Sleep in Heavenly Peace, a west wing fanfic

leomcgarry.net: Fanfic: Sleep in Heavenly Peace

Sleep in Heavenly Peace
Jane Harper
RATING: R for graphic description of injuries
SYNOPSIS: Sequel to Meltdown. As Leo begins to deal with his own nightmares, he remembers that the surest road to recovery is to help someone else. But someone might get left behind.
ARCHIVE: Sure go ahead. Swipe the HTML from http://www.leomcgarry.net if you like.
DISCLAIMER: Everybody but Sarah belongs to the lovely and talented Aaron Sorkin and his corporate minions. She's very much her own woman. I'm not making any money off this, so yadda yadda yadda.

December 11. Two weeks after that horrendous Thanksgiving Sunday in Manchester, when the last six and a half months came crashing down on Leo McGarry. The people closest to him had managed to keep as many problems off his plate as possible while he began to heal, and since he had been down this road before, after the war, he was doing well.
Until now.
Early in the afternoon of that day, Sarah Cooper heard a knock on the door to her office in the Old Executive Office Building.
"Yeah?" She looked up to greet her visitor. "Donna! Come in! What you doing over here, slumming?"
The willowy blonde smiled. "Get your coat, lady. We're taking you out to lunch."
"I don't know if I—"
"I cleared it with Pat, Sarah. You're free. C'mon." She helped the older woman put on her carcoat and shooed her out the door.
The elevator doors had just closed when Sarah looked up at her friend. "Spit it out, Donna. What's wrong? You need a new Nerf bat?"
Laughing, she responded, "No, I haven't worn the old one out yet, although I've gone through quite a few pictures of Josh."
"So what is it?"
"We need your help."
"We?" The elevator doors opened to reveal Margaret and CJ waiting for the two other women in the OEOB lobby.
CJ went out to grab a taxi while the others followed. Sarah grabbed Margaret's hand.
"What's up, Mags? It's not Himself I hope?"
Margaret's red hair bounced as she shook her head. "No. Not exactly."
"Not exactly?" The four women piled into a pair of taxis after stowing Sarah's wheelchair in the trunk. Sarah stayed with Margaret.
"Well," she went on, "it's Leo and it isn't."
"C'mon Mags, spit it out."
"I'm worried because he's worried."
"And when have you known him not to have something to worry about? He worries in his sleep."
Leo's assistant laughed. "Well you'd know more about that than I would—"
"All rumors to the contrary," Sarah giggled, knowing very well that they were just that, rumors.
"Yeah. Isn't it silly, some people can't imagine why a woman would work as an assistant in a job like this, 80-hour weeks and all, unless she were hot for her boss. Nobody ever assumes that about the bosses; no, their motives are patriotic. But the assistants, the women, we have to be there because of a man."
"That's an old story, my friend."
"Just because it's old doesn't mean it's not stupid."
"What particular tsimmes of his are you worried about?"
"Well I don't want to steal the others' thunder. We all wanted to talk to you about it. You were so good at working with everyone . . ."
"Wait, you mean there's been more of the kind of stuff that was going on before Thanksgiving and you didn't tell me? Mags!!!"
"No no no, that's not it. Himself has been doing much much better."
"You're confusing me."
"Well here we are, maybe CJ and Donna can help unconfuse you."
The two women piled out of the taxi and joined the others at the door to the restaurant. "I told her a little," Margaret said to CJ and Donna.
"Yeah," Sarah added, "just enough to confuse the hell out of me."
"Let's go in and sit down and we'll brief you," CJ responded. Then, a bit flustered, she added, "For those of us who aren't already … uh … sitting down."
"Don't worry about it," Sarah replied. "When you're being the Press Secretary you need to be politically correct, but when you're just my buddy C.J. it's ok."
Once they were settled in the restaurant, she turned to the others. "OK, spit it out, ladies. What's up?"
Donna began. "Well, when you were working with Dr. Bartlet, there was a lot of talk about people's reactions to the shooting and how drastic things could get, but nobody ever really told us what to watch for. You know, how we might know if somebody really needed help."
"OK," Sarah responded.
C.J. continued. "So we were kind of hoping that you could give us a heads-up on what kind of thing we might need to watch for."
"Because there might be somebody who—" Margaret added.
"Margaret!" Donna interrupted.
"Well," Sarah began, "Margaret can tell you some of it, because she saw a lot of what Leo was going through before Thanksgiving. He did a great job of hiding it from most of us, but nothing gets past this woman here."
The tall redhead blushed and looked down at her napkin. "Well the main thing I noticed was that he was spending a lot of time in the office with the doors closed."
Everyone looked at one another and nodded.
"Yeah," Sarah went on. "A lot of the problems in delayed stress might not show up at work until things have progressed quite a bit, but since you guys don't do anything but work, that might not be true here. I'd be worried if someone has a marked weight change, looks like they're not sleeping, is jumpy and nervous or snaps at people. More than usual, I mean."
"With some of us that might be difficult to tell," Donna said.
"Yeah, we look ragged at the best of times," C.J. laughed.
"Anybody wanna tell me what's going on, or are we just gonna do the hypothetical thing?" Sarah asked.
The other three women looked at one another. "Well," Donna began, "it's nothing definite, just a feeling. I'd just as soon not say more unless something concrete happens."
C.J. nodded.
Sarah acquiesced. "OK. You'll let me know if you need something, though, right? I still have my referral sources."
"You know I will," Margaret assured her. "Oh, and before I forget: Himself said to tell you he wouldn't be able to do dinner this evening. Somebody dumped a 400 page briefing book on his desk this afternoon, and it's for tomorrow."
"He's not going anywhere though, right? Just gonna stay in the office and read?"
Margaret nodded.
Sarah grinned.

At about 7:30 that evening Margaret brought a nylon carry-all into Leo's office and put it down on the large meeting table.
"What's that?" he asked, peering over his reading glasses from where he was lying on the sofa.
"Dinner," she answered.
"Well aren't you sweet!" He started to get up. "What'd you bring me?"
"It's not from me." She left and came back with a bottle of sparkling cider and two champagne flutes. "And don't you dare open it!"
"Now you're confusing me," he said, putting the briefing book down and walking over to the table to peer at the carry-all.
Margaret walked to the door and turned back. "Anything you need before I leave?"
Leo scratched the side of his neck and said, "I guess not. G'nite Margaret." He listened to her shoes tap down the corridor and waited until he could no longer hear them, then started to open the zipper on the top of the carry-all.
A woman's voice called in from Margaret's office through the partly-open door. "Leo McGarry you leave that alone!"
He jumped slightly and turned to see Sarah roll through the door. "You got x-ray vision?" he demanded.
"No, I just know you. She said 'don't open that'—so you think it's irresistible."
He went from a smirk to a grin. "I guess I'm busted."
"I guess you are. You can open the cider though." She got over to the table and opened up the carry-all to reveal several plastic containers, two place settings of silver, china and crystal, two cloth napkins and two bottles of water.
He poured some of the cider into each flute, and handed one to her. "Here's to pleasant surprises." The food smelled delicious, and as she dished it up he reached over and played with her hair. "You know, if Jenny had done this once in awhile we might still be married."
"In that case I'm glad she didn't. Now come on and eat."
Somewhere in the middle of the soup course she asked, "Now what's going on over here, who's showing signs of delayed stress?"
He put his spoon down and sighed. "Nobody for sure. I've got my suspicions."
"Do I get to guess?"
"If you want."
"Josh."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, for one thing he damn near died, that'd be a pretty good clue."
Leo chuckled. "Yeah, that works for a heads-up."
"And you know I can't tell you anything he may or may not have told me while I was working at GW or here."
He nodded. "I won't say I'm not worried. He seemed really haunted by that pilot who killed himself, Cano. Kept talking about how they had the same birthday. He's still talking about the guy, worrying it like a dog with a bone. What happened, why didn't we catch it sooner, how did he manage to slip past the headshrinkers. It's a little scary."
"No matter who it is, Irish, you'll catch it. You've been there, more than once. And if you don't know what to do, call somebody. Call me. Call the Medical Office. Call Federal Occupational Health."
"Yeah, like we could have called them before you came." He sighed, then reached over and took her hand, and pulled it to his lips. "If you hadn't been there—"
"For you or for the rest of the inmates here?"
"Yes," he answered with a smirk.
"Somebody would have been," she finished. "But I'm glad I was. And Abbey has my referral list if you need it. There were a couple of people I had asked her to watch."
As they finished the entrée she looked at him over her champagne flute. "Shall I unpack dessert or undress it?"
He felt a flush rise in his face and for a minute he stared down at the table. Then he looked over and gave Sarah a silly smirk. "Well, you know my preference, but there's this guy in the office next door who pops in at all hours of the day and night. I guess the cheesecake will have to do."
She got a conspiratorial grin and shook her head, rolling over to the corridor door and locking it. Then she turned back to Leo, pointed at his feet and held out her hand.

It was about nine o'clock that night when Jed Bartlet put his own briefing books away and headed through the connecting door to tell his Chief of Staff that he was headed for the residence. When he opened the door on his side, the light from the Oval Office fell on something hanging from the doorknob on the other side. He saw the sock and burst out laughing, then shook his head and turned back. He stopped, spun around and pulled the sock off the door, stuffing it in his pocket.
"Leo," he said as he closed the portico door behind him, "that one's a keeper."

I know the look in his eyes, up close and personal. I've had the look in his eyes. Sometimes I still do, but not as often.
He's not ready to say anything; he may never be ready. We may have to say it for him. And we will if we have to.
Dammit, Josh, don't you see us here for you? Don't you understand that you don't have to feel guilty about surviving? Not about Joanie, not about Rosslyn. That was the hardest thing for me, not feeling guilty 'cause I was the one who made it back, 'cause I had to kill a guy to do it, 'cause I didn't feel bad about killing him. Sometimes I dream about it, and I still don't feel bad. Not even in dreams.
I bet you dream about it. I bet you still hear the yelling, smell the ozone, feel the concrete. I can't go anywhere near the rope lines anymore, damn good thing I don't have to run for anything. I can only imagine what it's like for Jed to have to keep walking those same rope lines. And I can only imagine how you'd feel about going out somewhere with that entourage again.
Noah, old friend, I swear to you, I won't let him go through this alone. God, help Josh, help me, and don't let anything I do be the shove over the edge.

"How's he doing, Donna?" Toby asked.
"Dunno for sure. He wants to hide the terrified look he gets in his eyes, and the way he jumps at sudden noises. It's a little scary."
"Yeah. Should you talk to Sarah again?"
"I'm gonna wait a little. Maybe he'll work through it."
"Maybe water will run uphill," he sighed as he went back to his office, resolved to keep a close eye on his friend.
He sat down at his computer, pulled up a search engine, and typed in "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"Margaret," Leo said, "what are you worried about?"
"Nothing," she answered, throwing away the third printout she was dissatisfied with.
"Margaret .. ??"
She looked up at him from her desk. "What?" she demanded in an edgy voice.
"Hey, I'm one of the good guys," he replied, holding up a hand in front of him.
"I'm sorry."
"I know. I'm worried about him too. Want me to call what's-her-name?"
Margaret laughed. "I'm gonna tell her you said that."
He shrugged. "Go ahead. I haven't had time to see the woman in five days, I'm already so deep in the doghouse I won't see daylight until next year."
"Well that's not good," she responded with a frown.
He looked down at his shoes and sighed. "I know. But I'm a pretty old dog…"
She rolled her eyes around. "Do you think it's time to retrieve that list that Sarah left with Mrs. Bartlet?"
"Yeah, it can't hurt. Call Sally and see if she can squeeze me in later today?"
"Sure."
"And Margaret?"
She looked up from the phone.
"Don't tell Abbey about the doghouse thing. I don't need to be on her short list too."

Monday the 18th. Things are going from bad to worse.
Toby stormed into C.J.'s office and closed the door.
"That does it," he said, fuming. "That really does it. We have to do something now."
"What are you talking about?" she asked, looking up from her laptop.
"Josh. He's scaring me."
"What happened?"
"He was giving me grief about the bagpipe regiment, and he said, 'I can hear the damn sirens all over the building.'"
"Sirens?" she asked with a quizzical look.
He nodded.
"You think he's hallucinating?"
"Well he's not interpreting the stimulus the way I would!"
"You sure your assumption of self-referential normality is warranted?"
He sighed. "I'm going to see Leo."
"Leo knows," she shot back.
"And .. ?"
"And he knows! We talked to Sarah."
"And what, they're attached at the hip?"
"No, a little lower I think," she smirked.
"I'm going to see him anyway. You can come along or not." He spun on his heels and strode out.

"Hey, Toots."
Sarah looked up from her desk to see Leo standing in her office door.
"Why, Mr. McGarry, how nice of you to drop by!"
He walked in and closed the door behind him, then unbuttoned his jacket and sat down in the rocking chair. "OK, I deserved that."
She put down what she was reading and turned to face him. "OK, tantrum over. 'T'sup, Irish? Business or social?"
"Yes," he answered with a twinkle and a smirk.
She waited for him to continue.
He crossed his legs and picked at one shoe. "Looks like we do have a problem."
"We as in … ?"
"The West Wing."
She let out a low whistle. "Oh good, I thought maybe you meant we as in us."
He smiled softly at her. "The only problem we have is me. I'm sorry I haven't—"
"Hush, Irish. It's ok, I knew the drill when I volunteered."
"Still—"
"Still nothing." She waited a beat. "What happened?"
"He's hallucinating."
"Josh?"
"Yeah. You called it."
"It could have gone either way. I wasn't sure how much emotional stamina he had."
"I want to call someone in." He looked heartache-weary.
"OK. Abbey's got the referral list."
"Sure, and she's as clueless as I am," he sighed.
"How fast does this have to happen? You afraid he might hurt himself or someone else?"
"No!" Leo's eyes flashed momentarily.
"It happens more often than people think. Not just suicides, but things that seem to first blush to be accidental. I knew one of the guys who worked in the rescues after the San Francisco earthquake of '89. He had to cut a woman's dead body in half in order to get to her son and save him."
McGarry flinched involuntarily.
She waited for a cue to go on or change the subject.
"What happened to the guy?" he asked.
"He was never debriefed, had no therapy. Surgeons are so damned macho. Anyway, a few months later he went rock climbing and fell, almost died from a brain hemorrhage. Accidental? Who knows. My personal opinion is that it was on some level as intentional as one of the nurses who worked on the same case. She rented a motel room on the beach in Mendocino, sat herself so she could watch the sunset, then started an IV in her arm and overdosed herself on potassium. She'd been dead almost a day when the housekeeper found her."
"I don't know what to say, Sarah."
"I asked whether you think Josh might hurt someone."
"I don't think so, not at this point. So it's not like he has to see someone tomorrow."
"That's good, because I want to call a guy in from back home. I know him, I trust him, I've worked with him. He's good folks and a kickass therapist."
"You think that's what Josh needs, a kickass therapist?"
"For the short term, yeah. Somebody who can get past that bullshit ain't-I-cute defense he puts up."
Leo laughed. "I forget how perceptive you are. And it makes me wonder how you'd describe my defenses to somebody."
"I'm not qualified. Same reason why I couldn't diagnose you a month ago. Too close."
"Well call your friend and see when he can get here. Let me know."
"You want to talk to him?" she asked as he got up to go.
"Nah, I trust you." He walked over and opened the door, then turned back. "Damn. I forgot something."
"What?"
"You're gonna be pissed."
"OK, I'm gonna be pissed. What?"
He closed the door again and walked over to stand next to her chair. "I gotta go to a thing," he said, looking like a kid who'd been caught with his hand in the cookies.
"OK. This is supposed to make me mad?"
"It's tomorrow night."
"OK."
"It's a big deal."
"OK."
"I wanted to take you but I forgot to ask in time."
"Why is it too late, Irish? I got nothing going on tomorrow night."
"It's white tie."
"And I have nothing to wear."
He studied the tops of his shoes.
"You know I make my own clothes," she said. "You know it would take me forever to make something for—"
"Can I call somebody and have them do it?" His eyes searched her face anxiously.
She shook her head. "I'm wall to wall until tomorrow night. No time for fittings, even if I could afford—"
"I'm such an ass. I should have had Margaret remind me. And I know how much you like Bach."
"Bach?"
"Yeah. It's the congressional Christmas party. Yo-Yo Ma is doing a Bach suite for cello."
"Now I'm mad."
He looked away. "I'm sorry."
She didn't respond.
"Make it up to you?"
"That's gonna take some serious groveling."
"T's OK, I'm getting good at it."
She laughed. "We still on for Thursday night?"
"Definitely. Housewarming, first night Chanukkah, you're having it at my house so I have no excuse for missing it."
"Presents are traditional."
"I know."
"In this case I think big presents would be called for."
"I've already arranged it. But remember, we decided, you get presents for your holiday and I get presents for mine."
"Yeah but mine's eight days and yours is only one," she said with a wink and a grin.
"I think I'm getting shortchanged here."
"I need to go back to work."
"You throwing me out? You're bullying the White House Chief of Staff?"
"Yep. Beat it, buster. I need to be about the people's business, and so do you."
He bent over and gave her a kiss and left.

Tuesday, December 19.
Donna looked up from her coffee to see Leo standing over her.
"Busy?"
"Just getting away for a few." She held up her cup. "Join me?"
He shook his head. "Come walk with me."
They made small talk on the way back to his office. Margaret smiled at Donna when the two turned the corner; then they went through the great wooden door and it closed behind them.
"How's he doing?" Leo asked, waving her toward a chair.
"It's getting worse," she responded. "Now he's not just yelling at me, he's yelling at everybody. And—" she dropped her voice— "I don't know if you've noticed, but he looks like hell. It's as if he grabs the first thing he sees and throws it on and comes to work."
"I'm gonna ask him to see somebody."
"Somebody as in . . . ?"
"A guy Sarah knows, he works with trauma cases. He's coming in from the coast next week. She says he'll want to talk to everybody, just to get an idea of what we've all seen."
"OK. Have you told him yet?"
Leo shook his head. "I'm waiting for an opportune moment." He picked up a folder and Donna stood to leave, then he remembered something. "Donna?"
"Yeah?"
"Listen, Sarah said . . ." he searched for a way to say it, ". . . he might try to hurt himself, or somebody else. You'll tell me right away." It wasn't an question, it was a statement.
"I've been worried about that too. Ever since—"
He waited for her to take a deep breath.
"Ever since he's been so fixated on that pilot. It's as if he's frantically searching for the reasons why nobody saw that coming—"
"—so he'll know what to look for in himself," Leo finished, nodding. "Keep your eyes open."
Donna blinked the tears away and nodded.

Sam walked out of the Oval Office in a daze.
He had just watched his best friend ream out the President of the United States at the top of his lungs.
Who is this guy? he thought. He looks like Josh, mostly sounds like Josh, but he sure as hell doesn't act like Josh.
Sitting back down at his desk, he prepared to make some calls when he looked up and saw Josh heading for his door. "Hey buddy!"
"He thinks I'm crazy." Josh threw himself into a chair.
"Who does?"
"Leo. He thinks I'm fucking crazy." He stared off into space for a second. "I'm not."
"Of course you're not."
"Why didn't you stop me?" He looked at Sam with fire in his eyes.
"Excuse me?"
"Why didn't you stop me??" He was almost shouting.
"What did you want me to do, tackle you in the Oval Office?"
"Well yeah, if that was what it took, Buddy."
"Hey wait a minute, none of this is my fault. You're not yourself, Josh. There's something going on. Maybe you do need to talk to somebody. Want me to call Sarah?"
"Oh yeah sure, just what I need is an intimate tête-à-tête with Leo's girlfriend. She was so much help when she was here."
Sam's voice dropped almost to a whisper. He stood up and said, "I think you'd better leave now."
Josh got up and stormed out.

Wednesday, December 20
Josh was late for Senior Staff, and when he arrived his eyes looked hollow and haunted. He said nothing for the entire meeting, and went to his office afterward, closing the door.
Donna knocked. "Josh? You've got a 9 o'clock meeting—"
"Cancel it," came his voice through the door.
"Josh? You OK?"
"I'm fine. Cancel the 9 o'clock."
"OK."
About ten minutes later he opened the door and came out. Donna saw the makeshift bandage around his hand.
"Joshua, what happened?" She gaped at the bloody rag.
He shrugged. "I was— It was— After the party I went home and a glass broke."
"Did you have somebody look at it? When did you have a tetanus shot? Is it deep? Do you need stitches?"
"What I need is relief from your incessant chattering," he spat, and went back into his office.
Donna sat down and picked up her telephone. "Margaret? Is he free?"

Leo and Donna were on the speakerphone.
"Sarah?" she asked.
"Yeah?"
"I'm scared."
"What's happening?"
"He hurt himself."
"Wait, Donna," Leo chimed in. "We don't know that he did it—"
"It doesn't matter if he did it consciously, Irish," Sarah replied. "He needs to see somebody ASAP. And you need to arrange to have him . . . "
"Watched?" he finished.
"Yeah. Donna?"
"I can do that," she said. "I'll just keep him busy."
"Leo, did Stanley give Margaret his pager number?"
"I don't know .. " he responded. "Margaret!!"
She opened the door and took a step inside.
"Did Dr. Keyworth give you his pager number?"
"No."
"I'll take care of it, Irish," Sarah promised. "And I'll get right back to you."
"We're all here for him," Donna reassured her. "We'll do whatever it takes."
"I know you will. Talk to you in a few minutes."

Sunday, December 24.
"You going in this morning, Irish?"
"Yeah. Josh has the thing."
"I know. There's nothing you can do y'know. It'll take as long as it takes."
"I just want to be there, you know, if he needs anything."
"Donna will be there."
"You don't want me to go, huh?"
"I don't want you over there by yourself fussing and stewing."
"You'd rather have me here fussing and stewing?"
She laughed. "Fair point. OK. I'll stick around if you'd like to visit for meals."
He swatted her with the newspaper.
"Stop that," she squealed, "or I'll finish the crossword puzzle while you're gone."
"Ah, you spear me to the quick." He got up and headed for the door.
"Irish?"
"Yeah?" he turned as he buttoned up his topcoat.
"It's Sunday, it's Christmas eve, you think you might do without the tie?"
"I'd feel naked."
"If you feel naked without a tie, how do you feel without—"
"I'll call you." He strode out of the door.

It was almost midnight when he hauled his tired body through his condo door. She was asleep on the sofa, curled up hugging a pillow, with the television on softly. The tiny Christmas tree on the table had a big box under it. She woke up when he closed the door.
"Hey, Irish," she murmured with a yawn.
"Hey, Toots."
"How's Josh?"
Leo smiled. "He'll be fine now." He walked over and kissed her hello. Picking up the package, he smiled. "What's this?"
"A sweater."
"From you?"
"Yeah."
"For me?"
"Yeah."
"For what?"
"Merry Christmas."
He tore open the wrapping and then stopped almost in mid-motion.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"Déjà vu," he said. "But it's gonna turn out different this time." He opened the box and took out the bright green sweater. "You make this?"
"With my own two hands, crocheted every stitch."
He kissed her gently. "Thanks." Then he folded it back up and placed it on the tissue. "I'll wear it tomorrow. Let's go to bed."