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Refiner's Fire
by:SheilaVR 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 9
*******
~ TIME INDEX: 01:07:10 ~
Oh, to be a fly on the wall in *this* office... an invisible witness to decisions that could rock the foundations of the world.
The door closed behind the First Lady and the First Daughter, and there was silence.
The President of the United States and the White House Chief of Staff looked at each other for several seconds, the ordeal they had undergone stamped clearly on their faces.
Bartlet took the first step forward, disheveled, sleeves rolled up, formerly-white shirt plastered with blood. "Leo, you don't know how glad I am to see you."
McGarry advanced as well, limping slightly, yet his attire as perfect as for a new day. "Oh, I think I can guess," he assured his boss and old friend with a slight smile.
They grasped each other by the shoulders, as though to be sure the other was real, and well. And just stood there, savoring the relief.
"You're limping," the President said almost accusingly, drawing back and looking him over.
"A scrape. What happened to *you?*"
"I was thrown head-first into a wall."
McGarry grunted. "Human cannonball."
"That's *my* line. Don't steal my material."
"I'll try not to. Is there anything *else* to be concerned about?" the Chief of Staff asked, with pointed gravity.
Bartlet read into that apprehension and knew what he really meant. "Relax. It's under control." He didn't dodge the delicate matter completely, but his tone declared that it was not open for further discussion.
McGarry frowned. Clearly, though, he saw that arguing would be futile.
"And Leo... thanks for bringing Zoey." Amazing how much emotion one can cram into so few words.
"I wouldn't have had it any other way. She needed a friend. She's never been so upset, and naturally enough."
"And I couldn't be there for her." That came out almost as a snarl. "Damned regulations!" The President started to pace, fury building. "Why didn't the Service get her out of there sooner?"
"She had a vice-grip on Charlie's hand. It took all of my persuasion to get her to leave him." McGarry paused. "She finally had to choose between him... and you."
Silence.
Bartlet nodded, acknowledging his daughter's dilemma. And leaned back tiredly on the edge of his desk. "What can you tell me?"
His right-hand man came to stand beside the presidential seal, formally presenting his report. "The final count is still pending. There were too many casualties for one emergency ward, so they divvied up between GWU and Georgetown. About a dozen bystanders were hurt one way or another: bullet wounds, contusions, fractures... one middle-aged woman apparently had a heart attack. A couple of press members had to be treated, too; they got too close to the action. Four agents were hit that I know of - "
"You can add Ron to that list; we dropped him off on the way here." The President looked down at his stained shirt. "If not for him, this would be my own."
The ensuing quiet paid full tribute to a bodyguard fulfilling his ultimate role.
At last, "Cut the suspense, Leo, *please*."
"Sorry. It looks like Charlie was grazed as he fell; the bullet burned his neck and nicked one of his vertebrae, but at least it missed the major blood vessels. Hopefully the spinal cord itself wasn't affected. They'll know more once he comes around."
Bartlet's forehead developed a painful kink.
"Josh has a neat hole in and another one out on his left side. No internal organs were involved; he'll be back on his feet before too long. They say one more inch either way and the slug would have missed him... or *crippled* him."
The President shook his head in grateful wonder.
"Sam's got one bad cut in his arm and some small ones elsewhere from flying glass. They'll release him tonight. And Toby wasn't even scratched - just bruised."
Now McGarry hesitated - and his boss clenched his teeth. Four out of five were accounted for. The worst had been saved for last...
"CJ's critical. An abdominal bullet wound, broken ribs, and a skull fracture." Pause. "I don't know if she's out of surgery yet." Pause again. Each sentence quieter than the one before. "Her chances are about fifty-fifty."
Bartlet groaned as though he physically shared his Press Secretary's suffering. After a long moment he stood and wandered behind his desk, eyes on the floor. His Chief of Staff watched in equal anguish.
Both men looked noticeably older now than they had just two hours past.
"I've got to see her. *All* of them."
McGarry said what he had to say, regardless of what he *felt*. "Not yet."
The impact of an executive fist slamming down on that historic century-old-plus desktop made the penholder and paperweights jump.
"I don't care *how* risky it might be! I'm the leader of the most powerful nation on earth, and you're telling me I can't drive one mile to visit my friends in hospital - who wouldn't be there in the first place if not for me!"
"Give it a couple of days at least," McGarry advised, with full sympathy. "When things have calmed down a bit... and when you're feeling better."
"And how are we to know that CJ will *live* that long?"
Silence. No possible debate there.
"Forget the rule book. I'm going there tomorrow, and no one's stopping me. Not you, not Abbey, not the Secret Service - not all the guns in the world. Not even *myself*."
McGarry didn't waste his energy challenging that level of determination.
Finally the President came about again. Rage giving way, by reluctant degrees, to the demands of his office. "Leo... were there any *fatalities?*"
The somber delay in response was answer enough.
"One young man. Police think he jumped the fence trying to get away. Must've run right into the gunmen's sights."
Silence.
Bartlet released a deep breath and turned back to stare out the window at the peaceful night. "Just his bad luck. What a senseless way to die."
"I know it's no real consolation, but two of the assailants were killed by Service fire. The third has been arrested, with injuries."
The President's lip curled, like a predator baring teeth. "Pretty cold comfort."
McGarry looked down. "Yeah."
"What exactly *happened?*"
"Two young men got into the building next door to the Newseum somehow, and opened fire from a third-floor window. The rooftop snipers eliminated one and drilled the other. They had another guy in the crowd, ready to shoot whoever his pals missed. Gina spotted him in time and brought him down."
"Good for her," Bartlet said with a vicious approval, obviously not caring how someone might interpret his enthusiasm at the violent death of a teenage boy.
When he didn't get a confirmation this time, he spun back. And the sorrow on his best friend's face could not be denied.
"No... "
McGarry spoke in a near-whisper. "He got *her*, too."
Silence.
Slowly, the President closed his eyes and bowed his head.
"Oh, Leo... she was twenty-seven... had the world by the tail... "
His Chief of Staff offered the only commiseration there was. "She saved your daughter - and Charlie - and who knows how many more of us."
"And I'll make sure the world knows it. Especially her family." Bartlet rubbed his temple, blinking rapidly. "I wish I never had to make a call like this... "
The silence settled in thicker than ever. No words would suffice.
"Does Zoey know?"
"Not yet. She was so eaten up over you and Charlie all the way here... "
"I'll tell her. Later. Hell, as if she hasn't been through enough!"
Silence.
"I don't know about you, Leo, but the idea of having bodyguards in the first place has never felt right. I prefer to fight my own battles, thank you. Always hated the idea of others stepping in the way. Risking their very lives, just for me. Even standing here, I honestly don't feel important enough to merit that. And now that it's actually happened - " The President lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. "I feel positively sick."
McGarry nodded slightly. "Concurred, one hundred percent."
Silence.
"Who *were* those murderers, anyway? What were they trying to accomplish?"
"White supremacists." And no more needed to be said.
Bartlet's eyes flamed. "They were after Zoey and Charlie." He began to pace again, fists opening and closing as if in search of a neck to choke. "This'll make Zoey feel even worse - and I don't see how we can keep it from her."
Then he stopped, and drew himself up. Visibly assuming the mantle of avenger. "But we *can* keep the details from the press. Their names, their affiliation, the works. I don't want this movement to get any publicity *at all*. I won't let them be hailed as martyrs to their cause. If it's at all possible, I'm going to deny them *that* satisfaction at least."
McGarry was in full agreement. "Here, here."
Silence.
"I don't know how, Leo, but we're also going to have to deal with the staff's trauma. They'll be carrying some heavy-duty scars for awhile."
"We *all* will." Pause. "And so will the nation."
The presidential shoulders sagged. "Right... that's another thing."
"The address can wait a day. No one will blame you for taking some time off first."
"Not a problem. I'll prove to everyone that I'm alive and well."
McGarry offered a half-smile. "Good. You can start with the Vice-President."
His boss about-faced. "What?"
"He called me in the limo. He's got the Joint Chiefs gathered in the O.E.O.B. right now, and the entire Cabinet on yellow alert. In case you want to speak to them."
The President frowned dangerously. "Is that *all* he's doing?"
"That's what he said. No reason yet to disbelieve him."
"He'd better *not* give us a reason." The room temperature dropped a few degrees.
"I don't think he wants your job right now." McGarry raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Not after tonight."
Bartlet snorted. "No intelligent person would."
"The phones are ringing off the hook. But don't worry: no matter who they are or how desperately they want to speak to you, they have to get past Mrs. Landingham first."
"*And* Abbey." The President uttered a wry chuckle at being under the personal protection of two such determined women. "I couldn't be safer."
McGarry grinned as well in complete endorsement.
Bartlet glanced around at nothing in particular. "I suppose this is all over the news."
"Afraid so. There were photographers everywhere."
"And some of them got caught in the crossfire. I *thought* I spotted flashbulbs as Ron hustled me away. Imagine those idiots ignoring flying lead just to get shots of the evacuation. And the *victims*." The President's mouth hardened into a thin angry line. "If they hadn't already been published I'd try to confiscate every picture they took."
"Those guys value the story more than they do their lives. That's dedication for you."
"The gunmen were no less dedicated, in their own way. They couldn't have expected to get away." Pause. "You know, I simply cannot understand why anyone would even *think* about committing such a heartless act... much less actually go through with it."
"I know how you feel. I'm mad, too - "
"I'm too tired right now. I'll get mad tomorrow." Bartlet returned wearily to his perch on the edge of his desk.
McGarry stood silently, his concern for the physical and mental condition of his friend and leader self-evident.
"And all this happened because of me." The President waved a despairing hand at the historic chamber around them. "Because of this office."
This was the part where he would be reminded (again) that it wasn't his fault...
"Then why don't you hang it up?"
Bartlet looked up slowly, in pure amazement. "*What* did you say?"
"Let Hoynes pitch in."
Pause. "That's twice - and I *still* can't believe I heard you right."
"Just for a little while," McGarry clarified. "You deserve a break and a half, after what you and your family have been through."
The President regained his feet and advanced on his Chief of Staff, this time in anger. "And what's next? What's to stop me from handing *any* old thing over to Hoynes, just because I don't feel like dealing with it? *NO WAY.* I will not set *that* precedent. I'm not shirking my job, and I'm not giving in to emotional blackmail!"
He paused for breath, then continued in a less strident yet even harder tone. "But I'm not dragging anyone *else* into the firing line with me again, either. Once is one time too many. You all stay back where it's safe. I'll deal with this on my own."
McGarry studied him, perfectly calm. "You lead. We'll see who follows." Leaving no doubt that he himself would follow... anywhere.
Still seething a bit, Bartlet opened his mouth to pursue his point - and halted in sudden realization.
"You did that deliberately."
His best friend now wore a subtle smirk. "Got to keep the flames of purpose stoked somehow."
The President tried to maintain his scowl... and lost out to a spreading grin. "Man, I can't take you for face value in anything."
McGarry looked innocent. "Unpredictability is an asset around here."
"Okay, okay, you've made your point." Bartlet clapped him on one arm. And did not return to his desk, apparently having found a new strength. He stood tall, filled with fresh resolve, looking like a Commander-in-Chief should. "I'm reminded of a Bible quote about the refiner's fire. Well, I feel like I've been galvanized into the hardest steel around."
"Now that's what I wanted to hear."
Then the Chief of Staff fell back into his old managerial role. Business could be postponed only so long around here. "I'll brief the staff. They're all waiting right outside. The press are like starved wolves right now; Mandy can throw them a bone or two. And I'll reassure Hoynes and Company as well. Then I'm going back to the hospital to check on everyone."
"Pass along my best wishes, will you?" His boss grew solemn again. "And call me about CJ the *instant* you hear anything."
"Count on it. Why don't you turn in now?" It was high time the First Family had some undisturbed time together. To heal, in more ways than one.
The President sighed. "Not that I expect to sleep much. Thanks for everything, Leo... and I mean everything."
McGarry straightened proudly, asking only to serve. "United, we stand."
"Amen." And the two old friends shared a warm look and a strong handshake, declaring their partnership through thick and thin.
Then Bartlet let go as a new thought struck him. "Say, have you called Jenny and Mallory yet?"
McGarry hesitated at the mention of his own wife and daughter. "I didn't want to from the limo; not in front of Zoey. Not when she didn't know for sure about you."
"Call now."
"I'll see you upstairs first."
"And how often do you get to use my phone? Go on, already. They've got to be worried, too." The President crossed his arms and waited, clearly not about to go anywhere until his command had been obeyed.
His Chief of Staff exhaled. And smiled. "Thank you, Mr. President." That was the first time he'd resorted to his leader's title here tonight... like a signal that life was finally starting to return to normal.
And took one step forward.
And staggered.
Hardly expecting this, Bartlet lunged to his aid barely in time. "Whoa -!"
Suddenly breathing hard, McGarry leaned heavily on the executive desk and raised a trembling hand to his forehead. The film of perspiration hadn't been there a minute ago. "I'm... all right... "
"Like fun you are." The President was already supporting half his weight. "This isn't just a nervous reaction. What's the prob - "
And his gaze fell upon a peculiar shadow on the Oval Office carpet, right beside the great seal.
Except that it couldn't be a shadow. No such shadow had ever fallen there before. No, that was a bloodstain -
Bartlet's vision jumped back. McGarry's black suit effectively masked any hint of dampness the same way Ron's had. It was the small yet unmistakable tear in his lower left trouser leg that explained everything.
The President's fingers probed the horizontal slice, and came away dripping scarlet.
"My God, you've been bleeding all this time!"
"Just a scratch... " his friend maintained faintly.
"Shut up. That's an order. Come on, let's get you seated." Bartlet stepped in as a human crutch and manhandled him over to the nearest armchair. The one normally reserved for the Commander-in-Chief.
McGarry collapsed into it, all self-control at an end. That he'd ignored his wound this long was nothing short of miraculous, but there were mortal limits.
Panting from the exertion himself, the President dragged a hassock over and elevated the injury. Crimson blotches fell onto its embroidered surface almost at once.
"Dammit, Leo, someday your obsessive dedication is going to get you killed! And I can't do without you just yet."
He rose and dashed over to the door on the right. "Margaret! Get me a first-aid kit, *now!*" Then he turned and dashed over to the door on the left. "Mrs. Landingham! Call whoever's on medical duty and tell them to get down here at once! *Not* my wife; she has enough on her mind. And inform Mandy that I need to see her."
Slumped strengthless in the chair, head back, respirations strained and skin ashen, McGarry was fighting to stay conscious.
"I'm getting too old for this nonsense," he murmured.
"If you are, then so am I - and after that brilliant pep talk of yours, too." Bartlet gripped his shoulder, broadcasting alarm and support more effectively than any words. "I guess we know which one of us will be making those phone calls after all, huh?"
Margaret entered swiftly from the right, carrying a large white steel case with a red cross.
"Leo!" she gasped, and covered the last few feet at a run.
"Give me that," the President ordered, and dove into the medical supplies. He started with scissors, slicing the soaked pant leg open from the knee right down. "You can send me the bill, Leo. I'm good for it."
Blinking far too much, McGarry flickered a ghost of a smile. "Not worried... "
Acting intuitively, the Chief of Staff's secretary placed sterile dressings on the floor within easy presidential reach. Then she rose and used tissues to wipe her boss's face, steadying him all the while so that he didn't lose what balance he had left and tumble from his seat.
"Just rest, Leo," she told him soothingly. "You'll be fine." She kept her tone level - trying to believe it herself.
"Only if he gets a transfusion *fast*," Bartlet muttered, pressing a thick bandage to the still-persistent bloodflow. The bullet cut was shallow, but it had been draining his best friend's very life for over an hour.
"You know," he added more loudly, "this is the second time tonight that I've patched someone up. I could just about earn my merit badge in Scouts all over again."
The forced cheerfulness in his voice drew no reaction from his right-hand man at all.
*****
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15
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