Retribution, Part I

Author: Sirius

Disclaimer: Anyone you recognize from the West Wing doesn't belong to me, but the plot is mine.

Rating: PG-13, for now.  There are harsh words, but nothing that would bump up the rating too much, yet.

Author's Note: This is the second story in the "Tempered by Fire" Series, and follows Desolation.  As always, feedback is welcome.  Also, there was a typo at the beginning of the second chapter of Desolation that mentioned "October" air.  It has been corrected. That story took place in November, after the election.

Author's Note 2: UNSUB = Unidentified Subject

Day 15 – Saturday, November 30, 2002

It may be cold, but at least the sun's out.  The air was crisp and the remains of the season's first snowfall crunched under foot.  The hand slipping into hers drew her attention back to the scene at hand… and the man standing at her side.  He looks tired.  Charlie, what have you been doing to yourself?  Never mind, I know what you've been doing, because I've been helping you.

She looked around with eyes that noticed a great deal more than they used to.  Eight visible agents at their assigned posts… she knew that there were ten others blending so well into the shadows as to be invisible.  She knew where they were; she knew what they were supposed to be doing, and she knew that if all hell broke loose, they would give their lives. This is going to get hairy, and we all know it… but it damn well better not happen today.  We have other things to do today. 

She slid her arm around Charlie's waist, her grip around him tightening, as they grew ever closer to the gravesite.  For all that it's cold, Zoey thought, it's a beautiful day for Deena.  There had been a larger memorial service earlier, so that her friends from school could say goodbye, but this… this smaller gathering at the cemetery was only for family – and eighteen dedicated employees of the Treasury Department. 

The service started a few moments later, and was a quiet event.  Most of the mourners had said what they wished to say at the public service, and used this gathering as a chance for silent contemplation on a life cut far too short.  Charlie was lost in his own thoughts, and she could see a look in his eyes that hadn't been there since Rosslyn.  The service ended quickly – with a few short prayers – and she drew him to her, ignoring the people around them.  They were family, after all. 

"Charlie," she whispered to him.  "This is not your fault.  This has never been your fault.  You could not hope to convince anyone that this was your fault, and I won't allow you to convince yourself of it, either.  Do you hear me?"  Charlie didn't answer.  "Do you hear me?"  His eyes focused on her again… and he nodded. 

This is so hard.  He's fighting, and I'm fighting… and it's worth it, every minute.  But sometimes… he gets so tired – of pushing against the hate, of watching people he loves be placed in the ground, of the constant risk.  Lean on me, Charlie.  I won't break.  Almost as if he'd heard her, he drew her even closer, and the kiss they shared was equal parts love and grief.  His coat was unbuttoned and she rested her head on his chest, only one layer of cloth between them.  She could hear the strong heart beating in his chest – such a noble, calm heart, that had already been torn apart enough for an entire lifetime. 

Those watching were hesitant to interrupt them, but Abbey finally took a step forward, wrapping her arms around both of her children and leading them to the motorcade.  Neither of them really felt it, but both were shivering in the cold.  Ushering the two into the Presidential limo, she watched them holding each other together as the motorcade made its way back to the Residence.  The Senior Staff, arriving in a second limo, looked at the two couples heading into the Residence, and silently agreed that they could afford to take this weekend off.  This time belonged to the First Family.

*******

Ron sighed and dropped his head to rest in his hands.  Two weeks and we're no closer to the bastard.  Charlie's file was scattered in front of him – letters and pictures interspersed with his notes in an order that made sense only to him.  What am I missing?  He looked at the most recent UNSUB profile; Ekhart and Jensen had turned it in this morning, neither of them looking as though they'd slept. 

He took a deep breath, then jumped a bit as Cassandra barged into his office and slammed the door behind her.  "Ron, I hate to sound disrespectful here, but why haven't we found anything yet?"

"The crime scene was clean, Cass; you know that.  There was nothing to find there.  We haven't located the weapon, and the faces have been cut out of the pictures, all except for Deena's.  If there are any identifying marks, I sure as hell haven't seen them.  We still have a missing coroner, and no one seems to have seen anything, wherever it was that they actually killed the kids.  On top of everything else, they're too quiet.  Charlie issued a challenge, and I'd bet that they're taking him up on it.  I'm not sure how to combat whatever they're brewing up, but I will.  I have to, because the alternative is unthinkable."

Cassie took a step back at the mixed anger, vehemence, and exhaustion in his voice.  "I'm sorry, Ron.  I know all of this, but damn it, she was my student.  You know I get close to my kids.  They don't ask for the shit that this world throws them; they just have to deal, and all of them have to struggle so hard.  Deena never knew her father, had lost her mother, and only risked her heart to her friends because Charlie was still there to show her that the risk was ok.  They always had each other, and now, that family is missing a member again.  I want this bastard, and I want him bad, Ron.  Charlie and Deena had already lost too much.  Now, it's just Charlie.  How much more can he take?"

"As much as he has to," Ron answered, "as long as he has Zoey."

TBC…