittedly prurient thoughts, “I haven’t yet decided whether to be angry with you.”  

Artemus sat up in bed, self-consciously smoothing back his sleep-mussed hair.  “I can think of a few reasons why I deserve it,”  he admitted, meeting Jim’s calm gaze in the mirror, “but do you mind pouring me some of that coffee before you pull out your gun and shoot me?” 

Lips turning up in a smile, Jim wiped away a trace of shaving soap.  “I assume you still take your coffee black.”   He put aside the towel and poured a cup of coffee.  “And, no, I wasn’t planning to shoot you.”   Crossing the room, he sat on the bed and handed over the coffee.  “After Mrs. Reynolds has been so kind, I wouldn’t want to ruin her linens.”

Artemus accepted the coffee with a grateful nod--it was the perfect temperature, and he drank every drop before he put the cup aside.  Jim waited patiently, his smile was faint, but it was enough to bring out his dimples and light up his eyes.

The coffee seemed to clear the fog from his brain, and Artemus started to remember the events of the night before.  “We should talk about last night...”  He hesitated.

“The only reason I might be angry, Artie, is that you’ve been holding out on me.”   Jim placed his right hand on Artemus’  wrist.  “If I judge by your reactions last night, you’ve been thinking about this.”  He paused before adding, “Bedding me, I mean.”

Artemus swallowed and looked down at Jim’s hand.  “I’ve always tried to be honest with you, but I don’t know--didn’t know--”

“I should tell you that I’m angry that you’ve been giving to everyone else what you should have been giving to me.”   In fact, Jim didn’t appear at all angry with him.

And Artemus had a sudden recollection of the night before.  He’d been too eager in bed, and he remembered Jim’s strangled cry of pain.  Jim had quickly suppressed it, and then... 

He had seen his partner tortured and near death, facing either with equanimity.  Before last night, he had never seen Jim cry.  And he  didn’t know what to say  about it--he expected that Jim would be humiliated and resentful that he’d  witnessed Jim’s breakdown.

“I can’t tell you how much I regret hurting you.”  Artemus lifted his eyes to meet Jim’s gaze. 

“When you went away?”  Jim asked.  He wrapped his hand around Artemus’  wrist, and his jaw tightened.  “When you went to Washington without saying goodbye.  Without explaining.”

“I was talking about last night,”  Artemus said.  “I should have been more careful.”

Jim shook his head.  “It may have seemed as though I was hurt--and I apologize for my... my extreme reaction.”   He smiled then, and his smile wasn’t actually all that apologetic.  “I didn’t expect to break down like that, of course.  But it wasn’t a reaction to physical pain.  You should know that about me.”   He brought Artemus’ clenched hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckles.  “You hurt me far worse when you walked out on me.”

Artemus opened his hand and gently touched Jim’s mouth with his forefinger.  “I am sorry that it hurt you.”   He dropped his eyes, nearly unable to bear the intensity of Jim’s gaze.  “At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“I trust,”  Jim said softly, “you’ve changed your mind about that.”  He paused and entwined his fingers in the fingers of Artemus’  right hand.  “You needn’t apologize.  I’m fine now.”   His grip tightened.  “Now that I know that you love me...”

Artemus glanced up sharply.  “You knew that before, didn’t you?”

“There was something wonderful about having you demonstrate it physically.”

“Oh.”   Artemus’ mouth stretched in a faint smile, and he surprised himself by flushing with pleasure.  “I believe that is the finest thing that anyone has ever said to me.”  

“I can think of better,” Jim said, bringing over his other hand to capture Artemus’  right hand completely.

“Can you?”   Artemus’  smile widened.

“Yes.”   Jim leaned in closer and placed his mouth against Artemus’  ear.  “What you did to me last night.  I want you to do it again.  And again.  Every day for the rest of my life.”

Artemus wrapped his arms around Jim, pulling him into a strong embrace.  “Well, not every day.  We have responsibilities, you know.”   He kissed Jim’s mouth lightly.  “But, after all, it is Christmas, so I think we can be permitted to--”

“You really do talk too much,” Jim said with a laugh.  He pushed Artemus away, but only long enough to peel off his trousers.  He wasn’t wearing anything else, so he was in Artemus’  arms again almost immediately.

This time, when Artemus made love to Jim, he took it slow and easy. 

* * * * *

“You seem like you’d actually prefer to stay here.”   Jim paused to draw a thin cigar from his jacket and light it.  He looked around at the bleak landscape.  The Christmas snow had melted overnight, leaving only the brown of dead grass and the black of bare trees.  He glanced over at his partner.  “Want one?”

Artie shook his head.  “I’ll share yours.”

Jim lifted an eyebrow at him.  “It’s one thing to pass a cigar between us when we’re alone in bed together, but in public, don’t you think…?”

Rolling his eyes, Artie said, “Fine.  Light me my own.”   He wrapped his topcoat tighter around himself.  “Aren’t you freezing?  Where’s your coat?”

“In Denver.”  Jim lit a second cigar off his first and handed it over.  Artie gave him an unreadable look.  “Where I’ll be in a few days.”   Jim drew the tobacco into his mouth and  decided that a cigar did taste better when they shared.  He was unaccountably gloomy about returning to the Western Territories alone.

“But then you’ll be headed off to Arizona to meet up with Frank.”   Artie turned away to resume their stroll along the Potomac.  “You’ll like him, Jim.  He’s a good agent.”

“I want to work with you,” Jim said, not completely succeeding at keeping the exasperation out of his voice.  “You seem to think that it’s a vast improvement that Pike is being promoted to the head of the Denver office, and I won’t be working with him.  What difference does it make if I’m working with Frank instead?”

“I don’t trust Jeremy Pike.”   Artie frowned.  “I’m convinced that he found the letter I wrote you and kept it from you.”

Jim smiled faintly.  Jealousy wasn’t actually a sure sign of love, but it was somewhat entertaining to see his partner in the throes of it.  “Why would he want to do something like that?”  He poked a finger into Artie’s shoulder.  “That reminds me.  You never told me just exactly what you said in that letter.”

Artie shrugged.  “Sure I did.”

“Just the part about being overly concerned about my wellbeing.”  Jim wrapped a hand around Artie’s elbow.  “Not the part about being in love with me.”

“I never said I wrote that in a letter.”   Artie smiled and flicked a glance over at Jim.  “Besides, I thought you liked it better when I demonstrated.”

“Yeah.”   Jim squeezed Artie’s elbow.  “I do.”   But then he thrust his hand in his pocket.  “So, why aren’t you upset about staying in Washington?”

“As Colonel Richmond said, I can’t just leave in the middle of an assignment.  You and Frank can certainly handle that situation out in Arizona. And in a few months--probably in the spring-I’ll rejoin you and--”

“It’s going to take you a few months to take down all of the Christmas decorations at the White House?”  Jim began to walk a bit faster, hoping to work off some of his pique.  He was aware that he sounded like a sulky, thwarted child, but he had counted on Richmond sending Artie back with him.

“I told you, Jim,”  Artie said, sounding as exasperated as Jim felt, “I have a couple other things that I’m working on.”

“But you didn’t tell me what they are,”  Jim shot back.  He turned around abruptly.  “Let’s go back to the hotel.  No sense wasting what time we have together.  If I have to get on a train in two days, I’d prefer to--”

“Not be able to sit down?” Artie asked sharply, tossing aside his half-smoked cigar.  He came around in front of Jim, caught him by the shoulders, and forced him to meet his gaze.  “You know I enjoy going to bed with you, but I still enjoy other aspects of our friendship.”

“I know that.”   Jim tossed aside his own cigar and reached up to grasp Artie’s upper arms, so that they stood in a loose embrace.  “What are you afraid of, Artie?  Are you still convinced that I’m trying to trap you into some semblance of marriage, and all you want to do is run the other way?”   Artie’s expression turned to stone, convincing Jim that his accusation was dead-on. 

“Oh, hell,”  Jim said very softly.  He let go of Artie’s arms and brushed past him, walking very quickly and clenching his hands at his sides.   Artie’s footfalls sounded behind him, but his partner didn’t attempt to catch up with him in the five minutes it took them  to retrace their steps to the hotel.

The silence hung between them as Jim retrieved the key and they climbed the stairs to Artie’s room.  He unlocked the door and gestured for Artie to precede him into the room.  Artie stripped off his topcoat, dumped it on a chair and crossed the room to retrieve glasses and the brandy.

“You’d better pour me a generous one,”  Jim said, trying in vain to keep his tone light.  He stripped off his own jacket, carefully hung it in the closet, and prowled restlessly around the room, pausing only when Artie followed him to the window and handed over his brandy.

Jim  looked down into the glass and quirked up a corner of his mouth, forcing a faint smile.  “Thank you for the last couple of days anyway.”   He touched his glass lightly to Artie’s and tilted it back to drink down the rich wine.  He drank off half the glass before he met Artie’s unhappy gaze.  “Did I ever tell you that when I was seven years old, I asked for a pony for Christmas?”   He took another gulp from his glass before he added, “I didn’t get one then.”   He shrugged.  “This Christmas was better.  I got a stallion.”   He drank off the remainder of his glassful.  “Even if I can’t keep him.”

“I just need some time, Jim.”   Artie put aside his glass--he’d only drunk half of it--and placed his hands on Jim’s shoulders.  “You’re a handful, you know.  It takes some getting used to.”   To Jim’s relief, his stony expression had melted to a wry smile.

“Presumably, this is what you wanted.”  Jim put aside his glass and placed his hands on Artie’s waist.  He tilted his head slightly to one side.  “Did you actually tell Richmond that you wanted to work separately from me for a few more months?  You didn’t tell him why, did you?”

“Of course not.”   Artie caressed Jim’s shoulders gently.  “You’re trying to make a joke about the marriage thing, of course, but…”   He shook his head slightly.  “You are the finest man that I’ve ever known, and you deserve to be loved unconditionally.”

“You do,”  Jim insisted.  He wrapped his arms around Artie’s waist, moved into a close embrace, and rested his head on Artie’s strong shoulder.  “I shouldn’t be pushing you.”

Artie kissed the top of Jim’s head.  “It’s quite a compliment from an expert horseman like you-comparing me to a stallion.”   He rubbed his hand down Jim’s back.  “I promise you, James, when I come back to you in the spring, it will be because I’m ready to give myself to you unconditionally.”

“I don’t know why you…”   Jim’s voice trailed away, and he tightened his arms around Artie’s waist.  “And what happens until then?”

“Until then,”  Artie said in a low voice, “you should consider yourself free to do whatever you please.”

“And you’ll do the same?”   Jim squeezed his eyes closed, startled by the bitter taste of his jealousy.  He took a deep breath.  “I understand.”   He really didn’t, of course, but he silently vowed to trust his partner, to trust in his own worth, to trust that Artie loved him and that love would survive a few months of separation.  He turned his head to kiss the side of Artie’s neck.  “Fine.  I won’t say another word about being together.  But, my furlough doesn’t end until January 1^st.  And until then…”

“Until then, you’re welcome to ride your Christmas stallion to your heart’s content.”   Artie turned his head and their lips met in a tender, perfect kiss.

Jim silently vowed to make the next couple of days so memorable that Artie wouldn’t be able to keep himself away for long.  He opened his mouth to Artie’s tongue and slipped his hand under Artie’s shirt to caress the bare skin of his back.

Later on, we’ll conspire,

As we dream by the fire,

To face unafraid,

The plans that we made,

Walking in a winter wonderland.