IV
Jed returned to the Oval Office and slumped down in his chair. His head was swimming, but if it was the precursor to an MS attack he couldn't bring himself to care. If he passed out, maybe somebody else could make the decision for him.
Who? Hoynes? Toby might have yelled when Leo took charge without being elected, but he was unquestionably the best man for the job. If Jed didn't make the decision himself, who else could he trust to take it?
Because yeah, I'm likely to make such a good job of it, too.
Where are you, Leo? Don't you know I need you?
The merciful silence of the Oval Office was cut short all too soon. Charlie appeared in the doorway, hovering nervously. "Mr. President?" Jed remembered he'd snapped at him earlier. He felt too tired to even do that right now.
"Give me a minute, Charlie, could you?" he asked, waving him away. Charlie failed to leave.
"Mr. President?" he asked again, sounding concerned. Jed wondered if he looked like he was about to pass out, instead of just felt it.
"Charlie, I've got more important things on my mind right now," he said sharply, even though he couldn't remember what mundane appointment Charlie was here to usher him to. "Not least of which being that my Chief of Staff and best friend of several decades is missing without an explanation, I have seventy-two hours to make a decision that could alter the fate of the entire world, and I haven't got a goddamn clue what to do about either!"
Charlie blinked, and looked a more than a little concerned. That kind of comment from the leader of the free world wasn't quite what he'd been trained for. "Uh... Mr. President, can I get you anything?" he asked helplessly.
"Yes!" Jed pointed a finger at him. "Get me Leo. I don't care what you have to do to do it - just get me Leo. I want him found."
In the heavy silence that rushed to fill the room as Charlie departed it, the only thing he could think was I wish Abbey was here.
Somehow they found themselves congregating in the corridors. It was late, too late, and they had long since become too fractious to think about working... but nobody wanted to go home. Only Josh remained in his office, still slaving away with barely a thought for the lateness of the hour. Donna was at his side, faithful as ever, ready to stop him when he finally reached the point of keeling over.
CJ almost envied him that. At least he was doing something, even if it was the frustrating make-work of keeping the country running. All she could do was stand around in the corridors, clenching and unclenching her fists and worrying.
Sam leaned against the wall, blue eyes cloudy with the troubled thoughts behind them as he stared at the carpeting. Toby stood with his hands in his pockets, face completely inscrutable. CJ was probably the best of them at reading his moods, but now she couldn't tell if he was dwelling on Leo, writing a speech in his head, or thinking nothing at all.
From where she stood, she could just see Margaret, bustling about in her usual place at the entrance to Leo's office. It must pain her to keep passing that gaping hole where he should be, but she was doing her duty like an assistant should, organising the files and handling the paperwork as professionally as ever.
We don't pay these women enough. We don't pay any of them enough. Margaret and Donna and Bonnie and Ginger and Carol and all the rest of them...
People think we run the country, but what do we know about it? We ask them to make things happen and they happen. They're the real miracle-workers of this administration.
Her mind was wandering off down strange avenues, going anywhere it could to avoid meeting the true issue head-on.
-we should have heard by now, we should have heard by now, if they've taken him alive, we should have heard by now-
Suddenly the President's voice cracked through the corridors, loud enough to make her jump. "Dammit, Ron, don't give me that crap-" They all ran for the Oval Office.
The President looked up at them as they approached, eyes smouldering with impotent fury. Ron Butterfield stood by, looking as coolly controlled as ever for all the shouting aimed his way.
"I'm sorry, Mr. President," he said, in the tone of voice of someone who'd been saying the same thing a long time now. "But until we have a ransom note or some kind of clue, there's nothing we can do." He looked across to the three of them in the doorway, and for a second CJ fancied she saw a flicker of sympathy cross his face. "There's nothing we can do."
Jenny tried to hold back a smile as she came into the room and found Mallory sitting on the couch with her knees pulled up under her chin. It was the way she had always sat to watch TV when she was a little girl. A long, long time ago.
She waved the plastic bowl of popcorn. "I've restocked." She dropped the bowl on the coffee table, and Mallory grabbed a handful.
"I love this stuff," she announced, with her mouth full. "It's even better than the stuff you get at the movies."
"Oh, you're a connoisseur, now?" asked Jenny with a faint smile. Mallory shrugged.
"See a lot of guys, see a lot of movies."
"How many guys is a lot?" asked Jenny good-naturedly. Her daughter gave an unapologetic shrug.
"I only see them one at a time. Ssh, this is the good bit."
They stopped talking to watch the good bit.
"I like Jack Nicholson," announced Mallory, when they'd got past the good bit. "I have no idea why, but I do."
"He reminds me a little of your father," Jenny admitted. Mallory shot her a horrified glance.
"Thanks, mom! Congratulations, you've officially both freaked me out and spoiled this movie for me."
"Well, he does."
"Okay, let's not talk about dad," Mallory decreed. "This is our girls' night, remember?" She changed the subject. "So how about you tell me about Michael?"
Jenny shrugged, a little uncomfortably. "Nothing to tell, really. Like I told you, he's a lawyer, he's smart, he's sweet..." She shrugged again. "He's, well... nice."
"Nice? Oh, please," sniffed Mallory. "He's a guy, mom, not a picturesque view. What's 'nice' got to do with it? Guys should have zip and zing!"
Jenny had a feeling that 'zip and zing' was pretty much what she'd been missing. "Mallory, I've been around a good deal longer than you have. 'Zip' and 'zing' might be all very well, but sometimes you need a good healthy dose of nice." Or comfortable. Or familiar.
There was a silence whilst they watched the movie. Then Mallory said suddenly "You should call him."
Jenny knew exactly who she meant, but she asked "Michael?" anyway.
"No, dad. You should call him."
"So should you."
Mallory gave her a look. "You know he got himself an apartment? He finally moved out of that hotel."
Jenny hadn't known, and it hurt for no good reason. Leo's apartment, she thought. Leo's, and not mine. When he was still at the hotel, it had still felt... well, temporary. Now he had a place of his own, and that felt like one more steel door slamming down between them.
Which is good. A clean break. Putting distance between us. Which is good.
"I have his new number here," said Mallory, reaching for her bag. "You should call him."
"It's late," Jenny hedged. Part of her wanted nothing more than to hear his voice on the other end of the phone... but she didn't want to talk to him. There would only be awkward silences, and even more awkward conversation.
"He'll still be awake." Of course he would.
"He'll still be at work. I don't want to disturb him." In more ways than one. Leo didn't need to hear her voice now. He was moving on, he'd started getting over their break-up. If that hurt, well... that was growing pains. "I'll call him tomorrow. Some time tomorrow."
She looked at Mallory, and Mallory looked at her, and they both knew she was lying. But Mallory simply pressed the scribbled phone number into her hand, and they spoke no more about it.
It was dark. Pitch black. He opened his eyes, but the dark didn't go away.
The air felt hot and stuffy. Claustrophobic, like he was breathing in his own recycled air. Like he was sitting in the cramped little cockpit of his plane, breathing the same air over and over again.
Get me out of here. I don't want to go back there, get me out of here.
He sat up cautiously, feeling the wall beside him. Then he stood, and when he reached up, he could feel the ceiling above him. There was not the slightest chink of light anywhere.
If there's no light, how can there be any air? There's no air coming in, I can't breathe, get me out of here.
He stumbled along, feeling along the walls of his enclosure. It was small, as small as a prison cell or smaller, and he couldn't even feel if one of the walls was a door. He was trapped in here, in this little airless, lightless box, and he couldn't breathe-
He lay back down, trying to will his fast-beating heart to slow in his chest. He closed his eyes to pretend the dark was only because of that, and tried not to think about cockpits and planes and not being able to breathe.