Retribution, Part VI

Author: Sirius

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: See Part I

Author's Note: This part has a few harsh words.  Also, for those of you who've been keeping up with all my fics, this is not in the same AU as the crossover "Something Evil…" and Charlie's family tree is not the same in this fic as it is in that one.  Enjoy.

Chapter Summary: The words of an old family friend.

Noon, same day

Somewhere on the outskirts of D.C., an old man stood, looking out his living room window.  One hand held a cup of coffee – Seal-strong.  That was a vice he happily kept, though he'd long since given up the smoking habit now referred to as "a bit of youthful stupidity." 

The other hand held a cordless phone, poised as if for use… and then, held loosely at his side, the usually decisive man for once unsure of himself.  It had never been his nature to sit back when friends needed his help, and he didn't want to start now… but he needed to know more before planning his next moves.

He turned his back to the window and switched on the TV, catching the tail-end of a local press conference.  He couldn't see enough to make out the location, but the man currently speaking was impossible to mistake for anyone other than Police Commissioner Erik Gates. 

"Commissioner, why has the Secret Service taken over Deanna Young's case, and why now?"  The old man couldn't identify the reporter by voice alone, so he contented himself with listening to Gates' answer, attention focused on the television screen before him.  What are you thinking, Ron?

"I'm not in a position to comment on the precise cause for the change of heart on the part of Secret Service leadership, and, as this is an on-going investigation, all further inquiries will have to be directed to Service public relations personnel.  I'm sorry, but that's all I can tell you at the moment."

The man watching didn't notice the Commissioner step off-screen to the cacophony of the reporters' cries for more information.  He didn't notice the shot switch back to focus on the face of the local news anchorman back at the studio, and he didn't hear any commentary that said anchor might have offered on the surprising turn of events.  The previously indecisive fingers were busy dialing a phone number that the old man would never forget.  "Ron, what the hell is going on?  And don't mention anything about national security or Presidential safety.  Even retired, I've got the clearance, and I want some answers now, Lieutenant."

He could almost hear Ron start to smile, a smile that would shortly be followed by the standard reminder that he wasn't a Lieutenant anymore, and he cut in before Ron had a chance to say it.  "Tell me what's happening, Ron.  You don't have to consider it an order… just a favor to an old friend.  I saw Charlie's comments to the White House Press Corps a couple of weeks back.  I know that the situation's been quiet.  What I don't know is what finally prompted you to tell the DCPD to go screw themselves where Deena's case was concerned, because they obviously had their heads stuck up their collective six.  Since I don't know, I would appreciate being filled in."

He knew Ron's stoic façade had broken a bit when he heard the agent chuckle softly.  "You haven't changed a bit, Admiral," he said, still chuckling.  Benjamin Kaersi simply grunted in response.

"And you've still got some of that young smart-ass I remember, Butterfield.  Don't push.  Now, tell me what's going on – with the case and with Charlie.  Most of us who live outside that impressive building at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue don't see him much anymore."

"He's been… stressed," Butterfield replied, "and understandably so, but he's managing.  I'm not sure he'd do quite so well if not for…"

"Zoey Bartlet."

"Yes, sir."  There was a significant pause here, and Ben could tell that Ron wanted to say something else, but he let it slide. 

"Charlie would have survived, Ron."  The Admiral's voice broke the silence after a moment.  "I'm just not sure how much living he would have done." He couldn't see Butterfield's nod, but knew that his former student was in agreement.  "Those two are in it for the long haul, aren't they, Ron?"

"Yes, sir, I believe they are."

"And the case?"

"The case just took an uglier turn than expected, Admiral, but you know better than most that I can't give you details.  I'll let you know more once we've managed to catch the sorry bastard behind this mess, though."

Kaersi grunted, not exactly happy with the situation, but willing to accept it to a certain extent.  He was familiar with regs, and even retired, the habit of following them was too ingrained to break now.  Regulations were regulations, and in this case, there was valid reason for them – up to a point.

"I'll give you two weeks," Kaersi said.  "Two weeks, and then you tell me everything, whether you've caught him or not.  RHIP, Lieutenant."

Ron sighed in mock defeat.  "That would be more impressive if I still held the rank, Kaersi."  The next sound was one which the old Admiral knew to be a signal of utter exhaustion.

"I know that Charlie's your student, sir, but… why is that, exactly?"

"You must be tired, Ron.  You're usually not this… indirect. You could have asked the same question in five words and without the hesitation."

"If you want direct… answer the damn question… sir."

"I'll keep the details to myself – most of them are still classified in any case – but I can give you the summary.  Thirty-three years ago, during the Vietnam War under circumstances that I cannot reveal, a young Ensign by the name of Michael Bennett saved my life at the cost of his own.  His was unmarried, and was survived by his father, Charles, and one younger sister.  Her name was Marissa, and she later married a man named Derek Young.  Put Charlie in a set of Navy dress whites and the resemblance would be unmistakable.  Michael saved my six, Ron.  How could I not help his nephew when you brought him to me?"

TBC…