"JED!"

It was the last thing Bartlet remembered hearing before he was slammed down onto the floor, a body shielding him from the force of the blast that ripped through the basement corridor of the hotel. As the president slowly stirred, his head pounding from having connected with the tile floor, he became aware of the unnatural stillness around him, a silence deafening in its wake. He moved slightly and realized that he was pinned under a warm weight. And then it hit him: it had been Leo's voice that yelled his name in warning, and Leo's body that shoved him to the floor. Bartlet turned carefully, gently rolling out from under the man lying on top of him. In the darkness of the damaged hallway, Bartlet couldn't see his friend, but after sitting up on his knees, he bent over Leo's body, carefully shaking his shoulder.

"Leo?" Bartlet said gently, "Leo?"

An unsteady voice answered from somewhere behind Jed, "Mr. President?"

He recognized the worried timbre of Ron Butterfield. "I'm okay, Ron, but Leo..." Fighting dizziness, Butterfield reached into the pocket of his jacket and removed a small flashlight, which he shined in the direction of the president's voice. Bartlet turned toward the light. "Are you all right, Ron?"

Butterfield carefully made his way toward Bartlet, limping over debris, while he spoke into the com unit embedded in his watch. "Code red, all units, code red, please respond." But no answer came through the receiver in his ear. With swift movement, the agent pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and pressed a button, but the call wouldn't go through.

"No service down here, huh?" Bartlet asked.

Butterfield looked at Bartlet but did not answer the question. "I need to assess your condition, Mr. President." Ignoring the pain in his right ankle, the secret service agent knelt next to Bartlet, gently checking his limbs, head and torso for any obvious injuries. But other than a slight bump on his forehead and a cut across Jed's cheek, he seemed fine. Butterfield pressed his hands against Bartlet's chest and abdomen. "Does anything hurt, Mr. President?"

"No, Ron, I told you, I'm fine, but Leo's not. Let me see that light, please." Knowing there would be no stopping him, Butterfield handed over the flashlight, sighing slightly as Bartlet shined it on McGarry. The president hissed a sharp intake of air. "Oh God..." Jed yanked his handkerchief from his pocket and held it to the bloody wound on the back of Leo's neck. He couldn't completely hide the panic in his timbre, "Ron..."

Butterfield checked McGarry over, much the same way he had the commander-in-chief, but when he pressed against Leo's abdomen, the chief of staff wailed in pain. "Feels like a couple of broken ribs, and there could be internal injuries, Mr. President," Ron said, trying to keep his voice as calm and even as possible. "I need you to sit here quietly, sir, while I check the damage to this area, and see if there's a way out."

"We're cut off down here, aren't we." It was a statement, not a question.

"There are procedures for this scenario, Mr. President," Butterfield responded calmly.

"What about the rest of our people, Ron?"

"My priority is to get you out of here and to a secure location."

"But--"

"--Mr. President," Ron stared hard into the determined eyes of Bartlet, "we've traveled this road before, and you know that your safety isn't up for debate."

"And you know how I feel about that," Bartlet growled.

"Yes sir, but I also know what I have to do," Ron said, unyielding.

Bartlet thought about pleading with the man for a moment, but he knew it would be a waste of time, so he merely nodded. Butterfield took the small flashlight and quickly determined that the hallway was sealed off on both sides of them by fallen concrete and a few mangled pieces of support steal. Ron swallowed down the lump in his throat; if the supports of the building had taken a direct hit, there was no telling how long it would be until whatever was left of the hotel crashed in on them. He glanced down and saw the leg of one of his agents sticking out from under some rubble. Ron bent down, pulling away a few pieces of concrete until he realized that the agent was dead. He shined his light on the man's face and Butterfield's heart leapt into his throat. He closed his eyes against the unwanted emotions flooding him, and after a moment of shoving it down, Butterfield refocused and reached into the man's coat pocket and removed the flashlight he knew he'd find there, and the lighter that happened to be there, slipping both into his own pocket. Then he tried the downed agent's com unit and cell phone, but like his own, neither was working.

Remaining on his haunches, Butterfield aimed his flashlight around the ceiling of the enclosed area, and his heart shot up into his throat when he saw the steel girder hanging precariously above Barlet. "Mr. President!" Ron unceremoniously pulled Bartlet away from the impending danger, guiding him to stand close to the only sturdy wall that seemed to be left in the corridor; and a moment later, he moved the unconscious chief of staff, laying him on the floor by the president's feet. Jed knelt down and laid a soft hand on Leo's chest, assuring himself that McGarry was still breathing. He looked up at Butterfield whose stance told him he was not only on high alert for any impending danger, but the agent appeared to be in deep thought.

"How bad is this, Ron?"

Knowing he couldn't keep the truth from Bartlet, Butterfield looked into the hazel eyes staring at him and said, "It's bad, sir."

"What the hell happened?"

Butterfield shook his head. "Pipe bomb, Mr. President. I know that much from the sound of the explosion and the damage it did to this corridor."

"But how--"

"--Mr. President, I don't know. I don't know, but..." Butterfield swallowed down a mouthful of inexplicable guilt. "Someone knew you were exiting this way following tonight's reception. Someone knew, and managed to get past all of the sweeps we made on this building. Someone knew how to get past secret service procedures. Someone knew."

Bartlet shook his head. "It doesn't seem plausible, Ron."

"No sir, it does not." Butterfield looked into the president's face. "But here we are."

"What about the rest of our people?"

Butterfield shook his head. "No way to know, Mr. President." He swallowed hard, forcing a calm into his voice he did not feel. "I found the body of Agent Ortega; he was walking directly behind you and Mr. McGarry when it happened."

The implication of the fate of those walking behind Ortega made Bartlet's mouth run dry. "What about Toby and Sam...and the other agents?"

"I don't know, sir."

Before Bartlet could think about it too long, the moan from his best friend grabbed his attention. "Leo? Leo, can you hear me?"

McGarry's eyes fluttered slightly, then opened wide, dazed, as he whispered, "Mr. President... thank God." He squinted and looked up at Butterfield. "Pipe bomb..."

"Yeah." Butterfield stared at McGarry for a moment. "You hear the ignition?"

"Felt it," McGarry said weakly.

Butterfield nodded with understanding. "Yes, sir."

Bartlet gently took Leo's hand in his own, the reality of what his best friend had done dawning upon him. But McGarry ignored the gesture, instead looking at Butterfield.

"Ron, you need to get the president outta here..."

"That is my sole priority, Mr. McGarry," Ron assured him.

Realizing what the two of them were saying, Bartlet growled, "We're not leaving you here, Leo." He turned to Butterfield, raising his voice, "We're not leaving him, Ron. I'm not leaving him."

"Mr. President, I can have only one priority, and you are it."

"And Leo is mine, and I'm not leaving him here."

"Jed..." The unusual use of his first name had the desired effect and Bartlet's eyes darted to Leo's. "It's too risky to think about me in this, old friend. You have to understand that."

"Well I don't," Bartlet responded acerbically.

"Ron's duty is clear, Mr. President, and so is yours."

"I have a duty to you, Leo," Bartlet whispered, his voice tinged with emotion.

"No sir," McGarry said weakly, "no you don't." Bartlet's hazel eyes appeared to almost fire up in the low light, but Leo continued, "Your duty is to the office you serve." He swallowed dryly, "It's to the people of this country whom you represent. It's not to me."

"We're not having this conversation, Leo."

McGarry squeezed the hand holding his. "Ron is gonna get you outta here, and make sure you're secure. Then he'll send someone in after me...right Ron?"

"Yes sir," Butterfield answered carefully.

"This damned building could fall down by then Leo."

"Nah," Leo smiled slightly, "it won't. They built this thing to last." Bartlet glared at him. "It's still standing, isn't it?"

Fuming, Bartlet said, "I hope you're prepared to use your weapon on me, Agent Butterfield, because that's what it's going to take to get me to leave my best friend in here."

Ron knelt next to the president. "Sir, I will not hesitate to pick you up and carry you out of here kicking and screaming if I have to."

Leo squeezed Bartlet's hand once more. "You're outnumbered, sir."

"I'm the president, Leo, and I'll make the call--"

"--All due respect, sir," Ron said, "but when it concerns your safety and security, it's not your call, it's mine."

Finished with the conversation, Butterfield stood, and using his flashlight to try and find a way out, he began to examine their enclosure. Bartlet looked down in the low light and saw Leo's face grimace in pain.

"What can I do, Leo?"

McGarry shook his head slightly. "Nothing, sir. It's not that bad, really." Leo tried his best to smile at Jed. "I'll be okay."

Bartlet pulled his suit jacket off, folded it and gently placed it under Leo's head, letting his right hand settle softly on McGarry's shoulder. "Rest easy, Leo. I'll be right here."