Falls the Shadow

By Anne Callanan and Kathleen E. Lehew

Part 6/14

"Come!" McGarry barked, rubbing his eyes and for the moment shoving Ziegler and his absurd ideas to the back of his mind. Maybe where they belonged. He wasn't sure of himself or where he stood anymore.

Margaret poked her head in. "Leo?"

"What are you still doing here?"

Ignoring his snippy attitude - a skill she practiced daily - Margaret responded coolly, "I work here, remember?"

"Have you ever let me forget?" McGarry drawled irritably. Margaret and Toby at the same time was a prospect he didn't want to contemplate. "What is it?"

"The First Lady would like to speak with you."

Toby Ziegler practically jumped out of his skin.

McGarry blinked stupidly for a few minutes, then asked, admittedly a bit lamely, "She's here?"

"In the flesh, Leo," Abbey marched into the room. She smiled at McGarry's secretary and said, "Thank you, Margaret. I can take it from here."

"Ma'am," Margaret acknowledged with a slight nod. Giving her flustered boss a somewhat superior smirk - one she knew she was going to pay for later - she left.

Ziegler took a few cautious steps back, admittedly away from the door and escape, but further away from the First Lady.

Seeing this, Abbey reassured him with a gentle though tired smile, "Relax, Toby. I don't bite."

For the first time that night, Ziegler managed to hold his tongue and not give voice to the dubious observations darting through his over-worked mind.

Sensing a bit of his dilemma, McGarry inclined his head towards the door and said, "We're done for the night, Toby."

"Are we, Leo?"

"It's done."

"Yeah," Ziegler muttered. They were done, for the moment. Nodding politely to Abbey, he said, "Ma'am."

Then he stiffly withdrew, pulling the door shut behind him. Scowling at the door, McGarry could have sworn the man had left some of his perpetual gloom hanging in the office atmosphere. He briefly considered whether fumigating would help.

"Problems?" Abbey asked, dropping gracefully on to the couch. Pulling up her knees, she regarded her husband's oldest friend curiously. She watched him as he rose stiffly from his chair and came round the side of his desk.

He looked tired. Between herself, Leo, what she'd seen of the staff and her husband, she wondered if anybody in the West Wing was getting any sleep.

"It's just Toby," he told her, pulling one of the staff chairs around. He didn't sit, merely leaned his arms across the back and looked down at her. "One of life's more reliable inevitabilities."

"That's enough, I suppose."

"Yeah," McGarry muttered darkly. "More than enough."

His voice and bearing seemed so resigned, drained and exhausted. Whatever road current events had taken Jed down; she could see that Leo wasn't that far behind him. She'd come here looking for a confrontation, someone to blame and take her anger out on; a good verbal beating to relieve some of her frustrated anxiety. Given that Jed had escaped that fate, his Chief of Staff had seemed the most convenient target.

Knowing Leo as she did, it shouldn't have surprised her to learn that he was doing a good job beating himself up over events he had no control over. Both men were frighteningly similar in their ability to lay personal blame where it wasn't warranted. The thought was not a very satisfying one. "It's not your fault, Leo," she told him softly, finding that her own fury had disappeared with the admission.

McGarry dropped his head and looked away. The absolution should have helped, but it didn't. "He told you."

Abbey nodded. "He told me."

"I'm sorry... "

"You're not listening, Leo." Abbey rolled her eyes, and then regarded him with a fond smile. "You've been his friend for over forty years... "

"No," McGarry interrupted, shaking his head. "I've known him for over forty years. The friendship, well... " he laughed shortly, a doubtful line tightening his jaw. "That defies explanation."

"No it doesn't."

"Are you being nice to me?" He regarded her suspiciously.

"Maybe."

"Because right now experience has taught me that I should be the last person on earth you'd want to be nice to."

Abbey was too surprised at his admission to do more than nod. Had she been that obvious? "He doesn't blame you, Leo." She sighed, making a mental note not to be quite so predictable in future. "Why should I?"

"Your targeting is off."

"Do you want me to flay you alive?"

"Please?"

He presented such an appealing picture of guilt and wide-eyed, pleading innocence that Abbey couldn't help but laugh. Somehow, it felt good. Patting her hand on the cushion next to her, she said, "Sit down, Leo."

McGarry dropped down next to her with a heavy sigh. Feeling empty and drained, he waited for the next unavoidable question. The First Lady may no longer have been looking for a fight, but she still wanted answers.

"What didn't he tell me, Leo?"

"Knowing Jed, he didn't leave anything out." There, he'd said his name; out loud and not hidden in the recesses of his deepest thoughts. It was a start, but he wasn't sure it changed anything. "I imagine he was waiting for you to offer up a piece of your mind."

Abbey's face colored at that. Another example of being far too predictable. There was a time, before the White House, when her first thoughts would not have centered on blame or where the next fight was going to originate. When had she started looking at everyone around her as a potential antagonist, especially her husband?

Seeing her reaction, McGarry asked uneasily, "Did you?"

"If I hadn't thought a slight breeze might knock him over, I might have," Abbey admitted, frowning at the memory.

"How is he?"

It was the question McGarry had been afraid to ask her. They'd been here before, that night two years ago when she had first broken down and told him about the multiple sclerosis. With a sinking heart, he wondered darkly what she would tell him this time.

McGarry looked away, but not before Abbey caught a glimpse of the worry shadowing his eyes, the depths of his concern for her husband's welfare. In that moment, she loved him for it. "He's fine, Leo," she reassured him, patting his hand gently. "Nothing a good night's sleep won't take care of."

"One night," McGarry muttered angrily, frustrated by the useless gesture one night of peace was going to give his friend. "Is it enough?"

"We're going to have to work on that."

McGarry didn't want to ask this next question. It only reinforced Toby's accusations, trapping him between his duty and a friendship he treasured. Still, he had to ask. "What about the... multiple sclerosis?"

Abbey blinked at that, momentarily at a loss for words. Leo, the staff and practically everyone in the West Wing rarely referred to the disease by its full name. It had simply become MS, or the thing. As if by contracting, lessening the syllable count, the hidden monster could be reduced and defeated.

If only it were that easy. "I'd be a great deal happier if he averaged more than four hours sleep a night. Between the work load and the stress, his atrocious sleeping habits aren't helping."

"It's not..."

"No," Abbey cut him off, perhaps a bit more harshly than she'd intended. She just didn't want the possibility voiced. "It's not."  But she had to guard against that possibility as well, however much she might wish to forget it for at least a little while. And the man beside her would fight that intangible enemy with as much determination as she ever could.  "I won't lie to you, Leo.  He's pretty strung out, both physically and emotionally.  He's got to sleep, get some real rest, or we really will have to worry.  But he's not slipped that far yet."

"Sleep." McGarry visibly relaxed. "Jed's not going to take any hints in that department with anything even remotely resembling a civil or borderline polite attitude."

Abbey regarded him curiously. That was twice in one conversation Leo had referred to her husband by his first name, not as the President. Even when she'd first told him about the multiple sclerosis he hadn't broken down and given Jed his name. Protocol and duty had denied them both that one small piece of friendship. She fought back a sudden wave of terror at the thought that events had brought Leo to this.

"He's asleep now," she told him.

"Did he go down without a fight?"

"Down being the operative word." Abbey almost winced at the word fight, but managed to school her features into a semblance of neutrality. "I threw him into bed."

"At least he's consistent."

"No, Leo," Abbey corrected him, the memory bringing a wry, affectionate smile to her face. "I threw him into bed."

Realization dawned on McGarry's face and he chuckled softly at the mental image her words conjured up. "Hail to the First Lady," he told her with all sincerity.

"You bet your ass."

"It shouldn't have been that easy."

Leo McGarry was one of the few people Abbey knew who could make that observation about her husband and truly understand the depth of meaning behind it. Still, it hadn't been all that easy. "He's asleep. That's all that matters right now. I've set the guard dogs. So unless the world decides it's going to spontaneously explode between now and when he wakes up, nobody not on my list disturbs him till the sun clears the horizon tomorrow morning."

"Short list, is it?"

Abbey's face hardened. "Very exclusive."

"Am I on it?"

Squeezing his hand gently was all the answer Abbey felt he needed.

McGarry didn't quite know why, but that gesture pleased him. "It won't be me," he told her, recovering his voice. More so than anyone else in the West Wing, he didn't like being at odds with his friend's wife.

"No," she gave him a grateful smile. "It won't. You're a good friend, Leo."

"Am I?"

He asked the question with such harsh undertones of accusation, directed at himself, that for a moment Abbey was taken completely unaware and left speechless. It was the anguish, the doubt and disappointment clearly etched on his features that frightened her most. This man, always so sure of his place and power, wanted the same reassurances she had been looking for from him.

He wanted answers.

Abbey gave him the only one she could. "Yes, you have. Don't ever doubt that, Leo."

McGarry blinked mutely at the ferocity of her response. He hadn't expected that: a small part of him wanting her to deny him, to leave him to his self-imposed fears. Not sure exactly what he could do, whether friendship or duty could be balanced, he'd perhaps wanted her condemnation.

He should have known better. "I think we all need to get some sleep."

Abbey shook her head with mock disapproval. "If it were only that simple."

"It's a start." McGarry lifted her hand, holding it tightly between both of his. When she finally looked up, he smiled. "Between the two of us, I'm pretty sure we can keep him from imploding. Just... " He released her hand and leaned back against the cushions, letting the day's accumulated exhaustion wash over him. "... keep Toby away from me, okay?"

"Deal." Abbey regarded him intensely, weighing her current suspicions against what had happened nearly a year ago. It hadn't taken a genius to know that Toby Ziegler, with his innate talent for stomping all over personal boundaries, had given her husband a heavy load of grief.

Neither man had given any clue as to what it was, and at the time Abbey had been consumed by other concerns. Misdirected anger had a way of drowning even the most glaring marital problems beneath the accumulation of legal and political barriers.

Apparently, Leo wasn't any safer from the Communications Director's ill-advised barbs than Jed was. "Get some sleep, Leo," was all she said, uncurling her legs and rising from the couch. Looking down at him, she smiled gently and reminded him, "We're all going to need it."

McGarry's huff was part laugh, part disbelieving snort.

Abbey's smile faded. For the first time she voiced her fears aloud. "Somebody is trying to kill him, Leo."

Looking up at her, McGarry nearly choked at the stark fear he saw in her eyes, the welling tears she refused to let fall. "I know."

To be continued…