And The World Stood Still

by:SheilaVR

Character(s): Jed & Co.
Category(s): General
Rating: TEEN
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is actually intended, but no threat of same will stop me from fantasizing about "The West Wing" anyway...
Summary: The President demonstrates that alcohol and motorcades do not mix.
Author's Note:I wrote this shortly before we heard any details about the first season finale episode. So, for all intents and purposes, humor me and pretend that "What Kind of Day Has It Been" never took place.

Sunday, 11:30 A.M.

When the ambulance pulled up at the White House front gate, escorted fore and aft exactly as the President's limousine had been, reporters and public flocked to the fence line outside in droves, while staff members surged to the windows inside.

"Toby, come *on!*" Bonnie called in passing. "He's here! You don't want to miss this!"

About to enter his office, the Communications Director rotated in exasperation. "Oh, I don't, huh? Of course, I forgot I don't have any say in what I do and do *not* want to miss." More employees joined the general tide past him. "So you won't believe the hospital staff, the White House Chief of Staff *or* the United States Secret Service that he's alive until you see for yourself? Try to have a little faith, people!"

Sam paused on his own way past. "You're kidding, right? Faith in government?"

Toby raised his eyes to implore strength from heaven. "Great. Now you've got *me* worried." And he tagged along, though with rather low enthusiasm - or so it seemed.

The center of the main reception hall had, of course, been cleared. On both sides, however, it swarmed dark with people several bodies deep. The parallel to the spectators outside the Dupont was almost exact... save for the fact that here there were no police barriers. No one intended to press *too* close. They all knew better.

"When was the last time this forum was so crowded?" Mandy wondered.

Josh craned his neck. "Probably when Marilyn came to perform for Kennedy."

"From the way the crowds are building outside, you'd think both of them are expected to be here as well."

"I thought they chose Sunday because it's the quietest day of the week and the Secret Service wanted the least amount of fuss," Donna put in.

"Since when has a White House prediction been accurate?" her boss riposted.

Mandy smirked at the pair of them. "You don't seriously think everyone showed up just to *work* today, do you?"

"I don't know about you, but I gave up watching the ball game for this," Josh informed her, as though he'd been dragged here against his will.

Donna cast a critical eye over his rumpled sweatshirt, beside her sharp-cut dress. "Well, after such a noble sacrifice on *your* part, I'm sure you won't be impressed by the fact that I had to leave my church service early to get here in time."

"I admire your priorities, and I'll make sure the President knows as well," Josh promised with a grin, then winced as her fist made contact with his arm.

Elsewhere in the crowd, CJ peered over other heads from her superior height. "This is like Union Station."

"Hey, we could pull rank for front-row spots," Sam suggested.

"Give the man some time alone at home, will you?" Toby muttered. "*Then* we'll rush him."

"Our President is a workaholic." As if any of the senior staff actually needed the reminder. "He's going to want a status report at *some* point. You know: *How stands the Union?*"

"He's supposed to *give* the State of the Union, Sam; not *receive* it."

"In this case he'd probably make an exception."

CJ intervened between them. "Guys, if we're going to work him to death, at least let's wait until a bit closer to the end of his term, okay?"

Toby shrugged, as though it all were a matter of no importance. "If we can't keep the country functioning without the direct help of its Commander-in-Chief for one more day, then our chances of overthrowing this government are better than I ever dreamed."

Right then, the tall doors of the Grand Entrance started to open. At once every voice stilled and every face turned.

Leo appeared first. As business-like in appearance as ever - in large part because he had the honor of welcoming the President home. Now leading the procession inside, he paused to survey the eager gathering. And cleared his throat, loudly and pointedly.

Of one accord, every person straightened to attention. The last whisper of movement faded, and the quiet in that huge and crowded atrium was electrifying.

As a procession it shamed anything short of full state honors. First, the black-suited Secret Service agents, still on guard even here. Then the hospital technicians, carrying or propelling a substantial and distressing assortment of medical equipment. Then the doctor and his immediate staff, some of them casting responsible glances over their shoulders as they walked along, others darting fascinated glances at their surroundings.

Their charge occupied a standard hospital gurney, propelled with care by orderlies from front and rear. His upper torso had been elevated to something like forty-five degrees, suggesting less critical health than a fully supine position. Even so, he was blanketed, and strapped down, and a thick white bandage encircled his forehead as though literally holding the skull together.

His features were quite recognizable... despite the bruises, the abrasions, and the rubber tubes running from his nose and mouth to a portable oxygen tank.

On one side walked the President's wife. On the other side walked the President's youngest daughter. Behind walked the President's personal aide. Bringing up the tail was the second installment of security.

Without a word or a smile, they paraded between eerily still walls to right and left. The waves of relief and of concern were not, after all, for them.

Despite everything - gentle movement, squeak of wheels, soft footfalls, tangible emotion in the air - the President's eyes remained closed.

Not one among the spectators spoke. Not a sound broke the peculiar quiet. Not a body shuffled for position; only their heads and eyes moved in respective silence. To a person they were content just to watch him return. To know that he was in good hands.

To know that he was alive.

*****

Leo called the senior staff together early that evening, for a long-awaited announcement.

"I've got the invitation."

"He's awake!" Mandy exclaimed first.

"Yes. It's looking like the doctors may have underestimated the effect that the White House has on the President's recuperative abilities."

"I'm sure they feel bad about being so off the mark." CJ was usually the first among them to disguise stress with sarcasm.

"Offhand, I'd say they're hoping for more of the same," Sam put in. Clearly *he* was.

"How are *you* doing, Leo?" Josh asked, quietly.

All eyes focused even more closely on their Chief of Staff.

Leo seemed caught between new delight and old apprehension. The next few minutes would answer the final, all-pervading question about their leader's mental well-being.

"Ask me when I get back. I'm off to the Residence now." He hesitated. "You can wait around if you want, since I doubt this'll be a lengthy visit."

"Well, we've lasted this long..." Sam mused, as though each of them hadn't delayed their departure all afternoon for that very reason.

"Fine." Leo patted the thick file folder in his hands. "And, assuming the President's up to it, I'll relay your personal reports. But we probably won't get around to discussing Hoynes. I don't want to exhaust him more than I must."

Toby frowned. "You may not want to even *mention* his replacement. He has to be on some kind of painkiller."

No one else commented aloud, but several knowing looks circulated the room. Most of them knew firsthand the disorientation that too much prescribed pain relief could cause in their Chief Executive. The President himself had used the term "goofy", and it was accurate.

Leo rolled his eyes at the memory.

"Medication notwithstanding, Leo, I'm sure you'll be able to tell." CJ sounded like she *wanted* to be very sure of that. "You'll know if he's still... himself."

He nodded uneasily, hoping the very same thing. All the reassurances of the President's improving physical condition had been overshadowed by that lurking terror of permanent mental disability. Not until Leo knew for *sure* that his old friend's abused brain could still function at its previous brilliant and witty speed would he be able to truly relax and leave his part of this nightmare behind.

"If his sense of humor's intact, that'll be a good sign. And I can quiz him on some shared memories. But the math test will be beyond my..."

His words drifted to a troubled stop. Jed Bartlet held a Nobel Prize in Economics. Would he ever rise to that level again? Or would this gifted mind be horribly crippled, this sparkling personality forever *changed?*

Suddenly Leo *had* to lighten the mood, before his panic took over. "And just to be sure, I'll check for any hint of possible impersonation." And was rewarded by a few smiles. "Then again, if an imposter can fool the First Lady, what chance does a mere best friend have?"

And everyone rose to the occasion.

"Don't forget, he's right-handed except when he throws things."

"He likes double cream in his coffee."

"He's forever losing his glasses."

"And he roots for the Celtics."

Leo threw up one hand in mild disbelief. "Ah, the benefits of living in the public spotlight. Is nothing secret?"

*****

The hallways of the Residence were, as always, under observation by the Secret Service. The door to the President's sick room, however, boasted two special sentries. Leo smiled as he came upon Charlie Young, the President's personal aide, and Zoey Bartlet, the President's youngest daughter, seated side by side and chatting quietly together.

Both broke off when they saw him coming, and rose.

"Hi, Leo," Zoey said first. Charlie still stumbled over addressing the White House Chief of Staff by his first name, so he just nodded.

"Hey, kids. I see the President's perfectly safe, since you two are on hand." Leo placed an avuncular hand on one shoulder each. "How are you holding out?"

They exchanged a glance, then shrugged in unison. As if coordinating their responses.

"Not too bad," Charlie said at last.

"Good to be home," Zoey added.

Leo didn't read anything into this hint of collusion. These youngsters were dating, and clearly welcomed each other's support at such a time. Nothing more natural. "I'll bet. But if I were you, I'd enjoy the break. He'll be ordering *all* of us around again before we know it."

"Right," Zoey agreed with a smile. "Uh, my dad's asked for you."

"Yeah, I heard."

Leo paused; he couldn't completely ignore the seriousness. This was the first time he'd seen his best friend's little girl all weekend. She appeared to be handling everything fairly well, but no one passes through this kind of trauma unscathed. Her smile was a bit *too* broad, as though she were trying to convince herself as much as him.

"Zoey... he's going to be fine." And that was a vow.

Her smile widened some more, no doubt struggling to believe. "I know."

"All right." Leo squeezed her arm, and then turned to the closed door.

Drew an extra breath.

And entered.

*****

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

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