XVIII
The West Wing fell sympathetically silent as he passed. Nobody met his eyes, and the friendly greetings that usually met him were noticeably absent. Everybody was holding their breath.
CJ and Sam approached, and he cracked a hesitant smile. "I feel like I'm walking to my execution."
CJ gave him a stern look. "You've caused me a major-league headache." Then she smiled, and gave him a hug. "But congratulations, anyway."
"Congratulations, Charlie." Sam shook his hand with a bright smile.
Charlie was finding it a bit difficult to muster a smile of his own. "Is he-?"
"He's in his office."
"Yeah." Not what he'd been going to ask, but hey. He wasn't sure he would have liked to have heard the answer anyway.
CJ gave him a quick grin. "Relax, Charlie. I can handle the media on this. And if it gets too bad, I've got a handy little back-up scandal to throw them."
"Huh?" he frowned.
"I'll fill you in later," Sam said. He indicated vaguely in the direction of the Oval Office. "In fact, I could fill in the president too, if it'd help."
"Thanks, but I think it's gonna be too late to save my life," Charlie said sincerely.
He walked on.
"Charlie!" The young man jumped out of his skin as she intercepted him, and Abbey couldn't help smiling.
"Relax, Charlie, I'm not gonna bite your head off," she promised.
"And why would you need to, when you've got the president to do that?" he observed dryly.
She smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, then figured what the hell, and leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "He'll come around," she promised.
"But how soon?" Charlie wanted to know.
That, she couldn't answer. "Want me to walk you in to the Oval Office?" she asked instead.
Charlie shook his head. "Thanks, but I think I've got to do this alone."
"Good luck," she said softly.
The look on his face as he approached the Oval was nothing short of dread, but he set his shoulders and kept walking. Brave, and determined; yes, he was definitely good future son-in-law material.
Provided Jed didn't kill him first.
Charlie took a long, deep breath. And then another one. And then he wondered how long it took for hyperventilating to knock you unconscious. And whether the president would still attack him if he was collapsed, out cold, on the floor.
No. No, dammit, he was going to do this properly. He was going to march right in there, look the president in the eye, and say loudly and proudly "Sir, I'm marrying your daughter."
Of course, that approach might have gone down better if he'd followed it before that fact had hit the national newspapers.
Oh my God, I'm gonna die.
It was funny that he could be totally light-headed at the same time as his limbs felt too heavy to drag. He didn't think he'd even been this terrified at Rosslyn. Then it had all happened too fast to register much of anything, and besides; a bullet to the chest would be one thing, but the choking fear of the president's disappointment was quite another.
The president must know he was here. Every second he lingered must be reinforcing the impression that he was a coward, a man who didn't even have the courage to admit to his proposal to his future father-in-law, let alone the world.
No, it wasn't like that-
He hadn't wanted this. Really, he and Zoey hadn't wanted this. They'd just wanted to be able to be in love, in a world that wouldn't let them. They'd both known that it was ridiculous to even contemplate getting married while Josiah Bartlet remained in the White House, but they'd wanted it so badly, they'd believed that if they kept it a secret they could still hold onto that hope.
And now it had all come crashing down around their ears.
No. Not all. Charlie looked down at the engagement ring, at last on his finger where it belonged instead of on a chain around his neck. He closed his fingers around it. Something solid, something tangible, a proof of his promise. Maybe it wasn't particularly usual for the guy to wear an engagement ring as well, but he'd wanted to carry the twin of Zoey's, the way their wedding bands would one day be. A symbol that his promise was just as real for the both of them.
He loved Zoey. He was going to marry her. And he couldn't let her down.
He opened the door, and stepped inside the Oval Office.
The president's eyes were laser-beams, ice-blue and perfectly cold. He stood stock-still, outlined against the windows, and Charlie didn't think he'd ever been more afraid of him. His employer could rant and rave with the best of them, but this was a different thing, his real anger, the kind that he turned only on those who had hurt him too deeply to forgive.
"So. You came," he said tightly.
"Sir, I-"
"No!" He knew the president could roar, but it still made him flinch. "Don't you stand there and 'sir' me! I took you in, I gave you this job, I gave you and Zoey my blessing! And this is how you repay me?"
There had been words, once, hadn't he had words that he was going to say? Under the force of the president's fury, they melted and streamed away like butter under a blowtorch.
"I trusted you, Charlie!" he bellowed. "I trusted you with my daughter, and you lied to me!"
Now was not the time to point out the difference between a lie and a sin of omission. Now was definitely not the time to point out the hypocrisy inherent in forgetting that fact now and remembering it full-well when it came to the revelation of the president's MS.
The president's voice grew lower now, and somehow even more menacing. He stepped closer to Charlie, and it took every fragment of willpower he had not to back away. "I trusted you, and in return you sneak around behind my back. And when would you have told me? Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you planning to run away together? Get married without telling me?"
Charlie was shaking his head adamantly, but his voice felt like it had been choked off somewhere down in his throat. "Sir, we didn't-"
"You didn't what? Think, Charlie, you didn't think!"
"Mr. President-" His voice broke. "We only wanted- We never meant- I'm sorry," he said miserably.
"Oh you're sorry? You're sorry?" The president's expression grew even more wild, and for one crazy moment Charlie actually feared he was going to hit him.
And then from somewhere, maybe from the ring on his finger or just from somewhere deep down in his heart, came the will to shout right back. "Yes, I'm sorry! I'm sorry that we hid the fact we wanted to get married, I'm sorry that we had to! I'm sorry that here we are in the twenty-first century and it's still not okay for me to be in love with your daughter! I'm sorry that we can't walk down the street together without worrying somebody's gonna shoot us! I'm sorry that I can't hold her hand without a new truck full of hate-mail arriving at the White House. I'm sorry that here, in the land of the free, I cannot say I want to marry your daughter because there are people who would rather die than let that happen!"
He straightened up and set his jaw. "But I'm not sorry that I love her, and I'm not sorry that I want to marry her." His breathing was coming raggedly now, but his voice was firmer and steadier than it had ever been. "And if you're gonna hit me, Mr. President, then you just go right ahead, because I don't care what you think and I don't care what you say. I love your daughter, and whatever happens, I am going to marry her. Are you gonna hit me?"
"No." The president was quiet for a long moment, all the anger bleeding out of his face until he looked shrunken and tired and old beyond his years. Then he looked up, and met Charlie's eyes. "No, never. You're my son. I love you." He pulled Charlie into his arms and held him close against his chest.
Charlie laid his head against the president's shoulder and tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over. They stood that way for what felt like forever, and then the president said softly "I'm sorry, Charlie. Everything's changing, I... sometimes it scares me. Sometimes I don't know how to be sure it'll all work out in the end."
Charlie pulled back and looked at him with confidence. "It will, Mr. President. It always does."
The president smiled faintly, and then shook his head. "I don't want to hear that from you, Charlie," he said forcefully. "Not now."
He didn't understand. "Sir, I-"
"I don't want you to call me that." The president reached up and took Charlie's face between his hands. "You don't call me that. Not when we're alone. You call me dad."
Okay, and now he was crying. "Okay."
The president smiled, and kissed his forehead. "Come on now, son." He led the younger man over to the couch and they sat down together, as father and son.