A/N: it's a chapter of milestones! The twenty-fifth chapter, on my twenty-fifth birthday, bringing the story over fifty-thousand words, fifteen-thousand hits and my big file (including future chapters) over a hundred pages. I certainly didn't see this coming when I started the story! Many thanks to everyone taking the time to read all this and especially thanks to everyone reviewing, I'm not sure I could've kept this story going without your encouragement and kind words. As always, happy reading!

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Tempus plus seventeen hours and thirty-nine minutes

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Guiltily President Bartlet checked his watch, an anniversary gift from Abbey, too long ago to remember which one. The four o'clock briefing had come and gone, as well as another security briefing, a meeting with the Joint Chiefs, a rather tense discussion with his VP, an especially boring lecture, courtesy of Legal Council and – of course – a run-in with the Qumar ambassador.

Now it was almost seven and he still hadn't made it out of the White House. His next mistake was to stop by Sam's office to belatedly congratulate the young man on holding his own while faced with a ravenous press corps. The office was empty, but next door Toby's wasn't.

"—nough with the naivety!" Through the narrow opening between door and wall, he couldn't see anything but a small sliver of white wall and though he shouldn't, he paused to listen in on their conversation. Not behavior appropriate of a president, but right now he didn't really care.

"He's just saying—"

"That's the problem, isn't it? Everyone's 'just saying'!"

"Toby, we're trying to… what would you have us do?" It never seized to amaze him how calm Josh could be if the situation truly required it. "Send the President out there with guns blazing? We all know that won't accomplish anything. Half the House will agree with him, half won't."

"So send Russell out there." Even after five years, the three men shot to their feet – Toby a fraction behind the others in quiet protest.

"Sir!"

"At ease boys." Sam and Josh slowly retook their seats, Toby leaned against his desk defiantly, arms crossed. "Send Russell," Jed repeated to re-energize the discussion.

Toby predictably took the bait. "You are the President, not Bi- Bob Russell!"

"Exactly." It was no secret Russell hadn't been his choice either.

With a snap of his fingers, Josh caught on. "Of course! We need to get Will in here." Naturally, Toby sputtered objections, but the deputy Chief of Staff ignored him and bellowed for his assistant. "Donna! Call over to OEOB and get Will over here!" There was no indication the young blonde heard him, or was even within earshot, but that didn't appear to concern anyone.

"You can't give this to Russell."

"Why not?"

Toby glared at him. "Because you're the President, you're CJ's boss and this is your White House!" His White House, in which a lunatic shot his Press Secretary. He didn't need anyone pointing that out to him.

Perhaps it was for the better that Josh spoke before he could. "Yes, but there's nothing to win! Half of everyone is going to disagree with him, so let Russell stick his hand in the snake-pit."

"Sure and while we're at it, let's issue a statement that President Bartlet relinquished executive control of the country to Bingo Bob Russell!" Toby's voice thundered through the small office, his frustration thick and palpable in the air.

Maybe he should intervene, but Josh appeared to have the situation under control. "We let Russell do the statement and someone's gonna ask where the President is."

"Exactly," Toby grumbled, "and then what?"

Josh grinned triumphantly, his dimples showing, "then we say the President is visiting CJ."

If he didn't know how close to Toby's heart these issues were, he might've cracked a joke at the man's crestfallen expression. "I can…" the Communications Director paused, then sputtered, "…actually live with that."

"I don't know," Sam piped up, "it feels wrong to politicize the situation."

"It's already been politicized for us." Josh pointed out, waving a handful of memos around. From this distance and without his glasses, the President couldn't make out what they said.

"Okay." Apparently they said enough to waylay Sam's objection. "But what if he doesn't agree with the statement?"

"He will," Toby promised ominously, but Donna interrupted him before he could explain.

"Will's here," she announced, visibly taken aback by the President's presence.

"Give us a few minutes. Sir," the earlier energy disappeared from Josh's voice, "we need you at the hospital."

Jed nodded, he needed to be at the hospital for reasons that had nothing to do with politics or PR. "I'm outta here." He patted Will Bailey on the shoulder out of reflex when they crossed paths. He'd always liked the kid and though he didn't begrudge him wanting to work for the next guy, he couldn't help but see it as another sign the end of his reign quickly approached. At least he'd get some real time to spend with his family.

It also meant he had only three years left to be remembered for something other than MS, kidnappings and shootings. Not exactly the legacy he wanted to leave behind and certainly not the legacy his staff deserved.

Mrs. Fiderer and Charlie worked quietly at their desks. Not uncommon for this time of day, but things had been relatively quiet. "Go home."

"Are you?"

He eyed his bodyman, resting his gaze briefly on the single picture on the young man's desk. "I'm going in to see Leo and then I'm going to the hospital."

Charlie's face dropped. "I'll come," he offered.

"Nah, you guys can harass her when she's awake." Debbie's gaze remained even; her expression didn't give away any emotions she might have about the situation, which said enough in itself. Charlie slouched back in his chair.

It wasn't until his car pulled up at the hospital that he realized Charlie might've wanted to come because of Zoey. He might still be uncomfortable with the thought of his daughters dating – or getting married for that matter -, but at least Charlie was one hell of a better choice than that little French weasel.

"Dad!" The weight on his shoulders lifted when Zoey leapt into his arms. He held her close for as long as she let him, then studied her when she stepped back. "You look thin."

Abbey always accused Zoey of being too much like him, but the exasperation on her face when she shook her head was all Abigail. Speaking of which, "where's your mother?"

"Next door." He already started for the door when she continued. "Dad, this is Hogan," he followed her gaze to the corner, only now noticing the young girl curled up in one of the chairs."She's—"

"CJ's niece."

Surprised, his daughter stared at him. "How'd you know?"

With false frivolity, he retorted, "I'm supposed to know these things." He never liked lying to his kids, but some things they just didn't need to know. The girl looked almost exactly like she had in the pictures that crossed his desk a year and a half ago.

CJ had refused protection then, fought her detail tooth and nail, until pictures of Hogan turned up. "Hello Hogan."

The girl looked up, her voice thin, "hi," and brought her eyes back to whatever point she'd been staring at.

Zoey shrugged. "Mom's talking to her dad in the next room."

Wordlessly he acknowledged his daughter and left her to find his wife. Maybe she had news… From the corridor, he could hear muffled voices coming from the adjacent room. They clarified as soon as he cracked open the door.

"—not heartless, Mrs. Bartlet, but there's nothing Hogan can do here. She's free to visit as often as she wants after classes, but she can't take time off school."

Abbey's voice was terse. He couldn't help but smile. His wife was a firecracker and God he loved her for it. "Mr. Cregg, CJ isn't suffering from a sprained ankle. This could kill her."

"My sister is stronger than she looks, she'll be fine. Christmas recess starts in three weeks, Hogan can spend all her time here if she chooses, but I'm not writing her a note."

That did it. Jed pushed the door all the way open, noting that while CJ's brother certainly looked caught off guard, his wife didn't. "I'll write her a note," he offered lightly, "that should do the trick."

CJ's brother didn't appear at all intimidated, which was a bit of a letdown. He wrote it off as a family trait. The man was easily a head taller than Jed, well build, but sporting a beer belly that could give many a Senator a run for their money. His handshake was firm and dry. "Mr. President."

"Mr. Cregg." They matched each other's neutral tones. Surprisingly – despite the tense conversation he'd walked into –the man gave off a pleasant vibe. "I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances."

"As am I, sir."

His eyes were a shade darker than CJ's and grey temples illustrated the significant age-difference between brother and sister, almost thirteen years if he recalled correctly. "You're leaving?"

Slightly familiar eyes appraised him evenly. "My wife has the nightshift, I usually prepare dinner for her to take along."

Jed exchanged a glance with his wife, careful to keep his expression neutral. Was this for real? "The Doctors have explained the situation?" If CJ took after her mother, Paul, or Pete? He couldn't remember, even though he'd read his file just a few hours ago, obviously did not. There were resemblances, but you had to look closely. "You realize she might not…" the words stuck in his throat.

Paul or Pete nodded. "I'm not a heartless man Mr. President, but I haven't spoken with my sister in over thirty years. To pretend there is some sibling bond – or any bond at all – between us now would be hypocritical and utterly useless." His voice was warm, the look in his eyes genuine and not unkind. It was hard to reconcile that with the cold message just delivered. "Hogan can't stay here."

"She can stay with us."

"Okay," Hogan's dad agreed after a moment or two.

Speechless, he just stared at this strange man. How could he desert his family like this? As a child he hadn't been particularly close to his own family and even now he rarely spoke to, or off, his brother, but to walk away from your own blood in their dying hour…

"What about your father?" Abbey's question pulled him from his silent seething and he waited impatiently for the answer.

Paul –or Pete- sighed and drew his fingers through his hair. This, Jed thought idly, was what Sam's hair'd look like in twenty or thirty years. "He's too sick to fly and for the better too." Without verbal prompting, he explained – never taking his eyes off Abbey, Jed noted. "CJ's a spitting image of my – our – mother. In his condition…we watched her die once," his voice wavered, betraying more emotions than thus far expressed, "that was enough. Anyway," he moved on before they could say anything, "I'm honored to have met you, Mr. President, ma'am. And for what it's worth, I'm glad my sister found a new family."

"Peter." Abbey said when CJ's brother had left.

Confused, he turned to his wife. "What?"

Abbey shook her head, lips pursed. "His name, Jed."

"Oh. I knew that."

"My ass."

Choosing to be the bigger man, he changed subjects. "Any news?"

"It's been almost twenty hours, they should be done soon." She started for the door. "You should probably watch Russell's address.

"How did you--?" Waving his own question away, he reached for his wife's hand. "Never mind. How long's Peter been here?"

"Not that long. Hogan took his car, he came by train after settling some things at work. He's not a bad guy," she added after a beat. "If she really does look—"

Impatiently, he waved the remained of her excuse away. "They're family."

He'd always know he wasn't tall, but under his wife's piercing eyes, he felt himself farther removed from the adjective than ever before. "Yeah."

"Let's go back," he suggested, rather than try to decipher the meaning behind her clipped tone. She didn't bring up the address again and left the TV turned off, choosing to sit next to Hogan. Jed watched Abigail slowly coax the young girl out of her shell, her voice sotto and soothing. She was something else, that wife of his.

He'd barely found a comfortable position, or was forced to rise again when the phone rang. He found it tucked away on a side-table, next to a massive potted plant. The agent near the door indicated the line was secure, but he didn't really care. "Leo, I just got here." Abbey glanced in his direction.

"You'd've looked pretty stupid if it wasn't me."

"Yeah, well, I'm used to that." He sat down in the nearest chair and kept his voice low as not to disturb the girls.

Leo chuckled, then sobered. "Any news?"

"No, Abbey thinks they'll be done soon."

"Okay." This was why he refused to play poker with his old friend most of the time. Leo's voice and words betrayed nothing. Anyone who knew him though, could tell he'd taken CJ's attack as a physical blow. They all had. His government worked because his team worked, and his team worked, because they worked together. "Russell's agreed to make the address."

"Yeah." Hardly a surprise, but still a good thing. Besides taking the heat off him, it would distract the press. So far, Sam had omitted to reveal the location of the shooting, citing Secret Service investigation protocol. No doubt that little ruse wouldn't work for much longer. The NRA-address would at least leave the journalists with less space to fill.

"I'll let you know how it went."

"Yeah. Okay." He really didn't care all that much. "Could you ask housekeeping to prepare two extra bedrooms in the Residence? Zoey and CJ's niece are staying the weekend."

"Okay. Can I talk to Abbey."

"Sure." He eyed the handset suspiciously and motioned his wife over. "Leo wants to talk to you."

She accepted the handset, a small triumphant twist to her lips and took the seat he just vacated.

Dejectedly, he sat back down next to his daughter. "Ever feel like you're a lot less important than you think you are?"

Zoey laughed. "I don't think I'm all that important to begin with, Dad."

Jed eyed her, his little girl alive and vibrant next to him. There'd been moments throughout her life when he feared he'd never see her grow up or smile again. The last and longest during those fifty hours not that long ago. "You're important to me, kid." Though he tried, he failed to keep his voice light.

Zoey's smile faded just a little, her voice a little more serious. "That's all I ask."

He glanced back to his wife while he pulled Zoey in for a hug, finding comfort in the assurance that at least his little girl was all right. Abbey looked away when he met her eyes and dropped her voice further. He knew why Leo wanted to speak with her and why neither of them let him out of their sight. Though he wanted to, he couldn't blame them. The threat of a relapse somehow seemed more real to them than it did to him. Without letting go of his daughter, he reached for the briefcase he'd brought with him. As much as he expected it too, the world didn't stop turning.

Fifty-seven mind-numbing pages and two hours on, Zoey and Hogan were playing cards, Abbey just got off the phone with Liz and Russell's address had raised the expected questions. If they'd been sitting in one of the Residence's living room, it would've been a perfectly normal night and his mind wouldn't keep wandering away from the economic report on his lap, to the family ties of one of his staff members.

The First Lady sat down at his side. "Liz sends her love. Annie's sick, so they're not coming over."

"Okay." There was nothing they could do anyway, except add more bodies to this vigil and that wouldn't help anyone. He took his wife's hands in his. With each minute that passed, the fear in him rose. CJ'd been under for twenty-two hours. "When will we know something?"

The words had barely left his mouth, or the door opened and a blue-clad figure stepped in. Next to him, Abbey swallowed audibly. Her eyes stayed on his, red nails digging into the palm of his hand. She refused to look at the messenger. The girls stilled as well. Hazel eyes glittered like diamond in the faint light of the room and Abbey's breathless whisper tightened the bands of fear around his chest. "Now."