Title: The Rhythm of Life
My tribute fic to John Spencer/Leo McGarry.
R.I.P. and Godspeed.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The steady pulse of the Rolex continued to beat.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Again. Again. Again. Again.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
It was everywhere. Always there. The constant rhythm that lay beneath everything. Meals. Conversations. Exercise. Meetings. Night. Day. Morning.
Mourning.
No second went uncounted, no instant left unmarried by the tempo as it passed, faded, died.
Not the time before; that all-too-short time he shared in their lives. The tempo sang from his wrist then, underscoring great defeats and accomplishments alike with his family - blood and chosen. It pounded in his footsteps, reverberating through the halls of power and law as he walked from one room to the next, one job to the next all the while gaining the respect and love of those around him. It echoed in his chest where it would sooth her on the longest flights when the only thing that could calm her was him.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Not the time during; so far from home. Far from those who cared, beyond their words, their comfort and hands. All she could offer was her own in those last few minutes; small and trembling, clutching his, holding fast to give him an anchor, something to cling to as if it would keep him there. With her. The watch - their symbol of daily cat-and-mouse games - spoke from her purse, tucked away there; hidden but not silent. Counting his breaths, her tears and the moments they had left.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Not the time of; the unfaltering drum drowned out by more passionate, more anguished noises. The grief of those who loved him, the pain of losing one so important, so beautiful echoing across the country. Reaching beyond buttons and wires and keys and screens and into the souls of those who knew him and those who didn't as his finding its reward.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Not the time after; at the funeral where the world assembled to say goodbye to a friend and brother. Each beat - now from her too-small wrist - represented a face, a flower, a prayer. The gentle trickle of rain, even the skies were mourning, mixing tears on the faces of those gathered to lay him to rest. To bury the man no one could replace, the man cherished by so many in and out of his profession and who God had called back too soon.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Not now.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
The thrum calls to her. From her night stand where the Rolex lays beside a picture taken at some stop on the trail; his trademark smile touching his eyes and giving them the twinkle no flash or bulb could impose. A lifetime ago, but how long really? She'd stopped counting. Only the watch knew. The golden piece of him she had left to hold on to; her memento of times past and her reminder of futures never to be.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens.
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant.
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to tear down and a time to build.
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones, and a time to gather them;
A time to embrace, and a time to be far from embraces.
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to cast away.
A time to rend, and a time to saw;
A time to be silent, and a time to speak.
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time of war, and a time of peace.
- Ecclesiastes 3:1-9
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Eyes closed, she could almost pretend it was his chest she was snuggled against, his watch singing its steady song to lull her to sleep safe in his arms.
As long as it was there, she would have him.
As long as it was hers, he would be with her.
As long as time continued, though they were parted, he would still be there, guiding and watching and protecting and loving.
And smiling.
Twinkling.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
...and the beat goes on, keeping tempo with the rhythm of life.