X
For a brief time, all was silent in the Oval Office. The air was electric with the unspoken intensity of two strong-willed men on the edge of clashing. For a moment, oddly, neither of them seemed compelled to speak.
Hoynes was the first to lift his head and look his leader in the eye. He said, quietly but firmly "I am not the enemy. One day you're going to have to accept that, you know - as much as it drives you crazy. I am not the enemy."
Bartlet's brows lowered as his blue eyes darkened. "You have a funny way of showing it."
Hoynes threw his arms wide in disbelief. "Oh, for God's sake-"
"No, 'cause I really would like to hear this," said the President, folding his arms. "Exactly what the hell gives you the right to be checking up on my people?"
Hoynes couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Listen to yourself! You make it sound like I have a team of private detectives shadowing their every move!"
"For all I know, you do," Bartlet muttered, but it was the petulant little boy tone he used when he knew he was wrong and didn't want to admit it.
"Believe me, Mr. President, your people are just not that interesting to me."
"And yet you found the time to do some checking up on Leo McGarry?"
"Well, maybe I wouldn't have to if your people kept me informed!" he blasted. Bartlet scowled at him.
"What's my Chief of Staff to you?" he demanded icily.
That was a question Hoynes couldn't answer without dragging a whole lot of buried secrets to the surface. "We have history," he said stiffly. The President let out an explosive snort of disbelief, and Hoynes narrowed his eyes. "I didn't say we were friends, I said we have history. People get to know each other. And I know better than to believe that Leo McGarry's hiding at home from nothing worse than a bout of the flu."
"Fine," said the President sharply. "And it didn't occur to you that if we weren't telling you something, there was a reason for it? You couldn't just trust us?"
"Why should I, when you don't trust me?" he shot back. And that was it, the crux of the matter; the reason why the partnership between the President and his second had never truly been a partnership at all. "Some day, you're gonna have to just accept me at face value! Not everything I do is always a plot to discredit you!"
Suddenly, incredibly, the President raised an eyebrow and cracked the beginning of a smile. "But it sometimes is?"
Almost despite himself, Hoynes mirrored the expression. "Only when I'm feeling particularly Machiavellian," he said. And suddenly, he was hit with it; a genuine, election-winning, good-ol'-boy Jed Bartlet grin. He wasn't sure if he remembered that famous expression ever being pointed in his direction before.
It was gone as quickly as it arrived, and the President looked at the floor. "Leo's missing," he said quietly.
Hoynes blinked, uncomprehending. "Mr. President?"
His boss looked up at him, and with a flash of soul-shaking insight, he saw that the darkness in his eyes wasn't anger, and probably never had been. It was something he'd never been permitted to see on the distinguished Bartlet face before; fear, and uncertainty. "He's missing, John. We can't tell you where he is, because we don't know. He didn't... he didn't turn up for work two days ago. Margaret went to his apartment. It was... the door was open, and things were... a mess."
"My God." The Vice President suddenly felt slightly unsteady on his feet. He'd come here fired up for a confrontation, ready to pressure his President into admitting that Leo's 'illness' was something far more serious; a life-threatening condition, or, perhaps worse, the terrifying prospect of a relapse. He had never for a moment anticipated anything like this.
He struggled to think. "Um, sir, I- was there a-?"
"No ransom note," Bartlet pre-empted him. "Just... nothing." He sounded anguished, and Hoynes knew he was seeing deeper into his leader's soul than he ever had before. He was struck by a sudden flash of a feeling that he had experienced only a handful of times before... the most overpowering being that soul-destroying night gunshots had rung out over Rosslyn.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I'm glad it wasn't me. Sometimes, I can look at you and wonder if I really wanted to be President at all.
He was caught for a instant in memories of that terrifying moment when the Secret Service had come rushing in. To win the Presidency was an incredible responsibility; to be thrust with zero warning to the head of a country in shock was possibly the most petrifying thing in the world.
And Leo had been there. Oh, Hoynes had been in charge, but nobody was fooled. How could he have made anywhere near the right decisions without the Chief of Staff's advice? Even Bartlet couldn't do that.
Even Bartlet couldn't do that...
"Sir?" he said cautiously, breaking into his leader's brooding thoughts. "Is there... is there something I should know? Is something going on?" They both knew he didn't mean about Leo.
Bartlet's scowl returned. "This is hardly the time for-"
"Dammit, sir, I need to know!" This was no childish whining about being out of the loop; this was for real. "You drop dead in the next four minutes and Leo's not here, how the hell am I supposed to know what to do?"
The President glared at him. "You want to make the decisions? Be my goddamn guest!" There was an awkward silence, and then Bartlet sighed. He bowed his head, suddenly showing every one of the years he had on his Vice President. "What am I going to do, John?" he said, almost in a whisper. "What if he doesn't come back? What am I going to do?"
He looked up, and Hoynes's breath was taken away by the naked pain written across his face. The Vice President met his gaze silently, feeling for the first time the true measure of his leader's worth.
How strong is he? God above, how strong must this man be?
The moment was broken as Bartlet's young aide knocked and cautiously entered. "Mr. President?" he said nervously. "General Wilson."
"Thank you, Charlie," he said, sounding tired. He turned to Hoynes, and gave him a brief nod. "Mr. Vice President. We're done here."
The White House mess seemed unusually deserted. Isaac had the sense that people were scurrying about and working desperately without truly knowing why. The Chief of Staff's absence, even if people didn't know the true reason, had reverberated right the way down to the least significant little cog in the White House machine.
It wasn't his chaos, but he felt it all the same. The secretarial instincts in him were urging him to roll up his sleeves and pitch in, find somebody somewhere who needed a pair of hands to sort files or fetch and carry. He was an assistant; he itched to assist.
Right now, though, he had a more important duty to attend to. From the way Margaret descended upon the coffee and slice of cake he had convinced her to buy, he was guessing she hadn't remembered to feed herself for some time. She was at the end of her emotional tether, becoming bizarrely close to tears over, of all things a raisin muffin.
As they sat together, they talked about nothing in particular. The minutae of being a personal assistant; that seemed safe enough, although he was careful to duck around any of the usual 'my boss drives me crazy' banter. Now was definitely not the time.
"My boss speaks very highly of your Mr. McGarry, you know," he told her.
"He does?" Margaret seemed surprised.
Isaac reflected. "Well," he admitted, "I couldn't tell you if they actually like each other - but my boss certainly has an immense amount of respect for yours."
Margaret processed that. "I'm afraid I can't speak for the reverse," she admitted, pulling a face. "But then, Leo's not in the habit of singing the praises of anybody. Apart from the President."
Isaac nodded over his coffee. The devotion of Leo McGarry to his candidate was well-documented. For a man so taciturn in all other respects, he never seemed to hesitate to display his love for his best friend. Bartlet leaned extremely heavily on his right-hand man; Isaac only hoped nothing serious had happened to him.
"On the other hand," Margaret reflected, out of nowhere. "Leo never gets as annoyed as he does with your boss unless he knows the person who's annoying him is right. Or that's my theory, anyway. But when I try to prove I'm right he gets annoyed."
Isaac gave her a smile. Despite her fragmented and more than slightly batty state, he had become rather fond of Margaret. She was quirky, but in a good way, and her loyalty to her boss was the match of anything the man himself could muster for his President.
He reached over, and squeezed Margaret's hand comfortingly. "I don't know what's going on with your boss, but I'm sure he's gonna be fine."
She offered him a weak smile of thanks, but said "So what you're saying is you're offering me reassurances with no basis in fact?"
"I think I've been in politics too long." He gave her another gentle smile. "But no, I know your boss is gonna be fine. With people like you looking out for him, how could he not be?"
Isaac and Margaret arrived back outside the Oval Office just as it became flooded with traffic. Charlie was escorting a tall dark-haired man in a military uniform, and the Oval Office door opened as they approached.
Hoynes was the first to emerge, and Isaac was relieved to see his head was still attached to his shoulders. He had his pensive face on, and Isaac couldn't tell what he might be thinking.
The President followed him out, and his expression was just as unreadable. Isaac couldn't tell if they'd been screaming their heads off or sitting drinking coffee with their feet up. Dammit. Politicians and their poker faces.
The President moved over to the military gentleman. "General Wilson," he nodded briskly. "If you'd like to come in?"
Isaac noticed his boss watching the General with an odd expression. It was the look he sometimes wore when he was formulating a new strategy... or doing the Times crossword. Things were coming together in the Vice President's mind.
Suddenly he jolted upright in realisation. "Mr. President!" Everybody jerked to a halt and turned to look at him.
Hoynes barely seemed aware that he had an audience. "Mr. President," he said urgently. "I sent Isaac to Leo's apartment building yesterday morning. One of the neighbours told him that Leo was visited by a man in a combat fatigues a few days ago."
The President froze in place, and then pivoted on one foot to look at Isaac. The personal assistant couldn't help cringing, but the look on his face was not angry but... hopeful? He whirled around again, and turned to his young aide.
"Charlie. Get me Ron Butterfield. Now."