TITLE: Collapse AUTHOR: Kasey POST EP: War Crimes RATING: PG-13 Leofic, some Mal SUMMARY: “I wait until Allen has left before I collapse.” DISCLAIMERS: I don’t own ‘em, that would be Mr. Sorkin – y’know, the guy with the Emmy.  And the -…yes, and the carryon full of illegal substances-…yes, that’s the one. THANKS: To Flip.  As always. ::grins:: I wait until Allen has left before I collapse. Not literally so much as…literally, yeah.  And it suddenly strikes me that I don’t often collapse, in fact I don’t think I have since this one time I was in a parking lot and drunker ‘n a skunk and I – okay, that was more like being passed out than like collapsing. Civilians.  My God.  KIDS, maybe.  Little girls like Mallory who wasn’t even an idea back then…Wives like Jenny who wasn’t my wife yet, just my girlfriend who I wrote every day in hopes she wouldn’t run off with someone else who wasn’t a “baby killer”. Little did I realize that what the protesters had dubbed us back then is really what I was. What I am. Why the hell did he tell me that?  Why now? Why at all? I could’ve gone my entire life without knowing and have been perfectly happy.  Not happy necessarily, but better off than I am right now. Everything’s different than it was as of this morning when I woke up and came to work.  The world is spinnin’ differently than it did back then. But what do I mean when I say “back then”?  Do I mean this morning? Or do I mean when I killed those people? I’ve ridden a roller coaster since those times in the jungle, I’ve been up and down and twistin’ and turnin’ til I thought I was gonna be sick…’Til I WAS sick. And now, as I thought the damn train was pulling back into the station, the floor drops out from under me. I was so damn different back then…21 fresh-faced kid with an idealistic view of the world and the people in it, I left behind a girlfriend who was nuts about me and two little sisters who idolized me because I was more of a father to them than our father ever was and a mother who was terrified that I might meet my demise in the jungles. I almost did.  But not from a bullet fired in Nam.  From the bottles that almost killed me once I got back because I couldn’t stop the nightmares and daydreams that haunted me every moment of my existence. And so I survived the jungle war, I survived the drinking and the addiction that almost took my life the same way it took my father’s, and I married Jenny when I got home and we had a daughter together and a LIFE together for 35 years before she finally decided she was sick of it – sick of me and all my shit.  Mallory decided she was sick of it too and sided with her mother only she still looked out for me. She’s all I’ve got left except for my work. But she couldn’t understand this.  I mean, how would I even tell her? “Hey, Baby, it’s your old Dad, listen.  About eight years before you were born, I murdered a whole bunch of innocent people and now they’re thinking of tryin’ me for war crimes…so that’s another trial you’ll get to watch broadcast live on CNN and C-SPAN or maybe they’ll even drag you into this one like I had feared they might with the MS trial of your godfather.” But in the end, I pick up the phone and dial her apartment.  She’s bound to be home – only insane people like us work on Sundays.  She answers after the second ring.  “Hello?” “Hey, Baby,” I say, trying not to let the lump in my throat dictate the tone of my voice.  “How ya doin’?” “Not bad.” And she tells me a funny story about what one of the kids in her class said the other day about the White House and I force a little laugh.  “So why’d ya call?” She’s got this strange habit of sounding like me sometimes – considering she never lived in Boston and her mother says absolutely nothing that sounds like me and Mal was always encouraged to speak very properly at her private schools.  I open my mouth to tell her, to tell her EVERYTHING because I have to tell SOMEONE. And I know she wouldn’t tell anyone ‘cept maybe Jenny and she would offer to come over here and take me to dinner or something so I wouldn’t be alone and so she could also watch me and make sure I don’t drink because that’s what she always does and it’s sorta annoying sometimes but I know it’s just ‘cause she’s worried about me with lots of cause to be. I’m sorta worried about myself at the moment, to tell ya the truth. But, knowing she wouldn’t know what to say and not wanting to give her more cause to worry, I instead say “No reason, just wanted ta-…Nothing.” “Dad?”  Dammit, and she’s got that worried tone in her voice already. “Honestly, Baby? It’s nothin’.” “Okay,” she says in that ‘if you say so’ tone of voice that I hate because it’s so completely Jenny. “I love you.” “I love you too, Dad,” she says, sounding a bit odd still, because we were never exactly a big family on feelings and I-Love-Yous. It’s then that I realize I’m starting to sorta break down, so I quickly say my goodbye and hang up. Why the hell is this happening now? And how am I gonna explain to people who respect me and look up to me that I’m a killer – that I murdered 11 innocent people? The President’ll say something about “Fix it” before he goes back to the Residence to ask Abby for advice on how to handle it.  She’s the humanitarian of the two, she knows how to deal with things from time to time when they involve people – Jed doesn’t have a clue, he can run the free world but when it comes to how to handle things with me, he’s never entirely sure – the separation and divorce are testament to that. Josh’ll just stand there, blinking for a second as he holds onto the back of the chair, his head cocked to one side, trying to figure out what I just said, then look at me like he looked at me when I told him the President was sick.  That-…the betrayal in his eyes was almost as bad as Sam’s… Mallory…I have no damn idea… I can’t tell them.  Until I know it’s gonna be a thing.  Because it could’ve just been Allen trying to get me to back us down on the War Crimes Tribunal. So I remain collapsed in my chair, out of energy, ideas, and all hope of human decency.