Archive of Our Own ^beta

Alex

The first time it happened, it was a Tuesday.

14 Across: Sherlock Holmes author. 3 letters.

Well that’s easy, Arthur Conan Doyle.

Alex raced through the rest of the crossword, a fairly simple one even for a Tuesday. There was a Jane Austen clue that might have stumped him a few weeks ago, but he'd borrowed June's copy of Persuasion last time he stayed overnight at her place, so he'd have something to read on his longer commute to work that day.

Sometimes, when you get in that zone, it feels like the puzzle is tailor-made for you. He sent his time — 04:58 — to June and Nora in their group chat as they each did every day.

Nora sent back an eye-watering 03:42.

They’d started their crossword chat when Alex was in his final year of law school. June recognised that he needed a distraction, something to pull him out of his head and connect with her and Nora on a regular basis while they weren’t living in the same city.

They started with random trivia quizzes they found online, but quickly ran out of ones interesting enough to keep them engaged. They tried playing online Scrabble but Nora was so competitive that it wasn't enjoyable for anyone else. Then June suggested the NYT crossword.

They started on a Monday, luckily, and it was easy enough that they were all able to complete it without help. Then they did the Tuesday, and the Wednesday, and by Thursday Alex was the one instigating the chat and waiting for the others to hurry up and finish so they could discuss it.

So it became a thing. It became their thing.

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The second time it happened, it was a Wednesday, and Alex needed help.

7 Down: Bluey’s breed. 3 letters.

Their daily crossword ritual was a sacred one built on a system of honesty and trust. There was to be absolutely no googling or internet sleuthing of any kind — they all clearly remember the blue whale incident that led to Alex and Nora not talking to each other for a week — but you could consult others for help if needed.

And if that help happened to come in the form of his 6 year old niece, so be it.

Alex liked to do the crossword on his lunch break when he could. He'd found it was the best way to switch his brain off from reviewing legal documents or dealing with inhumane lawyers, and the rush of adrenaline unleashed from his competitive side gave him enough energy to get through until his next cup of coffee.

11 Down: Home of the Longhorns. 8 letters.

Alex smiled and glanced over at the burnt orange keychain he kept attached to his briefcase. UT Austin.

Alex had been single for most of his adult life. He'd had a few short term relationships: three months with Lucy, seven months with Noah, and nine and a half months with Hannah. Otherwise it's been a few disappointing first and second dates or the occasional app hookup. It has been hard for people to separate First Son ACD from Alex Claremont-Diaz. He isn’t a public figure or a politician, he's just a guy whose mother happened to be President for a while.

When Alex graduated law school and moved away from Texas, he didn’t hesitate to follow June to New York. He didn't even pretend it was for any other reason. After a few years on his own, Alex needed to be close to his family again, to spend time with people who knew the real Alex.

June and Nora were lucky. They'd fallen in love while Ellen was still President, while Nora's grandfather was still Vice President. Nora had to deal with the same public pressures as Alex and June had, and it only brought them closer together. They announced their engagement two weeks after President Claremont left office, and were married nine months later. When June gave birth to Grace six years ago, Alex met his new best friend.

Today he has finished the rest of the puzzle except the top right corner, with 3 little letters his only way to unlock it. So now he must wait for his most important helper to get home from school.

He watched the clock tick over to 3:30pm, knowing June would have had enough time to walk her home from school and she'd be settled on the couch with a snack and her ipad to receive his facetime call.

“Hey Grace, how are you sweetheart?”

“Tio Alex!” Grace grinned, the adoration for her favourite uncle obvious on her beaming face.

“I really need your help with something. I’m trying to do a puzzle but I’m stuck. Do you think you could help me?”

Grace’s eyes went wide, her face suddenly very serious, keenly aware that this was a big responsibility.

“I’ll try my best” she said solemnly.

“Thank you, Gracie. You know that show you love, Bluey. Do you know what kind of dog she is?”

“Yes!” Grace beamed, so pleased she could help. “She’s called Bluey because she’s a Blue Heeler.”

Oh, that doesn’t help.

“Do they say anything else about what type of dog she is?”

Grace shrugged, and unfortunately six-year-olds only know so much.

June’s face appeared over Grace’s shoulder, her wide smug smirk filling up the screen.

“Stuck on the crossword, huh?”

“Blue Heeler doesn’t fit,” Alex said bitterly.

“So you decided to use your own niece to try and solve it for you?”

“It's not fair, you and Nora already have access to this information and it's the only way I can – “

Grace interrupted. “Tio Alex, can I tell you what happened at school today?” She didn’t wait for a response. She never did. Alex loved that about her. “Miss Brown said that we couldn’t go outside today because it was raining but it was only raining a little bit.”

“Uh huh”, Alex half listened, half tried to figure out what the hell a blue heeler was.

“So I asked when we could go outside. I know it’s important to ask questions, just like you told me. And Miss Brown said that we could when it stopped raining but it did stop raining and we still didn’t — “

June cackled, then yelled back at the screen as she disappeared out of frame “she’s an Australian Cattle Dog.”

"Thank you!” Alex glanced down at his phone to type in ACD, horrified to discover he’d left the app open and the crossword timer running while on the call.

Alex looked up to see Grace was still talking about Miss Brown, who must have the patience of a saint. “And then she said that maybe tomorrow if there's no rain at all —“

“I'm sorry you didn't get to go outside, sweetheart. If it’s sunny I can take you to the park this weekend.”

“Ok, love you, Tio Alex!”

“Love you, Gracie”

Alex finished the rest of the crossword and sent his time - 14:29 - to the group chat.

Nora replied instantly:

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The third time it happened, it was a Friday.

17 Down: Anticoagulant. 3 letters.

Ok, wait. Alex knows this. Alex is sure he knows this.

He digs through some boxes until he finds an old science textbook, and flicks through the pages hoping something will jog his memory.

There it is. Acid-citrate-dextrose (or ACD) is any solution of citric acid, sodium citrate, and dextrose in water. It is mainly used as an anticoagulant to preserve blood specimens required for tissue typing.

That’s, huh. That’s interesting.

Alex always enjoyed the Friday puzzle. He often thought Thursday was trying a little too hard, too convoluted with the rebus and the trickery. Friday felt like sweet relief in comparison.

32 Across: New York park opened in 1867. 8 letters.

He knows that it's Prospect Park because he walked past the commemorative sign the last time he was there with Grace.

Alex finished the puzzle in 12:08. Not bad for a Friday.

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The fourth time it happened, it was a Monday.

Alex hadn’t looked at the crossword yet today, but Nora had.

Alex opened his NYT puzzles app.

1 Across: Former First Son. 3 letters.

What the fuck.

Alex opened Twitter.

Alex received a new Twitter notification: a direct message from @foxwords

Alex opened up his DMs, his unread message from Henry Fox staring at him, demanding to be read.

He didn’t.

Henry

Henry Fox lived a quiet life. He hadn't always, but he did now.

It was hard, growing up the son of James Bond. Arthur Fox had been a beloved stage and film actor, and Henry had spent years attending movie premieres by his father's side. He died from cancer while Henry was a teen, and now strangers loved to stop him on the street to tell him “he was always my favourite Bond".

“Mine too”, Henry would say.

"You look just like him", they’d say. Words that were meant to be comforting — but for Henry, those words stung. They would smile and walk away, and Henry would move on to the next stranger who felt entitled to his time.

He had too many memories swarming around London. Every theatre his father had performed in, every landmark he’d filmed at. Every person who seemed to know who he was and felt compelled to tell him so. It was all too much.

So he packed up and moved to New York. He took the very generous inheritance he received from his father and bought himself a brownstone. He found a sweet rescue dog named David, and set about settling down into his simple life.

He’s not entirely sure how he ended up as a crossword creator. He’d always dreamed of being a writer, and started doing crosswords as a way to strengthen his creativity and wordplay. Eventually he created his own, submitted them into NYT, and now, here he is. Full-time potential writer. Part-time crossword creator. A world away from London and the people who thought they had any right to know him.

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The first time he saw him, it was a Monday.

Henry was on the subway, attempting to venture out of his local area and see a bit more of New York. He’d settled into his new life quite easily, perhaps a little too predictably; he had become rather attached to his daily routines. He knew all his local cafes, he knew the best path to walk David in Prospect Park, he knew which takeaway had the best falafel.

He had heard about a cafe slightly farther away that had an impressive imported tea selection, and he hoped that a change of location would help kickstart his writing.

The carriage was crammed full. It seemed like an endless number of passengers got off and got on, and yet the number of people inside remained steady.

And then the crowds parted, and he appeared.

He looked over to the seats across from him, and on a dreary Monday morning in peak rush hour, Henry saw the most beautiful man he had ever seen.

It was as if there was a light shining directly behind him, illuminating him just for Henry.

He was glowing.

Henry was speechless.

He couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to.

Gorgeous brown eyes. Thick dark curls he wanted to run his fingers through. A tailored navy suit perfectly highlighting the body underneath. He was reading a well loved copy of Persuasion, was focused on each word as though he hadn’t read them a million times before. He had headphones in his ears, his right foot tapping to music only he could hear.

And somehow the hideous fluorescent subway lighting made him look even more beautiful. It was completely absurd.

As the man stood up from his seat to get off at the next stop, he locked eyes with Henry. Henry was unwilling to break eye contact, and the beautiful man looked delighted, with a devilish grin brightening up his face.

While the man waited for the subway doors to open, Henry caught a glimpse of his briefcase. It was a tasteful brown leather, embossed with three gold letters in the top right corner: ACD.

He looked back at Henry briefly, then disappeared through the doors and out of Henry's life.

Henry found his way to the cafe, and in between multiple cups of immaculately made Earl Grey tea, he wrote. He wrote more words in that one day than in the three weeks previous.

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The second time he saw him, it was a Sunday.

Henry was walking through Prospect Park on a sunny afternoon, David’s leash in one hand and a travel tea mug in the other.

And there he was. His ACD.

Henry started walking towards him, his legs moving of their own volition until his brain finally caught up.

His ACD had company.

He sat on a blanket, with a small girl who could be his clone. His daughter, presumably.

Henry’s heart sank. Of course the most beautiful man in the world is married with a child. Why wouldn’t he be.

Henry rarely felt lonely, at least not in a way that bothered him. His best friend Pez was in New York frequently enough. His sister Bea was always on tour, and often nearby. He had people. He had a group chat. But he didn’t have a person.

He watched the pair from a distance, the two of them full of joy and spirited conversation. They were both so animated and lively, barely a second to pause for breath between them. So enamored with each other they hadn't noticed anyone else in the park.

David barked up at Henry, very unhappy to be standing still for so long without a treat in sight. At the sudden noise, the pair looked over in their direction. It was hard to tell from this far away, but Henry thought he saw a sly smirk on ACD’s face.

Henry continued on and out through the park. He didn't dare look back.

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The third time he saw him, it was a Friday.

The third time he saw him, it wasn't in person.

Henry thought he had been quite clever, allowing enough space between his ACD clues that no one would realise what he had been doing. He’d forgotten that people who do puzzles every day were exceptionally good at putting the pieces together.

He logged onto Twitter, as he always did on the days his puzzles were published, to check for any feedback.

That's odd. What on earth was a fsotus?

Henry googled “ACD fsotus” and oh. Oh.

Alex Claremont-Diaz .

The most beautiful man Henry had ever seen is Alex Claremont-Diaz.

Former First Son, now living in New York, working as a highly sought after immigration lawyer.

It seems everybody knows who ACD is. Everybody except Henry.

The thing is, Henry had been living in London while Ellen Claremont was President. She was out of office by the time he moved to America and needed to worry about who was running the country. He knew her name, as did the rest of the world, but he never paid any attention to her family. Maybe he should have.

He scrolled through the search results, looked at the photos, and read through a few old interviews.

He read Alex's Wikipedia page three times, just to be certain, but there was no mention of a wife or a child.

It was hard to find any current information. Although Alex and his sister had been the poster children for youth and vitality during the Claremont presidency, Alex had chosen to lead a lower profile life once his mother had left the White House.

Henry could relate.

The following Monday, he caught the subway back to that cafe, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. He wasn’t there.

And on Sunday, he walked the same path through Prospect Park, in case Alex and his clone came back. He wasn't there.

He did that for weeks, Monday and Sunday, wandering, hoping, with no sign of him.

So he sent out a signal, the only way he knew how.

1 Across. The first clue.

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Alex

Henry

Well. Here goes nothing.

Henry isn’t sure what he expected would happen when he repeatedly used the initials of a beautiful man in his crossword puzzles. He probably should have been able to predict that the person would notice. That was his intent, after all.

Henry took his hands off his keyboard and calmly placed his fist into his mouth. He squealed around it. He couldn’t help it.

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The fourth time he saw him, it was a Saturday.

But for the first time, it was on purpose.

They had exchanged phone numbers over DM, and Henry had invited Alex to meet him and David at Prospect Park on the weekend.

Henry came with David, a picnic blanket, and a takeaway coffee for Alex.

Alex brought an incredible homemade salsa with corn chips for them to share.

Henry asked Alex his thoughts on Persuasion, and Alex had to admit that he hadn’t finished it. That he’d only borrowed June’s copy that day because he didn’t normally take the subway.

Henry had to admit that he’d caught the subway again, more than once, hoping to see Alex.

By late afternoon, Henry had David’s leash in one hand, and Alex’s hand in the other.

Alex

The 12th time it happened, it was a Monday.

21 Across: Vulpini. 3 letters.

22 Across: Joanie ___ Chachi. 5 letters.

23 Across: Oldest honorary organization for Dentists. 3 letters.

Alex started the puzzle in his lunch break, as always.

Henry answered his call on the second ring.

Alex didn't wait for him to speak.

“What the fuck, Fox!"

“Oh, hello, darling.”

“The fucking nerve. That's how you say it, for the very first time?”

Henry chuckled. “I take it you've solved my puzzle, then?”

“Yes I've solved your puzzle.”

“And how did you do?”

Silence.

And then.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, darling.”

Henry's Twitter followers teased him mercilessly for the rest of the day, mostly instigated by Nora.

He sent his time - 03:28 - to June and Nora. They complained endlessly that it wasn't fair that Alex's crossword times had improved so significantly. But Alex knew the rules because Alex had created the rules. If his outside help occasionally came from the crossword creator himself, that was technically allowed.

He didn't usually do the crossword in front of Henry, anyway. Henry mostly made weekday puzzles and Alex had often already completed it by the time they saw each other in the evening. But if the clues increasingly included references to their shared interests and their life together — well. That was out of Alex's control.

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The 27th time it happened, it was a Sunday.

Alex sat down on the couch, ready to start solving the crossword while Henry prepared tea and coffee in their kitchen.

The Sunday puzzle was always the largest of the week, and this was Henry's first one to be published. Alex was overwhelmingly proud.

He'd surprised Henry earlier that morning by buying a physical edition of the newspaper, and now he had the Sunday magazine open in front of him, ready to begin.

Alex looked around their living room. David was curled up alongside him. A record played quietly in the background while the kettle boiled in the next room.

He felt calm. Content. Happy.

They were building a beautiful quiet life together. Alex had moved into Henry's brownstone, and adopted David as his own. Grace was overjoyed to have another fun uncle to adore her and a dog cousin to run around the park with.

Henry was no longer a potential writer but now a published author. He dedicated his first book to his father, and his second to Alex.

To ACD. The answer to all of my life’s puzzles.

Alex had cried when he read it.

He picked up his pencil and looked down at the crossword.

1 Across: Former First Son. 3 letters.

Fork found in kitchen.

Alex had lost count of the number of times Henry had put him in his crossword. They weren’t usually as obvious as this. Apart from that first time, when Henry tried to get his attention.

Henry hadn't lost count. This was the 27th.

2 Across: Combine. 5 letters.

3 Across: Montenegro. 2 letters.

Alex pencilled in the letters and then read over the top row of the puzzle again.

His heart raced as he looked over to where Henry stood, with a little black box in his hand.

“What the fuck, Fox! Are you kidding me?”

Henry was surprised. He'd anticipated an emotional response but wasn’t sure this was the emotion he meant.

Henry walked over and stood in front of Alex, and waited for Alex to continue.

Alex didn't continue.

Henry leaned over close and broke the silence, whispering: “... you haven’t answered.”

Alex looked up at him, grinning, his eyes sparkling with tears. The radiance of his face — the radiance of him, his very essence — was reminiscent of that first time Henry had seen him on the subway. Glowing, energetic. Beautiful. To this day, Henry had never seen anyone so beautiful.

“Gracie will be our flower girl.”

“Obviously.”

“And David is our ring bearer.”

“Of course.”

“And I want to get married in Prospect Park”

“As do I.”

“Your Twitter followers are going to lose their minds.”

“I know.”

Alex leaned forward to kiss his fiance. His phone dinged, and then again, and then again, an endless stream of alerts. He quickly glanced at the notifications.

“June and Nora finished the crossword.”