What more can they do to me?

Cars flash by outside the window, but as we shoot north, hour upon hour of slightly stale air and somewhat cramped conditions, I don't notice, as I am too interested in my immediate neighbour. She talks animatedly, impatiently pushing brown curls out of her face as she types simultaneously. I can but marvel. In my day we did one thing at once, and probably none of them with such enthusiasm. She offers me a cookie out of a zip-lock bag, and I tell her about my honeymoon, at Martha's Vineyard. We discuss wars and books, how old films aren't necessarily better, but often are. We compare sites we've seen. Paris, Rome, the Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls. Emerson comes up, and she sighs in ecstasy. She asks my opinion on Browning and I too, sigh. Milton, we both like, but both do not understand. I urge her to give Bach a try. I know she'll like him. And then, out of no where, her phone rings (or what passes for a phone these days), she apologises and sighs with disgust at it, answers it, and the light goes out of her eyes.

Friday

The phone has rung so much in the last few days that I think I can hear it ringing constantly. Actually, it probably is. Selfless governors who lost their own races, offering their services in the cabinet. People who think that now is the time to kick start their political careers. People who would like to dust off political careers which have sunk into the mire. People who were buried by Josh Lyman eight years ago and are only just now resurfacing. They are on the phone to me constantly. Me, or Sam. Or Josh, who has sent me an email comprised of a long list of names ending with:

If you don't give them jobs, they'll never leave me alone.

He appears to be enjoying this period of transition as much as we are. Somehow, amongst all the determination to not jinx the election by planning and looking ahead, I didn't actually see this happening. I never planned for actually getting this far. Now my head is full of how will we do, and what's going to happen? That, and a certain brunette who is pretty much the only person in the whole country whom I have not heard from. She is due to arrive in Washington today, for Charles and Jane's engagement party tonight. Talk about timing. The guy proposed just at the beginning of a relatively quieter period. The only quiet period, if you believe Josh. Despite the ringing (largely in my ears) it is actually pretty quiet right now. This early in the morning, not many people are in. Zimmerman attempted to make everyone rest up a bit before we plunge into administration, and encouraged shorter working hours, except, of course, I don't know what to do with myself right now. Between phones and Lizzie and a crazily mixed up body clock, it's better to work long and not go mad. This early however, might be a new low. I really do not need to be in the office at six AM. I take a deep draught of coffee, consider that this much caffeine is probably not good for me, also consider cutting back, but then see the sensible side, and drink some more. It is only resurfacing from my little caffeine induced inner monologue, that I realise that the ringing I can hear really isn't in my head, and really is a phone. Reasonably relieved, I make a long arm for the phone, nearly knock over my coffee, rebalance everything, then finally give a very suave and together "Uh…yeah?" into the phone.

"I need to leave a message for a Mr. William Darcy."

"Speaking."

"Oh. Good. Mr Darcy, I'm afraid there was an accident last night. Charles Bingley was taken in to Georgetown University Hospital."

I'm not sure that the ringing hasn't returned in my ears. "What?"

"Mr Charles Bingley was taken in to Georgetown University Hospital."

"Is he all right? What happened?"

"He has sustained some injuries after a vehicular incident. He asked that you be notified."

"Yeah." I take a deep breath. This kind of thing seems to squeeze the air from you. "Has his fiancée been notified?"

"Can you tell me her name, sir?"

"Jane Bennet."

A moment of typing and murmurs, then the woman reappears on the line. "Sir, the young lady was injured with Mr Bingley. She too has been brought to the hospital."

"How is she?"

"I'm afraid I can't say."

I lean back in my chair, and rub my neck. The headache that had lingered this morning is suddenly gone. It must be fight or flight, or something. "OK," I say, trying to take it all in. "Can I come and see them?"

"Just Mr Bingley, I'm afraid, sir. He has, after all, asked for you, and his situation is not critical."

"And Jane's is?"

She sighs. "Please, sir, I can't say."

I'm aware of doors opening and swinging shut as a few early birds arrive, amongst them, the President-elect. He swings over to my open door, and grins. "Will…" he begins, but stops, seeing my face.

"OK," I say into the phone. "Has her family been notified?"

"I'm afraid…"

"You can't say? Fine. Thank you."

I put down the phone, and swallow, hard. "Charles and Jane were in some kind of car accident last night. It doesn't sound like he's too bad, but I'm not sure about Jane."

His face drops from serious, to ashen. "Oh, hell," breathes Zimmerman and he lowers himself into the chair opposite mine. "What happened?"

"I don't know, sir. Some kind of accident."

Zimmerman rubs cold hands together, and nods. "You want to go and see him? Hell, I want to go and see him."

I breathe out a smile. "I need to make a phone call first. Check if her family know."

"OK," he says and stands up, slowly. "I'm going to go and check messages with Lucy, but you tell me the moment you have news."

"Yes sir."

He walks out, visibly less buoyant than when he walked in. I sigh, rub my neck with one hand, and begin scrolling through my contacts in my Blackberry, until I find the elusive Bennets Farm, put in more than a year ago, right before the fundraiser. I sigh again, then hit Call.

"Hello?"

"Hi," I begin, only realising now that I've only met any of them, once. "Is this the Bennet's house?"

"Yeah," comes a low answer. "Can I help with anything? I'm afraid farm business has reduced to a minimum for a few days."

Best to jump in the deep end probably. "So you've heard about Jane?"

A pause. "Yes. Who is this?"

Fair point. I must sound like a crazy stalker. "Sorry, yes. Will Darcy? I ran the campaign for Charles? Came to the farm about fourteen months ago? I'm Charles and Jane's boss now?"

"Right. Sorry. I remember you. Will." A pause. "Yeah, they called us about half an hour ago, or so?"

"And how is she doing?"

The voice becomes shaky. Much more frail. "They don't really know. She's in surgery, and they hope she'll make a full recovery."

"OK" I say, automatically. "Are you guys coming up to Washington, or…?"

She sniffs and sighs. "We can't right now. The guys Dad has to help on the farm are both indisposed, so he can't leave, and Mom's panicking right now. She says she won't go without him, and he says he can't, so she has all but had a nervous breakdown."

"I'm sorry…"

She laughs a short laugh. "It's not your fault. I'm going to have to stay here and keep an eye on everything. Try and convince Dad to let me run things for a few days, and take Mom. Mary's away in Mexico, but she's trying to get back, and Lizzie's already up there."

I had totally forgotten, just in these last few moments. "Hell, she's travelling right now, isn't she?"

"Yeah. Hopefully she'll get there soon."

"OK," I say. "Does she know?"

"Yeah."

"And was she all right?"

"No? None of us are."

"Right. Sorry." Stupid, stupid, stupid. "Look, Kate, right?"

"Kit. Near enough."

"Kit. Write this number down I'm on now somewhere, and use it anytime, OK? I'm going to go and try and find out some more, and I'll try and keep you guys posted."

She sighs again. "Thank you," she says, quietly. "Look after Lizzie, won't you? Jane said that you and her…well… look after her?"

"I will," I say, before my head has even caught up. I'm not sure my heart didn't hot wire my mouth that time. "How are you doing?"

She pauses again. "I'll be glad when Mary's back," she says shakily, "and we'll know better what's going on when someone has seen her."

"Of course. OK, look. I'll get off the line in case Lizzie's trying to get through or something, but phone if you need anything, OK?"

"Thanks," she says. "Bye."

I walk into Zimmerman's office just in time to hear him say "…I don't know how bad…Will! What was the news?"

I'm used to giving orders, running the show, but suddenly it feels very hot with every eye on me. "Uh…" I stumble, then, "Charles is, I think, stable. They said he had some injuries, but didn't give me anything more specific. It's Jane who sounds worse. She's in surgery right now, or maybe just out, but they're not sure. They're hoping for a full recovery, but you know what that means…"

"Yeah," he says, roughing up his white hair until it stands up over his head. "And her family know?"

"I just talked to them. They're stuck where they are for a few days because of extenuating circumstances, but Lizzie was already on her way for the engagement party."

"Lizzie?" he asks. "She's Jane's sister…but isn't she…?" He clicks his fingers together as his brain ticks over. "OK," he says finally to the rest of the room. "We're done."

I wait as everyone else makes their way back to their respective desks. "Sir," I begin. "If it's not too much trouble I think I should go and check on Charles."

He gives me an unfathomable look, stands up, walks over to the door, closes it, then pushes me towards a chair. "William," he begins, sinking back into his own chair, "for a smart boy, you can be incredibly stupid sometimes."

"Sir?"

He smiles. "I don't want to see you back in here for the rest of the weekend."

"No, I…there's too much going on."

"Not so much that we can't do without your valuable assistance. You have hired an excellent workforce here. They can handle it."

"Really, sir, I don't think Charles is that bad, and…"

He leans forward and silences me with a penetrating look. "It is not Charles that you are worried about, is it."

It's not a question, so much as a statement. One, unfortunately, that I cannot answer.

"I don't want to see you back here until Monday, and I'd rather not see you then. You understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Tell Charlie that I'll be in to see them both as soon as I can clear the security."

"I will."

He smiles, and leans back. "Then go," he says gently, and with that I get up and walk out of his office.

I find her in the waiting area, bags unceremoniously shoved under the chairs. One foot rests on the end of the bag that wouldn't fit under the chair, the other curled underneath her. Both are bare save for socks, damp snow boots lying next to the bag. Her hair is a mess of curls, displaying the distinct look of having had hands raked through it several times. I make it right up to her without her seeing me.

"Lizzie?"

She looks up, and looks confused for a second.

"Do you mind if I sit?"

She smiles, ever so slightly, and shakes her head. "No," she says with a shrug. "It's fine." She worries the sleeves of her jumper, pulling free threads and picking at them.

"How is she?" I ask, lowering myself into the ominously creaky chair.

"In surgery again."

"Again?"

She takes a ragged breath. "She'd been under once for setting her leg or something, and had woken up just about as I got here, and I saw her and everything, but then she suddenly said that she felt really sick, and then passed out, so they whipped her back into surgery…some internal something or other."

She doesn't look up the whole time, instead, staring at her hands as she winds and unwinds a loose thread around her finger.

"What about Charles?"

She shakes her head slowly, not looking up. "I don't know."

"They won't let you see him?"

She turns to me, the exhaustion apparent in her face. "I haven't tried. I can't," she continues, a little defensive.

"You can't?" I repeat.

She sighs and shakes her head. "What if he was driving drunk, or was fighting with her? Or what if she was driving, crying because of something he had done? Or…I don't know," she trails off, wearily. "I just don't know what I'd say to him, especially if…" She swallows heavily, and does not finish the sentence.

"Me either," I find myself saying, and realise that it is entirely true. "Unfortunately I promised to pass on a message to Charles from the President Elect, so…" I stand up, slowly. "Can I get you anything while I'm off looking for him? Coffee? Tea? Some kind of terrifying convenience food?"

She sighs and smiles a little, rubbing her hands over her face. "I don't really know what I want right now," she says, and shrugs. "Thank you, though."

"That's OK," I say, and smile down at her. "I'll see you in a bit." Then I walk off down the corridor, and pray that it isn't all Charles' fault as now, knowing how haunted Lizzie looks, I'm not sure that I won't accidentally give him a few more injuries.