"Mr. President. With all due respect, this is the fourth antique store we've been to- haven't you found everything yet? We need to get moving." Charlie suggested apprehensively as they left the limo.
Leo chuckled. "Good one kid. I've been trying to tell him that for years but I've learned you can never keep Jed Bartlet from shopping until he's found the perfect gift. I always say here's one old book- there's another old book, what's the difference! But he always says, 'there's a difference'!"
"There is a difference!" Jed interjected. "Alright, Charlie, last store- I promise. What are you all antsy about anyway? We've got time."
"Well, I still need to go home and pick up Deena and bring her back for you party, sir….and I have to finish wrapping a few things, myself.."
"Ah ha! I knew it! See, Leo, I'm not the only one who waited till the last minute." Bartlet grinned.
Charlie opened his mouth to respond, but Leo interrupted. "Oh shut up, Mr. President."
Ron Butterfield, who was walking in front of the trio with another agent chuckled, under his breath.
"Ron, are you laughing at me, your Commander in Chief?" Jed gasped in mock accusation.
The Secret Service agent glanced back to the man he was protecting. "No sir, Mr. President."
"Good."
"Hey, you wanna remind me why we parked the car halfway around the block and decided to walk to your fancy old junk shop?" Leo groaned.
"Oh be quiet and stop complaining Leo, we're almost there-" Bartlet was cut off by a series of loud pops. He felt himself being thrown to the ground and felt the weight of several agents laying on top of him, covering him with their bodies. He listened as more shots rang out and Ron Butterfield shouted orders to the other agents.
"Shooter's down. All clear."
Within a moment, the agents crawled off of the president, allowing him to sit up, looking frantically around. "What happened!?"
"Shooter came out of the store, fired off a couple of random shots with a small caliber pistol. He's dead." Ron knelt down in front of Jed. "Mr. President, are you alright!?" He scanned the president's body for sign of injury.
"Yeah, I'm fine, fine. Leo!? You alright?" He glanced to his side, seeing his old friend in a similar position, agents checking him for injury.
"Yeah, I'm good. Little shaken up, but otherwise fine."
"Good," Jed nodded. "Charlie-"
Ron cut him off. "Mr. President, I'm afraid we need to leave. I have to get you out of here and back to the White House- now. We have to secure the scene and make sure you and the First Family are out of danger."
"Just a minute!" Jed shook him off, standing up. "Charlie, you ok?" He stepped over to his body man who was still kneeling on the sidewalk, looking slightly dazed. The president extended his hand to the younger man, who took it, and helped him stand up.
"Y..yeah.. M'fine. Are you alright Mr. President?" Charlie said, his words slurring slightly.
"Charlie..?" Bartlet questioned, concerned. "Are you sure you're alright?"
"Are you alright Mr. President?" Charlie repeated, his eyes glazed over and staring somewhere past Bartlet's head.
The president glanced at the ground where Charlie had been and in that one moment, his entire life came crashing down around him. The crisp, white snow on the sidewalk was stained with flecks of deep crimson. His eyes flashed up to Charlie's face just in time to see the boy's eyes roll back, his body tumbling bonelessly into the president's arms.
"NO! CHARLIE!" Bartlet cried, carefully letting his body man back onto the ground. "Come on, son, stay with me! Open your eyes, Charlie! I need you to stay with me, do you hear me!"
Butterfield rushed to the president's side, taking in the situation. He stepped back, shouting into his wrist radio. "Eagle is secure. Crossroads is down! I repeat, Crossroads is down! Notify GW, we're bringing him in." Turning back to the president, he gently touched his shoulder. "Mr. President, please stand back and let us take him."
Bartlet nodded numbly and allowed the agents to first pull Charlie from his grasp and then usher him back to the limo. They moved quickly. Leo and Jed were placed in the car, sitting across from Charlie, who was stretched out along one of the seats. Once the car began to speed towards the hospital, Bartlet switched seats. He carefully lifted his young aide's head and placed it in his lap, not disturbing the agent who was applying pressure to the wound. Bartlet calmly ran his hand through Charlie's short-cropped hair, softly pleading with him.
"Come on, Charlie.. Stay with me. I've got you. It's ok to be scared. You're going to be ok.. Just do what I tell you for once and stay with me, son… You can do it, Charlie… Don't let those bigots win.. just stay with me. You can't leave us.. Leave me.. Not tonight, Charlie. Not on Christmas."
Authors Note: Hello all! This is my first West Wing fic so I'd appreciate some reviews to let me know if anyone is interested in me continuing this story! I've written about 3k words total so far and am planning on more but I'd love some feedback. The rest of the story involves a lot of emotional aftermath angst/whump and highlights Josh's PTSD and the father-son relationships between specifically Jed and Charlie, and Leo and Josh, respectively.