Authors: Anne Callanan and Kathleen E. Lehew
E-mail addresses: Anne - annemcal@gofree.indigo.ie
Kathleen - nitehowl@livingston.net
Summary: This is a continuation of the story arc we began in our premiere story, "A Frightened Peace", and which subsequently progressed in "Farther off from Heaven" and "Falls the Shadow". We haven't been much more successful in persuading this juggernaut of a plot line to tie itself up in this installment either, but at least Jed, Leo and co. are starting to get a few answers - not that said answers and their implications make anyone very happy, you understandG. Hey, it's us. Don't act like that surprises you. The possible ramifications of this scenario - to say nothing of the potential for really serious mayhem - just kept growing.
Spoilers: Up to 'Posse Comitatus' for sure, and of course the above mentioned stories. A brief note here that while Aaron Sorkin is a fast writer, we're not. This part of our ongoing arc is still safely set between seasons 3 and 4, before '20 Hours in America' begins. We should emphasize that this is very much a continuing story, so those who are unfamiliar with "Peace", "Heaven" and "Shadow" may need to check those out first. Sorry about that. By way of apology, we honestly think you'll have fun with them. All three stories can be found at www.fanfiction.net, (TV/West Wing, author name - Nighthowler) or here at the Jabbers http://www.jabbers.cjb.net/ archive , (click on lower right hand corner to enter), and of course at The National Library - http://westwingstories.com/library/. So, just chose your poison.
Characters: Jed, Leo, Abbey, Ron, C.J., Toby, Josh, Sam, Donna… umm, you get the picture? We haven't actually dragged in every single character who's ever appeared/had a recurring role on 'The West Wing', but we're working on it G. What can we say? Ensemble offers so much potential for evil fun and we love to mix and match.
Category: Drama, Angst, a healthy dollop of H/C and - because we're weak-willed - Action/Adventure. C'mon, everyone loves a bit of excitement.
Rating: PG - 13. Some language, a few adult/political issues and some violence. Actually, pretty much what you've come to expect from us.
Feedback: Vastly appreciated. We've been working on this epic for almost ten months - awww, darn! Kathleen just fainted! - now. That's a long time, and the end is still some distance away. Feedback really helps keep us focused, and we really appreciate the encouragement and enthusiasm you've shown us. Plus, all those guilt trips some of you laid down on us? Did wonders to get this finished.
A hearty salute once again to Sheila, a doyen among beta readers. We are so looking forward to the debut of your own new story, Sheila! Thanks for taking time out of writing it to do your best to steer us along the straight and narrow. As usual, any mistakes are probably a result of us not being able to keep our fiddling mitts off after Sheila had tidied up after us.
Authors' notes: To Mr. Scary, Lawyer-type Person, we make no claim of ownership for the characters contained herein. Like many authors who have gone before, we're just borrowing them. We wish we could keep them but... not ours. A fact for which said characters - and probably Martin Sheen G - are doubtless boundlessly grateful. To Aaron Sorkin, we want to thank you for producing and writing one of the most enjoyable, intelligent TV shows we've ever seen.
Remember, for all the new readers out there and those who need to refresh their memories, read the previous stories in this order...
1) 'A Frightened Peace'
2) 'Farther off from Heaven'
3) 'Falls the Shadow'
The President and his staff finally have a name for the shadow dogging them, but does this actually solve anything?
As always, we hope you enjoy it.
** One last author's note... promise G **
This has to be said and I can't let Anne get off scott-free with this one. I know it's an oft repeated phrase that the internet has made this world of ours a much smaller place, but it's incredibly true. If you'd told me three years ago that a shy, Texan recluse would find a friend and partner in insanity across the world in Ireland, I wouldn't have believed it. The world just didn't seem that small. But it is.
Three years ago, for my Mother who was gravely ill, I joined the 'Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea' fandom, - c'mon, I know there a few of you out there G - in writing and participating giving her and myself a relief from a reality that all too soon came to an end. In a very strong sense, it was a last gift from Mom, because of her, each person I met there leading to another, broadening my horizons and leading eventually to a friendship with a truly wonderful, laughing and generous soul on the other side of that now much smaller world. You paying attention, Anne? VBEG
So, in gratitude to both and ever conscious of the amazing soul and heart warming gift that continues to be given to me, I would first like to dedicate this round of story-telling to Anne Callanan. I can honestly say that I've never had more fun, or found more solace and laughter when needed than I have with this incredibly patient person.
And lastly, to my Mother for the gift which continues...
Fannie Elizabeth Lehew
June 28, 1935 - June 26, 2000
See what you started Mom? G Now, having talked your ears off, shall we tell our story?
Blood and State
By Anne Callanan and Kathleen E. Lehew
Part 1/22
The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
James Shirley: 1596 - 1666
The Residence, several hours later…
"If this were anyone other than the President of the United States, Robert, would we even be having this discussion?"
Abigail Bartlet ceased her pacing and glared challengingly at her colleague. He didn't answer her. How could he? Abandoning pretense, she threw her arms into the air and continued her frustrated quartering of the room.
Hackett shifted uneasily in his seat, rubbing his eyes and looking everywhere but at the agitated pacing of the First Lady. "Probably not."
An answer he knew would give neither one of them any satisfaction. He grimaced at the thought. There was no way the leader of the free world could be considered a normal patient. A human being with all the faults and frailties that went with the condition, but with so many other considerations tagged on that the humanity was nearly lost in the deluge.
To make matters worse, they were having this conversation in the President's private study while the Chief of Staff had his private meeting with the man in question. The door on that particular dialogue was closed. Even the First Lady's considerable powers of intimidation had been unable to stop it, not when – again - the man in question refused the advice and council of his wife and chief physician.
Needless to say, both the man's official physician, and his wife and personal physician - Hackett wasn't about to remove that title from Abigail Bartlet - weren't at all happy with that situation. But there wasn't much even their combined protests, medical or otherwise, could do about it.
Josiah Bartlett was the President of the United States. The art and intrigue of government didn't end because some nameless enemy had tried to maim and assassinate its head. Any and all considerations a healer might have for their patient were colored by that consequence and its attending problems.
Problems that only seemed to multiply. It was at times like this that Rear Admiral Robert Hackett seriously considered retirement and a nice, safe and mundane general practice. A few screaming, runny-nosed two-year-olds had never seemed more attractive.
"I'd have been a great deal happier with a few more tests," Hackett muttered, a bit of frustrated anger finding its way through his usual easy-going facade. "There's an open MRI in the basement. I can't see why Agent Butterfield would object to that."
"Ron wasn't the one who objected," Abbey sighed with exasperation.
Hackett understood her frustration, shared it and knew full well who had objected. Given the executive source of those objections, no reason had been provided to explain the negative. Even the respected naval and military tradition of physician override had been stomped on by that adamant and supremely stubborn will.
Still, he wasn't about to give up that easily. "At least we'd have known for certain."
Abbey smiled at her colleague with profound gratitude, finally giving in to the long hours of worried exhaustion and dropping into a chair opposite the uniformed medic. We. Such a simple word, but his including her in the equation meant more to her than she could possibly say. "You know as well as I do that there's no certainty with MS, Robert. Months, years, it doesn't matter how long he's been clinically inactive. Any tests are going to show the same thing."
"More lesions."
"It doesn't stop with a relapse announcing its presence."
Hackett could be as stubborn as his patient. "We'd know," he insisted.
A look of tired sadness passed across Abbey's features. She looked across at Hackett and held his concerned gaze. "He knows."
"So do you." And there, Hackett knew, lay the ultimate problem. Healer or not, Abigail Bartlet couldn't distance herself from the patient. "He won't change his mind?"
Abbey's short laugh was choked.
"Okay then," Hackett sighed. So much for that idea. Standing up, he straightened his uniform jacket and offered her a gentle smile. "Without the President's cooperation there's nothing more we can do."
"The jury is still out on that." Abbey's eyes narrowed. She had a few options unavailable to her colleague.
"I can imagine." Hackett replied dryly, fairly certain a new White House legend was in the making. "You going to be okay? A few hours' sleep wouldn't hurt."
"I'll sleep when he does."
And he hadn't slept, that she knew. Jed had caught a few snatches after his initial collapse. Not enough before the comings and goings of his staff, the Joint Chiefs, Nancy McNally and God only knew who else, all desperate to spin what had happened into some semblance of order, had invaded the Residence. Despite her strongest objections, Abbey hadn't been able to stop it.
"Ma'am, relapse or not, you're going to need your rest to keep up with him."
Abbey tilted her head, looking up at the tall naval medic with a tired, indulgent smile. "You're becoming quite the mother hen, Robert."
Hackett's sense of humor took over and he chuckled. "Perhaps Ron and Leo will let me join. Their club can't be all that exclusive."
"It's not." Abbey spoke softly, caught between a laugh of her own at the mental image and the sob she'd been holding back all day.
"Abbey..."
"When he does, Robert," she said firmly, eyes flashing and countering Hackett's unspoken concern. Then her gaze softened. "That doesn't stop you though."
A snort was the only answer Hackett had for that suggestion.
This time Abbey did laugh.
It was a sound Hackett had wanted to hear, however strained. Events may be out of their control; their patient may be out of their control, but not this. They could agree on that. With an inquiring nod and her waved consent, he took his leave of the First Lady. He hoped she did sleep. Tomorrow would see the showdown with the President continue, and she, of all of them, was going to need her energies.
Watching him leave, Abbey couldn't help the feeling of abandonment that came over her. With Hackett gone, if only for the evening, it left her alone with her husband's stubborn will. And his staff wasn't helping, not even Leo. That had surprised her. The Chief of Staff's concern had given way to an almost cold, frightening determination. She'd lost an ally and couldn't quite figure out how or why.
Jed certainly wasn't listening to reason and, when Leo was done, he had another meeting, probably another after that. Then another. Come hell or high water, the government would continue.
Screw the government. "Jackass," she muttered.
Goodness, but was she back to that again?
One of the myriad Secret Service agents standing guard poked his head into the study. "Ma'am?"
Abbey looked up, startled out of her thoughts. "Yes?"
"You asked to be informed when Mr. McGarry had left?"
Lips tightening, Abbey nodded. "He's gone?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Thank you."
A curt nod and the agent withdrew.
Good! With a long, exhausted sigh, Abbey stood up, wincing at the pop of fatigued muscles and joints. It wasn't over yet. With Leo out of the way, however temporarily, she might be able to talk some sense into her asinine husband. It was a vain hope, but she was going to try. Glancing at the clock on the wall, a quick calculation figured she had a few minutes at best before the next wave of staffers hit him broadside.
A few minutes to get in a few shots of her own.
To be continued…