(This was for one of my friends. I highly doubt Jackson and Calhoun were ever romantically involved, but it would be really awesome if they were. Enjoy.)
"A dream of winter
is a kiss and a kiss returned"
It was an unusually cold day. Even for Washington, D.C. And it had snowed; a good five inches, enough to thoroughly soak the socks of all who dared to attempt to take a shovel to its cottony depths, which had led to a large amount of extremely angry and wet Congressmen.
John C. Calhoun, however, rather enjoyed the snow. It reminded him of the snowy hills of the South Carolina winter. It seemed to give the capitol hill a softer edge, taking off the sharp corners of the Greek-style buildings. The sky was dreary grey, the land was stark, bone white.
And he had work to do. As he said, the President plowed along, making the big decisions and leaving others to finish up the paperwork. His desk was still buckling under the weight of the aftershock of Jackson's latest reckless, uninformed decision.
Damn him.
Calhoun sighed under his breath, pulling on his heavy cardigan coat, finding solace in the weathered folds, and threw open the big oak doors leading outside. Somewhere, he could hear someone talking at the base of capitol hill, and there was the sounds of town wafting from the center of the city. But the snow had muffled the rest of the noise, leaving an unnatural silence cloaking Washington.
Calhoun was one of the youngest people to ever represent all three of the governmental houses; a lawyer, a senate member, and now, for the second time, a vice-president. He still was spared the harrows of age, unlike the rest of his older colleagues. He still had the sharp chin, the deep set, flashing dark eyes, the dark hair free of grey. He still had a touch of innocence left, a bit of bounce in his step and an extra incentive to get up in the morning.
He walked through the nigh undistinguishable pathway winding down through a nearby grove of willow trees. They provided adequate shade in the summer and maternal shelter from rain in the spring. There was a hastily-erected bench there as well, a split log anchored by carved posts. He read there sometimes, in the spring when he had only a sparse amount of work. He sat there today, too, making sure to wipe the snow off before he sat down and opened his book again. The sharp light was hard on his eyes and the wind pried at his scarf and clothes. In South Carolina, the weather was much more forgiving.
The crunch of wet snow under combat boots could be heard from where Calhoun was sitting. No amount of snow could cover up that hated sound.
Andrew Jackson sat down next to his vice president, who was trying his best to ignore the man sitting next to him.
"I hope you don't expect lively conversation," Calhoun mumbled under his breath. The rest of his life was already being intruded on by his employer; the last thing that he needed was for him to barge in on his spare moment of relaxation.
"I don't expect any."
"Good."
A moment of awkward silence filled with the howl of the wind.
"Calhoun, do you know what never fails to confuse me?"
"No." I thought-hoped- he wouldn't try to make conversation.
"Christmas. For eleven months of a year you look forwards to it and then the last month is filled with stress and rushing about getting ready for the holiday season." Jackson said, leaning back. He was a handsome man, who must have been even more so in his youth, with icy blue eyes and a regal stature. He had been general of many a battle, an orphan and without a family by fourteen. He had known far too little tenderness in his life. After his wife Rachel died, he had become almost even more withdrawn. He seemed amiable and good-natured enough at first, but he seemed to be suffering, slowly dying.
"And then, the presents. People you don't know seem the easiest to find good gifts for. To this day I don't think I've ever gotten a truly suitable gift for a close friend."
"Sometimes the people you know the best are the people you know the least.." Calhoun muttered, caring not whether it made an ounce of sense. He was still reading.
"Calhoun."
The younger man looked up, surprised at the seriousness in Jackson's voice.
"This.. This is my gift to you. Yours to me would be to accept it.." Calhoun opened his mouth to ask what the hell he meant, but Jackson quickly sealed the deal with a kiss.
Calhoun stiffened; lightning shot through his body. Jackson wrapped his arms around his shoulders, drawing him close. Even though Calhoun could honestly say he never thought of Jackson like that. In fact, Calhoun never knew that he was…well…attracted to…males? He had a wife back home and he had never honestly thought of having a significant other. But to his surprise, he held no resistance. In fact he gently brushed Jackson's face with his hand, deepening the kiss. They continued slowly and gently for a brief moment. Then, without warning, Jackson pulled away, his arms still held a strong grip around Calhoun's shoulders. Calhoun was confused; unquestionably, he didn't want this time to end. But he saw the remorse in Jacksons' icy blue eyes (of which he just noticed made him lightheaded and somewhat giddy) as he brushed Calhoun's hair out of his eyes, stood up, murmuring "Thank you.." and slowly trudged through the snow out of the park.
The day no longer seemed so cold anymore.