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Alone, at last. a 1000 Dreams -West Wing vignette by Rielle
Disclaimer: this character is absolutely the creative and intellectual property of Aaron Sorkin, Warner Brothers and NBC. Im not making $.01 the first from this story, or seeking to breach anyones copywright. Please dont sue, your lawyers would only either laugh or cry.
Its a damned good thing Im not claustrophobic! the man pacing the oddly shaped room laughed to himself, since there was no one else available to laugh with. Of course, Id never have survived at sea if I were!
Striding round and round the room theyd locked him into, he found that he was studying little details and precious objects hed never paid much attention to. Here, flush by one of the carefully hidden entries was the world famous Remington statue of the bronco rider in cast bronze. There, by the heavily curtained windows sat a replacement for a certain Steuben glass picture that had gone to ground some months past.
I told the whole damned country that man would fail as President. he grimaced to himself. But I didnt mean by falling ill and as God is my witness, I did not mean by falling to two madmens bullets!
Wishing he were shorter by this time, as there was only so much space to pace in here without bumping into something historical, priceless and totally irreplaceable, the long legged man finally sat down heavily on one of the long couches. I couldnt make myself sit at the head of the table in the Situation Room and God knows Im not going to sit behind that desk, not unlessl Ive taken the oath!
Now that his legs werent moving him up and around the room, he couldnt help noticing that his arms and hands shook like clotheslines left out in a twister, and his mouth had gone dry as dead prairie grass.
All his life people had predicted he would end up in this very room. That his talent, his intelligence, and his tenacity would take him to this place and to the role that hovered in the air here, waiting to drop over his shoulders like a cloak. A damned heavy cloak, I might add!
How many men had he seen wearing that role, putting it on in this room and in public? How often had he watched men with gifts and grace, and men with only prayers to guide them, wear that cloak for all eyes to see. How many men hed admired or loathed, but always knew he could take when his time came. Oh God, he prayed with all his strength, with all his will, with all his heart. You can see into my heart. You above all know I should not, I cannot take on that role tonight!
Without even realizing hed done it, the tall man found himself down on one knee, and then on both, his hands folded like a childs in prayer.
But what he heard at first was not himself praying harder, his own voice mockingly echoing in his mind, and the clear answer that had come, not from God but from someone he should trust almost as much.
Leo hed said, frowning under an umbrellas darkness at the man walking to his limo with him. I think you guys set me up.
You think the President of the United States can arrange for a 50-50 tie in the Senate? McGarrys voice came back clear and ringing with scorn.
I think the President of the United States can do pretty much whatever he wants! hed insisted.
Youre wrong.
Wheres the President right now? I think its time for you to call him.
Leo was not his guy right at this moment. In fact, Leo might be feeling just as much of this twisting-in-the-wind, gut-emptied fear he didnt dare show anyone as John Hoynes was right now. But Leo McGarry had swiftly and surely taken control of matters while his life long friend and Chief Executive underwent surgery. And Hoynes merely played the part, as expected, as the rest of the world might believe he should.
Other voices echoed in his mind as well. My recommendation, Nancy McNally had said, would be that the President order Fitzwallace to put the 32nd Tactical on ready alert and take us to Defcon 4 Hoynes felt his eyes glazing over as he was certain they had in that darkened Situation Room.
But niggling in the back of his mind, somewhere his often labeled phenomenal memory couldnt quite reach, was the reason he couldnt and wouldnt follow those demands. Consciously it framed itself in three small words: Im not ready. Please God, dont make me have to be ready any time soon! Put it another way? Josiah Bartlet, if you have the temerity to die in surgery, Ill follow you to hell and kill you all over again!
A soft knock on the door made him jump about three feet off the sofa. A deep breath helped him stop shaking long enough to answer.
Yes?
Mr. Vice President?
Yes? Hoynes answered, sighing deeply in relief and release at the title she used.
The President is in the recovery room, sir. He will be conscious again in two hours. Hes going to be fine, sir.
And Josh, how is Josh? Hoynes remembered to ask, just as his Chief of Staff turned away.
Mr. Lyman is still in surgery, sir. But the unofficial word is he should be off bypass sometime in the next 24 hours, barring complications.
Thank you. Please send word to Dr Bartlet and her family, and to the senior staffers to let them know how pleased I am by this news and that my prayers are with Josh tonight.
I will, sir. Is there anything else, sir?
Um, yes, if someone could tell me where I can wash my hands in here? And I could use some ice-water.
Yes, Mr. Vice President. The washroom is behind the right hand door and Ill get you that water right away, sir.
Hoynes sat down again, with a ragged sigh and a glance upwards. The unseen cloak had gone back to its proper position, hovering over the chair behind the Presidents desk. Like some damned Sword of Damocles! Well, you can have it back, asap, Jed Bartlet. But, thanks for the prequel!