Summary: Post-S4. Elizabeth has her heart set on the presidency, but what will happen when she is shot before she can announce? Survival is only the first step. Will those who care for her be able to help her before she fades into darkness?


When the Light Goes Out

Chapter One

The Day It Happened

Elizabeth

"Will?" Elizabeth strode into her office, stopped and peered around. They had ten minutes until the car arrived to take them to the White House. Now was really not the time to go walkabouts.

"In here," Will called from the bathroom. He was stood in front of the mirror, his fingers fumbling over the knot in his tie.

"Here." Elizabeth stepped forward and straightened it out for him.

"You don't need to mother me."

"How's that mothering you? There." Elizabeth smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt. "Henry doesn't complain when I sort out his tie."

"That's probably because you wedge your leg—" Will began, but stopped as Elizabeth slapped his chest. She fought back the blush that threatened to surge through her cheeks. Will smirked in reply.

Elizabeth clicked her tongue. So immature. The phone rang, and thankful for the interruption, she dashed across the room to retrieve it from its cradle. "Hello?"

"Hey, babe." Henry's voice crackled down the line.

Elizabeth smiled. "Hey, you." She leant back against the desk and twisted the cord around her finger. "You not boarded yet?"

"No," Henry said. The airport tannoy chimed in the background. "I'm at the gate now, just waiting. I thought I'd call to see how things are going before the big presentation. How's your date?"

Elizabeth's gaze followed Will as he emerged from the bathroom. "Tall, blonde and scruffy. I'm thinking of ditching him before we get there."

Henry chuckled. "Just play nice."

Elizabeth bit her lip. "Only if I get to be naughty with you later."

Will shot her a look. "I can hear you, you know?"

Elizabeth turned her back on him. The line buzzed; a second call. "Babe, I've got to go."

"All right. I'll see you later," Henry said. "I love you."

"I like you okay too," Elizabeth said through her smile. "Stay safe, won't you?"

"I promise."

Elizabeth hung up and answered the second call. It was Blake. "Ma'am, the car is waiting for you."


The furniture had been cleared out of the room in the White House, leaving the floor open for the guests and press at the presentation. The major networks had already set up their cameras just below the stage at the far end of the room, whilst photographers lingered at the edges. Guests were already filing in and filling up all the spaces in between.

"Ma'am." Jay stepped forward into Elizabeth's path as she strode towards the entrance, Will at her side. He had a clipboard grasped in hand, and a look of mild anguish on his face. "Don't worry; it's not about today—"

"But?" Elizabeth dragged out the word. There had to be a 'but'; there was always a 'but'.

"But," Jay continued, and he winced at the word almost as much as she did, "China have requested a tiny change to the deal we agreed."

Elizabeth resisted the urge to groan. The whole point of the agreed deal was that it had been agreed. "What now? We've already gone through every last detail a gazillion times."

"Yes, ma'am, but there's been a slight change of wording in the final clause."

"How slight?" Elizabeth accepted the clipboard and scanned over the page. She glanced around. The Secret Service agents were beginning to swarm the corridor, a sure sign that President Dalton was on his way. "Accept the change. I need this deal signed by the end of the day."

"Yes, ma'am." Jay took the clipboard back and rushed away again.

"So, where do I stand?" Will asked.

"At the back," Elizabeth said. "And I already know your thoughts on our policies, so you don't need to share them with anyone else." She gave him a hard look. Will had spent two hours the night before picking apart today's presentation with his usual idealistic flair.

"And here I was thinking that we were going to have a nice sibling day out." He feigned a hurt look, and somehow it still stung as much as if it had been real. At least he had made the effort to show up today.

"You're right. I'm sorry." The tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. "I'm just stressed."

"I hadn't noticed."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but nudged his elbow, a small sign of reconciliation. "I'll see you after." She strode through the centre of the gathering to the stage at the opposite end. Russell was already waiting by the podium, Stevie hovering at his side, notebook and pen in hand. Elizabeth pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "Hey, baby."

"Hey, Mom." Stevie's gaze darted to the back of the room. "Uncle Will's here?"

"Yeah." Elizabeth glanced back, and Will raised his hand in a half wave to them both. "Since your dad couldn't make it, your uncle decided to tag along. He's been driving me insane all morning." She shook her head to herself. "But we've made it here. Any last notes, Russell?"

Russell looked up from his phone. "Just don't mess anything up."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him, but he had already returned to his screen. She looked to Stevie, whose gaze darted back and forth between Russell and herself. She pointed to the back of the room. "I'm just gonna…" And with that, she stepped down off the stage, teetering in her heels, and slipped through the crowd. When she reached the back, she hugged Will, and then they stood side by side, chatting away.

"You seem a bit snarky today," Elizabeth said to Russell. "Even more so than usual."

Russell motioned for her to turn around, so that they both stood with their backs to the cameras. He lowered his voice so that even the most sensitive microphone wouldn't pick up his words. "There was a security alert this morning." He stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "Fortunately it looks like it was a false alarm."

The smile faded from Elizabeth's lips. "Looks like, or was?" There was a big difference.

"Was. The FBI assures me that the threat wasn't credible. But nevertheless, it turned a hectic day into a logistical nightmare."

Behind them, the cameras erupted in flashes, along with the fluster of shutters. They turned around. President Dalton was striding along the corridor towards the presentation room, a cage of security around him. Russell touched his hand to Elizabeth's arm. "Remember what I said. The sooner this whole charade is over, the better."

"It's not a charade, Russell; it's diplomacy."

"Is that what you call it?" Russell stepped down from the stage and pushed his way through the line of cameras to join the other members of staff towards the back of room.


Will

Will craned his neck over the hum of bodies. The guests had pushed forward as much as they could, leaving only a narrow band between the front row and the stage. The agents of the Secret Service had formed a barrier to keep them back, and only the cameras ventured into the strip in between.

President Dalton was stood at Elizabeth's side. He dipped his head down to whisper into her ear. Elizabeth paused, her brow pinched, then nodded. President Dalton stepped forward, towards the podium. Sunlight filtered through from the windows that arced behind the stage, offering the room a golden glow and heightening the scent of aftershave, cheap perfume, and sweat that clogged the air.

Dalton hesitated. He looked back to Elizabeth, and Elizabeth hurried to meet him.

There was a pop. One of the glass windows smashed. Then silence. Will's heart raced. Gunfire. Screams rang out from the crowd. Everyone surged towards the door whilst the security agents flooded to the front of the room. All the cameras spun to the stage and a lightning storm of flashes commenced.

Stevie gripped Will's hand. Her eyes were wide, the blood drained from her face. "Where's Mom, Uncle Will? Where is she?"

"Stay here." Will pushed forward. He tried to duck through the guests, but they swarmed past him like agitated bees.

Through the commotion came Dalton's shout. "Call an ambulance." Followed by a second cry, the urgency escalating. "We need a paramedic here now!"

Will ran. His heart thumped—Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie. His hands shielded his face as he dived through the crowd and towards the stage. The flashes were still going off, the only people remaining at the front were the camera crews and the security agents.

"Sir." One of the agents stepped in front of Will, his hand held out. "You can't—"

"I'm a doctor," Will said. "I'm a—" But the word died as the line of agents stepped back. And in a heartbeat, he was thirteen years old again, opening the front door of the car, his mother's face a grimace as she gasped her final breaths. Only it wasn't his mother, not this time. It was Lizzie.

Elizabeth was lying on the stage, skin ashen, breaths ragged and fast as blood blossomed through her shirt. President Dalton was at her side, cradling her head as she fought for each breath. Will's mind went blank, but only for a moment. He wasn't a scared thirteen year old any more, he had practised all of his adult life for this moment, and he knew what to do.

Will jumped up onto the stage. He shucked off his jacket and threw it onto the floor. "Turn her onto her side." He rolled up his shirt sleeves and then knelt down to help Dalton ease her over slightly, so that the wound was facing down. "It's okay, Lizzie. Just breathe."

One of the security agents stepped forward and tapped Dalton's shoulder. "Sir, we need to get you to a—"

Dalton snapped. "I'm not leaving her." And the look on his face dared anyone to force him.

"Sir," the agent tried again. "The area isn't secured."

"Then secure it, goddamn it!" Dalton shouted. "And where the hell is that ambulance?"

Will leant in and tore open Elizabeth's blouse, revealing the blood stained skin beneath. As he did, she coughed, and a mist of blood sprayed his shirt. Her lungs. The bullet had passed through her upper chest, right side. "I need a medical kit. Now."

"You heard him." Dalton looked up at the security agents. "Go! And will someone clear out those cameras."

Will's stomach clenched. The cameras were still rolling. Those ghouls were filming his sister. But he didn't have time to think about that, not now. He pressed down on the wound, the blood slick and warm beneath his hands.

"Will." Elizabeth gasped. She coughed again; this time large droplets of blood sprayed out. When they were younger, their mother would paint her lips the most brilliant shade of red. Elizabeth had stolen the lipstick and copied once. Red is for adults, their mother had chided. But no one's lips could be more mature than Lizzie's were right now.

Will stroked her hair back from her face. "Don't talk. Just focus on your breathing. Nice and slow. Okay?"

"Stevie…" Elizabeth's face twisted with a different kind of pain.

Will looked over his shoulder. Stevie was hovering just paces away. Her lips were moving, but no words were coming out. Will nodded his head to the nearest agent. "Get her out of here. Now." No child should see their mother die.

An agent ran to the stage and knelt down next to Will. He unzipped the medical kit, laying out the supplies. "What do you need?"

"Two squares of plastic and some tape." His hands slipped over Elizabeth's skin as he tried to maintain the pressure. The agent passed him the first piece of plastic, and he placed it on top of the exit wound. Elizabeth groaned. "I'm sorry, Lizzie, but this is going to hurt. I need you to breathe out as hard as you can."

Elizabeth nodded. But she had barely started to exhale when she stopped. "I can't—"

Dalton took hold of her hand. "Breathe out, Bess. Just squeeze my hand."

Elizabeth tried again. As she pushed the air from her lungs, Will pressed the plastic down over the wound. "Tape. Three strips. One at the top, two on the sides." He stared down at his sister as the patch of plastic was secured. She was getting paler. "Good job, Lizzie. Just one more."

Will took the second patch and applied it to the entry wound. "Breath out again."

Elizabeth exhaled, her hand clutching Dalton's so tight that his skin blanched as pale as hers. If the grip hurt, his face didn't show it. Will pressed the plastic in place whilst the agent stuck it down, just as he had done with the first.

"Paramedics are here." The cry came from the door, followed by the clatter of the stretcher trolley and the pounding of footsteps.

Thank God. Will looked to the two paramedics as they joined him on stage. "Gunshot wound to the chest, penetrating the apex of the right lung. Through and through. Suspected haemopneumothorax. I'm going to perform a needle decompression and then straight into the ambulance. I need a large bore needle, and let's get her on oxygen and see if we can get a line in before her veins collapse. I want painkillers and fluids." He looked up at Dalton. "Ease her onto her back."

Will took the swab from the paramedic and quickly cleaned the skin over her ribs. He took the needle—second intercostal space, midclavicular line—allowed one quick glance to Elizabeth's face—"I'm sorry"—and then pushed the needle in between her ribs. There was a pop as the needle punctured the pleura. Blood squirted out and spattered over Will and the floor. Elizabeth bit down on her lip, cheeks sucked in as she barely suppressed a cry of pain. Will removed the needle, leaving the catheter in place.

"Right. Let's get her onto the stretcher and get going."

"Will?" Elizabeth pulled off her oxygen mask. Her voice was ragged. "Henry…Tell him…"

Will shook his head. "None of that, thank you." He pushed the mask back in place as the paramedics prepared to scoop her onto the stretcher.

Elizabeth's gaze flickered up towards Dalton. Dalton clutched her hand between his own. "Henry's on his way, Bess. You can tell him yourself."

The paramedics lifted her onto the trolley. Will laid the oxygen canister beside her, and then picked up his jacket and placed it gently over her chest. No doubts camera crews would by vying for a shot of the Secretary of State's last moments, and she deserved whatever dignity he could afford her. "We're going to move fast now, Lizzie. Okay?"

Elizabeth nodded. And she closed her eyes.

Will leant closer and patted her cheek. "Hey, eyes open."

"Ready?" the paramedic asked.

"Just check her blood pressure quickly," Will said. They waited for an eternity as the cuff whirred and inflated. But then the air escaped with a pfft, and the machine gave a bleep of protest. The fluids flowing into her veins weren't enough. "Let's go. As fast as we can, please."

The paramedics wheeled the trolley through the corridors of the White House. They moved as quickly as they could without jolting the stretcher. Will ran alongside, one hand clutching Lizzie's. She was clammy to the touch. Her eyelashes fluttered for a moment and then fell shut.

Hordes of camera crews were waiting outside, all lenses focused on Elizabeth as the paramedics loaded her into the back of the ambulance. Once the trolley was secured and the door closed, Will turned to the paramedic who remained in the back with him. "Phone ahead and make sure that they have the theatre ready. We're going to need a chest drain. And let them know that she's haemodynamically unstable and will most likely require an emergency thoracotomy to stop the bleeding."

The paramedic nodded. The ambulance lurched into motion and the wail of sirens commenced. Will reached up and squeezed the bag of fluids that hung above the stretcher. Saline wasn't enough. She needed blood.


Stevie

Stevie stared over her shoulder as the agent marched her away from the stage. Uncle Will was leant over her mother, his shirt spattered with her blood, and as Elizabeth clutched President Dalton's hand, she gave a sharp cry of pain. Stevie stalled, but the agent's arm around her back propelled her forwards and guided her into Russell Jackson's office.

Russell pulled out a chair for her. "Sit down."

"I…" Stevie choked. Words flurried through her mind, but none would come to her tongue.

Russell pushed a glass of water towards her, and then sat down next to her. He leant forward. "We have agents on the way to collect your brother and sister, but we can't get through to your father."

"He…" Stevie stopped and took a sip of water, but even that stuck in her throat.

"This is important." Russell moved as if to cover her hand with his own, but then stopped. He tapped the air instead. "We need to get your father to the hospital as quickly as possible, do you understand me?"

Stevie nodded. "He's…uh…he's flying back from Pittsburgh. I…" She fumbled for her phone and unlocked the screen. "…uh…I have the details." She slid the phone across the table.

Russell picked it up, and pulled out his own phone. He relayed the details to whoever was on the other end and then called for a car to be brought round. He looked to Stevie. "I'm going to the airport. Max will take you down to the bunker." Russell signalled and the agent who had escorted her to the office stepped forward.

"I want to go to the hospital." Stevie stood up from the chair, but her legs wavered beneath her and she had to grip hold of the table for support. "I need to be with my mom." Just then there came the clatter of a trolley, and the stretcher carrying her mother zipped past the door, Uncle Will running alongside. Stevie looked back to Russell, her pulse surging. "I need to be there."

Russell shook his head. He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on. "This is what your mother would have wanted, to know that you're safe." Russell waved Max forward, and Max lay a gentle yet persistent hand on Stevie's shoulder.

"This way, Miss McCord."

Stevie allowed him to guide her as far as the door. But then she paused and turned back to Russell. "Is my mom going to die?"

Russell tucked his phone into his pocket. He met Stevie's eye for a flicker of a moment, and then looked away again. "I…I'll let you know when we hear anything. I need to get to your father." He pushed past, one hand glancing over Stevie's arm, and then he strode away down the corridor.