Suppression
Archive: Yes to Persuaders, anyone else just ask
Fandom: West Wing
Feedback: gryffindor@bettelyrics.com
Spoilers: The Two Bartlets
Rating: R
Warning: Contains major angst and harsh scenes of child abuse.
Feedback: much appreciated to gryffindor@bettelyrics.com
Notes: Leo, Jed: possible slash; it's open to interpretation.
Status: Not necessarily part of the "Human Again" series, though it could easily be. Post-Ep for The Two Bartlets.
Disclaimer: I have no connection to the genius of Aaron Sorkin or NBC or its affiliates. This is not meant to infringe on their rights. It's just for fun.
Summary: There are times when silence isn't golden. There are times when silence is merely a curtain to shroud the screams of a suppressed soul. Or, there are lines that must not be crossed...
Toby walked out of the Oval Office, and the President sank into the nearest chair. The glass in his hand dropped to one side. He stared at it blankly. He should have stopped Toby before he'd crossed the line. How could Toby have known? He thought he hid it so well. He hardly remembered himself and then suddenly Toby was accusing him of being two different people, like he suffered from multiple-personality disorder. He had enough disorders on his plate, thank you very much. And he'd tried, so hard, to forget. And then Toby had to come in and accuse him of being... Salvation. Loneliness. What the fuck did Toby know of those? Country Western song, indeed. The conversation could only be improved upon with the inclusion of a banjo. And a fiddle. Gotta have a fiddle in the band. He swirled the glass absently. Charlie probably heard everything. Margaret too. And Leo. Toby was talking so loudly. So loudly. Or maybe he wasn't. Forgotten words become shrieks when they've been pushed aside for a lifetime. How could Toby have known?
The President blinked. He rubbed his eyes and the back of his neck, but he couldn't stop it from coming. His breath hitched. He hunched forward over his knees. Hyperventilating. No. Not again. Not now. Damn you, Toby. Lesser Presidents would have kicked you onto the street for what you did. He could feel beads of sweat forming at his hairline. He glanced at the glass door. He'd never make it to the Residence without passing out. No way he was explaining this to the doctors, not to mention how it would look when the press found out. "Oh, sure he can run the country. Pay no mind to the fact that he collapses every other day!" So he sat in the most uncomfortable chair in his office, bent nearly in half and hyperventilated with sweat running down his face. He'd been in bed the last time and awakened in a cold fever with Abby touching him, kissing him, reassuring him, and he'd told her it was just a bad dream "about the election", he'd said, and she'd believed him, and he'd believed it was a dream because he was in bed and safe so it couldn't have been a flashback, couldn't have been anything like that, but now he wasn't in bed. Now it wasn't so easy to convince himself that it wasn't really happening. Now, it wasn't so easy to recover his senses. Not when his father was in his ear. Not when his footsteps were outside the door. Not when he was about to get the whaling of his life.
"Jed?"
"Yes sir?"
"Is this true?" The elder Bartlet shook a newspaper under his nose.
"I don't know what you mean, sir," Jed said calmly.
"The school could be better benefited by allowing the inclusion of female students," he read. "Did you say this?" He brandished the paper at his son.
Jed squinted. "Dad, education shouldn't be exclusive to men only. Women and men can benefit from a dual..." he was silenced by a hand sharply crossed over his cheek. His father glared at him. He stared back. "Sir, I didn't mean any disrespect."
"Are you forgetting who the Dean is, son? Do you know what it's like to have your child speak against you?"
"I wasn't speaking against you, sir. I was merely offering an option for growth in the school's future." He bent and clutched his side as his father's fist buried itself in his gut igniting an explosive pain.
"You were criticizing my methods." The fist fell again.
Jed coughed. "No, sir. The school..." And again. Jed groaned.
"I am the school, Josiah," Dr. Bartlet said as he collared his son and pushed him towards the couch. Jed struggled uselessly under his firm grip. His father tossed him over the back of the couch. His face hit the cushions, and his legs dangled over the back. He watched his father pass before him and pull a long thin cane from a shelf. Not for the first time he wondered if the benefits of private education could truly outweigh the drawbacks. He willed his teeth to stop chattering. He felt his pants rip as his father tore them down. He pushed himself up.
"Please, sir, don't. I didn't mean any disrespect, I swear. Please dad. Please."
"You've got to learn, Josiah." His father cracked the cane down and Jed screamed. It fell again and again. Jed kicked. He hit his father and the cane crossed the previous stripes. Jed shrieked. Sobs bubbled up in his throat. He bashed his head against the couch, wishing he were bent over a rock so he could knock himself out. Finally, he was pulled to his feet. Dr. Bartlet stared at him, tapping the cane in his palm. He looked on disapprovingly at the tears and snot marring his son's face.
"What do you have to say to me, son?" he asked.
Jed wiped his nose. He sniffed. Then he looked up and met his father's eyes coldly. "When I have children, and one of them says something that goes against my beliefs, I will remember that there are worse reasons for doing something than pleasing your child." He'd barely drawn a breath before he was upended again. The cane fell rapidly, crossing the other burns each time. He howled and the tears poured out like they hadn't stopped. An iron hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him upright mid-sob. He choked on it and stood gasping before his father.
"I'll ask you again, Josiah. What do you have to say to me?"
Jed stared at him for the longest time. Tap. Tap. Tap went the cane against the hard palm. Icy blue eyes regarded him silently. Jed glanced at his feet. He breathed deeply, striving to still the shudders that racked his body. Then he gazed at his father and said blandly, "I'm sorry, sir. I was wrong. Thank you for correcting me." He remained stoic as his father looked at him, wandering eyes searching for an excuse to beat him again. Dr. Bartlet handed him the cane. Jed clutched it wordlessly.
"Put that away and then get to bed." And he walked away, leaving his son alone. Jed stepped out of his pants. He bent and picked them up. He longed to leave them crumpled on the floor, ripped and useless, but that would just mean another caning tomorrow. He carefully placed the cane on the shelf. His father didn't bother hiding it. The whole school probably knew. The whole school. The whole world. Everyone.
"Sir?"
He shuddered at the hand on his shoulder.
"Mr. President?" The hand rubbed his back gently, slowly bringing him back to cognizance.
The President looked up shakily. "Leo?"
"Are you okay, sir? You're awfully quiet."
"I'm fine." He stood abruptly and pressed his hand to his head to ward off the dizziness. Instantly Leo was beside him, guiding him to the couch.
"Just sit down, Mr. President. It's okay now."
"I... I tried so hard to avoid that." He squinted at Leo. "Am I two different people?"
Leo smiled. "What's this about?"
"You know, Jeckyll and Hyde, Sybil, Ozzie and Harriet?"
"Ozzie and Harriet?"
"Toby says I switch too easily from being everyone's friend to a tyrant. Like I've got multiple personalities. Apparently I'm seeking salvation," he snickered dully.
Leo sat next to him. "Multiple personalities--who doesn't?" When this elicitated no response, he jibed, "Since when do you listen to Toby, anyway?"
The President grinned slightly. "He yelled at me, Leo."
"He wasn't yelling, sir," Leo said quietly.
"You're wondering how he can get away with yelling at me when no one else can," the President accused.
Leo rolled his eyes. "He wasn't yelling, sir."
The President glared. "He *yelled*. But I can't figure out how he knew. I can't..." He stopped, aware that he was about to cross his own line. "I'm sorry, Leo. Let's call it a day, all right?"
"About your father?" Leo asked, pretending he hadn't noticed the interruption.
The President paused. "You heard?" He said, tapping his knees.
"Mr. President."
"You heard?" he repeated.
"No," Leo said. "I didn't hear anything."
"Then how did you?" The President looked at him in disbelief.
"I just know."
"But how?" The President shifted forward and turned so he could see Leo more clearly.
Leo smiled, laughing at a secret joke. "You're my best friend, Jed. That's how I know."
"You haven't called me Jed since you found out about the MS, Leo. This *must* be serious," the President joked.
Leo grinned. "I'm sorry, sir."
The President looked at him sharply. "No, it's okay. Call me Jed tonight, Leo."
"Okay." Leo said, the word barely more than an exhalation.
"How did you know?"
"Do you remember when you and Abby and Jenny and I had dinner together ages ago?"
"I remember a few hundred times we had dinner together," The President said.
"Abby was talking about her cases. One of them was a little girl with a broken leg..."
"Her father hurt her," the President said hesitantly, remembering.
"Yes," Leo said, "and you'd been talking all night, but you didn't say anything then. You just went quiet. That's when I knew, Jed."
"Because I didn't say anything?"
"You always have something to say. But you didn't then. You just sat there. Like you were somewhere else."
The President nodded slowly. "Like I was somewhere else." A tear rolled down his cheek.
"So, that's when I knew," Leo said. He rubbed his hands together. "The only other time I've seen you so quiet was at Mrs. Landingham's funeral." The President looked at him pitifully.
"I'm sorry, Leo."
Leo pressed a hand onto his shoulder. "You've got no reason to apologize, sir."
The President's shoulders hitched. "Don't I?" He peered at his friend. "There have been times when I shouldn't have been silent. I could have done something."
Leo raised his hand to the President's other shoulder. "You have done more for children than any other President."
"It's not enough, Leo," he sniffed.
"Will it ever be?"
"Yes."
"When?" Leo smiled.
"When it stops hurting," the President said shakily. Leo pulled him into an embrace, choosing to forget, for the moment, that one does not hug the President, no matter how many decades one has known him. The President went willingly, resting his head on Leo's shoulder and sniffing as if he, too, had forgotten that a President should not be hugged.
"It hurts me, too," Leo said, "whatever hurts you, it hurts me." He rubbed the President's back. The President clutched him, nearly toppling him over as they sat on the couch.
"I'm sorry, Leo." He cried quietly on his shoulder.
Leo shifted so the President could lean against him more comfortably. He hugged him and put his head on his shoulder. The President reciprocated the movement, pressing his chest against Leo's like he might fly away if he wasn't held down.
"It's okay, Jed. I'm not going anywhere. It's okay."
The President hiccupped. "I love you, Leo."
The hand idly scratching his back slowed for an instant and the President stiffened. Then the scratching resumed. The President relaxed, still sniffling.
"Yeah. I love you, too." He paused. "So, how *does* Toby get away with yelling at you?"
"Leo?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
Leo grinned. He pressed a kiss on the President's head and wiped it away with his hand. "Yeah, I love you, too."
The End.