Rating/Pairing: PG, Leo/Ainsley
Disclaimer: The West Wing is not mine, nor ever will be mine.
Spoilers: Post ep to "18th and Potomac"
Summary: Leo has to tell Ainsley about the events of the night.
Archive:On my site, The Band Gazebo Anywhere else, ask first
Feedback: Yes please!
Author's Notes: Fourteenth in the Stolen Moments series; after Reports, Statistics and Divine Intervention, Of Divorces and Desserts, Cookies and Children's Choirs, Loose Lips, Of Peanuts and Lord Fauntleroy, A Bigger Night, More Than Like,Of Chopsticks and Cheese, Killing Time, Sewn Into The Fabric, The Pieces of My Life,The Other Shoe and Where I Want To Be.

I look back as I close the door and see them holding each other. Jed - right now, I can't think of him as the President; he's not the President, he's my best friend, and his life is falling apart - is crying into Abbey's arms, and she's doing her best to keep her own tears back. As if today hadn't been bad enough, as if this week wasn't going to be bad enough already, now this happens. The only thing he could think of was how he asked her to come back to the White House tonight, how he told her that he wanted to talk to her about something. And that's just what she was doing - she always was reliable. He feels so guilty right now, and it's only going to be worse in the morning, once he wakes up and remembers that this isn't a nightmare.

I walk down the halls of the Residence, hearing voices coming from another room, but I don't go in this time, don't even break stride. I know what's behind the door; a scene much like the one that I've already described, except a generation younger. Zoey arrived here not long after the news came; I think it was Abbey who rang her, knowing that Charlie was going to need her. The kid hadn't cried since he'd told me the news, he'd just sat at his desk, staring at the cookie jar across from him, but the minute he saw Zoey, it was like something snapped inside him, and he sobbed. And like her mom, she just pulled him into a hug and let him cry, as she battled to keep her own tears back.

Two strong women and two lucky men.

When Charlie told me, I'd just sent the Senior Staff out to get dinner, told them to be back here at nine for the meeting. For obvious reasons, the meeting isn't going to happen now, and I paged them to tell them that, to tell them to get back here as soon as they could. It didn't take long - Josh told me later that they'd only just sat down at the restaurant when their pagers went off simultaneously. They knew that it was serious then. But telling them…the look on their faces. I thought telling them all about the MS was hard. But this was worse because it was so final. The MS, we couldn't do anything about the disease, but we could fight the repercussions, plan strategy, work out a solution that we and the American people could live with. But we can't fight this.

I sent them home, or wherever they needed to be that isn't here. Then I went over to the Residence, and sat with them a while before Abbey did likewise to me.

So I call my guy and get him to take me home.

And when we're halfway there, I change my mind, telling him instead to bring me somewhere else. If he feels any surprise, he doesn't show it, just finds a place to turn the car and follows my directions before stopping in front of an apartment building, mostly in darkness. "Do you want me to wait for you Mr McGarry?" he asks, and I take a minute before I shake my head.

"Nah. Pick me up tomorrow morning. Here. The usual time."

This is the first time that I've ever made a request like this of him, but there's not even a raised eyebrow, just a nod of the head. It looks like he's waiting for me to get out, but I wait for a few more moments before I do. I look out the window, and I know exactly where to look, know exactly which apartment window is hers. There's a light still shining there, and I know that she's probably waiting for me to call her, just waiting to hop into her car and come over to my place. That's what we've always done. She's always come to me, never the other way around, not since the night that it all began.

But tonight is no ordinary night. And I can't wait a minute longer to see her.

I can imagine her, sitting there, looking at the TV, or reading a book, or some reports or something, every now and then glancing at the phone, even though she knows that this would be too early for me to call. I can see the slight smile on her face, the shine in her eyes, that same look that she gets on her face every night when I open the door to her.

It's strange how quickly you can get used to something, how you find something that you need in your life and yet you didn't even know that you were missing it.

And that's why I take my time before I get out of the car. Because I know the look that she's going to have on her face when I come to her door, and I know the effect that what I'm going to say will have on her.

I really don't want to be the one who tells her this.

But I know that I'm the only one who can.

When I was putting on a brave face for the President last week, getting him to see Babish, preparing to tell the Staff, there was only one person that I felt I could talk to and just be me, Leo McGarry, not Leo McGarry, the White House Chief of Staff. I went to her, halfway to falling apart, and she caught me and put me back together and didn't have to work hard to do it. And she's been doing the same thing ever since.

Telling her this, doing the same for her is the least is can I do.

I get out of the car, watching as it disappears down the street. A chill blast of wind strikes me, and I shiver, remembering standing here on Christmas Eve, when I went to Midnight Mass at the church just down the street. I remember the peaceful look on her face, I remember her holding onto my arm as we walked down back here, how soft her cheek was against my lips as I kissed her goodnight. And against my will, I flash back to her in my office, when she gave me those cookies, from the same batch of cookies that she'd given to Mrs Landingham. And how she told me about how Mrs Landingham reminded her of her grandmother, the woman who raised her, the woman she adored. Still adores, even though she's been dead for years.

And now I have to tell her that Mrs Landingham is dead.

Somehow, someway, I find my way to the door, the walk not having seemed as long the first night that I was here. I don't know how long I'm standing there- an hour, a year?- before I raise my hand and knock.

Time slows down still further before the door swings open, and the look on her face is just as I imagined it would be. Her eyes are wide with surprise, and there's a huge grin on her face, and she doesn't even wait until I'm over the threshold before she hugs me. I close my eyes, burying my face in her hair, holding her as tightly as I can for as long as I can. When she draws away, she's still smiling. "What are you doing here?"

I force a smile to my lips, and it must look as fake as it feels, because the first flickers of worry light in her eyes. I drop my hands to her shoulders and squeeze. "Mind if I come in?"

She steps aside, her hand finding mine as we walk into the apartment together. I hang up my coat, she disappears into the kitchen without a word before returning with two steaming mugs of coffee, which she places on the table in front of us. There's classical music floating from the speakers, and a glance at the TV assures me that she wasn't watching any news shows. She's totally unaware of anything that might have happened tonight.

The couch shifts as she sits down beside me and her hand on my knee drags my thoughts back to the here and now. "Bad day?"

My hand goes over hers and a sigh escapes me. We didn't get to do this last night, I was in the White House until the early hours of the morning, having heard disastrous polling numbers from Joey Lucas, and I hadn't called her; hadn't wanted to wake her, even though I wanted to wake her more than anything in the world. Was it really only twenty four hours ago that I debated waking her? Was it really only in the last twenty-four hours that we were worrying about re-election and Haiti?

"Leo?" Her voice is soft, hesitant, and she puts her other hand over mine, squeezing gently. I take a ragged breath and look at her, and I know in that instant that my emotions are written on my face from the look in hers. Her eyes get this worried look, and her head tilts and she moves closer to me on the couch. "What's wrong?" she whispers.

I take another deep breath. "Ainsley, there was an accident tonight."

Her breath catches and her nails dig into my hand. "Who? What happened?"

I take both her hands in mine, holding them tightly. "Mrs Landingham." Her hands grip mine so tightly that I'm afraid for my circulation, but it doesn't seem important right now. "She went to pick up her new car, and she was on her way back to the White House…a couple of kids ran a red light over at 18^th and Potomac…" The lump in my throat cuts off the words.

She's blinking rapidly, her eyes darting all over, never settling anywhere. "Is she…I mean, is she ok? In the hospital? How bad was it?"

"Bad."

"How. Bad." Her jaw is tight, and she has to force out the words, and I know the effort it's costing her to hold herself together. Usually when Ainsley gets nervous, she babbles a mile a minute, and it's hard to keep up with her. It's actually something that I quite enjoy, although she's so comfortable around me that it rarely happens anymore. But this is something else, something terrible. Something I hope I never have to see again.

She's not the only one who's having trouble talking because all I can do is shake my head. That tells her all that she needs to know, and with a strangled cry, she hurls herself into my arms. I hold her, feeling her shoulders shake as she cries, and I find myself crying for the first time since I heard the news as well.

Eventually her shaking subsides, and soon after that she lifts her head to look into my eyes. Her voice is anguished, but a little more controlled when she asks, "Was it quick?"

I nod. "She wouldn't have known anything. She didn't suffer."

"Good." The word brings forth another sob from Ainsley. "I wouldn't have wanted her to suffer." She rests her head back on my shoulder and I kiss the top of her head.

"I know…I know."

"Are you ok?"

My fingers play with the ends of her hair. "I am now," I tell her, realising again how true that is. Today was a god-awful day, and tomorrow and the next day are going to be even worse, but I feel better, more at peace with myself, when I'm around her.

I feel even better when my words make her laugh. "Smooth talker," she teases, slapping my chest gently.

"You know what they say about flattery." We fall into our pattern of banter easily enough, but when she lifts her head again, I can sense the change in her mood.

"Yes." Her hand reaches up to cup my cheek. "Yes I do."

When she kisses me, I'm not surprised, and I kiss her back with just as much intensity. It's not until she pulls away, flushed and breathing hard, that I realise that things have progressed further than previous evenings. There's slightly more clothing askew, but it's more the look on her face, in her eyes, mirroring my own emotions exactly.

We can't do this now. There are so many good, good reasons why we can't do this now.

But when I brush her hair away from her face, I realise that I don't care about any of them.

And when she whispers, "Will you stay tonight?" any slight hint of resolve that I might have had vanishes utterly.

But, in the interests of not making a fool of myself, and destroying any hope of anything ever happening between us, I have to ask her. "Ainsley, if I stay…it's not going to be like it was last week." Last week, when she came to my place and slept with me - just slept- wearing a nightshirt of Mallory's.

Her eyes meet mine, and hold them. "Well then…" she finally whispers. "That's fine too."

In spite of tonight's events, she smiles when she says that; a real, genuine smile. And I can feel the same spreading across my own face as I pull her to me again, knowing why she chose those words, knowing the implications.

It's been a long time since I've been with a woman. Not since Jenny, who I was faithful to ever since the day we got married. And I know, if I'm being honest with myself, that that was at least a part of the reason that I was reluctant to take that next step with Ainsley. Afraid that it wouldn't last, afraid that I'd be thinking of Jenny, afraid that it wouldn't be everything that it should be. The other reasons are the ones that she already knows, that I want to take things slowly, that I'm afraid of rushing things between us and spoiling it. To say nothing of what would happen if word of this got out.

But life has a way of putting things in perspective. On Wednesday, the fabric of our lives is going to be rent apart, and already tonight, there's been a huge hole torn. And I don't want to wait another moment to be with her, because I've remembered that life is just too short.

And besides, we've already waited long enough to be together - too long - and it was worth the wait.

She holds me close when we lie in bed together afterwards, and casts an eye at her bedside clock before she frowns. "How did you get here?"

"My guy drove me."

Her eyes do that wide and horrified stare she does so well, and her mouth drops open. "Is he…?"

I laugh as I realise that she's picturing him sitting out there, waiting in the car for us to do whatever it is we're doing, and I hasten to reassure her. "Relax…I told him to pick me up here tomorrow morning." Too late I hear how that sounded, and she quirks her eyebrow, leading me to think she's not going to let me get away with it, before her features soften, become hopeful.

"So you'll stay?"

I tighten my grip around her waist and think back to the first night I kissed her, when she asked me much the same question, in more or less the same position, my arms around her, her head against my shoulder. The words I used then come back to me, and I use them again now, but the change in our situation makes them so much more meaningful. "I'll stay forever," I whisper.

I don't look down at her, but I can feel her lips pull up into a smile as she repeats the words that she used that night, words that she's used already tonight. "Well…that's fine too."

Pretty soon, her breathing evens out and she's asleep, but I fight against slumber so that I can study her, the images of today, both happy and sad, floating through my mind. I remember Jed's face when Abbey walked in the door, remembered how they looked as I left, holding each other, wondering how they were going to make it through this. And I remember Charlie when he saw Zoey, how he couldn't do anything but hold on to her like she was the only thing in his life that made sense. And I remember thinking of Abbey and Zoey, and realising just how strong they were and how lucky Jed and Charlie are to have them.

And then I look down at Ainsley and realise that I am too.

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