Hail to the First Lady

by:SheilaVR

Pairing(s):Jed/Abbey
Rating: YTEEN
Disclaimer: This is an original short story spawned by the imagination of SheilaVR, based upon the creation of Aaron Sorkin, with the obligatory nod to Warner Brothers Television and NBC. No copyright infringement is actually intended, but no threat of same will stop me from fantasizing about "The West Wing" anyway...
Summary: Never, ever come between Jed Bartlet and his wife.

The Secret Service agents in the doorway, firearms level at arm's length, had exactly three options: pile in and wrestle the two men apart at once, placing their own bodies between death and their President if need be; open fire and drop the intruder *now* before he could inflict any possible harm, trusting that their professional aim would not deviate by more than an inch; or pray that sheer intimidation would be enough to freeze the scene a bit longer, giving their boss time to come to his senses and step back.

They held their position. Not wanting to kill this intruder if he could be taken alive for interrogation, not wanting to instigate a firefight sooner than they must for fear that it precipitate said intruder into action, and certainly not wanting to increase the risk to their presidential charges with flying bullets in the first place. They waited, tense as piano wire, for the right moment to move in, or the first hint of retaliation... and, meanwhile, watching in silence as the man they were supposed to protect essentially did their job for them. As efficiently as any of them.

The young man was trembling despite his effort to keep still, and gasping for air - mostly from fear, since that iron grasp wasn't on his throat. Yet. He held both hands at shoulder height and in full view, empty. Not about to resist in any way.

The President didn't loosen his grip, hard eyes unblinking under lowered brows, still consumed with the desire to ensure his wife was safe. Not caring that he'd placed himself within range of a direct physical assault, so long as no such assault reached *her*. Nor did he show any current interest in handing the prisoner - *his* prisoner - over to the people who should have made the arrest in the first place.

Abbey's concern penetrated vaguely, adding to the inner turmoil. Was it meant for this invader, or was it for whatever damage this invader could do if given the slightest chance? Better to not let down his guard just yet.

Cautiously, as though she feared to upset a delicate balance, the First Lady raised both palms to the aimed arsenal on the suite's threshold in a pacifying gesture. Then, she touched her husband's arm just as gently.

"Jed. It's all right."

He didn't quite dare look away, just in case their trespasser still had it in mind to try something, but the presidential glower eased slightly. In considerable confusion.

"'All right'? This guy just breezes through the toughest security cordon around and waltzes into your room, and you say it's *all right*?"

"It is," Abbey insisted quietly. "He just wants to talk."

The five Secret Service agents, silent and motionless, framed like a corporate firing squad, did not move.

Neither did their target, still pinned in place by the immovable hold on his clothes and the ominous expression so close to his frightened one.

Neither did Charlie Young, peering in from the hall, determined to help his President any way he could. If he was needed. Which, it appeared, he wasn't.

Gradually, by visible degrees, Bartlet's stern features shifted from aggression to scepticism.

"*Talk*, huh?"

The visitor managed a jerky nod, despite the fact that he was trembling unashamedly and had paled to a desperate degree. "Uh - uh... y - yeah. Yeah. Talk. Just talk. Honest."

The words came out with great effort, and without any attempt at recovering self-possession. If he wasn't panic-stricken for a fact, he had to an Academy-level actor.

Still the President hesitated. So did his employees, who had effectively been commanded to stand down, yet ached to stop any perceived threat *before* it showed itself.

Abbey broke the deadlock by placing her hand on her husband's shoulder in a casual yet personal manner. "Come on, Jed. This is no way to treat a guest."

He couldn't prevent a fleeting grin. Trust her to flip the right switch.

Slowly and deliberately, not entirely convinced just yet but willing to trust *her* if no one else, Bartlet relaxed his fingers and settled back a single step. Keeping himself between his wife and the slightest chance of danger until he *was* convinced. Getting his image, his respirations and his rage back under control.

Breathing just as hard from his own emotions, the young man lowered his hands inch by inch, as though expecting to be ordered *not* to lower them, and seemed genuinely surprised when no such order came. The only reason such an order did not come was because the Secret Service, too, understood that this was a time to defer to the First Lady's judgment.

For the moment, at least.

Finally, the President nodded. "Well, then, son, I suppose I should say something like 'Good evening'. I didn't realize before this that you *were* a guest. It's just that... we don't get many *unexpected* visitors."

Statements don't come much more obvious than that. Anyone who knows the first thing about the Presidency should realize why.

This blatant intruder just hung his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean nothin'. Honest." Sounding far more scared than respectful. As though the import of the presidential office meant less to him than the fact that he'd been nearly throttled for no apparent wrongdoing. "I just wanted to... to... like, you know... "

The first suspicion of mental deficiency reared its head. Bartlet shot a puzzled glance at his wife in mute question, and she gave him a confirming nod.

The President exhaled, releasing much of his tension. "Talk. I get the idea."

Should that apparent psychological weakness be mentioned, as evidence that he wasn't a threat? No, the Secret Service wouldn't be inclined to cut any extra slack for a nutcase; a mind that doesn't adhere to the standard principles of logic is impossible to predict.

Abbey made the final decision, well aware of what everyone else was thinking. Even if security rules could be bent enough to let this slightly slow and plainly friendly youngster stay awhile, they'd never exempt him from the trauma of a weapons search first. The Bartlets' safety had to take precedence over an ordinary citizen's mental stability.

"Lawrence, I'm a doctor. Can I give you a quick check-up? You know... just to make sure you're all right, after all this - excitement."

Their visitor hesitated, but her gentle tone and kind features finally won him over. The President grinned, knowing full well what she had in mind, and glanced at his protectors with their still-drawn pistols to see if they appreciated the sight of his wife conducting a brief and compassionate surface medical examination that included all pockets and other potential hiding places. And she knew what to look for, too.

Once she'd proved to everyone present that "Lawrence" had no nefarious intentions, the First Lady took him by the hand. "You're just fine. Come on, let's sit down and have our conversation. What do you say?"

He looked at her anxiously, at her husband even more anxiously, and at the armed contingent with frank confusion. And followed her. As trusting as a puppy would follow its mother anywhere.

Feeling somewhat off-balance himself, and a little foolish to boot, Bartlet ended the standoff with a weary nod towards the doorway. "Thank you, gentlemen. I believe we have everything under control." Although not *absolutely* sure of that himself, he was willing to take it on faith. Which meant that everyone else had to play along. Almost reluctantly, the brace of pistols lowered and the army of business suits drew apart.

Now that the hair-trigger had been defused, Ron pushed forward. "Mr. President?" It sounded more like a demand for an explanation than an offer to help.

His boss shrugged, stabbing one hand into a pocket and scrubbing the other over his sweated face. And conceded at last, quietly so as not to be overheard, "He looks harmless enough."

"Sir - "

The President straightened. "He's unarmed, Ron. What - you don't think I can handle him myself if he gets out of line?"

"Not after that demonstration, sir," the security coordinator assured him, deadpan.

"Why, thank you. Nice to be appreciated for one's skills."

Ron suppressed his amusement. "But, sir... "

"Oh, relax. My wife always knows what she's doing, and she's a better judge of character than anyone else I know. Including myself." Bartlet sighed, almost in envy. "Let's grant them both a moment, okay? When it's time for him to leave, I'll call you."

Clearly Ron didn't like it, but he knew how to take orders. "Yes, sir. I'll be right outside."

"Fine."

The President was turning away when Charlie managed to worm his path through retreating security personnel. "Mr. President?"

"Oh, yeah, Charlie. You're too quiet; I didn't even know you were there. And I doubt the Secret Service did either."

He accepted this rebuke for putting himself at risk, but didn't regret his decision. "I was staying out of the way, sir. Uh, can I get you anything?"

Bartlet considered. "A cold drink."

Charlie grinned. "Right away, sir." He headed for the small but well-stocked bar to one side. "I daresay you earned one."

That last line was purely automatic, born of sheer admiration. The President read into it, and he couldn't let such an opportunity pass unchallenged. "Oh? Since when do I have to *earn* my right to a beer?"

This time his aide stumbled badly. "Sir, I just mean that... well, may I say I thought that was really impressive of you, sir - "

"It was? Hmm, maybe I should try a few moves like that in the next campaign." And he actually seemed to consider it. "Or better yet, I might just go knock some sense into Congress. Talk about a hands-on approach, right?"

Charlie couldn't hide his grin at this apparent show of enthusiasm. "That may not be such a bad idea, sir."

"Don't tempt me. I'd just as soon this didn't get out... " Then Bartlet shrugged. "Aw, what the hell. It'll be in the official report, anyway. No doubt I'm going to get it from the Security Council soon enough. I must've broken every rule in the book." He accepted the foaming beer mug, dropping that issue and, as a result, essentially giving his aide virtual *carte blanche* to tell all.

And considered again. "Hey, does anyone else want something?"

Abbey had taken Lawrence over towards the window, where several straight-backed chairs huddled around a polished dining table, as much removed from the scene of action as they could get in this mid-sized sitting-room. Both looked around when the President spoke.

At the sight of recurring panic on their guest's open features, he didn't come any closer.

"Lawrence?" Abbey drew the young man's attention back from her husband, whom he obviously feared - a lot. "Would you like a drink?"

"Uh... " Lawrence cast another apprehensive glance aside, then over at the silent Charlie. Apparently comforted by the fact that someone even younger than himself had survived conversation with The Man, he finally nodded. "Okay. Sure."

"All right. And what would you like?" the First Lady probed patiently. "Um... um... ginger ale?" he finally asked, as though that would be the dearest boon anyone could give him at this moment.

"Of course. One for me too, please, Charlie."

"Yes, ma'am." Charlie obeyed with alacrity.

Abbey made another effort to lighten the underlying uneasiness. "Lawrence, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is Lawrence. He just dropped in to say hello."

The personal assistant to the President was learning to rise to almost any occasion with fair speed. He gave a friendly nod as he brought two glasses over to the table. "Hi, Lawrence. Good to meet you."

The former security risk took an extra moment to respond, but clearly this normal dialogue calmed his nerves a bit more. As planned. "Uh, hi."

"Thanks, Charlie." Bartlet used the precise tone that passed for a dismissal. His aide got the message and headed for the door.

"Yes, sir. I'll be outside if you need me."

"Appreciated."

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

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