Shall We Bury Fathers or Sons? 7/10
A West Wing Story
POV: Jed/Abbey Spoilers: Rating: PG Disclaimer: Jed Bartlet is not mine (but boy, do I wish.). Neither is anyone else in this story, except for Dr. Hilweg.
Receding muffled waves sloshed through his brain, washing across the fleeting glimpses of comprehension. Each time they passed he tried to grab hold, to hang on to the momentary clarity, but it slithered out of his weak grasp. Sometimes distorted voices rippled through the waves, some he recognized, some he didn't, but none lingered long enough for him to identify the invisible speakers. Occasionally his mind rebelled against the twisted visions of people running and debris hurling in lethal paths all around. He tried to stop it, to help them, to protect them, but couldn't get to them all. There were so many, all reaching out to him for help. He cried out in warning, in direction, in encouragement, and soon he knew that he cried out in pain, too. Always the visions ended with a sudden blackness, which lasted for a while but inevitably gave way to the next cycle of nauseating waves.
"Mister President?"
Through a long tunnel he heard the voice and tried to focus all his energy on moving toward it, swimming in the jelly-like substance that seemed to fill his brain.
"Mister President, can you hear me?"
With a singular lunge, he caught and held on enough to analyze the speaker. An accent of some sort. Good Lord, surely he had not gone off and gotten himself captured! What an idiotic thing to do. What a disaster! But the voice seemed kind enough. Now he became more aware that the voice was muttering to himself in.German? Last he checked, Germany was an ally, so unless he had been warped back to World War Two by some time anomaly, he figured he was not in enemy hands. All right, try something new. Talking back, perhaps.
When in Rome - or Berlin - "Wo - bin Ich?" His voice was scratchy, weak, but intelligible.
The tone in the response revealed clearly impressed surprise. "Sprechen sie Deutsch?"
That's what I was shooting for, anyway. "Ja," he managed to mumble.
"Shaare Zedek Medical Center, Jerusalem, Herr President."
Jerusalem? What the hell was a German doctor doing in Jerusalem? Or did that somehow make sense? Nevermind. Move on. "Wie heisst - du?" Oops, that was the informal version, but he couldn't quite get his mind to focus on precise cases and etiquette. Still, he was pleased that that much had come back to him. German was one of his four languages, but he hadn't really used it in several years. He hoped he remembered all of his nouns correctly. Dim memories of calling Abbey a cheese in French fluttered through his mind.
"Doktor Hilweg. Sander Hilweg." The voice paused, then returned, its tone casual. "Wie geht es Ihnen?"
How do I feel? Like I just jumped out of a perfectly good airplane and Rob Ritchie packed my chute. What was the German word for lousy? His mind supplied, "Nicht gut," which wasn't quite right, but it didn't matter, because the words wouldn't form on his lips anyway.
"Mister President," the voice returned, a touch of amusement in its tone, "I'm getting nasty looks from some other people here. I think they suspect us of some sort of conspiracy. Mind if we change back to English?"
English? Oh, well, if you want - "Sure."
"Okay. Now, I want you to open your eyes."
They're not open? All right. Do my best. He tried to imagine himself opening his eyes, tried to follow the simple process of lifting the lids, but his body refused to help. Finally, after concerted effort, he managed to ease them to slits, grimacing at the glaring light that bombarded the action. Blinding pain shot through his skull and his eyes shut involuntarily.
"Lights down!" he heard the doctor order. "I'm sorry, Mister President. Try again, please."
Reluctantly, he did. This time the glare was gone and he could make out blurred figures above him, their outlines similar to the pastel blotches of an impressionist painting. He blinked a couple of times to clear his vision, but it didn't help. Instead, he tried to concentrate on one of the blobs before him. The first one he saw probably belonged to the voice that had dragged him from his ubiquitous floating.
"Sir, what do you see?"
"Um." Looks like Monet or maybe Picasso, even though he was really a Cubist-
"Mister President?" A little more forceful this time.
Leave me alone. Just let me groan in peace.
Another voice entered his brain, this one familiar, secure, warm. "Mister President?"
Now he smiled, even though he wasn't sure it actually reached his lips. Rousing his energy for this voice, he grunted out the word. "Leo."
"Yeah. Yeah. I'm here. Just take it easy. Man, it's good to hear your voice."
Gee, Leo seemed awfully happy, for Leo, anyway. Leo? Mister President? His brain finally deciphered some of the information that had been fed into it in the past five minutes. Oh, hell. I'm the President. Take it easy? Can't. Can't now. What happened? Have to do something.
"What - " But he couldn't get it out, was fading quickly, the darkness closing back in on him.
"I'll tell you later," Leo assured him.
"No. Not - later. Now." He'd hang on. He had to know. Something had happened. Something bad. He must have been involved. He really did feel like he had fallen out of an airplane, or at least what he figured that would feel like if you actually survived. God, he hurt all over, especially his head and his left side. Okay, and his chest didn't feel so great, either. He wished Leo would lift the anvil off it.
With a sigh, his friend and chief of staff glanced at the doctor, whose unfocused head nodded, then gave a few bits of information to his commander- in-chief. "There was apparently a bomb at the site. We're still not sure if it was planted there specifically for you, or if it was - well - a stray that detonated at a really crappy time. You took shrapnel and were thrown from the blast."
Bomb? Site? Thrown - oh, yeah. Now those nightmare visions made more sense. He remembered others, too, though. "Who - else?" He stopped to draw a deeper breath, but choked it off when his side and chest exploded in pain. Damn! Okay, don't do that again. Had to communicate better, but his body was betraying him, dragging him back down. "Dead?"
Leo had moved into his view now, another blur really, but a comforting one. "Three secret service dead, five injured. Ron caught debris in his back and side and is cut up and bruised pretty good, but he's all right. Several in the crowd killed and wounded. I don't know that count. But - "
The hesitation drew his fading attention. " - the Israeli ambassador is dead."
God. His eyes shut against the pain of that information. Then something horrible occurred to him. They flew open again. "You?"
"Sir?"
"You - okay?"
"Fine." He heard the smile in the voice. Thank God. "A few cuts and bruises. That's all."
"Charlie?"
"He'll be fine, too."
Okay. Okay. He made an attempt to grasp Leo's arm, to reassure him that everything was all right, to make sure for himself his friend was fine. But he didn't seem to be able to move. Something was holding him down. Now he tried to turn his head to look. Fire flashed from his eyes back through his brain and he heard himself groan even though he had not planned to at all. Firm hands steadied his head.
"Easy, Mister President," warned the doctor. "Don't try to move. We want to keep your upper body immobilized a little longer. I'm going to let your morphine pump take over in a minute and you just need to let it work."
No! Can't be under any longer. Need to run the country. Who's - who's in charge? "Leo!" I need to see Leo.
"I'm here, Sir."
"Leo, who's-"
"Don't worry. It's okay. Hoynes is in the White House. Josh and Toby are with him, and Fitzwallace and McNally are in the situation room. I talk with them every hour or so."
Okay. Not great, but okay. Now his thoughts started to clear a little. He was in the streets of Bethlehem, shaking hands of beaming Jews, Christians, and Muslims alike, his Israeli tour a resounding success, peace treaty imminent. One last visit to the historical birthplace of Jesus before he concluded. One last visit. The Israeli ambassador had just turned to him, smiling, and commented on how excited everyone seemed to be to have him there.
-- You can't say Dallas doesn't love you today, Mister President -
Then he saw only debris and blood and heard shouts and cries of anguish. He stumbled among the torn bodies, clasping hands, digging through rubble. He heard himself calling out directions, remembered grabbing the arm of a child and pulling him from under a wall of bricks. Then we was down, tried to get back up, to help, needed to help, but he had no strength to fight it. Couldn't see. Something in his eyes. Couldn't breathe. His body burned all over. Get Leo. Tell Leo. Call Washington. Get Hoynes.get Hoynes. Who knows what happened? The world. The world saw it - had to see it - cameras were following - Abbey. Oh God, Abbey saw it.
"Abbey," he gasped.
Leo took his hand, gripping it in comfort. "Abbey's been here. We made her take a break, but I've sent Charlie to get her. They'll be back any minute."
"How - long?"
"How long what?"
He swallowed, trying to drag enough energy to his lips to speak a little longer. "How - long since - explosion?"
Leo seemed to hesitate briefly, but answered, "Day before yesterday. About forty-two hours or so."
Oh God. What was happening with the peace treaty? What had this done to it? He fought to ask Leo, struggled to raise himself in the bed, despite the doctor's warning, but the black tunnel had almost engulfed him now, pushing the colorful blobs far away. As he tried to mumble a response, it fell short of intelligibility. Instead, he could only surrender to the darkness and let go, hearing, as he faded out, the doctor's comments to Leo.
"I'll speak to Doctor Bartlet when she gets here. Certainly his regaining consciousness is a major step. If we can keep any - complications at bay, I think he has a chance."
Well, good. It's always a bonus to get blown up and still have a chance.
Abbey Bartlet stood next to the bedrail, her body weary of the chair and antsy for Jed to come around again. She had returned less than a minute after he drifted off from his initial awakening. And even though Dr. Hilweg assured her things were looking better, she yearned to see for herself, had to hear his voice and look into his eyes. That had been five hours ago and she was sure he would come to any minute.
But he remained stubbornly asleep. Typical. Doing the opposite of what she wanted. No, she realized, that wasn't totally fair. She had to include herself in that category, too. Maybe if she had come with him, if she had been here - But she knew it would have changed nothing, except place another person in danger.
Oh, Jed. You're really pissing me off, you know? Wake up already.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and muttered, "What am going to do with you, Jethro?"
"Don't - call me - that - "
With a jerk, her head rose, her heart leaped, and her hands reached over the rail, grasping his tightly.
"Jed!"
" - 's better - "
His eyes had not opened, but he still managed to greet her appropriately. "Hey, Babe." It was not even a whisper and she wasn't totally sure she had heard it until she saw the slight smile.
Squeezing his hand, she leaned forward to brush her lips against his. "Hey yourself. How do you feel?"
" - hurts - "
She bit her lip and winced, looking away for a moment. "I know, Sweetheart. I know. I'll be here."
She couldn't tell him, yet. Couldn't break it to him that this was nothing compared to what he would go through before long. Dr. Hilweg had mentioned that he wanted to begin withdrawing the morphine tomorrow morning. And, even though she agreed with him and knew it was the best decision in the long run, she dreaded it for Jed. God, she dreaded it for him. When she brought her gaze back up, she saw that his eyes had opened just barely.
"God - you look - sexy," he mumbled, and she laughed and cried at the same time. He was so predictable, so wonderfully predictable.
His eyes closed again, but he still continued to speak. " - shouldn't have come - dangerous - "
"Well," she returned, forcing herself to keep the tone light, "remember the night you left? You promised me a romantic evening in Paris on the way back if I came with you."
The second smile almost reached his lips. " - said 'no' though - "
"A girl can change her mind, can't she?"
She cringed at the thinness of his usually rich, strong voice. "Always, Sweet - Knees - "
Brushing at his hair, she dropped her hand to run the back of it over his jaw, frowning at the beads of perspiration on his face. "You're all right, Baby. Just rest now." But the increased flush of his cheeks and the warmth there punched at her stomach. Please, she prayed, please don't let this happen, too. Isn't the other enough?
He managed to rally for a moment. "Abbey?"
She bent over him to catch the weak tone. "Yeah? I'm here. What is it?"
Again, the smile shadowed his lips. "Go with me - to Paris. I could - jump you - under the Eiffel - Tower - "
Shaking her head, she chuckled, despite her fears. So predicable. "Sure, Pumpkin," she agreed. "We'll do that. But we're not in France, yet, so you go to sleep now, okay?"
" - 'kay - " The even, heavy breathing told her he had slipped off again for a while. Let him go. It won't be long before sleep will be impossible.
As she fell back into the chair, the pressure of suppressed emotions finally defeated her and she broke down, face in her hands, great gasping sobs shaking her whole body, trying to cleanse itself of the poisonous agony of the past three days. She didn't hear the door open, wasn't aware of anyone else with her until Leo's voice, bordering on panic, broke through to her.
"Abbey! Abbey, what is it? What's happened?"
Behind him, the rush of more feet clattered across the floor, and when she looked up a dozen green and white figures hovered in Code Blue mode around Jed.
"No!" she shot out, standing and reaching out simultaneously. "No! He's all right. He just -- came to for a while and - " Trailing off, she ducked her head at the hot flush of embarrassment. Everyone in the room relaxed with a collective sigh, their sympathetic expressions inadvertently causing her more chagrin.
"I'm sorry, Leo. I just-"
"Oh dear God, Abbey. It's not like you don't deserve to let go. I'm sorry I burst in like that. I heard you and thought-" He broke off and she was grateful for that. She didn't want even to contemplate the rest of his sentence.
Quietly, the medical staff slipped from the room, leaving them to their privacy, leaving her to her healing. After a moment, Leo dragged another chair over and motioned for her to sit. When she did, he eased next to her and pulled her into his chest, whispering soothing reassurances, rubbing her back, letting her tears soak his fresh shirt. She had no idea how long they stayed in that position, but in those moments, or maybe even hours, she had never felt so close to her husband's best friend. And she was reminded, for the first time in months, why Jed loved him so much.
POV: Jed/Abbey Spoilers: Rating: PG Disclaimer: Jed Bartlet is not mine (but boy, do I wish.). Neither is anyone else in this story, except for Dr. Hilweg.
Receding muffled waves sloshed through his brain, washing across the fleeting glimpses of comprehension. Each time they passed he tried to grab hold, to hang on to the momentary clarity, but it slithered out of his weak grasp. Sometimes distorted voices rippled through the waves, some he recognized, some he didn't, but none lingered long enough for him to identify the invisible speakers. Occasionally his mind rebelled against the twisted visions of people running and debris hurling in lethal paths all around. He tried to stop it, to help them, to protect them, but couldn't get to them all. There were so many, all reaching out to him for help. He cried out in warning, in direction, in encouragement, and soon he knew that he cried out in pain, too. Always the visions ended with a sudden blackness, which lasted for a while but inevitably gave way to the next cycle of nauseating waves.
"Mister President?"
Through a long tunnel he heard the voice and tried to focus all his energy on moving toward it, swimming in the jelly-like substance that seemed to fill his brain.
"Mister President, can you hear me?"
With a singular lunge, he caught and held on enough to analyze the speaker. An accent of some sort. Good Lord, surely he had not gone off and gotten himself captured! What an idiotic thing to do. What a disaster! But the voice seemed kind enough. Now he became more aware that the voice was muttering to himself in.German? Last he checked, Germany was an ally, so unless he had been warped back to World War Two by some time anomaly, he figured he was not in enemy hands. All right, try something new. Talking back, perhaps.
When in Rome - or Berlin - "Wo - bin Ich?" His voice was scratchy, weak, but intelligible.
The tone in the response revealed clearly impressed surprise. "Sprechen sie Deutsch?"
That's what I was shooting for, anyway. "Ja," he managed to mumble.
"Shaare Zedek Medical Center, Jerusalem, Herr President."
Jerusalem? What the hell was a German doctor doing in Jerusalem? Or did that somehow make sense? Nevermind. Move on. "Wie heisst - du?" Oops, that was the informal version, but he couldn't quite get his mind to focus on precise cases and etiquette. Still, he was pleased that that much had come back to him. German was one of his four languages, but he hadn't really used it in several years. He hoped he remembered all of his nouns correctly. Dim memories of calling Abbey a cheese in French fluttered through his mind.
"Doktor Hilweg. Sander Hilweg." The voice paused, then returned, its tone casual. "Wie geht es Ihnen?"
How do I feel? Like I just jumped out of a perfectly good airplane and Rob Ritchie packed my chute. What was the German word for lousy? His mind supplied, "Nicht gut," which wasn't quite right, but it didn't matter, because the words wouldn't form on his lips anyway.
"Mister President," the voice returned, a touch of amusement in its tone, "I'm getting nasty looks from some other people here. I think they suspect us of some sort of conspiracy. Mind if we change back to English?"
English? Oh, well, if you want - "Sure."
"Okay. Now, I want you to open your eyes."
They're not open? All right. Do my best. He tried to imagine himself opening his eyes, tried to follow the simple process of lifting the lids, but his body refused to help. Finally, after concerted effort, he managed to ease them to slits, grimacing at the glaring light that bombarded the action. Blinding pain shot through his skull and his eyes shut involuntarily.
"Lights down!" he heard the doctor order. "I'm sorry, Mister President. Try again, please."
Reluctantly, he did. This time the glare was gone and he could make out blurred figures above him, their outlines similar to the pastel blotches of an impressionist painting. He blinked a couple of times to clear his vision, but it didn't help. Instead, he tried to concentrate on one of the blobs before him. The first one he saw probably belonged to the voice that had dragged him from his ubiquitous floating.
"Sir, what do you see?"
"Um." Looks like Monet or maybe Picasso, even though he was really a Cubist-
"Mister President?" A little more forceful this time.
Leave me alone. Just let me groan in peace.
Another voice entered his brain, this one familiar, secure, warm. "Mister President?"
Now he smiled, even though he wasn't sure it actually reached his lips. Rousing his energy for this voice, he grunted out the word. "Leo."
"Yeah. Yeah. I'm here. Just take it easy. Man, it's good to hear your voice."
Gee, Leo seemed awfully happy, for Leo, anyway. Leo? Mister President? His brain finally deciphered some of the information that had been fed into it in the past five minutes. Oh, hell. I'm the President. Take it easy? Can't. Can't now. What happened? Have to do something.
"What - " But he couldn't get it out, was fading quickly, the darkness closing back in on him.
"I'll tell you later," Leo assured him.
"No. Not - later. Now." He'd hang on. He had to know. Something had happened. Something bad. He must have been involved. He really did feel like he had fallen out of an airplane, or at least what he figured that would feel like if you actually survived. God, he hurt all over, especially his head and his left side. Okay, and his chest didn't feel so great, either. He wished Leo would lift the anvil off it.
With a sigh, his friend and chief of staff glanced at the doctor, whose unfocused head nodded, then gave a few bits of information to his commander- in-chief. "There was apparently a bomb at the site. We're still not sure if it was planted there specifically for you, or if it was - well - a stray that detonated at a really crappy time. You took shrapnel and were thrown from the blast."
Bomb? Site? Thrown - oh, yeah. Now those nightmare visions made more sense. He remembered others, too, though. "Who - else?" He stopped to draw a deeper breath, but choked it off when his side and chest exploded in pain. Damn! Okay, don't do that again. Had to communicate better, but his body was betraying him, dragging him back down. "Dead?"
Leo had moved into his view now, another blur really, but a comforting one. "Three secret service dead, five injured. Ron caught debris in his back and side and is cut up and bruised pretty good, but he's all right. Several in the crowd killed and wounded. I don't know that count. But - "
The hesitation drew his fading attention. " - the Israeli ambassador is dead."
God. His eyes shut against the pain of that information. Then something horrible occurred to him. They flew open again. "You?"
"Sir?"
"You - okay?"
"Fine." He heard the smile in the voice. Thank God. "A few cuts and bruises. That's all."
"Charlie?"
"He'll be fine, too."
Okay. Okay. He made an attempt to grasp Leo's arm, to reassure him that everything was all right, to make sure for himself his friend was fine. But he didn't seem to be able to move. Something was holding him down. Now he tried to turn his head to look. Fire flashed from his eyes back through his brain and he heard himself groan even though he had not planned to at all. Firm hands steadied his head.
"Easy, Mister President," warned the doctor. "Don't try to move. We want to keep your upper body immobilized a little longer. I'm going to let your morphine pump take over in a minute and you just need to let it work."
No! Can't be under any longer. Need to run the country. Who's - who's in charge? "Leo!" I need to see Leo.
"I'm here, Sir."
"Leo, who's-"
"Don't worry. It's okay. Hoynes is in the White House. Josh and Toby are with him, and Fitzwallace and McNally are in the situation room. I talk with them every hour or so."
Okay. Not great, but okay. Now his thoughts started to clear a little. He was in the streets of Bethlehem, shaking hands of beaming Jews, Christians, and Muslims alike, his Israeli tour a resounding success, peace treaty imminent. One last visit to the historical birthplace of Jesus before he concluded. One last visit. The Israeli ambassador had just turned to him, smiling, and commented on how excited everyone seemed to be to have him there.
-- You can't say Dallas doesn't love you today, Mister President -
Then he saw only debris and blood and heard shouts and cries of anguish. He stumbled among the torn bodies, clasping hands, digging through rubble. He heard himself calling out directions, remembered grabbing the arm of a child and pulling him from under a wall of bricks. Then we was down, tried to get back up, to help, needed to help, but he had no strength to fight it. Couldn't see. Something in his eyes. Couldn't breathe. His body burned all over. Get Leo. Tell Leo. Call Washington. Get Hoynes.get Hoynes. Who knows what happened? The world. The world saw it - had to see it - cameras were following - Abbey. Oh God, Abbey saw it.
"Abbey," he gasped.
Leo took his hand, gripping it in comfort. "Abbey's been here. We made her take a break, but I've sent Charlie to get her. They'll be back any minute."
"How - long?"
"How long what?"
He swallowed, trying to drag enough energy to his lips to speak a little longer. "How - long since - explosion?"
Leo seemed to hesitate briefly, but answered, "Day before yesterday. About forty-two hours or so."
Oh God. What was happening with the peace treaty? What had this done to it? He fought to ask Leo, struggled to raise himself in the bed, despite the doctor's warning, but the black tunnel had almost engulfed him now, pushing the colorful blobs far away. As he tried to mumble a response, it fell short of intelligibility. Instead, he could only surrender to the darkness and let go, hearing, as he faded out, the doctor's comments to Leo.
"I'll speak to Doctor Bartlet when she gets here. Certainly his regaining consciousness is a major step. If we can keep any - complications at bay, I think he has a chance."
Well, good. It's always a bonus to get blown up and still have a chance.
Abbey Bartlet stood next to the bedrail, her body weary of the chair and antsy for Jed to come around again. She had returned less than a minute after he drifted off from his initial awakening. And even though Dr. Hilweg assured her things were looking better, she yearned to see for herself, had to hear his voice and look into his eyes. That had been five hours ago and she was sure he would come to any minute.
But he remained stubbornly asleep. Typical. Doing the opposite of what she wanted. No, she realized, that wasn't totally fair. She had to include herself in that category, too. Maybe if she had come with him, if she had been here - But she knew it would have changed nothing, except place another person in danger.
Oh, Jed. You're really pissing me off, you know? Wake up already.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and muttered, "What am going to do with you, Jethro?"
"Don't - call me - that - "
With a jerk, her head rose, her heart leaped, and her hands reached over the rail, grasping his tightly.
"Jed!"
" - 's better - "
His eyes had not opened, but he still managed to greet her appropriately. "Hey, Babe." It was not even a whisper and she wasn't totally sure she had heard it until she saw the slight smile.
Squeezing his hand, she leaned forward to brush her lips against his. "Hey yourself. How do you feel?"
" - hurts - "
She bit her lip and winced, looking away for a moment. "I know, Sweetheart. I know. I'll be here."
She couldn't tell him, yet. Couldn't break it to him that this was nothing compared to what he would go through before long. Dr. Hilweg had mentioned that he wanted to begin withdrawing the morphine tomorrow morning. And, even though she agreed with him and knew it was the best decision in the long run, she dreaded it for Jed. God, she dreaded it for him. When she brought her gaze back up, she saw that his eyes had opened just barely.
"God - you look - sexy," he mumbled, and she laughed and cried at the same time. He was so predictable, so wonderfully predictable.
His eyes closed again, but he still continued to speak. " - shouldn't have come - dangerous - "
"Well," she returned, forcing herself to keep the tone light, "remember the night you left? You promised me a romantic evening in Paris on the way back if I came with you."
The second smile almost reached his lips. " - said 'no' though - "
"A girl can change her mind, can't she?"
She cringed at the thinness of his usually rich, strong voice. "Always, Sweet - Knees - "
Brushing at his hair, she dropped her hand to run the back of it over his jaw, frowning at the beads of perspiration on his face. "You're all right, Baby. Just rest now." But the increased flush of his cheeks and the warmth there punched at her stomach. Please, she prayed, please don't let this happen, too. Isn't the other enough?
He managed to rally for a moment. "Abbey?"
She bent over him to catch the weak tone. "Yeah? I'm here. What is it?"
Again, the smile shadowed his lips. "Go with me - to Paris. I could - jump you - under the Eiffel - Tower - "
Shaking her head, she chuckled, despite her fears. So predicable. "Sure, Pumpkin," she agreed. "We'll do that. But we're not in France, yet, so you go to sleep now, okay?"
" - 'kay - " The even, heavy breathing told her he had slipped off again for a while. Let him go. It won't be long before sleep will be impossible.
As she fell back into the chair, the pressure of suppressed emotions finally defeated her and she broke down, face in her hands, great gasping sobs shaking her whole body, trying to cleanse itself of the poisonous agony of the past three days. She didn't hear the door open, wasn't aware of anyone else with her until Leo's voice, bordering on panic, broke through to her.
"Abbey! Abbey, what is it? What's happened?"
Behind him, the rush of more feet clattered across the floor, and when she looked up a dozen green and white figures hovered in Code Blue mode around Jed.
"No!" she shot out, standing and reaching out simultaneously. "No! He's all right. He just -- came to for a while and - " Trailing off, she ducked her head at the hot flush of embarrassment. Everyone in the room relaxed with a collective sigh, their sympathetic expressions inadvertently causing her more chagrin.
"I'm sorry, Leo. I just-"
"Oh dear God, Abbey. It's not like you don't deserve to let go. I'm sorry I burst in like that. I heard you and thought-" He broke off and she was grateful for that. She didn't want even to contemplate the rest of his sentence.
Quietly, the medical staff slipped from the room, leaving them to their privacy, leaving her to her healing. After a moment, Leo dragged another chair over and motioned for her to sit. When she did, he eased next to her and pulled her into his chest, whispering soothing reassurances, rubbing her back, letting her tears soak his fresh shirt. She had no idea how long they stayed in that position, but in those moments, or maybe even hours, she had never felt so close to her husband's best friend. And she was reminded, for the first time in months, why Jed loved him so much.
