All We Like Sheep
Feedback: much appreciated to gryffindor@bettelyrics.com
Archive: Persuaders and Xanthe, if they want it, anyone
else, just ask
Fandom: West Wing (Leo, Jed)
Warnings: Consensual m/m discipline. No slash. Rated R for
language and spanking.
Disclaimer: West Wing remains the property of Aaron Sorkin, a
man who owns all my jealousy as well. No infringement or harm
is intended with the use of these characters.
Summary: He serves at the pleasure of the President.
Notes: This is written for Xanthe. I wasn't going to write anything
about these episodes, but she had a need for some WW that I
had to fulfill. :) Title comes from Handel's Messiah. "All we like
sheep have gone astray. We have turned ev'ryone to his own
way."
Spoilers: Bartlet for America, H Con-172 Minor spoilers for other
episodes.
Status: Follows "Human Again" and "Dark Suits, Tattered Jeans,
and Faded Rugs"
Leo let the door slam without a backwards glance. He walked
decisively past the Capitol guards, away from the room where
his lawyer remained, away from the majority counsel chiefs who
had offered him a reprieve in exchange for the President's
agreement to a Congressional censure. The very idea. He
swung the doors open and jogged down the stone steps. The
idea that a President, *his* President, should be expected to let
Congress tell him he had been wrong, not only that, but to
*agree* to it--it was absurd. "I take a bullet for the President. He
doesn't take one for me," he'd said, and though everyone in the
room stared at him in disbelief, he didn't care.
So once upon a time a man with his name who looked a lot like
him, who had been him once, a long while ago, got piss-ass
drunk in front of a future senator on a day when the candidate
Bartlet had the misfortune to collapse into the arms of his
fresh-faced campaign crew, and this Leo look alike had the
misfortune to tell this future senator about the collapse as he
raced out the door stinking of Jack Daniels and Blue Mountain
scotch. When the hearings convened, the senator would be
permitted to ask about that night, to tell the world what had
transpired. To the others at the long table it was simple. Take
the notice of censure to the President and end the hearings.
Well, it was simple to him as well. He served at the pleasure of
the President of the United States. When that was the truth, what
else could possibly be of importance?
So, he went back to his desk and forgot about it. When the
President asked him how the meeting had gone and guessed
that they'd offered censure, he'd nodded and shrugged it off.
When Josh asked to meet him in the empty Mess Hall, and told
him that history didn't matter, that people would forget, he told
Josh that Presidents wouldn't forget. That this President
wouldn't forget, and this was the only President he cared about.
Then he'd gone back to his office and stared at the "Bartlet for
America" napkin in its frame and tried not to think about censure
and the stupid things he'd done in his life. It was not a relief
when the President knocked on his door and softly requested to
speak with him. He flipped his jacket on and walked into the
Oval Office after him.
He shook his head when the President said he'd spent the day
talking to the lawyers. He groaned when the President said he
was going to agree to the censure. The President sat down
across from him and nodded. "Yeah, I'm gonna do it."
"Mr. President, if you're doing this because you think you can
save me from what I deserve, that is about the dumbest thing
you've ever..."
"There's another reason," the President interrupted.
Leo looked at him in disbelief. "What?"
"I was wrong." The President leaned forward, his elbows on his
knees. He stared at Leo intently. "I was wrong," he repeated.
He seemed almost pleased with himself, like a child who had
just discovered that hair could be dyed with Kool-Aid mix.
"This won't solve anything, Mr. President. It doesn't save Abby
from the AMA. They'll still question her medical license," Leo
said, rapidly coming up with any excuse he could to prevent the
President's course.
"I know. But that's not what matters here. I was wrong. And
someone has to take responsibility for it."
Leo leaned forward. "But it doesn't have to be you. You're the
President of the United States. It doesn't have to be you!"
The President tilted his head at Leo. He pointed at himself. "I'm
the one responsible, Leo. Me. What kind of man would I be if I
let someone else take a fall for something I've done?"
Leo sighed. "Okay, but think of what kind of President you'd be!"
"You don't mean that, Leo."
Leo sat quietly for a minute, looking at the President. "I just don't
want you to be hurt. I know how hard this is. How you always
stood by me when I was being investigated over the alcohol and
the pills..."
The President nodded. "I know, Leo. And I don't doubt your
loyalty to me. I wouldn't even be President if it wasn't for you.
Don't think I don't know that. Don't think I don't love you for that.
But there comes a time when it can go too far." He stood. "I
think we've reached it, my friend."
Leo pulled the front of his jacket closed. "Would you prefer that I
defect to the Republicans?"
The President grinned. "If you do that, Leo, I'll hang you myself."
"Yes, sir."
"Leo, I want you to come to the Residence tonight."
Leo glanced up. In his experience an invitation to the Residence
at 1 a.m. could mean only one of two things. "Are you cooking,
sir?" he asked guardedly.
The President shrugged. "No, I...I want you to come to the
Residence."
Leo closed his eyes. So it was the second thing. "Are we on the
same page, Mr. President?" he asked softly.
"We haven't been on this page in a while Leo."
"Not for two years at least."
"I don't even remember the last time..."
Leo chuckled mirthlessly. "It's not something I could so easily
forget." He sat back in the chair, his arms over the sides.
"Leo, I want you to come to the Residence."
"Are you ordering me, Mr. President?"
The President rubbed his forehead. "Don't make me do that,
Leo."
Leo smiled. "Now *that* was an order."
"Yes, it was."
"Very effective, sir." He stood. "Alright, I'm ready." The President
slipped his jacket on and together they walked silently down the
outdoor path to the Residence.
They had learned long ago that corner time did nothing for Leo,
and recitations were just as ineffectual. They served the
President well because they forced him to listen and interpret
someone else's lessons. But Leo spent every day listening,
deciphering, handling everyone else's issues. Ten minutes of
enforced silence wouldn't help someone who never spoke
unless it was absolutely necessary anyway. And even if Leo did
benefit from mumbling some biblical or Shakespearean jargon,
it wasn't as if there had been time to come up with any. It had
taken the President somewhat by surprise, this discovery of what
Leo intended to do for him. So it was straight to the main event
for them.
Leo stood at the foot of the bed in the Lincoln Bedroom. He
wasn't accustomed to being the one who fidgeted. It
was...uncomfortable, to say the least. "Do we have to do this in
the Lincoln Bedroom, Mr. President? It just seems so...wrong."
"Leo, please."
"There are a lot of other bedrooms here, sir. Any of them would
do. No need to tarnish the memory of the most famous
bedroom in the residence..."
The President rolled his eyes. "If you must know, we're in here
because this is the only bedroom, besides my own that I actually
know the name for. And I don't think Abby would appreciate us
using the Presidential Suite. It's much easier to say 'go to the
Lincoln Bedroom,' don't you agree?"
Leo shrugged. "You could say, 'go to the third room on the left.'"
"That *is* this room, Leo."
"And you see how easy it was to give alternative directions to it,
sir."
"Leo," the President said softly, "I am about as pissed at you
right now as I've ever been. So I would suggest that you accept
that this is going to happen here, and now, and that you get your
jacket off and get over here."
Leo pulled his jacket off. He folded it over the footboard. Then
he slowly walked to the President. He stopped a foot from him.
"What are you going to do, sir?" he asked, trying to expunge the
hesitancy from his voice.
The President pulled a long, thin cane from an unobtrusive floor
vase in the corner next to the door. Leo's eyes widened. "God,
you kept that in here?"
"No one looks in the vase, Leo. And if they did, they'd think it was
a remnant from Lincoln's days. A hundred and thirty year old
hickory stick."
Leo stared at it, barely breathing. It was starting to hit him that
this was indeed going to happen. Finally, he looked at the
President, eyes slightly veiled beneath hooded lids and said,
"How do you want me?"
"Over the end of the bed. You can hold on to the sides. And
Leo," the President added as Leo moved into position, "pants
and boxers completely off, please."
Leo nodded feebly. He robotically removed the ordered pieces
of clothing and bent himself over the footboard, so it rested at his
waistline. Behind him, the President picked up the abandoned
clothes and laid them over his jacket.
"How many, sir?" Leo asked.
"How many do you think, Leo?"
"I don't know."
"Well, let's see, how many times today did I ask you if you were
alright?" The President held up his hands, ready to tick off the
number.
"None, Mr. President," Leo said.
"Well, how many times did I ask you if there was anything else
today?"
"None, sir. I asked you once, though."
The President sighed, annoyed. "How many times did I look at
you inquiringly, Leo, as if to say, 'Are you alright' or 'Is there
anything wrong' or 'is that all' or 'was there anything else'?"
Leo thought about it for a moment. The footboard was pressing
against his ribs. "Once, sir."
"Only once?"
"That I can recall, sir."
"Well, I'm sure it was much more than that," the President said,
wrinkling his brow and trying to remember how many times he'd
shown concern that day.
"Well, you're a busy man, Mr. President."
"One. Huh. Okay, Leo, now let's consider the others."
"Others, sir?"
"Babish, the lawyers, majority counsel...everyone I had to talk to
in order to figure out the details of this censure that you tried so
hard to keep from me."
Leo pushed himself up. "I didn't keep it from you. You asked if
they offered censure and I said 'yes.'"
"You didn't offer any other details."
"You didn't ask for any, even though I asked you if there would be
anything else, as I mentioned earlier."
The President glared down his nose. "Did I tell you to get up?"
Sighing, Leo flopped back into position.
The President held his fingers up again. "So, let's say twelve.
Does that sound good to you, Leo?"
"Sounds random, sir," Leo said, respect barely keeping him from
asking if the number had come from a certain area of the
President's person.
"What?" The President's voice was low and dark.
"I'm sorry sir, this is stupid. If you'd just let the hearings continue,
I could take care of everything." He stood and smoothed his shirt
down.
The President squinted disapprovingly. "You mean you could let
that second-rate supposed civil servant disgrace you on national
television, destroy your career, shame your family, and make you
the symbol for alcoholic depravity!"
Leo's shoulders slumped as he looked at the President. "It
doesn't matter. I can handle it."
"It does matter, Leo. It matters a great deal." The President
rubbed his eyes. "I can bounce back too, Leo. Easier than you,
I'd say."
"Why should you have to, sir? I would gladly..."
"Because it was my fault, Leo. Do you get that? Mine. It's about
time someone took responsibility in this town. Guess what? It's
going to be me." He leaned forward and thumped his chest.
Leo watched him silently. "You sound like Sam, Mr. President."
"Sometimes Sam makes a good point."
Leo almost smiled. "He's a good kid."
The President rubbed his eyes again. "Don't change the subject,
Leo."
"What was the subject, sir?"
"Your incessant, self-destructive need to save everyone." He
paused. "To save me."
"Sir."
"Don't think I don't appreciate it, Leo. But not now. Not at this
cost."
"Mr. President, it's all right."
"No!" Leo stepped back as the President fairly roared, his face
twisted in fury. "Not when this is the price, Leo. It's never all right
then. And if I have to whip you to get it across, I will."
Leo blinked resignedly. "I'm afraid it's come to that, sir."
"That's why we're here, Leo."
"I was hoping you'd forgotten."
The President rolled his eyes. "You're changing the subject
again. And you're still not wearing any pants."
"So that means you're not going to forget about it?"
"Twelve, Leo. Bend over and count them out, please."
Leo bent down and grabbed the sides of the footboard, his chest
on the bed and arms slightly back. He heard a rustling as the
President removed his jacket. The President loosened his tie
and slipped it over his head. He rolled up his sleeves. Leo
couldn't stop a shudder when the President pushed his shirt up
and rested his hand on his back.
"I hope you learn something from this, Leo. I really do."
Leo had barely replied before the first stroke was laid down, hard
and sharp, across his buttocks.
Tears instantly stung Leo's eyes. "One, sir."
The second stroke landed slightly below it. "Two, sir."
The third rested below that. Leo yelled. Unlike the President, he
wasn't one for silence. "Three."
The President paused. "Three what, Leo?"
Leo blinked. "Three, sir," he said quickly.
The cane flashed down in reply. "Four, sir." Leo ground his
teeth together and scrunched his eyes, which were beyond
threatening to emit a torrential amount of tears. The President
rubbed Leo's back softly. Then the hand was removed and the
cane struck again. Leo wondered, when he wasn't yelling, if the
President was trying to make a ladder of stripes down his ass.
The sixth stroke hit his sit spot and nearly propelled him forward
a foot. He choked out the number and gripped the footboard with
renewed vigor (or perhaps desperation).
At seven he accepted that he had no chance of retaining any sort
of manly dignity, real or imagined, and succumbed to sobs that
racked his whole body.
Eight brought a yell like he'd never known, and a pain that made
him wish he'd died in Vietnam. The President touched him
again, and his hand felt cold.
"Do you want to stop, Leo?"
Leo shuddered. He faintly thought that he heard something, but
they were only at eight, so he couldn't have.
"Leo," the President said, more urgently, "Do you want to stop?"
He knelt at the side of the bed and peered at him.
"The hearing...I'd still...if you'd just let me...I...I haven't learned yet,
sir." Leo said through his tears.
The President nodded. "Okay. I'll do the last four quickly." He
moved behind him again. "I can't stand to see you like this, Leo."
"Me neither, sir," Leo said shakily.
His yelling turned into a constant, heartwrenching moan as the
President laid down the last four strokes. When he finished, he
tossed the cane aside and collapsed on the bed as Leo gasped,
"twelve, sir."
The President pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently
wiped Leo's face with it. "C'mon, now. It's all over."
Leo groaned. He stiffly pushed himself to a standing position.
"Are you alright?" the President asked.
Leo shook his pants out. "I won't be needing that again anytime
soon, if that's what you're asking," he said as he stepped in
them.
"It wasn't," the President said. "But I'm glad to know that,
anyway."
"I'll be fine."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
The President pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm worried about
Sam."
"About the book?" Leo stretched on his stomach next to him.
"I'm afraid we might not have done any good. He's going on a
witch hunt. He says, 'you can't be casual with the truth.' I agree,
but he's, well...I think you should talk to him, Leo."
"Of course, sir. I'll just stop by his office on Monday and say,
'Sam, the President and I think you need another turn in the
corner.' Leo said drolly.
The President smirked, albeit sadly. "You'll think of something
Leo. You should get some sleep now."
"I'm gonna go home."
"No, stay here. You're in no condition to drive."
"No, I'm gonna go home."
"Leo."
"Fine, I'll stay here."
The President nodded. He stood and stretched his arms out
before him. "Well, I'm going to turn in. I'll see you tomorrow.
Bright and early. I'm making omelettes."
"Won't your cook want to do that?" Leo groaned.
"Leo..."
"Goodnight, sir."
"Goodnight, old friend."
Leo waited quietly for ten minutes. Then he pulled his shoes on
and carefully stepped into the hallway. The President's bedroom
door was slightly ajar. As Leo tiptoed past it, he glimpsed the
President on the floor. His heart leapt and his hand touched the
door, ready to race to the President's aide, but then he realized
that the President had not collapsed. He was merely kneeling,
his hands rapidly telling the rosary beads between his fingers.
As Leo slipped down the corridor, the President's low voice softly
followed him. "Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum;
Benedicta tu in mulieribus et benedictus fructus ventris tui,
Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc
et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord
is with thee; Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is
the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us
sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. Ave Maria,
gratia plena..."
The End