Author: Regency

Title: Solace

Pairing:

Rating: R (MATURE) for violence

Spoilers:

Summary: Those in the White House attempt to find solace after a trying day.

Author’s Notes: Solace: 1: the alleviation of grief; 2: a source of relief or consolation.

This is my last West Wing fanfic ever. By ever, I mean ever. I’ll finish those I’ve started, but won’t start anymore. Unless, you know, this is just my preamble and I’m about to be inspired.

AN2: I’m black. Just in case you’re wondering. This was not intended to offend or demean anyone.

~~~

She lovingly stroked his battered face and whispered platitudes and apologies he’d never hear. The blood from his nose was dried on his top lip. The nurses had done the best they could do to clean him up, but the blood kept coming.

He was lying on his stomach, his face protruding out of a round cushioned brace. His back was covered in bandages that seeped from a multitude of welts. His shoulder blades were exposed, showcasing purple-ish bruises to his neck. A dark burgundy laceration circled his throat where the noose had so nearly snuffed out his life.

His legs and feet were mottled with holes as though someone had taken a thorn bush to them. His feet bent sideways at awkward angles as did his fingers. The joints were dark and swollen with dysfunction. Covered for the most part by the hospital gown, his arms bore additional signs of his ordeal; swastikas carved into his wrists, inverted crossed on his forearms, and barbed wire on his shoulders. They had tagged him like some random brick wall. Hate was their mission. Destruction was their success. He would never be the same again. None of those involved would be.

***

They had all known it would be a horrible trip; the trip to West Virginia for a speech on racial equality of all things. They hadn’t expected it to be easy going or enjoyable, but they hadn’t foreseen all they’d encountered: The anger at any one of a hundred the President’s policies; their indignation at seeing Toby Ziegler and Charlie Young in the same picture with him; their dumbassed bigotry period. The speech was picketed by proponents and Virginia White Pride decided that would be the best time to have a march right past the street where POTUS was giving his outdoor speech.

Toby and Charlie, who stood nearby, tried not to be affected, but the threat was so near. Both of their pictures were bouncing around above the hooded heads of hateful men, boys, and women. It was a shameful display of human unity; a unity derived solely from the hate of other humans. They knew firsthand the might of that hate.

The President didn’t appear shaken, though he strayed imperceptibly from the agreed-upon text. He was becoming angrier with each pass of the parade. They circled the block half a dozen times, each turn more agitated than the last. They wished to cow him, but they’d chosen the wrong adversary. Josiah Bartlet would not be cowed by the likes of them. However, he did worry.

He cut his lecture short and was quick to depart from the limelight. His head of security couldn’t have been more relieved. There were more nondescript individuals in the area than he was okay with. The group climbed into the motorcade and disappeared into the Saturday afternoon, thanking God it was over. There was only an insignificant league speech to be made the next day and they could return to the relative safety of Washington, D.C.

That night carried an air of triumph and they dined together in the isolated dining hall. The President inquired about Zoey to Charlie and Andy to Toby. That was a highlight to remember; Charlie’s uncomfortable silence and Toby’s uneasy muttering. Jed told Abbey about it during their midnight call before he fell asleep. She found it similarly amusing as he knew should would.

The next morning, with good luck from home, they set off for the final function before their return to the White House. The streets had been cleared for the Presidential motorcade and traffic lights weren’t a consideration. They passed through a rural area on their way, which had been thoroughly searched by the Secret Service -- with the objectives of the white supremacists in mind. They’d been cleared for travel.

Nearly three-fourths of the way through, shots rang out from the surrounding forests. Ron Butterfield threw the President to the ground as the others went instinctively. He shouted for the motorcade to pull out faster, but the response was too slow or not heard. The lead car swerved to miss a mob of ghosts before them and flipped over into a grouping of trees. The accompanying police cruisers and motorcyclists attempted to return fire, but were no match for the dozens of unseen marksmen. The cars lost control in their attempts to stay beside the limos and crashed into the sides of the spare. It pitched forward, rear-ending the back of the primary limousine and shoving the occupants towards the driver’s end.

The suburbans flanking the motorcade sped to erect a perimeter between the bullets and the Presidential car. Voices rose in panic over wrist mikes as they screamed for backup from the local and federal departments. There was no way help would arrive in time. Their only chance of survival was to outrun their assailants.

Knowing this, the shots shifted to the wheels of the vehicles, which unlike everything else was not bulletproof. They were simply reinforced rubber and even rubber didn’t reflect armor-piercing ammunition. In spite of the drivers’ impeccable skill, they could no longer control the cars that were suddenly riding on rims. Any turn of the steering wheel only seemed to worsen their dire predicament.

The rear SUV--now left-- faced a collision with a felled cruiser still imprisoning a couple of Virginia State Troopers. Unwilling to be the death of them, the only female driver on the detail pulled a hard left, ending in a 360° in the other direction. She was counting on reinforcements still ten minutes out.

To the immense misfortune of the President and his staffers, his car chose that moment to stall and freeze resolutely in place. Ron, still hovering heavily above the President demanded a report, but got no answer as point blank shots rang forward and the doors were yanked off their hinges. Neither Ron nor his junior partner stood a chance and were each shot three times, putting them hard out of commission. Toby, Jed, and Charlie shared horrified glances as the nightmare they’d lived once before filled the limo’s tinted glass windows.

“Hail Mary, full of grace…” Jed prayed hoarsely. “The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women; and blessed be fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

Unnamed hands pulled them all ferociously from the wrecked vehicle and to an unsure fate. It was impossible to discern their true target: the Jew, the black kid, or the guy who loved them. In their eyes, each state of being was a crime.

They were bound, gagged and thrown into the back of an aged and peeling pickup truck that trundled along loudly and disappeared into the dense wood, taking the bodies of three and the hearts of dozens with them.

~~~

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