The Fonder Heart
The Fonder Heart

Jane Harper

RATING: R
SYNOPSIS: A little romance after a lot of heartache.
ARCHIVE: Sure. Let me know where. Swipe the HTML from my website if you want.
DISCLAIMER: Most characters and situations herein were created by Aaron Sorkin and are property of yadda, yadda, yadda. Besides, there's no blood in this turnip; I'm just a bored, homebound old woman who likes to pretend to sit at the cool kids' table.

I should have brought her with me.

Damn the press, damn protocol, damn everything, I should have brought her with me.

"It's only a few days," I told her. "I'll be back before you know it." Only one problem – she may not have noticed I'm gone but I sure as hell have. Funny how you can get used to something before you realize it – home cooking, fresh flowers, a mostly-smiling face, those huge doe eyes.

Sigh. And there I was, up to here in michegoss –

Oy, now I'm bringing the Yiddish.

But at least now I'm on my way home. I should make these guys get out and push so we could go faster. I should have made them bring me home in an F-16.

I should go to sleep so I don't waste time sleeping when I get home.

"Fifteen inches of snow," she whispered out the window. "Fifteen inches. Overnight. Don't try it, Irish. Please stay somewhere safe." She sat for a few minutes and watched the blizzard turn the street into a powdery paradise. Shortly it would change into a slushy purgatory, then into an icy hell, but for those few minutes it was magical.

Quarter to midnight. Time to go to sleep … and when she woke up he'd be home. Or at least back in the country . . .

Sarah woke up in the darkness, cold. No light anywhere. No glowing clock face. She dug a MagnaLite out of the nightstand, pulled on a sweater and a pair of sweat-pants and got into her chair, and rolled into the front room. No street lights.

The power was out.

No elevators.

She wasn't afraid of much, but the idea of being on the upper floors of a building with no elevators was terrifying; no way out, no escape down the fire stairs when you can't walk.

She took several deep breaths and went to look for the lanterns and the candles. The candles wouldn't be needed for long, because dawn was barely breaking in the eastern sky and the clouds were parting. As the sun came up, the fresh snow sparkled like diamond chips, and Sarah decided to light a fire in the fireplace and try to go back to sleep. Once the fire was going well, she replaced the screen and moved over onto the sofa.

As she began to warm up, she drifted back to sleep . . .

Leo arrived at Andrews AFB just after sunup to the sight of snowplows clearing the runways. As he disembarked he was greeted by a young lieutenant who took his bag.

"Welcome home, Mr. McGarry."

"Thanks, Lieutenant. Looks like we had a little snow last night."

"More than a foot, sir. The District is pretty well snowed in."

"Was my driver able to make it here?"

"No, sir. The President asked us to chopper you back to the White House as soon as you arrived."

Damn, he thought. I wanted to go home first. No choice now, though; my ride can't very well land on the roof of the building.

The helo was powered up and ready by the time the two men arrived. McGarry climbed on board and strapped himself into one of the passenger seats.

"Thanks Lieutenant."

The freshly fallen snow retreated below him as they headed for home.

He didn't even wait for the rotors to stop before unbuckling and throwing the door open to disembark. He grabbed his bag and sprinted for the portico, and as he passed the Oval Office the President saw him and beckoned.

"You're up early, sir," Leo began.

"Yeah, the generators woke me."

"Sir?"

"The power's out over a good third of the District."

Oh no, he thought. She's stranded up there.

He searched through pockets for his cell phone without success.

"Missing something?" Bartlet asked.

"Yes sir. I was looking for my cell – I wanted to call and make sure Sarah's all right. With the elevators out, she's stuck in the condo."

"I could send somebody to get her—"

"With all due respect, sir, I've been gone almost a week," he answered with a smirk. "Meeting her in the West Wing is absolutely not what I had in mind for a reunion."

The President chuckled and went back to his papers. "OK, Leo, I offered."

"Thank you, sir."

"By the way," he added, peering over his glasses at his old friend, "nothing went to hell in a handcart since I talked to you last night, did it? The agreements didn't unravel at the last minute?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact they did. While I was sleeping on the plane there were two wars and a coup d'etat, sir, and they're all blaming you personally. I'm sure impeachment will be a mere formality."

"Oh good, you had me worried there for a second."

Leo crossed to the connecting door with his office and motioned over his shoulder. "If you don't need me . . ."

"Go," Bartlet said.

McGarry threw his bag and his coat on one of his office chairs and grabbed the phone to call the motor pool.

"I'm sorry, sir, almost nobody has been able to make it in this morning, and the streets are a sheet of ice. You might be safer walking!"

"Not at my age, son." He sighed and hung up the phone.

Now what?

He turned around and went back through the connecting doors to the Oval.

"Sir?"

"I thought you went home."

"No sir, there's nothing moving on the streets."

"I could muster you a tank . . ."

"Thank you, sir, but I had something else in mind. You're not using the Suburban . . ."

Bartlet laughed. "You're asking me for the car keys?"

"Well, sir, the only other alternative I can think of is a fire truck . . . "

"OK, OK, you can have the Chevy, Leo, but be back by ten, and put some gas in it, would you?"

He'd never been so glad to see anything as he was that front door. He was about to drop from taking those stairs two at a time carrying a briefcase, a coat, and a valise . . . but enough was enough. He took a few deep breaths and stuck the key in the lock.

There was a roaring fire in the fireplace and she was asleep on the sofa, covered half with one of her handmade quilts, her hair trailing over the throw pillows. Some pleasant dream was making her smile. He hung his coat on the coat tree by the door and put his briefcase down on the table in the entryway.

For about five seconds, he wondered if he should wake her. Then he went over to the sofa, pushed her chair back, and sat down on the coffee table, bending over to kiss her hello.

She opened her eyes and smiled. "Hey, Irish. You're home."

"Glad you noticed," he remarked with a grin. "I figured you'd have breakfast on."

"I wasn't sure you'd even try to come home until the streets cleared. . ."

"Well to be honest I thought about having them drop me in St. Croix for a few days, but the tourist trade makes it so crowded this time of year . . ."

She hit him over the head with a pillow.

"So why don't you fix breakfast?" she asked. "You're the one who woke me up!"

"I've got a better idea," he murmured, bending over to scoop her up in his arms. "Let's have dessert first." As he carried her down the hallway toward the master bedroom she pulled off his tie and tossed it over her shoulder, then began to unbutton his shirt.

"No fair," he complained with a grin. "Both my hands are full."

"Learn to live with frustration," she giggled as he lay her down on the mattress.

For a second he pulled back and just looked at her. "God, I missed you," he said just before running one hand over her hip and down her leg. "I've been dreaming about this for days."

"Just one thing," she asked as he trailed kisses down her neck and shoulder.

"Anything," he murmured in reply.

She put her hand on the side of his face and brought his eyes up to meet hers. "Don't say anything you don't mean."

Don't say anything I don't mean? I'd laugh except I've got better things to do with my mouth.

Toots, if you only knew the kind of crazy things I've been thinking the past few days, the things that I don't dare say for fear you'll have my head examined. Absence doesn't make the heart grow fonder, it makes the brain grow feeble!

Not to say that the kind of life I lead isn't a pretty good heads-up to begin with that I might have a screw or two loose . . .

God, you smell good. I don't know what this scent is that you wear, but somebody at the conference was wearing it too, and I kept expecting to turn around and see you there. Maybe it's a good thing you weren't. I might have said something I did mean but you're not ready for, and fucked up the best thing in my life, again.

"Remember back when we had first started dating?" he whispered as they lay together later. "You were upset because you know how I love to dance, and you couldn't give me that. I told you then that someday we'd be able to dance together. And tonight, Toots, you were Pavlova."

She smiled, and finally relaxed in his arms, leaned into his shoulder and dozed off. Chalk one up for the old man, he thought, as he wrapped her more firmly in his embrace.

As he began to fall asleep himself, he wasn't sure whether he spoke or just thought the words: "God have mercy on me, I never thought I'd fall in love again."