POV: Leo
Spoilers: "ITSOTG," "Posse Comitatus," "Night Five," "Jefferson Lives"
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Most of the characters are not mine.
No Heavier Burden - Chapter Five: Taking the Bullet A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Except for her husband, Leo knew he was the last person Abigail Bartlet wanted to talk to. He hadn't needed any interpretation for the chilly response he received in the curt snap of his name.
"Leo."
As a matter of fact, he had been more than a little surprised that she had even come to the phone. Surprised, but relieved. There was no way he would have told Zoey the news himself.
But it didn't matter. It didn't matter how angry Abbey was with him, how disappointed she might be in Jed. None of that mattered at the moment.
She was coming back. That was all that mattered.
He didn't really have the time to stop and think, but he did anyway, allowed himself that one moment. Maybe it would save him later when the others arrived. A hell of a thing to be doing at two in the morning.
He glanced around at the stoic Secret Service personnel stationed in carefully planned positions around the waiting room, their calm stances so unlike the chaos of that night after Rosslyn. This time, at least, they had no gunmen to find, no conspirators to hunt down. This time the assailant could not be isolated from the victim. They were one in the same.
So they waited. Ron Butterfield waited, his lanky body looking as if he would rather be tracking an attacker instead of forcing himself to stand calmly by the trauma room doors. Charlie Young waited, his eyes haunted, his shoulders slumped with something that looked suspiciously like guilt. And Leo waited, because until he knew exactly what had happened to Jed Bartlet, that was all he could do. He had called Fitzwallace and Nancy, and had alerted Russell to be on standby. Russell. Dear God, were they about to turn over the country to that spineless compromise?
"Jed Bartlet," he thought with a certain fury, "if you leave me with this mess - "
Suddenly sober, he closed his eyes and couldn't stop the recent memories from reclaiming space in his brain. The frantic call by Charlie, the manic race back to the White House, the sight of the EMTs on the floor by the President of the United States, who lay, arms flung out, unconscious and bleeding on the seal of his office, the sirens wailing through the early morning streets, the stunned GW staff waiting for them with a crash cart in case it was needed.
Why hadn't he seen this coming? Why had he not realized the impact Abbey's leaving would have on his friend? But he knew the answer. Jed Bartlet was a master at hiding his true feelings when he wanted. He had waved away Leo's inquiries about his wife, had lifted his shoulders in a non-committal gesture when anyone asked how things were going, how Zoey was doing.
He wasn't sleeping. It didn't take first hand observation to figure that out. The heavy lids at budget briefing, the stifled yawns at Staff, the weary eye rubs, the stiff rotation of the body. He had seen it all before and it had taken Stanley Keyworth even to begin touching on the problem. This time, Leo didn't think it would be quite so easy as making the President admit his feelings toward his abusive father.
But she was coming, at least, and he chided himself for ever doubting that she would. She was made as hell at him. She was perhaps even madder at Jed, but she still loved him. Of course she would come.
He wondered if Zoey would come with Abbey. Her trauma was still raw, still so near the surface. Surely it would be doubly hard to deal with another crisis this soon. But he doubted she could stay away, waiting in frustrated darkness back in New Hampshire for someone to tell her how sick her daddy was. No, she would come, too.
His eyes moved to Ron's, wordlessly communicating their fears. He knew Ron had fears, even if they weren't the ordinary fears of ordinary citizens. Ron didn't fear being wounded. He didn't fear dying, even. Ron feared letting down his President, but even more than that, he feared failing Jed Bartlet. Leo could see it, could tell that this agent was devoted to his charge. And he didn't blame him a bit. His charge was worth it.
Glancing again at Charlie, he sighed and stepped over to the young man, dropping a hand onto his shoulder. The dark eyes that looked up at him held such blatant self-blame that Leo almost flinched.
"Hey," he said softly. "It's okay. He's gonna be - "
"You sure?" Charlie asked, but what Leo heard was, "How do you know?"
The chief of staff didn't answer, couldn't answer. No, he wasn't sure. No, he didn't know. He just hoped.
"I tried to catch him." It was barely audible, almost a whisper.
"I know." What else could he say? I wish you had?
"But I didn't think he'd want -- You know how he hates any attention like that." Still soft, but with a fondness warming the tone.
Leo chuckled. "Except when he is holding court as the Trivia King."
Charlie nodded, but didn't smile. Then, he closed his eyes and muttered something that Leo couldn't quite catch.
"What?"
"I said, 'I should never have let her go.'" Anger spit the words out.
The black humor in him wanted to tell Charlie to join the club, but he bit back the impulse. Deep down, Leo knew who was to blame. Despite what Abbey said about him not taking the bullet for the President, Leo knew whose fault this was.
Jed had argued, had brought up that damned belief in moral absolutes, but he had turned him, had convinced him that it was the right thing to do.
"It's just wrong," the President had declared on that ornate balcony, surrounded by the opulence of the New York theater. "It's absolutely wrong."
And while Leo really didn't agree, he had said, "I know. But you have to do it anyway."
The shadows that fell across them only deepened the lines that had suddenly seemed etched into that expressive face. "Why?"
"Because you won."
In the end, somehow breaking through the obvious pain it caused him, Jed had forced out the two words that began a series of events that would have consequences none of them could have dreamed of at the time. "Take him."
"Take him."
Take her. And they had.
His fault. He had pushed it. He had talked him into it.
But to the world, it didn't matter. To Abbey Bartlet, it didn't matter. To Jed Bartlet, it didn't matter. That decision rested on one man, and that one man would pay for that decision. Not with the wrath of the world, which had seemed to forgive, even condone his action. But with the disappointment of his children and the shattering fury of his wife.
Just the night before, Leo had been one finger away from calling Stanley Keyworth. He could tell Jed was not sleeping, could see the fatigue wrapped around every muscle of his body. The sharp mind seemed dull, preoccupied. The quick wit slowed. The open warmth closed and chilled. The talent for sharp sarcasm twisted almost to uncharacteristic maliciousness.
But Jed had assured him he was all right. That he had been sleeping plenty and that Zoey was coming along well. Abbey's name was never mentioned. So he had waited, told himself he would give his closest friend one more day to prove his words. Then he would call Stanley anyway.
But Charlie's call changed those plans.
"Mr. McGarry?"
Snapping back to the present, Leo blinked and let his gaze rise to the green-clad figure before him. A young man, possibly a doctor if they were now giving out degrees to 12-year-olds, stood, clipboard in hand. Ron hovered nearby, not placing himself in the conversation, but making sure he was close enough to hear, nevertheless.
"Yes?"
"I'm Doctor Radford." He extended a finely boned hand.
"How's the President?" Leo didn't have time for courtesies.
Immediately, the physician read the mood of Jed Bartlet's chief of staff and dropped his hand. "He's stable. Still hasn't regained consciousness." His young eyes darted around the room and returned to Leo when he didn't find what he was looking for. "Doctor Bartlet here?"
Somehow he managed to respond without a grimace. "No. She's on her way from New Hampshire."
"Oh. I had hoped - " The disappointment flattened his voice. "Any of his daughters?"
This time, Leo did grimace. It suddenly occurred to him that Jed was alone, at least as far as his family was concerned. Of course, Zoey was with Abbey. Ellie had returned to her studies and Liz had gone back to her home. Almost ashamed, he shook his head.
"No."
"Okay. Well, I guess you'll - " He stopped, but Leo heard the unfinished sentence. " - have to do - "
"Yeah," he said, tone dry.
"Right, well, until we get back all of the test results, I can't be certain, but we feel like we can rule out heart attack or stroke."
Leo let out a breath, not aware before that he had caught it. Thank God for that, at least. He had heard Charlie's recount of the incident, of seeing the pain clearly on the President's face, of watching his features contort and his body fall. A stroke was the first thing that occurred to him and he could not bear to think of Jed Bartlet incapacitated in such a way. That brilliant mind held prisoner by its own mysteries. It was bad enough to imagine what might occur when - if - the MS progressed.
"What would have made him pass out?"
Doctor Radford shifted a bit, resting the clipboard on his thigh. "There are any number of conditions that might cause normally healthy people to lose consciousness. Hypotension, hypoglycemia, meningitis, pulmonary embolus - "
"Pulmonary embolus?"
"A blood clot in the lungs."
Leo's own lungs struggled for breath. "Do you think - "
"No, no. We did a blood gases test. No sign. I was just giving possible - "
With effort, Leo managed not to growl. "What do you think made the President pass out?"
An ironic smile twisted the doctor's lips. "My best diagnosis, without the complete battery test results back, is that the President is suffering from the combination of severe stress and exhaustion. The toll that those things have placed on his body, which was already compromised by the MS, have simply shut it down. He wouldn't do it himself, so his body did it for him."
Now he tilted his head to the side and lowered his voice. "I can only imagine what the President has been going through these past weeks. Just the stress on any normal human being would be enormous. Just the trauma of what an ordinary father would go through - Add to that the tremendous responsibilities he has and the decision he had to make - well, it's amazing he stayed on his feet for this long." There was a bit of admiration in the tone.
And add the fact that his wife has laid the blame for what happened directly on his shoulders, and that she has taken his daughter away, and that she won't even talk to him - Hell, now Leo wondered how Jed had even remained halfway sane.
"You say he isn't conscious, yet?"
"No. And that bothers me some. He should be coming around by now. We've pumped fluids in him and tried to balance his electrolytes, but he's not responding as quickly as I'd like."
"Can I see him?" He knew Abbey probably should be the first one, but Leo couldn't say exactly when she would come. Plus, there were some things he needed to say to Jed in private, even if Jed couldn't hear him.
The doctor nodded. "Sure, but he looks a little rough. Split open his cheek when he caught the edge of a table on the way down. We called in a good face man to stitch him up. Shouldn't scar much, but it's pretty swollen right now."
Stress.
Exhaustion.
Scar.
The impact of his own choices fell on Leo as he followed the doctor through the gray doors. Was it the right decision? Was it the only thing they could have done? What would have happened if they had not killed Shareef? Would Zoey have been safe in France right now? Would Abbey be at Jed's side, still teasing, still loving? And would the President never have had to make the wrenching decisions he had made?
As they neared the ICU, his own guilt overwhelmed him and he almost choked on the sob that rose suddenly in his throat.
"Oh God, Jed," he thought. "What have I done to you?"
No Heavier Burden - Chapter Five: Taking the Bullet A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Except for her husband, Leo knew he was the last person Abigail Bartlet wanted to talk to. He hadn't needed any interpretation for the chilly response he received in the curt snap of his name.
"Leo."
As a matter of fact, he had been more than a little surprised that she had even come to the phone. Surprised, but relieved. There was no way he would have told Zoey the news himself.
But it didn't matter. It didn't matter how angry Abbey was with him, how disappointed she might be in Jed. None of that mattered at the moment.
She was coming back. That was all that mattered.
He didn't really have the time to stop and think, but he did anyway, allowed himself that one moment. Maybe it would save him later when the others arrived. A hell of a thing to be doing at two in the morning.
He glanced around at the stoic Secret Service personnel stationed in carefully planned positions around the waiting room, their calm stances so unlike the chaos of that night after Rosslyn. This time, at least, they had no gunmen to find, no conspirators to hunt down. This time the assailant could not be isolated from the victim. They were one in the same.
So they waited. Ron Butterfield waited, his lanky body looking as if he would rather be tracking an attacker instead of forcing himself to stand calmly by the trauma room doors. Charlie Young waited, his eyes haunted, his shoulders slumped with something that looked suspiciously like guilt. And Leo waited, because until he knew exactly what had happened to Jed Bartlet, that was all he could do. He had called Fitzwallace and Nancy, and had alerted Russell to be on standby. Russell. Dear God, were they about to turn over the country to that spineless compromise?
"Jed Bartlet," he thought with a certain fury, "if you leave me with this mess - "
Suddenly sober, he closed his eyes and couldn't stop the recent memories from reclaiming space in his brain. The frantic call by Charlie, the manic race back to the White House, the sight of the EMTs on the floor by the President of the United States, who lay, arms flung out, unconscious and bleeding on the seal of his office, the sirens wailing through the early morning streets, the stunned GW staff waiting for them with a crash cart in case it was needed.
Why hadn't he seen this coming? Why had he not realized the impact Abbey's leaving would have on his friend? But he knew the answer. Jed Bartlet was a master at hiding his true feelings when he wanted. He had waved away Leo's inquiries about his wife, had lifted his shoulders in a non-committal gesture when anyone asked how things were going, how Zoey was doing.
He wasn't sleeping. It didn't take first hand observation to figure that out. The heavy lids at budget briefing, the stifled yawns at Staff, the weary eye rubs, the stiff rotation of the body. He had seen it all before and it had taken Stanley Keyworth even to begin touching on the problem. This time, Leo didn't think it would be quite so easy as making the President admit his feelings toward his abusive father.
But she was coming, at least, and he chided himself for ever doubting that she would. She was made as hell at him. She was perhaps even madder at Jed, but she still loved him. Of course she would come.
He wondered if Zoey would come with Abbey. Her trauma was still raw, still so near the surface. Surely it would be doubly hard to deal with another crisis this soon. But he doubted she could stay away, waiting in frustrated darkness back in New Hampshire for someone to tell her how sick her daddy was. No, she would come, too.
His eyes moved to Ron's, wordlessly communicating their fears. He knew Ron had fears, even if they weren't the ordinary fears of ordinary citizens. Ron didn't fear being wounded. He didn't fear dying, even. Ron feared letting down his President, but even more than that, he feared failing Jed Bartlet. Leo could see it, could tell that this agent was devoted to his charge. And he didn't blame him a bit. His charge was worth it.
Glancing again at Charlie, he sighed and stepped over to the young man, dropping a hand onto his shoulder. The dark eyes that looked up at him held such blatant self-blame that Leo almost flinched.
"Hey," he said softly. "It's okay. He's gonna be - "
"You sure?" Charlie asked, but what Leo heard was, "How do you know?"
The chief of staff didn't answer, couldn't answer. No, he wasn't sure. No, he didn't know. He just hoped.
"I tried to catch him." It was barely audible, almost a whisper.
"I know." What else could he say? I wish you had?
"But I didn't think he'd want -- You know how he hates any attention like that." Still soft, but with a fondness warming the tone.
Leo chuckled. "Except when he is holding court as the Trivia King."
Charlie nodded, but didn't smile. Then, he closed his eyes and muttered something that Leo couldn't quite catch.
"What?"
"I said, 'I should never have let her go.'" Anger spit the words out.
The black humor in him wanted to tell Charlie to join the club, but he bit back the impulse. Deep down, Leo knew who was to blame. Despite what Abbey said about him not taking the bullet for the President, Leo knew whose fault this was.
Jed had argued, had brought up that damned belief in moral absolutes, but he had turned him, had convinced him that it was the right thing to do.
"It's just wrong," the President had declared on that ornate balcony, surrounded by the opulence of the New York theater. "It's absolutely wrong."
And while Leo really didn't agree, he had said, "I know. But you have to do it anyway."
The shadows that fell across them only deepened the lines that had suddenly seemed etched into that expressive face. "Why?"
"Because you won."
In the end, somehow breaking through the obvious pain it caused him, Jed had forced out the two words that began a series of events that would have consequences none of them could have dreamed of at the time. "Take him."
"Take him."
Take her. And they had.
His fault. He had pushed it. He had talked him into it.
But to the world, it didn't matter. To Abbey Bartlet, it didn't matter. To Jed Bartlet, it didn't matter. That decision rested on one man, and that one man would pay for that decision. Not with the wrath of the world, which had seemed to forgive, even condone his action. But with the disappointment of his children and the shattering fury of his wife.
Just the night before, Leo had been one finger away from calling Stanley Keyworth. He could tell Jed was not sleeping, could see the fatigue wrapped around every muscle of his body. The sharp mind seemed dull, preoccupied. The quick wit slowed. The open warmth closed and chilled. The talent for sharp sarcasm twisted almost to uncharacteristic maliciousness.
But Jed had assured him he was all right. That he had been sleeping plenty and that Zoey was coming along well. Abbey's name was never mentioned. So he had waited, told himself he would give his closest friend one more day to prove his words. Then he would call Stanley anyway.
But Charlie's call changed those plans.
"Mr. McGarry?"
Snapping back to the present, Leo blinked and let his gaze rise to the green-clad figure before him. A young man, possibly a doctor if they were now giving out degrees to 12-year-olds, stood, clipboard in hand. Ron hovered nearby, not placing himself in the conversation, but making sure he was close enough to hear, nevertheless.
"Yes?"
"I'm Doctor Radford." He extended a finely boned hand.
"How's the President?" Leo didn't have time for courtesies.
Immediately, the physician read the mood of Jed Bartlet's chief of staff and dropped his hand. "He's stable. Still hasn't regained consciousness." His young eyes darted around the room and returned to Leo when he didn't find what he was looking for. "Doctor Bartlet here?"
Somehow he managed to respond without a grimace. "No. She's on her way from New Hampshire."
"Oh. I had hoped - " The disappointment flattened his voice. "Any of his daughters?"
This time, Leo did grimace. It suddenly occurred to him that Jed was alone, at least as far as his family was concerned. Of course, Zoey was with Abbey. Ellie had returned to her studies and Liz had gone back to her home. Almost ashamed, he shook his head.
"No."
"Okay. Well, I guess you'll - " He stopped, but Leo heard the unfinished sentence. " - have to do - "
"Yeah," he said, tone dry.
"Right, well, until we get back all of the test results, I can't be certain, but we feel like we can rule out heart attack or stroke."
Leo let out a breath, not aware before that he had caught it. Thank God for that, at least. He had heard Charlie's recount of the incident, of seeing the pain clearly on the President's face, of watching his features contort and his body fall. A stroke was the first thing that occurred to him and he could not bear to think of Jed Bartlet incapacitated in such a way. That brilliant mind held prisoner by its own mysteries. It was bad enough to imagine what might occur when - if - the MS progressed.
"What would have made him pass out?"
Doctor Radford shifted a bit, resting the clipboard on his thigh. "There are any number of conditions that might cause normally healthy people to lose consciousness. Hypotension, hypoglycemia, meningitis, pulmonary embolus - "
"Pulmonary embolus?"
"A blood clot in the lungs."
Leo's own lungs struggled for breath. "Do you think - "
"No, no. We did a blood gases test. No sign. I was just giving possible - "
With effort, Leo managed not to growl. "What do you think made the President pass out?"
An ironic smile twisted the doctor's lips. "My best diagnosis, without the complete battery test results back, is that the President is suffering from the combination of severe stress and exhaustion. The toll that those things have placed on his body, which was already compromised by the MS, have simply shut it down. He wouldn't do it himself, so his body did it for him."
Now he tilted his head to the side and lowered his voice. "I can only imagine what the President has been going through these past weeks. Just the stress on any normal human being would be enormous. Just the trauma of what an ordinary father would go through - Add to that the tremendous responsibilities he has and the decision he had to make - well, it's amazing he stayed on his feet for this long." There was a bit of admiration in the tone.
And add the fact that his wife has laid the blame for what happened directly on his shoulders, and that she has taken his daughter away, and that she won't even talk to him - Hell, now Leo wondered how Jed had even remained halfway sane.
"You say he isn't conscious, yet?"
"No. And that bothers me some. He should be coming around by now. We've pumped fluids in him and tried to balance his electrolytes, but he's not responding as quickly as I'd like."
"Can I see him?" He knew Abbey probably should be the first one, but Leo couldn't say exactly when she would come. Plus, there were some things he needed to say to Jed in private, even if Jed couldn't hear him.
The doctor nodded. "Sure, but he looks a little rough. Split open his cheek when he caught the edge of a table on the way down. We called in a good face man to stitch him up. Shouldn't scar much, but it's pretty swollen right now."
Stress.
Exhaustion.
Scar.
The impact of his own choices fell on Leo as he followed the doctor through the gray doors. Was it the right decision? Was it the only thing they could have done? What would have happened if they had not killed Shareef? Would Zoey have been safe in France right now? Would Abbey be at Jed's side, still teasing, still loving? And would the President never have had to make the wrenching decisions he had made?
As they neared the ICU, his own guilt overwhelmed him and he almost choked on the sob that rose suddenly in his throat.
"Oh God, Jed," he thought. "What have I done to you?"