Retribution, Part V

Author: Sirius

Disclaimer: For disclaimer and ratings, see Part I.

Author's Note: Sorry it's taken so long to update.  I've had three different stories – and real life – going through my head simultaneously, and I took a minor break to concentrate on the funny ("Something Evil This Way Comes") rather than the serious.  In any case, here is the next installment.  Enjoy, and reviews are always welcome.

Chapter Summary:  The notebook, a large hint as to the villain, and a – slightly – non-grouchy Toby.

Ron stood his designated shift over his protectee.  As Agent in Charge, he could have assigned the shift to someone else and simply kept his eye on the overall security arrangements, but that had never been his style.  Butterfield was a hands-on individual and liked it.  What's more, he liked Bartlet – as a President and as a possible friend.  He was a good man, and Ron knew it – damned persuasive, too.  He was still on alert – that was a nearly constant state with him, and probably part of the reason he'd never married – but part of his mind was still occupied with the current threat to Phoenix and Globetrotter.  That name doesn't really fit her now, he thought, since she's back from Paris and ditched the…  He stopped himself before he could think anything that would be highly unprofessional. 

"Ron," Bartlet called.  When the agent's gaze met his, the President asked, "Are the kids up, yet?"

Ron just shook his head, his face the perfect stoic mask, even though his eyes were burning with exhaustion.  Gotta stop working the eighteen-hour days.  Between standing watch and working on Deanna's case… I'm getting too old for this.  Damn, I never thought I'd hear myself say that… think that.  He mentally shook his head, but his outward appearance didn't change. 

Elsewhere – same time

He imagined the growing tension as he made them wait, watching the clock tick down the seconds as he planned.  It should be nearly unbearable by now.  Such fire, he thought, such passion, and she saved it for him.  Her father loves him like a son, taking him into his own house when the boy is threatened, but it doesn't matter.  It doesn't matter that every second that goes by increases their feeling that I should have done something by now, doesn't matter that Bartlet welcoming that worthless boy as a son is an affront to every white man in the country, doesn't matter that Bartlet and his spitfire daughter are traitors to their own race.  What matters is that they be punished.  That boy stepped out of his place… just like his bitch of a mother. His family has been an annoyance to me more than long enough.  "Richard?"

"Yes, sir."

"The word is Go."

"Yes, sir."

She has been defiled by his touch, and must be purified.

West Wing – same time, different office

"Toby?  Debbie called.  She said the President wanted the meeting rescheduled for later this afternoon, but Toby… you didn't have a meeting with him on your schedule for this morning."  Her probing look asked for details, but she wouldn't push.

"It's nothing, Ginger, just something that came up at poker night – a little thing.  What time this afternoon?  And why did Debbie call?  Charlie usually does that."

"Two o'clock.  I asked about Charlie and she said he was… sleeping in this morning or something."  The show of concern on Toby's part was rare… he usually kept such things to himself.  It was almost sweet.  Wait, she thought.  Did I just think the word `sweet' in connection with Toby?  That's it.  It's official.  This job has driven me insane.

"Ginger?"

"Yes, Toby?"

"Why are you still standing in the doorway?"

She paused for a second, and thought that she came up with something convincing.  "You looked like you were about to say something else, so I thought I'd stick around.  It's kind of pointless to go to my desk if I'm just going to come straight back here."

"That might be believable if your desk was more than five feet from my door."  Toby's gaze wasn't on the door, but Ginger was sure he could see her reflection in the window that divided his office from Sam's; she could see his.  She noticed the tiny smirk on his face, the indicator that he wasn't completely his usual grumpy self. 

He's teasing me!  He's teasing me?  Nah, can't be.  Ginger shook her head in puzzlement and walked back to her desk, let her head thunk on its surface… just once… and then noted the appointment on Toby's schedule.  I wonder if there's a full moon tonight.

Toby, perfectly aware of how much he had confused his assistant, released a soft chuckle… and then looked around for his ever-present pink ball.  Sam probably stole it again.  I'm going to have to start stockpiling the damn things.

Residence – same time

Zoey woke first and spent several seconds propped up on one elbow, just looking at Charlie.  In sleep, most of the lines were gone from his face.  That spot on his forehead was clear and smooth, the one that crinkled up slightly when he was worried about something.  He was sprawled on his half of the bed – I like the sound of that – but Zoey had noticed throughout the night that some part of him was always touching her.  It didn't seem to matter whether it was a hand, a foot, or the back of an arm.  It was no different now; his hand rested lightly on her hip, and even though Zoey felt like she had to move, she wasn't going to disturb him just yet.  The one time she'd gotten out of bed last night – nature waits for no one – she had returned to find him tossing restlessly in the bed.  His jaw had been clenched and his body was tense, poised for a fight, even though he'd been calm when she'd left just a few minutes before.  Once Zoey had slipped back into bed and smoothed away the worry lines, the tension had eased and Charlie had wrapped himself around her.  She hadn't left the bed after that, and wasn't going to now… not just yet.

Seeing the small notebook laying on the nightstand on Charlie's side of the bed, and wanting to do something while she kept an eye on him, Zoey leaned over him just enough to reach it.  Her hair brushed across his chest, and his muscles rippled slightly in sleep.  He's ticklish, she thought, grinning.  He'd inadvertently discovered that she was – when they'd first started going out – but her Detail's reaction to her surprised shriek had discouraged other… explorations… of possible weak spots for a tickle fight.  Besides, she thought, everything was too new then… and I didn't want Dad to do anything drastic – not that I ever really thought he'd send him to the Yukon, because that would negate the entire purpose of having an aide.  Still, he would have gotten over-protective and grouchy, and we wouldn't have had any time to ourselves.  We had little enough as it was.  She smiled, having made the recent effort to understand his job – and its demands on his time – better than she had before.  He loved what he was doing, and she loved the confidence this job had given him… the family this job had given him.  This job brought him to her… and she would love it for that alone.  She could stand the long hours for that alone.

Propping herself up against the headboard – and making sure that Charlie could still touch her – she opened the notebook and began to read.  After a minute, she reached for the pen on Charlie's nightstand and jotted down a few notes in the margin.  She would have to mention them to Charlie when he woke up. 

Oval Office – one hour later

Charlie knocked once, entering at the President's acknowledgment.  The aide, looking slightly the worse for wear, could barely manage to speak his customary, "Good morning, Mr. President."  He headed immediately for Ron, and handed him the small red notebook, eyes blazing with so deep a rage that the seasoned agent almost took a step back.

Charlie closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and then spoke.  "Ron, because the threats have been in part coming to me here, Secret Service could call jurisdiction on Deanna's murder, right?"

Butterfield nodded.  "We could make a case for it, yes."

"Do it, please."

"Charlie?"

"We put it all in the book – my notes, talks I've had with her friends.  Zoey helped me figure it out this morning…" His voice trailed off for a moment.

"Charlie?"

"It was a cop, Ron.  A cop killed my sister."

TBC…