Title: The King is Dead
Author: Neurotic Cat Goddess
This is how I wish the episode had ended!
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…it's only a matter of time…
"I don't want to talk to anyone from CTU," Logan whispered hoarsely. He realized the hot prickling in his eyes was tears. He slammed the phone down, and drew in a shaky breath. Then he slowly picked the gun up from where he had set it down.
For a moment, he just stared at it. The metal was cold and hard in his hands. He tried not to think of Martha. He had done this to her. He closed his eyes as one teardrop slid down his cheek, before landing on the hardwood desk.
None followed. He took a moment to glance at the door, half-praying that Novak would come barging in, demanding answers, but there was nothing. The doorknob did not turn. He was alone. At last, he was completely alone.
No terrorists, no secrets, no assassinations.
Just him, a bottle of scotch, and a gun that had never been fired. He hopes Martha won't be too upset. Maybe, when she sees what he's done to protect his country, she will forgive him. Maybe, at least, she will understand.
…if I wasn't so horrified that I married you…
He points the gun toward himself, holding it in two shaking hands. He looks down into the barely, which seems to be impossibly long, and dark.
Logan has never been very religious. He went to church because it looked good, but he was hardly a believer. Something about today, though, has brought back that Sunday-school notion of God. But if there were a God, would he be here?
That's what he doesn't want to think about. That maybe he deserves this. He knows that suicides go to hell. Is this just one more sacrifice, for the good of the country? Maybe he's just taking the easy way out.
It doesn't matter. He knows this is what must be done. Breathe in. Breath out. He pulls the slide back. The click seems to echo throughout the room. He wonders if the Secret Service man outside- what's his name, he can never remember- heard it.
Breathe in. Place the gun against his forehead. Breathe out.
No. He slowly pulls it away. Places the tip of the gun in his mouth. The taste is sharp, bitter. He wonders what death will feel like. He hopes for oblivion. He knows he deserves hell.
…in the best interest of this country…
"Martha…"
He pulls the trigger. The sound echoes throughout the room, and the Secret Service man charges through the door, looking for an attacker that does not exist. He runs to the President, but he knows it is too late.
Martha looks up from the television. Her ears are ringing. She doesn't get up. She doesn't run to him. Charles, who way always the President first, and her husband last. She does nothing. She knows.
One drop of crimson blood falls from the President of the United States, and it falls down until is splashes on his desk, mingling with a single salty tear.
…the king is dead…
Martha realizes she is crying. She doesn't bother to wipe her eyes. There'll be a new President, now. Taking office amidst tragedy and scandal, like Charles Logan did.
She can't bring herself to care.
…long live the king…