VIII
"Oh, Abbey." Once again, the President found himself at a loss for words; but this time, it was not helplessness that paralysed him but mind-numbing relief. "Oh, Abbey, I'm so glad you're here." The two of them held each other in the dark of their shared bedroom as if letting go might cause the world to fly apart.
Abbey's unexpected arrival could not have been more timely. Jed had only been able to offer useless apologies, but his wife had been able to give the whole of herself without fear of tripping over invisible boundaries. He might be forced into a box of Presidential protocol, but Abbey was herself no matter what role she was playing.
She had been able to hug Mallory and Jenny; empathise with them, comfort them, understand their fears without giving in to them. Whilst Jed himself could only think of all the most awful possibilities, Abbey resolutely held to the belief that Leo was going to be found, and perfectly fine at that. He might be scratching around for the tattered remains of his faith, but Abbey had never lost hers.
"You're so strong," he whispered in the dark, pressing a light kiss on the side of her neck. "You're so strong. What would I do without you?"
It was as if the mere presence of his wife of more than three decades was enough to fill him with a warmth and strength that hadn't been there. His fears for Leo didn't fade, but suddenly somehow they were bearable, faceable. The centre of his soul had been returned to him, and now he could believe... because she did.
The two of them had retired early to the residence; not for their usual playfully amorous reasons, but simply to be together. To hold each other was enough; in fact, in some ways it was more. The bond of love between them that could stretch but never break was the most precious thing in his life, and the source of all his strength.
That night, for the first time in what seemed like forever, Jed could hold his wife in his arms and fall into a quiet, dreamless sleep.
And in the dark, drifting into the blessed clutches of sleep, he didn't see the silent tears she shed as she at last allowed her own dismay and fear to surface.
Josh wasn't sure how late it was, or how long it had been since he had been doing anything but working. He wasn't sure it mattered, either; his veins felt like they were running with pure caffeine.
When Sam appeared in his doorway, he came to a complete halt; overworked brain completely derailed.
"Josh," said Sam finally, when it became clear that his best friend wasn't going to form a sentence anytime soon.
A few lights came back on. "Sam." Josh blinked, and shook his head. "Why are you here? Did you call Gorman yet?"
"Josh," Sam's voice was gently concerned. "It's after eleven. You should go home."
"Can't," he said shortly, already itching to be back at his desk. He gestured vaguely to the papers on his desk. "Work."
"It can wait," said Sam, but Josh shook his head. He stepped forward. "Then I can help." Josh shook his head again.
"I'm doing it." Sam wanted to argue, but the slightly manic look in Josh's eyes convinced him to let it drop.
He sat down on the edge of his best friend's desk, and quietly observed "CJ and Toby are kind of pissed at you, you know."
"I know," said Josh shortly.
"They just-"
"I've gotta do this," Josh cut him off, urgently. "I know they- it's just- I have to. Somebody's gotta be the boss. I know they don't like it, but somebody's gotta be the boss."
Sam could feel for his co-workers and friends. There was a treacherous, lurching sensation in his stomach as Josh spoke the words. No matter how justified he knew it to be, it still felt like betrayal. He knew this was the reason Leo had brought Josh here, the responsibility he'd been groomed for... and yet it still felt like he was stabbing his mentor in the back.
Leo's not dead yet, you can't just take his place. You can't just step up to the plate like he's never coming back.
Unlike his hotter-tempered friends, however, he recognised that nothing he could say to that effect could ever measure up to the torture Josh would be giving himself. So he said nothing. The silence lingered, not uncomfortably.
"Have you spoken to Mallory?" Josh asked him suddenly. Sam was taken aback by the sudden shift in subject.
"Um... I..." He shrugged. "I didn't think... she'd want to see me." Hey, Mallory, so I heard your dad's missing and possibly dead, this seems like a good time to bring up all our old arguments.
"You should talk to her," Josh advised, and Sam couldn't tell if it was good advice or not.
"She went home. They both did." At Josh's surprised look, he elaborated "The First Lady offered to let them stay in the residence. They decided to go home."
"Is it late?" asked Josh vaguely. Sam's forehead furrowed in concern.
"Josh, it's after eleven. I told you just a second ago."
"You should go," Josh told him. Sam raised his eyebrows.
"I should go?"
"You should go find Mallory. She'll want to see you."
Sam wasn't sure whether that was true or not. He supposed he ought to find out.
Sam hovered awkwardly outside Mallory's home, debating pressing the buzzer. There was still time to turn around and leave before she'd even known he was there. Because after all, why would she possibly want to see him?
His anxious thoughts were cut short as the door suddenly opened, and he found himself face to face with Leo's ex-wife. "Oh! Um, Mrs- M- uh-" He stuttered, wanting to call her Mrs. McGarry and suddenly remembering that she wasn't any longer. His face flared into an embarrassed blush, remembering that mortifying day years ago. He'd been a little tipsy, he hadn't realised she was Leo's wife... it has just been a dumb, easily forgotten little incident, clumsily hitting on someone when he didn't know any better, but now it felt like one more item on the list of ways he'd failed Leo.
By all rights she should have cut him dead, given him an icy glare, but amazingly enough she chanced a fragile smile. "Sam," she said, sounding warm enough.
"Um, um, I was just going to-"
"Check on Mallory?" Amazingly enough, she didn't sound like she was about to batter him to death with her handbag for such an audacious suggestion. "Good. I didn't want to leave her alone, but I have to- I'll let you in."
She opened the door for him, and he hovered just outside it hesitantly. "You can go in, Sam," said Jenny, with just the hint of a smile in her voice. "She won't bite your head off." He glanced at her worriedly. "And neither will I. You're a good boy, Sam, and I don't hold grudges."
Well, that was good to know. However, experience had suggested that Mallory did. As Jenny let the door fall closed behind him, he stepped inside with some trepidation.
"Mallory?"
"Sam?" Her voice, sounding unusually childish, came from the next room. He stepped inside, and saw her huddled on the couch, holding onto a slightly battered blue teddybear.
She followed his gaze, and gave him a warning look. "This is Mr. Fuzzles. Don't you dare laugh."
"I wasn't going to," he assured her gently, coming in to perch on the arm of the couch beside her. He ruffled the fur on the bear's head as if it was a child, and Mallory rewarded him with a cautious smile. She swung the bear by its arms, and held it up to look at it.
"Daddy bought him for me," she explained, not really to Sam but just in general. "When I was five. I grew out of him, but sometimes I used to take him to bed with me anyway, when... when things with dad were bad."
"It's okay," said Sam, slipping an arm around her shoulders. He kissed the top of her head, gently; not as a potential boyfriend, but as a friend. That was what Mallory needed right now. "You'll see. Your dad's gonna be fine. He's a survivor. He's gonna be fine."
Mallory responded by tugging him off the arm of the chair to squeeze in beside her. She hugged the teddybear tightly against her chest, and he wrapped his arms around the both of them. They sat for a long time in silence.
Jenny stepped into the house, reflecting not for the first time how empty it felt. It was bizarre... Leo had scarcely ever been home, and yet the house had held some imprint, some trace of his presence. Now it just echoed with the fact that he was gone.
It had been her ritual when she came in to go through, turning on all the lights. She had trained herself out of it before the divorce came through, reasoning that it was hopelessly weak and needy behaviour. Tonight she did it anyway, but it brought no comfort. The glare of the artificial lights did nothing to make the house feel warmer.
She saw the blinking light on the phone, and rushed towards it desperately. They've found him. Please, please, say they've found him. But when she stabbed the button urgently, the voice that filled the room was Michael's.
Beep. "Hey, Jenny, it's me. Are you still home? Okay. Bye." Beep. "Jenny? It's me again. Did you forget our date?" Beep. "Dammit, Jenny, are you there? Pick up the phone if you are. Your cell phone's been turned off all night. Where are you? Call me. I'm getting worried!"
Jenny stood there, allowing her bag to fall from her shoulder to the floor, and contemplated crying. She would have given everything she owned just to hear those familiar gravelly tones gruffly informing her that he was fine, she shouldn't have worried. But there were no more messages.
She wanted to sit down and cry. Instead, she picked up the phone and dialled. Michael answered on the first ring. "Jenny!" he sounded relieved, not angry, which only made it worse.
She realised she didn't know what to say to him. "Michael. I, I'm sorry I missed our date."
"Are you okay?" he asked urgently. "Did something happen?"
"I- yes, yes it did. My ex-husband..." she trailed off.
There was a pause. "Is he hurt? Was he in an accident?" asked Michael finally.
"Um-" Jenny realised that she couldn't tell him. Jed - it was hard to remember that she should be calling him 'Mr. President' when she had known him so long as Abbey's husband - had explained that the press didn't know, that nobody knew Leo was missing. "I- Michael, I can't exactly tell you."
"You can't tell me? What do you mean, you can't tell me?" The edge of concern had transmuted into confusion, with a touch of irritation.
"I- his job, you know he works in the White House..." she said weakly.
"You blew off our date for something to do with your ex-husband's job?" He sounded mad now, and Jenny couldn't blame him. She should have lied, but tonight it was beyond her to think of a cover story, and it was too late now.
"I- I'm sorry, Michael, really, I'd tell you if I could..."
"No, you know what? I wouldn't mind if you couldn't make it, but the least you could do was give me a call. I know I might not be Mr. Super-Important-Chief-of-Staff-of-the-White-House, but I am a person, you know. You could actually take the time to tell me when you're going to go running off with your ex-husband."
"Michael, I-" This was the point where she should break down and explain. Swear Michael to secrecy, and tell him the truth. Have him come over here and comfort her in her distress...
The thought of inviting Michael here, into this house, whilst Leo was undergoing God only knew what, made her suddenly want to throw up with guilt and dismay. "Michael, I- I can't do this right now."
"Fine," Michael said curtly. "Well, you know, you decide you want to treat me like a human being sometime, then you give me a call. Okay?" He hung up.
Jenny suspected that this was the point when she ought to burst into tears, shattered by this final straw. Instead she felt... faintly relieved. She could call Michael when all this was over, smooth things out... but she knew she wouldn't.
She tugged off her heels and slung them across the room, striking the far wall with a pair of satisfying thumps. She headed upstairs to her bedroom, suddenly bone-tired.
Jenny paused in the doorway of her bedroom, knifed in the ribs by the sight of that double bed. A bed that she'd gone to alone often enough even as a married woman... but tonight it seemed colder and lonelier than it had ever been.
She slipped beneath the sheets and hugged the pillow as she tossed and turned, wrestling dreams of a sandy-haired man with a gravelly voice and a battered heart of gold.