The National Library - West Wing Fan Fiction

Refiner's Fire

Category(s): Post-Ep
Rating: TEEN
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: A frame-by-frame analysis of the last thirty seconds of the first season finale.
Authors Notes: This plotline has no bearing on Mr. Sorkin's avowed intent to flashback to the Bartlet presidential campaign at the start of the new season.
Warning:I refuse to glorify violence, even in fiction. I will never comprehend how any person could willingly hurt another. However, violence does exist, and by its very nature it is dramatic. What follows is a coolly realistic interpretation of events, based primarily upon a frame-by-frame analysis of the last thirty seconds of the first season finale.

PART 8

*******

~ TIME INDEX: 00:58:52 ~

"They assured me Zoey's okay." Jed sat on the edge of his desk, sans jacket and tie, collar open and sleeves rolled up, letting his wife treat his scalp wound. The dried bloodstain that wasn't his stood out starkly in this well-lit room. "But they haven't let me speak to her yet."

He sighed wearily, too tired even to flinch at the sting of antiseptic. He'd refused Abbey's instruction to pick a chair, and she hadn't pushed; both of them feared that, once settled, he wouldn't make it to his feet again. And he had no intention of standing down just yet. His sense of dedication was impressive.

<And, in situations like this, downright infuriating.>

Both were over the initial lightheadedness of their reunion. Of course, the Secret Service had said that he was relatively all right, and Abbey knew they wouldn't bring him here if he weren't. But until he walked through that door, she hadn't quite dared to believe it...

"They don't know how the others are yet. They can't even tell me about Leo - "

"They will, as soon as they actually *have* something to tell you." She cleaned off the last of the blood that had hardened in his hair, bringing the nasty laceration into view. "It really hasn't been that long since this whole thing blew up."

"Yeah, I keep forgetting. Feels like it should be six weeks from tomorrow."

"Hmm. It's surprising how many phone calls *and* prayers you can fit into a single hour if you really try." Abbey reached for another gauze pad. Striving to preserve at least some emotional distance from the laden meaning behind that statement. "I got through to Elizabeth and Kristin. They're arranging their flights up even as we speak."

"I'll call them myself in a bit. They really should hold off a day or two; the Service will have enough to handle without *that* complication."

"Fine - *you* tell them their father doesn't want them around."

"All right, all right. At least we have an excuse for a family reunion. They've wanted to stay in the White House from day one."

Jed watched his wife for a few moments. And made a valiant attempt to lighten up. "You look great."

It worked: she couldn't prevent a brief grin. "I'm flattered you even noticed."

"I like to think I *always* notice what you're wearing. How was the dinner?"

She uttered a short, inarticulate sound. "Cut drastically short, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"For the record, this time it wasn't my fault." As if that needed saying.

"I was getting bored anyway." *That* had certainly been cured.

"Oh, and thanks for the small reception in my honor." By rights there should have been *some* medical brass present. Their absence was a massive relief, for *both* Bartlets.

Abbey didn't pause in her work. "I denied the presiding admiral an invitation," she stated tersely. She had claimed it as her right: clearly the President had suffered no serious injury, and was indisputably entitled to some family time alone.

She'd had to exercise every iota of her debating powers to negotiate that concession.

Her husband shook his head slightly in amazement. Few people indeed could talk the military out of its own regulations. "Sorry I missed *that*."

"Hold *still*." She clamped her free hand down on his skull, holding it in place.

He rolled his eyes. "Love your bedside manner, *Doc*."

"Trust me, you're better off dealing with that than some of the *other* things I'm currently feeling."

Abbey had several reasons to agonize over Jed's condition right now. She'd known Leo almost as long as Jed himself. She'd come to know and like the entire White House (previously electoral campaign) senior staff. And no amount of official reports could convince her as to her daughter's good health until she saw it with her own eyes.

If not for her ability to concentrate, to provide a personal and valuable contribution towards the common goal, she wouldn't be in any coherent shape herself.

"I know how you feel," Jed commented, his tone soft yet firm. And he did, as surely as if his wife had just ticked off those thoughts out loud. Their minds worked a lot alike, and they knew each other very well indeed.

Abbey met his eyes for one second - his worry added to hers, threatening to overwhelm her - then forced herself to return to her task, masking worry with abruptness.

"Good; then you won't put yourself through this again anytime soon."

Or put *her* through it. The moment her own SSA had approached with a grimmer-than-usual attitude, she'd known to her core that the unthinkable had finally happened...

"Tell the Secret Service. I was just along for the ride."

"Oh, you can *bet* I'll tell them. Their efforts at protection would be rather circumvented if they kill you themselves."

Jed snorted weakly. "Maybe I should join the circus. This has been pretty good experience for the job of a human cannonball."

Abbey had no interest in joking with him. That was his control mechanism, not hers. "Good thing you've got such a hard skull. They should make it a prerequisite for this job. We'll get x-rays later, just to be sure, but there *might* not be a concussion." Her fingers probed the point of impact delicately.

"Better than the alternative." He inclined his head a bit, trying to be helpful.

"On almost anyone else, I'd agree." She gently grasped his jaw and rotated him back so that they were face to face. "But here, there are other factors to consider."

He pulled out of her touch with a frown. "I know what you're going to say - "

"And since when did you major in telepathy?" She leaned closer. "This is no time to pretend you're indestructible, Jed. You can't believe that bump is the *only* reason for your blackout. I daresay the events earlier were more than stressful enough to do it on their own!"

"Abbey - "

"You haven't stopped perspiring since you walked in here, and I very much doubt you've got enough strength to stand unaided. We've been through this before! There's a chink in your armor. Face it, before it *kills* you!"

Abbey was cracking and she knew it. It cost her dearly, but she reined the cold dread back again. Neither of them would benefit if she couldn't act decisively.

<Welcome to my double-barreled nightmare.> As if gun-waving terrorists weren't risk enough, a totally different kind of murderer lurked just under the surface all along...

Jed's reply was low and intense. "I'm not living to *total* denial, Abbey. The limo was no place to bring it up, with Ron bleeding all over. I sat back, I conserved my energy, and I brought it under control. There's something to be said for sheer willpower."

She sighed in pure exasperation. "That won't keep you out of the emergency ward." And reached for her medical bag on the desk between them, and pulled out a syringe.

Jed spotted the motion. "Put that away," he ordered - and *ordered* was the correct term. "I have to be able to think straight for awhile yet."

"No one can realistically expect that of you before tomorrow at least," Abbey countered, ignoring his command. "And you'll be in better shape for it then if you rest *now*."

In a sudden fury that startled her, he caught hold of her wrist, his grip not painful yet unbreakable. She froze, the syringe hovering between them like a weapon. "Not until I know!" She actually flinched, dangerously close to real fear. "I will not be coddled, Abbey. Not now. And it has nothing to do with this office we're in. I'm going to be here when our daughter comes home, and I'm going to stay until I learn the condition of every member of my staff."

<Honestly, sometimes there's no reasoning with the man.>

For one instant Abbey wanted to fight back, wanted to literally shake some sense into him. She was his wife *and* his doctor; her instincts were screaming at her to ship him off to bed at once, as in five minutes ago. One plays chicken with Multiple Sclerosis at one's own peril.

But sometimes survival itself pales before one's love for others.

His eyes bored into her, uncompromising. And at last she yielded.

"Okay." He did seem fairly stable, considering: worn out, sure, yet neither wan nor flushed. Another moderate delay at this point would push his full recovery back a few more hours, but nothing worse than that. They could both live with it.

Satisfied with her compliance, Jed let go. Abbey hesitated, a bit unsettled by the memory of that grasp, the only time in their lives that he'd *ever* directed physical force against her, before she packed the instrument away. Getting a much better picture of how badly jarred *he* was despite his external resilience.

She scrounged for something reassuring to them both. "Zoey should be here any moment, and the initial diagnoses can't take much longer."

Her husband bowed his head, clearly drained by his outburst. "I hope not." And paused. "On the other hand, I'd rather have it take all night, so long as the reports are *good*."

Abbey folded her arms. "I'll second that." But as the silence lengthened, her concern was for him alone.

He didn't look up. Then, "You knew I talked Zoey into going. I thought it'd be great to do a thing together. We hardly ever get the chance anymore." Another pause. "If I hadn't, what are the odds that those lunatics would've still gone ahead with their little demonstration?"

<Here we go... > "*Please* don't go blaming yourself, Jed."

He straightened, and she could see the torment blazing in his vision. "No? Not only did I put our little girl in the middle of a gunfight, but I led my closest colleagues and who knows how many innocent bystanders right into the crosshairs as well!"

"It's *not* your fault!" Abbey found herself shouting at him, slicing through the tension like a scalpel. As he turned away, unimpressed, she grabbed his near shoulder. Hard. "And if you keep insisting that it is, then I swear I'll sedate you right here!"

Still gazing off into another dimension, Jed weighed her words carefully.

"You probably would, too." Pause. "Fine; I'll shut up. For now."

She exhaled, releasing some of the stress. "About time."

<Score: one all.>

Except that this wasn't a game, by any possible interpretation. This was real life - with an appallingly-high price tag attached. And right now First Lady Abigail Bartlet would give just about anything she possessed to walk out of the White House this instant and never look back. <Let someone else provide target practice for the loonies of society.>

Of course Jed would never consider leaving, even after tonight. Presidents didn't quit, and Bartlets didn't quail.

But what about his family? How much did *their* views count? Was all this worth it? What did they have to pay as well, in support of his political ambitions?

And Abbey had her answer: they would stand by him, just as he would stand by the American people. Theirs was the responsibility, the example. To walk away would be to surrender, to give those gunmen the success they thought they deserved. And never would.

With a smile like a pledge of fealty, she moved closer and wrapped her husband in a heart-to-heart embrace. Not caring one whit about the stains on his shirt.

He didn't resist, leaning heavily into her like an exhausted child. And their mutual anxieties eased a bit before the pervading comfort each brought to the other.

In this intimate quiet, the two light taps on the nearest office door sounded startlingly loud, and demanding.

Husband and wife both opened their eyes, then moved a bit apart. Not wanting an intrusion now of all times... but willing to permit it if said intrusion brought the news they so craved. Together, they looked around.

In this office, one does not wait for the occupant's permission to enter. If you aren't very well known or announced in advance, you don't presume to visit - especially in crisis. After a proper two-second pause the door opened a few degrees... and Leo stepped into view.

Jed and Abbey smiled in concert. One more specter laid to rest.

At the sight of the President and the First Lady - and, incidentally, his very dear friends - present together and looking reasonably well, the same kind of relief lit up Leo's haggard face. Then he swung the door open the rest of the way.

And a blur of ecstatic teenager bolted past him. *"DAD!"*

*"ZOEY!"* Jed pushed himself off his desk just in time to be virtually tackled. Abbey had to steady him from behind.

She didn't mind waiting a minute; it was normal for both of them to fixate on each other after the harrowing experience they'd been through. She felt content - almost - to watch her husband and her daughter joyously half-strangle each other, and to share in the supreme happiness of her family being complete once again.

"You really are okay! They wouldn't give me any details about you at all - "

"I know what you mean, sweetheart. We're going to have to work on the communications around here."

Abbey glanced at Leo. He had closed the door and was maintaining a discrete distance with politely averted eyes, but that didn't hide his grin at being able to make this great wish come true, for all of them.

Jed moved Zoey out to arm's length. "Here, let me look at you. Are you hurt in any way?"

"No, I - " She recoiled with a cry at the gruesome red-brown smear across his ribs.

"Take it easy!" He gripped her tighter by both arms and peered earnestly into her huge eyes. "It's not mine. It's Ron Butterfield's. And he's going to pull through."

Abbey well remembered reacting in a similar fashion not very long ago. And Leo mirrored something of the same alarm as well.

Zoey moved in for another hug, just because. "I was so worried!"

"Well, I sure hope so! Because if I was the *only* one worrying my head off... "

A pointed *Ahem* told Jed that he'd ignored the other element of their family unit long enough. One who had worried every bit as much.

"Ah, yes. Come on in here, Mother." And he drew his wife into the cuddle.

It's not easy to hug two people at the same time, but all three did their best.

"Zoey, are you *sure* you're all right?"

"Yes, Mom. Gina protected me. But Charlie - " And Zoey's voice broke.

Jed and Abbey looked over at Leo in unison... and his now-somber expression said it all.

<Oh, *NO*... >

Zoey's feelings had been well and truly unleashed. "He was standing right beside me - and then there was gunfire everywhere, and Gina knocked him over and jammed me down, and then she had to take off, and he was just *lying* there - "

Jed eased out of their embrace, letting his wife take up the slack. "How bad, Leo?"

His Chief of Staff hesitated. "They took him to George W." And hesitated again. "Possible spinal damage."

Jed winced. Natural compassion aside, he'd become very fond of his personal aide.

Zoey was really shaking, and her grip on her mother tightened, as though, having found true security at last, she couldn't bear to be out of physical contact for a single second. Abbey hugged her closer in turn. Two many ups and downs, and severe ones at that; both her maternal senses and her medical training detected all the signs of hysteria.

Clearly her husband had the same thought. He caught her eye and nodded, sharing a wealth of information in that simple gesture.

Abbey nodded back just as economically. And turned again to their tearful daughter. "Come on, Zo. Let's go upstairs. We'll get the news there as quickly as anywhere else."

"No, let me stay - "

Jed gave her arm an encouraging rub. "Better go with Mom, sweetie. You need to rest. As soon as I hear anything about Charlie, I'll let you know."

Abbey jerked back towards him, assailed by another, older concern. "Jed - "

"Go on." The look in his eye brooked no objection. "I just want a minute with Leo." Here, finally, was the news that meant so much to him.

For a moment, Abbey felt completely torn in two; she just could not choose between leaving with her traumatized daughter and staying with her injured husband. Which of them needed her more? How could she be expected to prioritize her own *family?*

Mercifully, Leo broke the deadlock. He knew the full story behind that indecision. "This won't take long, Abbey. And then I'll bring him upstairs myself."

Jed gazed ceilingward, as though beseeching heaven to spare him the fuss.

His wife flashed a smile at the sight, so typical of him. <He has to be feeling better.> "I'm going to hold you to that, Leo."

Zoey darted a tortured glance back. "Dad - "

"The moment I hear anything," her father reiterated, and planted a kiss on her forehead. "And you can hold *me* to that."

She sniffled. "I will."

He squeezed her arm once more. Touched his wife's arm tenderly as well. And stepped back. And Abbey felt his eyes follow them as mother and daughter walked slowly from the Oval Office, still wrapped in each other's arms.

*****

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

| << back | send feedback | The National Library |