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 11

*******

~ TIME INDEX: 06:35:30 ~

When your job is to spend almost every waking moment in the presence of a world leader, you eventually become accustomed to the high levels of protocol, responsibility and security that are never far away. In fact, it can be fascinating to see that public image from the other side, the side that the average person will never behold. To observe greatness at its most human and humanity at its most impressive. To linger in the background, useful, almost invisible, known by few, appreciated by fewer - besides The Man himself.

To share the spotlight... and the danger. And when you stand that close to the President's shadow, you can't deny that the danger is very real.

Charlie fiddled with the TV remote, flipping through channels absently, not really caring what was on. Except, that is, for the news reports, which he promptly bypassed. He didn't want to hear any more about *that*. He wanted noise, distraction, total irrelevance... anything rather than dwell on his uncomfortable posture and his spinning mind. He'd be doing little else over the next few days, anyway.

For a twenty-one-year-old in such a unique political niche, he knew more about violence than almost anyone else he worked around, including the President himself. The Young family history bore its own tragic blood trail.

At least, Charlie could have claimed that greater experience before tonight. But in a span of mere seconds the playing field had been brutally leveled.

// Gina whirled, in obvious alarm; Charlie and Zoey both turned to follow her eye; two human shapes staring down at them from a red-lit upper window; flashes of white blooming around their hands... //

The President's personal aide tried to shift a bit, but no position hurt less. Although the doctor had permitted him to sit up in bed, his back and neck were still locked rigidly in a straight line. He felt half-strangled, aside from the ever-growing ache as the painkillers faded. Still, he had fared far better than some people. He would walk out of here in a week.

<Actually, I remember very little. Probably should be grateful for that, too.>

Even so, sleep remained elusive. His imagination filled in dramatically everywhere his actual recollection failed.

Someone knocked softly, hesitantly on the door. In the most automatic of reflexes, Charlie tried to turn that way. And was brought up short by the brace and the pain together. He bit back a groan and reminded himself one more time not to try that again.

Meanwhile, concerned by the lack of an audible reaction, his visitor cracked open the door and peered tentatively around it.

"Hey."

"Hey!" It wasn't a doctor or nurse as expected, but a veritable ray of sunshine. Charlie felt a smile spread across his face despite the persistent discomfort. He'd heard that his girlfriend had come through the action intact, but to have it proven beat all reports hollow.

Zoey didn't move, just staring uneasily at him. As though, for some inexplicable reason, she was afraid to enter.

Charlie possessed a natural sense of humor, and being constantly around the President of the United States had honed it. Amazing how a laugh can break the thickest ice.

"I'm sorry I can't stand up for you right now."

Sure enough, the President's daughter smiled, sharing that fond memory of the day she'd first expressed her interest in him. And let herself inside, closing the door behind.

Still, she kept her distance. Clearly off-balance at seeing him so incapacitated. Clearly remembering *why*. She fidgeted in place and scrambled for something to say that didn't sound too dumb. "So, uh... how are you doing?"

"I'm not contagious, if that's what you mean."

This time Zoey giggled, getting the point, and walked over to take his hand. "Are the reports actually as good as they're telling me?" The giggle died at once, and her features fell into what must have become very familiar worry lines over the last few hours.

Charlie raised eyebrows. "Well, I don't know what they're telling *you*, but they're telling *me* that there's no real damage. One bone got a little shave, is all. They're just making me be careful for awhile yet."

"Oh, what a relief." Zoey bit her lip to keep it from quivering.

"It's great to see you. I wasn't sure if they'd even let you in here." He had resigned himself to not receiving a visit from her at all.

"I didn't give them any choice. They finally agreed, thinking the wee hours would be a bit less hectic." Her taut expression declared loud and clear what she thought of the necessary precautions that had kept her away so long. "The press are still camped out all over the place. I almost thought we'd have to plow right through them. *Why* can't they leave us alone, just for *once?*"

Charlie agreed with the sentiment - and he didn't like the dark glitter in her eyes. <I'm already angry enough for both of us.>

"I'm really glad you came by. But isn't it past your bedtime?"

That furious look evaporated at once. "You know, you're hanging around my dad way too much."

He shrugged - or rather, tried to. "There are worse influences."

Zoey grinned, willing to be cheered up. Now she cocked her head and gave him a frank once-over. "You look like a priest." The white support collar around his neck did bear a slight ecclesiastic resemblance.

Charlie considered that. "It's appropriate; your father confesses to me on a regular basis."

"About *what?*"

"Uh-uh. Sanctity of the confessional."

Zoey pretended to smack him. "You - "

"And *you*," he interrupted, "look like an angel." And Charlie didn't mean that just because she hadn't been hurt like so many others this night.

She blushed and dropped her gaze. "That is so corny."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

Flattery can work wonders. Her smile widening, Zoey sat down in the chair beside his bed, scooting it as close as possible so that he didn't have to strain to see her.

A gentle quiet settled around them.

"How are your parents doing?" And that was not just polite conversation. Nor was it just the concern of a citizen for his Commander-in-Chief, or an employee for his boss.

She hesitated. They had few secrets between them, but Charlie almost wondered... "Well enough. Mostly tired. Dad has a bump on his head bigger than a golf ball. Mom's shifted into her protective mode."

"Bet she's wishing I was there to help."

"Yeah, she could use it." They shared a knowing smile. The President was never the most cooperative of patients. "I finally got to meet your sister. She's great."

Charlie started to nod, and failed. "Oh, I know it. She was in here a little while ago."

"Well, now she's at the White House."

That statement made his eyes bug. Zoey laughed in delight at so thoroughly surprising him.

"We invited her to stay with us until you get out of here."

"I'm sure Deena didn't let you ask twice. She's dreamed of visiting ever since I started to work there." Charlie relaxed with a big grin. "Please tell your folks how grateful I am."

"Hey, it's the least we can do." And then Zoey's amusement faded. Again. "You know, you don't have to do this to yourself just to arrange a sleep-over at my place."

He'd lost the fun for the moment, too. "I'll remember that."

Another pause fell... but this one filled the room with sadness.

Zoey looked down, blinking. "I guess... you know about Gina?"

Charlie tried to nod again, and failed again. He'd pestered Sam, and anyone else who dropped by, until they finally told him everything. The truth wasn't as bad as not knowing - but the margin of difference was pretty small. "Yeah."

The First Daughter's voice dropped to a whisper. "I've had bodyguards for awhile now. But none of them have ever been hurt before. And she was a *friend*."

He said nothing; just squeezed her hand a bit tighter.

"And she died believing she'd failed us." The tears fell unchecked now.

Charlie drew her hand closer so that he could hold it in both of his. "Gina died doing her job. That's what she would have wanted." It was hardly comforting, but the best he could offer. Death has a way of slicing through all the platitudes and good intentions.

Zoey glanced aside, as though she could find answers written on the far wall. "Maybe... but *I* sure didn't want it. And what about all the others? They showed up to support us, not protect us. It wasn't *their* job to get shot!"

Charlie could see where this was going. "It's not your fault - "

She leaped to her feet, yanking out of his grasp. "Yes, it *IS!* It's all because of who I am! I happen to live in the White House, so people think I should do what *they* want! Two people are *DEAD*, thanks to me!"

Charlie sighed, feeling just as anguished. "No, it's thanks to *me*. Even in the land of the free, I don't have the same liberty you have. But I didn't want to admit it - and look what happened. If I weren't black, our dating wouldn't be a problem for anyone."

Zoey knit her brow. "Don't be ridiculous. No one can blame you. You didn't choose your own skin color!"

This was almost funny: each of them arguing for the right to claim responsibility, while denying it to the other.

And Charlie experienced a sudden flash of insight: *neither* of them was at fault. That might seem like an obvious conclusion to anyone else - but when your own decisions led to the cause, it could be hard to think rationally and reason things out.

"Well, you didn't choose to be the President's daughter." He selected his words carefully. "Hey, let's hang this on your father instead. He's the guy who chose to tackle one of the most demanding and risky jobs around."

Zoey turned away, struggling with her upheaval of emotions. Yet the point behind those words hovered between them.

"He's already blamed himself. Mom's been trying to talk him out of it ever since."

Charlie couldn't prevent a smile. <I can just picture that.> He'd been around the First Couple often enough. "Your mom's right on the money. Just because some nutcases don't like you, or me, or your dad, we can't let them stop us from being anything but ourselves."

It took several more seconds, but Zoey released the worst of the tension at last.

"You're right." Although she couldn't resist adding, "For once."

He didn't mind - her teasing him was far better than her castigating herself. "I have to be *once* in a while. And this time I'm not apologizing for something I didn't do."

Zoey snickered, likewise remembering the way she'd accepted the apology he never made, just so she could say she'd won the argument.

However, for both of them that comical image led inevitably to the moment when they stood with Gina beside the limousine last night, in those final precious heartbeats before the world exploded... never to be the same again...

The First Daughter returned to her chair, reclaimed her boyfriend's hand, and looked through her tears right into his eyes. "Charlie, I can't stand the thought of putting you in danger again. I can't." Her voice quavered. "If you had died - "

The President's personal aide experienced all her concern, all her fear, all her - love, as vividly as though they were his own.

"So what do we do? Wait until you dad leaves office in two years - or six?"

*"NOT."* Zoey couldn't accept that idea any more than he wanted to. "I know: let's use some of those secrets you hinted at, and arrange an impeachment."

For one instant Charlie thought she was serious. Her determination to protect him, her father and her own choices from world opinion, from those who liked to inflict pain, from the Presidency itself if need be, burned with an almost visible flame.

But she wasn't the only one to take a stand for what she valued most.

"Zoey, your father isn't going to back down because someone threatens him. And neither will I. I intend to stick this out." He increased the pressure on her hand, like a permanent bond. "With *both* of you."

This time the silence felt positively warm, matched by the glow that effused Zoey's face. She wiped away her tears, as though dismissing depression for all time. And then, in an expressive acceptance of his promise and his oblique challenge, she leaned forward and kissed him.

*****

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

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