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 15 (Conclusion)

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~ TIME INDEX: 23:59:59 + 24 HOURS ~

When the American President broadcasts live on national TV, the whole country stops to watch.

Come to think of it, a large chunk of the international community does as well. Especially for inaugural speeches, State of the Union addresses, military action announcements...

... and responses to assassination.

True to form, the networks insisted on getting a few minutes in first about the events that led up to this, never mind how fresh it might still be in most people's thoughts. But finally, just after ten PM, Eastern Standard Time (seven on the West Coast), exactly forty-eight hours after a pistol trigger had been pulled, the seal of the President of the United States flashed worldwide, before giving way to the man himself.

"My fellow citizens, good evening."

Jed Bartlet deliberately avoided a first-off reference to "Americans". All of this had reached beyond his own shores and transcended the dictates of nationalism.

He sat behind that famous desk in the Oval Office, looking perfectly healthy and completely natural. The epitome of a Commander-in-Chief, right down to the navy-suit-white-shirt-red-tie image and the star-spangled banners furled on either side.

However, there was a little more gray around his temples, and a few more lines on his face, and a more resolved glint in his eyes.

"I'm sure that by now you are all well-versed in the details of the past two days. Many of us have talked about almost nothing else ever since."

A sheet of notes occupied the desktop before him. The same thing was presumably scrolling by on the camera's TelePrompTer. And yet... his words came across with more spontaneity, more power, more sheer emotion than any speech anyone could remember him giving before.

He wasn't reading from the script. He was speaking from the heart.

"I want each of you to know that your communal expressions of support have been simply tremendous. I cannot express how moved I am by the good wishes of so many people. And not just from residents of this nation, either, but from around the world. My whole family, and all those who were injured, extend their deepest gratitude."

By executive order, the media invasion of the Oval Office had been scaled down to an absolute minimum, with as few wires, lamps and microphones as possible. Bartlet did not want his special guests crowded out by television equipment.

"I'm a politician; politicians make enemies by their decisions. I'm the President; Presidents make enemies just by existing. But this recent tragedy wasn't about someone objecting to my stance on electoral reform or social issues or even gun control; this had nothing to do with my leadership or even my personality."

Several people had been invited to watch this live. Abbey graced one of the sofas, as near to her husband as she could get. Leo sat beside her, cane still in hand.

"This carnage was brought about solely because someone doesn't approve of my daughter's choice for a boyfriend." And blatant disbelief echoed across the land.

Toby, wearing his standard morose expression, Sam with his arm sling, and the ever-energetic Mandy occupied the other couch, straight across the embroidered seal.

"I'll tell you exactly what those young gunmen managed to accomplish in the name of their *noble* cause: nine innocent bystanders were seriously injured, either by bullets or by the stampeding crowd. One of them, Ethan Woodvale, leaves behind a wife and six-year-old son. Not even a homicidal terrorist could possibly have had a quarrel with him: he just had the misfortune to be in their way."

A formally-attired young woman seated to the side drew her young boy closer. Both of them couldn't help glancing about at their historical surroundings. And both of them wore the graphic veil of devastation.

"And Gail Sloan was almost literally frightened to death. Now that is an accomplishment to be proud of." Presidential sarcasm vibrated along the wires.

Margaret stood directly behind Leo, an almost protective stance. Mrs. Landingham had staked a spot towards the rear, mindful of her place - or else feeling that it was part of her job to look after everyone in this room.

"My entire senior staff, who also happen to be my personal friends, were sent to hospital; three have yet to be released. Three reporters also sustained injuries as they tried to cover the story for everyone else's benefit. Six members of the Secret Service were hit in the performance of their duty; if not for them, the body count would have been a lot higher. Certainly, if not for Ron Butterfield, I wouldn't be here right now." Bartlet paused. "And if not for the sacrifice of Gina Toscano, neither would my daughter Zoey."

Side by side in plush armchairs, a middle-aged man and his wife joined their hands for mutual support. They too had never been in this chamber before - and everyone was wishing that their first visit could have been under almost any other circumstance imaginable.

"So, twenty-three good people have been hurt, and two more are dead - all because I happen to be the one sitting in this chair." The President shook his head in consuming regret.

The Communications bullpen was crammed, and every single TV had been tuned in to the same broadcast. Ginger, Bonnie, Carol, Cathy and countless more employees watched in a silence astounding for so many people so close together... especially considering the noise level that always dominated here during the day.

"Zoey's tried to take the blame; if she hadn't been present, in all likelihood there would've been no ostensible reason to open fire on a crowd like that. By the same logic, if she weren't the President's daughter, then probably no one would care whom she dated - so I can find an excuse to blame myself as well. But all this is pointless. I refuse to let any innocent individual, let alone my own child, carry such a horrid and unnecessary burden. The blame resides solely upon the killers."

The principle White House patients had congregated in CJ's hospital room, since she could not yet move around - although she was at least propped up for this. Danny sat on her right, leaning as close to her as he could.

"By the very nature of society, public viewpoints are inevitable. And public opinion governs politics. Just so you all know, I don't want anyone's sympathy. I refuse to contemplate this *incident* in terms of political fallout. I'm not interested in national statistics, projected votes or popularity ratings. These tools have undergone a notable decline in their importance of late. I see only the pain of my family and friends, and the anguish of two bereaved parents, and the loss felt by a young widow and an orphaned boy. Politics has nothing to do with it anymore. This has become personal."

Josh, in dressing-gown and pajamas, occupied a wheelchair on CJ's left. Donna stood close behind him, like a personal guardian.

"This massacre was motivated by hatred. And right now I'm doing my best not to give in to the same destructive emotion. I can't describe to you the depths of rage I feel towards the instigators. A part of me is shouting that imprisonment is far too light a penalty for the lone survivor after the pain he and his friends have caused."

Not quite ready to sit up straight for an extended period, Charlie had been assigned a gurney instead, and parked beside Josh. Zoey sat beside him, holding his hand.

"But if I allow that rage to overcome the requirements of justice, if I seek out a personal revenge, then in truth I'm no better than these misguided miscreants themselves. And that would hand them the ultimate victory."

Another room had been commandeered by the Secret Service... looking rather less dangerous than usual. Two were dressed, at least, even if the signs of injury could not be completely disguised. Ron's arm and shoulder had been strapped firmly in place, making it impossible to propel his wheelchair unassisted, and two other men still lay flat in bed with all the machines attached. In fact, one of them was sleeping right through this proclamation - though not by choice; *his* full recovery remained in doubt.

"Thank heaven for the fact that so few Presidents are actually shot at. Not just for the sake of the office or the person who holds it, but also for the innocent citizens who inevitably get caught up in the pain - and for the entire country, which has to endure a severe impact to its identity as one people. However, we should feel that blow every bit as much when *any* of our fellows is hurt, not just the famous faces. The trifling fact that you yourself might never have appeared on the front page of the news does not make your contribution any less valuable, or your suffering any less real."

In other rooms, in an altogether different hospital, several such individuals watched from their own beds or chairs as well. The public did not really know them, the assailants had never cared about them, but the President wanted to make sure they knew how *he* felt.

"It's unbelievable how much can occur in such a few brief seconds, and the lasting repercussions they can have. Lives are shattered by violence every day. But in the moments after, and in the days to follow, we have no choice but to go forward. However, we must not permit ourselves either fear or despair. The Unites States of America does not bow to force or to terror: not from foreign dictators, not from local hooligans, and not from sheer ignorance. There is no place in our society for racial intolerance; there is no excuse for the willful infliction of pain upon the innocent."

In the Old Executive Office Building, Vice-President Hoynes lounged in his desk chair and followed along, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

"Other emotions I feel right now are annoyance - and resolution. A lot of people besides myself had put a great deal of effort into that Town Hall meeting, and I expect it's to a large extent been forgotten in the aftermath. But that does not diminish the truth to my message back then. *Decisions are made by those who show up.* Well, I for one am not going to be scared away from the debating table. Someone has to speak, has to run the risk of being unpopular. I am willing to take that risk again. I refuse to give in to fear."

Abbey's smile grew broader with every sentence. Leo saw this and gave her a fond nudge, sharing in the moment.

Zoey was just bursting with pride. Everyone in the room turned to grin at her.

"The last thing I want right now is to further endanger my family and friends. I cannot ask them to continue to put themselves in harm's way because of me. However, the President does not have the luxury of making that choice to withdraw from the battlefield. This office has the honor and the responsibility to lead - regardless of every threat, every attempt, every *death*. For me to surrender that trust now, for any reason, for even a short while, would be to yield this magnificent land to anarchy. Well, I just love it a bit too much to let that happen. And as many of you who feel the same, I'll be glad to have you aboard."

In the Oval, Abbey gave Leo's arm a squeeze. He smiled at her, and then nodded across to Toby, Mandy and Sam. Who each nodded back, no less articulate in their pledge to stand firm and go the distance.

In one hospital room, CJ extended a hand to Danny and a hand to Josh. Josh reached back for Donna, and their clasped hands rested on his shoulder. Donna offered her free hand to Charlie, who still held onto Zoey. All of them made eye contact with each other, taking a silent vow of unity and dedication.

Down the hall, four silent men traded glances in equally unshakable purpose.

Next door to the White House, Hoynes nodded in only slightly-grudging endorsement.

"Do any of you know why those gunmen even got their chance in the first place? Because I chose not to dive into my bulletproof car as soon as I stepped into the open, and hurry away at once to where I would be safe from all possible threats. I decided to walk over and meet the people who'd been standing for most of that evening, just waiting to see me. I deliberately took the risk for their sakes - and they paid the highest price. I sincerely hope this distressing event won't deter people from getting involved in the future of their country. No, this should energize everyone into taking the steps necessary, both in public and in public office, so that such an atrocity will never be repeated."

Right outside, citizens stared through the bars of the White House perimeter fencing, with their portable radios and TVs at hand. As though, because they stood that much closer to their leader, they could feel even more keenly the import of his message.

"We have passed through the crucible, and has emerged stronger and more unified than ever. Irrelevance is burned away; what remains is truth and purpose. I intend to use these gifts to their fullest potential, for the good of *all* of you."

All around the globe, people who were listening and understood these words felt their hearts stir, and shrug off the curse of apathy.

"I invite every single individual to join me in making these vital decisions for the future of our country and our world. If we don't, if we abandon this fragile thing called democracy, then we betray everything our forefathers accomplished, we destroy the foundations of civilization itself, and we condemn our children's precious future to the hands of a few unstable individuals who back up their bigotry with bullets. I don't care *how* many people shoot at me; I'm making my stand right here that such behavior is *not acceptable*."

Suiting actions to words, the President pushed back his chair and rose to his full height. This had not been expected; the cameraman almost didn't react in time.

Josiah Bartlet planted his fingertips on the polished surface of his desk, as though tapping directly into the history and strength of the nation itself.

"I don't want to see one more person hurt by hatred, *ever*. And if we try hard enough, none of us will. None of us have to *witness* it; none of us have to *suffer* it. Working together, *we the people* can ensure that this does not happen again."

**********

"The Lord is like a refiner's fire... He will purify them like gold and silver... " (Malachi 3:2-3)

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

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