Title: The Pieces of my Life – June 2005

Author: helsinkibaby

Rating: PG

Fandom: CSI/West Wing

Pairing: Greg Sanders/Ellie Bartlet

Feedback: Makes my day

Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

Archive: At my site Checkmate (http://helsinkibaby.ahkay.net), anywhere else, please ask.

Word Count: 7936

Usually when the phone rings at eleven o’clock in the morning, Greg is in bed, fast asleep, and the caller has to call back, sometimes even more than once, before he rouses himself enough to answer it. Today however, he is frantically throwing clothes into a bag, the phone lying on his bed, and he grabs it on the third ring, offers a harried greeting to whomever is on the other end.

“I guess from you being awake at this hour that you’ve heard.” It’s Greg’s ex-room-mate and best friend John speaking, and Greg chuckles, because John knows him far too well.

“I was just going to bed,” he replies. “Saw it on the news.”

“You need anything?”

Greg is still packing as he listens, and when he shakes his head, he nearly drops the phone. “My ticket is booked, I called Grissom and told him there was a family emergency, my work is farmed out… you were my next call.”

“I’m honoured.” John’s words might, at any other time, be considered a quip, but the worry underlying them renders them anything but.

“My plane’s in ninety minutes,” Greg tells him, because he’s going to be cutting it fine to get to the airport in time, and John reads between the lines without any problems.

“I’m gone. Tell her I love her, ok?”

“Will do.” Greg’s all ready to hang up, the phone down to waist level when he hears John calling his name. “What?”

“You ever notice that you seem to spend a heck of a lot of time rushing to one another’s sides?”

Greg closes his eyes, because he’s had this conversation, or variations of it before, and he doesn’t have time for it now. So he answers simply. “Yeah. I’ve noticed that.”

“You ever think of doing something about it?”

There is a longer pause than Greg can legitimately spare, and then he drops his head, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. “All the time, man,” he says quietly. “All the time.”

There is nothing John can say to that, so the next thing that Greg hears is a dial tone, and he pauses only another moment more before the honk of a car horn from the street outside tells him that his cab is there. Quickly, he zips up the bag, gives the room one last once over to make sure he has everything he needs before he heads outside.

His last action is to turn off the television, sending Paula Francis and her rolling news ticker flickering into blackness. He can still see the words though, the breaking news that sent him scurrying into action.

“First Lady Abigail Bartlet rushed to George Washington University Hospital with suspected heart attack…”

>*<*>*<

Jed Bartlet is a man who is never happier than when he’s surrounded by his family. He loves Christmas, adores Thanksgiving, has been known to turn birthdays into whole weeks of celebration. Since his MS was diagnosed, since his girls grew up and moved away, he relishes the times when they are all together, relishing especially the five minutes that some combination of them aren’t at one another’s throats.

He never thought the day would come that he’d have all his family around him and would give anything for it not to be so.

But he is here, in a waiting room at George Washington University hospital, with all his children there too, waiting for news of their mother, his wife, who is being worked on somewhere in the building.

He’d give anything to be back in the West Wing, with Abbey lying in bed beside him, and the girls scattered to the four winds.

Instead, he sits here with cold hands, Leo as ever a calming presence by his side, looking at his three girls, and he worries.

Not just about Abbey.

Liz sits at one end of the room, hand in hand with Doug, a man that Jed has never really liked, but who has made her a good husband, given her two beautiful children. Gus is lying across her lap, round cheeks flushed with sleep, while Annie leans on her father’s shoulder, eyes closed but not sleeping, her face pale and streaked with tears. Gus is too young to understand what is happening, but Annie feels it with every fibre in her being, and while Liz and Doug tried to convince her that she should stay at home, she insisted on being here.

Directly across from them is his youngest daughter, his baby, his Zoey. In many ways, she has had the hardest road to hoe these past few years, graduating high school, graduating college, all within the glare of the media spotlight that comes with being First Daughter. Two years ago, she was kidnapped, all because of his job, and two years before that, because of her relationship with Charlie, there was an attempt on his life. But she has come through it all, has flourished, and now Charlie sits beside her, as he has been beside her since she arrived at the hospital in the wee small hours of the morning. His arm is around her shoulders, his other hand in hers, and he shows no signs of going anywhere, even if he, every so often, casts glances in his direction, as if to ask if there is anything he can do for Jed. And each and every time, Jed simply nods, telling him without words that he should keep on doing just what he is doing.

He is not worried about Liz, or Zoey. He knows that no matter what happens this night – and he’s praying, with all his might, for a happy ending – that they will be all right, that they have someone by their side who loves them, who will care for them, who will be beside them.

Then his gaze falls on his middle daughter. Ellie sits in the corner, furthest away from everyone else, completely alone. One arm is wrapped protectively around her middle, her other hand clenched in a fist, her nose and lips resting against it. Her brow is furrowed, eyes dark, and he knows that she understands better than any of them what her mother is going through. He knows that everything the doctor told them she understands, more than that, that she can read between the lines of what they are saying, and not saying. She is the one who asked all the right questions of the doctors, the one who translated for the family, the one who has been coming over to him, asking him if he is all right. She’s as worried about his medical condition as she is about her mother’s, but she bears that burden alone. She has no-one with her, no-one to support her.

He is worried about Abbey, but he is just as worried about Ellie.

“Can I get you anything Sir?” Leo’s quiet words break his train of thought, and he looks at his oldest and dearest friend as if he’s speaking Dutch. “Coffee… tea…?”

Jed looks from Leo to Ellie and back again, shakes his head. “Look at her Leo,” he murmurs, more to himself than to his friend. “She’s so worried about Abbey, and she’s worried about me… and there’s no-one here looking out for her.”

Leo glances at Ellie, then back to Jed. “We are,” he says with a shrug, and Jed knows what he’s trying to do, but it doesn’t work.

“It’s not enough,” he says.

Just at that moment, Charlie’s cell phone rings, and everyone in the room jumps a mile. Charlie has the grace to look sheepish, but Jed doesn’t miss how his eyes flare wide in surprise when he glances at the display. He looks directly at Ellie, who is glaring at him, saying, “Cell phones-” but Charlie doesn’t need to hear anything else, squeezing Zoey’s hand once as he stands.

“I’ll take this outside,” he says, vanishing quickly, leaving silence in his wake. That lasts until Gus comes fully to wakefulness, the cell phone having acted as an alarm, and the child wastes no time in letting everyone in the room know that he is hungry and thirsty, and Jed smothers a fond smile, recognising the signs of one who is cross-sick with tiredness.

Jed lets himself get lost in thoughts of Abbey, in memories of times when one or other of them had to soothe one of the girls, calm them down after a long night or longer day. He can almost hear her voice beside him now, telling him exactly what needs to be said or done, and it’s so real that he almost misses the door opening, hears Charlie’s voice.

“Ellie?” he says, and there’s a smile on his face as every eye in the room turns towards him. “There’s someone here to see you.”

He steps inside, allowing the man behind him to enter, and Ellie’s face blanches, her eyes growing wide with shock and tears. Zoey gasps, then grins, Liz reacting the same way as Ellie stands on shaky legs.

“Greg?” she whispers, her voice soft with shock, tears spilling down her cheeks, and for once, in all the years that Jed Bartlet has known Greg Sanders, the young man with the brightly coloured shirt and spiky hair says nothing. Instead he just opens his arms, and Ellie flies into them, flinging her arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly. Her shoulders shake with sobs, and Greg’s hands move up and down her back as he buries his face in her hair.

They stand in the centre of the room, all eyes on them, quite a few of them damp, but in spite of that, in fact that there is a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him, Jed manages a smile.

“It’s all going to be fine now,” he says quietly, and he knows that it is true.

>*<*>*<

When Ellie looks up to see Greg standing there, she can’t believe it at first. In fact, she doesn’t believe it, not until she’s crossed the room and she’s in his arms. Her head is buried in his chest, and she can feel his breath against her neck, his hands running up and down her back and she closes her eyes and loses herself in the familiarity of it all.

It seems like a very long time before she pulls away, and only then does she remember where they are. She can feel everyone looking at the two of them and while normally the last place she would ever want to be is the centre of attention, right now, she couldn’t care less. When she looks up at him, she can’t help but notice that his cheeks are slightly pink too, clueing her in that he shares her embarrassment, but there’s a smile playing about his lips as he reaches up to brush her cheeks dry.

“You’re here,” she says softly, disbelief ringing in her tone, and somewhere, as if from very far away, she hears Zoey snicker. She doesn’t comment on it though, can’t take her eyes off him, and Greg doesn’t take his eyes off her either.

“Nice of you to notice,” he quips, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He steps away from her then, but still keeps his arm around her waist, looking over at her father. “Mr President,” he says, nodding his head. “I just came… I hope that’s ok.”

Her father stands up, a smile playing about his lips as well. “Always room for you Greg,” he says, extending his hand, and something inside Ellie swells with emotions at the words, the gesture, not to mention the look on her father’s face. It’s a mixture of pride and affection and love, and it’s directed at the two of them in a way that it’s never been before, for all the times that her father and Greg have met.

Maybe Greg feels the same way, because his grip around her waist tightens momentarily. He doesn’t say anything else, most uncharacteristic for him, and she thinks maybe he’s trying not to push his luck. Instead, he leads her to a seat where he sits down beside her, his arm not once moving from around her waist, his free hand covering hers, fingers intertwining.

“How did you get in here?” she asks him quietly, after a long moment of looking into his eyes, just basking in his presence.

Greg grins, shooting a glance at Charlie, who has returned to his spot at Zoey’s side. “I made a phone call,” he says, and Ellie remembers Charlie’s cell phone ringing, remembers glaring at him before he beat a hasty retreat, and she sighs, inclining her head in a thank you to him. He winks at her in response, and beside him, Zoey’s eyes are dancing, her expression rather like the cat that got the cream. Ordinarily, that would lead to hours of teasing from her little sister, because Zoey never knows when to quit, and Ellie would be about ready to strangle her in no time flat.

Today though, her perspective is different, because she’s listened to the doctors, knows how precarious her mother’s hold on life is, and she couldn’t care less about Zoey teasing her. All she knows is that she needs Greg today, more than she ever has, and she’s so thankful that he’s there. She wants to tell him that, but this is neither the time nor the place for that. Instead, she just rests her head against his shoulder, and she waits.

She loses track of time as she concentrates on the feel of Greg’s hand in hers, the reassuring warmth of his arm around her shoulders. His breathing is steady and even, hers slowing into time with it, and she thinks to herself that she never thought she’d see the day where Greg would be a calming influence in her life, but he’s always surprised her, ever since she’s first known him, and this is just another one to add to the list.

Heartbeat and breath both speed up when the door opens and Doctor Jacobs comes in, the same doctor that she talked to when she first came to the hospital. Somehow, it seems like hours ago, and she rises on shaking legs, noting that everyone else in the room is doing the same. For a second, she’s afraid that her legs will literally collapse underneath her, but Greg pulls her closer to him and she leans against him for support.

“How’s my wife?” Her father is not one to beat around the bush, and Ellie is profoundly grateful for that fact, even if her mind is already registering that the look on the doctor’s face is not the look of a man who is about to deliver bad news. A qualified doctor, she knows that look, she’s worn that look. It’s one of the reasons she wanted to go into research.

“She’s going to be fine.” The doctor pauses to allow his words to sink in, and all around the room, people give in to their relief. Leo claps her father’s shoulder so hard that Ellie thinks he might have dislocated something. Charlie hugs Zoey, Doug hugs Liz.

And Greg wraps both arms around her and pulls her as close to him as he can.

Still though, it’s nowhere near enough.

After a moment, Doctor Jacobs continues, telling them that it was a close call, that they’ll be able to see her when she wakes up, that until then, the President can sit with her. Ordinarily, Ellie might press for more details, so might her father, but for now, they are content with what they’ve been told, those first five words all they needed to hear.

“You should go back to the Residence,” her father tells them after the doctor leaves, and three women’s mouths open to protest. Jed doesn’t hold with that though, stops them all by holding up his hand. “I’ll get some sleep in the room… and I’ll get someone to check me over too.” This last is delivered to Ellie with quite the long-suffering sigh. “But right now, I want to make sure my three other girls get some rest.”

Again, his three girls open their mouth to protest, but three men get there before them.

“Jed’s right,” says Doug.

“Yes Sir,” Charlie says.

“Will do,” is Greg’s contribution.

Three women stare up at the men by their side, three pairs of eyes narrowed into laser-like glares, glares that dissipate as they, as one, swing their gaze to their father, who, for some reason, can’t seem to stop laughing.

>*<*>*<

Though never having undergone military training in any way, shape or form, when the President orders them all back to the Residence, Greg feels the urge to snap to attention and carry Ellie back there if needs be. Thankfully, that’s not necessary, though it does take quite a big of persuading to get all three Bartlet women to leave the hospital, having exacted promises that the second their mother wakes up, the Secret Service will return them to the hospital.

That much done, they hug their father goodbye and make their way to the back entrance of the hospital where cars are waiting. The Westins get into one, leaving the second to be shared between Greg and Ellie and Zoey and Charlie, and there is silence in the car as they drive through the city streets. The tension finally broken, Zoey falls asleep on Charlie’s shoulder, and if Greg knows his Ellie, she’s inches away from doing the same. She doesn’t though, just keeps a death grip on his hand until they arrive at the Residence.

Charlie doesn’t even try to wake Zoey, instead exerts some kind of gymnastic contortions that allow him to carry her from the car, into the Residence. He goes straight to her bedroom, kicks the door shut behind him, and Greg’s pretty sure he’s not going to be emerging any time soon. Not that he thinks of that for too long; not when Ellie goes to the next room along, opens the door. The words, “We’re in here,” float back to him, and he’s sure he’s heard her wrong, until, that is, he actually gets into the room and sure enough, his bag, which had vanished at the hospital, is on the centre of the bed, along with one he recognises as hers.

“Are you sure?” he asks, because in all the time he’s known her, when he’s stayed with her family, he’s always been put in a separate room, even weekends during that summer after he graduated from college. No matter that they were living together in San Francisco, at the Bartlet farm, he’d always been put in a different room. Not that he’d stayed there, but still.

She gives him a look so withering that he’s half tempted to check if Sara Sidle has been giving her lessons. “Are you going to ask questions?” she asks. “Or are you coming to bed?”

No beating about the bush for her, and he grins despite himself, closing the door behind him. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Another withering look, but this time, the faintest of smiles dances around the edges of her lips. “Don’t get any ideas,” she warns. “I just want to sleep.”

“Well,” he responds, going over to her, resting his hands lightly on her hips. “I just want to sleep with you. So we’re even.”

Her smile is the loveliest sight he’s seen in a long while, and she steps into him, resting her head against his shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispers, and he frowns.

“For what?”

She pulls back, just enough that she can see his face. “For coming here… staying with me…”

He shakes his head, because she really doesn’t get it. “Ellie… there is nowhere else I’d be.” And it’s true, because the minute he saw that news broadcast, he hadn’t even had to think about what he had to do; the phone had been in his hand, dialling the airline, ready to get on the first flight to DC he could find.

Tears come to her eyes and she looks down again, her head dropping against his shoulder once more. It doesn’t stay there long though, because she straightens, stepping away from him and going to the dresser. He looks curiously at her, laughs when she pulls out a pair of flannel pyjamas, faded blue cotton with what look like purple blotches on them. Closer inspection reveals the blotches to be teddy bears, although slightly abstract in nature, and she lifts an arch eyebrow.

“What?” she demands, lips twitching, and he makes no effort to hide his mirth.

“Those,” he decides, “Are the ugliest things I’ve ever seen.”

She shrugs, and from the look on her face, he thinks she agrees. She doesn’t back down though, just says, “After a day like today? I need my cosies.”

He can’t argue with that, so he turns away, strips down to his boxers, locating a t-shirt somewhere at the bottom of his bag. It’s crumpled and creased, but he doesn’t think Ellie will care, and when he turns back to her, he barely manages to stifle his smile, because if anything, the pyjamas look worse on her body than they did when she was merely holding them.

“Bit of a turn off?” she asks as she pulls down the covers on her side of the bed, but he is completely serious when he meets her gaze.

“On you?” He lets the words hang in the air, enjoying the flush that comes to her cheeks, one that deepens when he finishes his thought. “There ain’t no such thing.” Their gazes lock and hold, and it’s he who looks away first, the truth of the moment too much for him to handle at the moment. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get some sleep.”

They climb into bed, him lying on his back, her on her side, scooting over to press up against him. His arms encircle her, her head resting on his chest, one arm across his torso, and she is asleep within seconds.

Greg allows himself a moment to tighten his grip, press a kiss to her forehead and remember how much he likes doing this.

Then he is asleep too.

>*<*>*<

If someone had told Greg that, on his first time to sleep in the White House Residence, he would do so soundly, without even noticing his surroundings, he would have called them crazy. Nonetheless, his first time sleeping at the White House, that’s exactly what happens, and it’s only when he wakes up hours later that reality comes crashing down when he looks around him. The trappings of history are everywhere, but there are some touches that mark this place as Ellie’s, even though he knows she hardly visits here. On the bedside table for instance, there are pictures of her and her parents the day she graduated from medical school, another of her and Liz and Zoey, taken at one of the last Inaugural Balls.

And there is a picture of the two of them, taken during Spring Break his sophomore year, Ellie’s freshman year, when they first began dating.

He looks at that picture now, and marvels at how young they were, how carefree, how innocent. It all seems like a million years ago, and in some ways, he can hardly recognise those two kids. In others though, it seems like nothing has changed at all, and what he notices most about that photograph is that he and Ellie are looking at one another, oblivious to the camera. They are every inch the couple in love, happiness radiating from them, and it strikes Greg then, with considerable force, that he’s never as happy as he is when Ellie is with him.

As if his thoughts are disturbing her, she stirs against him, and he stays very still. Her cheeks are flushed with sleep, but he can still see dark shadows under her eyes, and he wants her to get as much rest as possible before running the gauntlet to get to the hospital. Outside the door, he hears movement, Liz and Gus from the voices, and he looks at his wristwatch, realising that he should wake her soon. First though, he slips from the bed, carefully so as not to wake her, and slips into the bathroom, grabbing a brisk shower, dressing quickly. He’s worried the running water will wake her, but when he emerges from the bathroom, she is still sleeping.

He hates to do it, but if wake her he must, he will do so as gently as he can. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he reaches out to touch her face tenderly, running his hand down her cheek, before moving it so he can stroke her hair. She stirs slightly at his touch, her eyelids beginning to flutter, but he doesn’t hurry his pace, doesn’t say a word, just lets her come to wakefulness on her own terms. Eventually, her eyes open fully, come to focus on him with that blurry, half-awake look that he knows so well, and she gives him a sleepy smile that turns into a frown as her eyes flick up and down his body, take in the clothes he’s wearing. “You’re already dressed,” she says in a tone of mild surprise, and he chuckles.

“Nothing wrong with your eyes,” he says, and she rolls her eyes before she closes them again, burrowing her head deeper into the pillow as if she can recover her lost sleep that way. The gesture makes him laugh, which in turn makes her sleep-flushed cheeks darken a little more, and her shoulders rise and fall in a sigh as she gives in to the inevitable, opening her eyes and looking up at him.

“How long have you been up?” she asks, and he shrugs with the shoulder further away from her, his other arm still occupied with running through her hair.

“Long enough to shower and dress,” he replies. “I was about to go down and make some breakfast… what do you want?”

She smiles, but there’s no humour in it, more than a touch of whimsy if the truth be known. “How about you to come back to bed?” she asks, and he grins in genuine amusement.

“You tempt me,” he says. “But you need food.”

She sighs, reaches up with one hand to cover his. “You’re too good to me,” she whispers, and he shakes his head.

“No such thing,” he replies, and she smiles, closes her eyes again, the very picture of relaxation and contentment. Considering the state that he found her in yesterday at the hospital, the strain on her face, in her eyes, he’s relieved by the current state of affairs, is more than a little proud at his part in it. Suddenly, he’s speaking, barely aware of what he’s saying, his words coming right from the heart. “Say, I’ve got an idea.”

“An idea.” Her eyes are still closed, her voice filled with amusement. “And what would this idea be?”

“Why don’t we get married?”

The words come completely naturally to him; he can’t understand why he hasn’t said them before, but from her reaction, they’re anything but what she expected. She stiffens, her eyes opening wide as she turns to look at him, her cheeks paling. She doesn’t say anything at first, nor does he, and after staring at him for a moment, long enough to determine that he’s serious, she sits up, the action dislodging his hand from her cheek.

“You really mean that,” she says, and it’s not a question. Nonetheless, he treats it as such.

“Yes,” he says, not a waver in his voice. “I really do.”

Ellie draws her knees up to her chin, runs her hands through her hair, pushing it back behind her ears, leaving them there as she stares at the pattern of her comforter, her eyes wide. “You’re insane,” she declares. “You have completely and utterly lost your mind.”

“Actually,” Greg counters, “I think this is the most sane I’ve ever felt.” She looks up at him then, disbelief written all over her face. “I want to marry you Ellie.”

This time, she laughs. “Why?” Her hands reach up to cover her face, resting over her nose.

He’s ready with an answer. “Because I love you.”

Her shoulders shake with laughter, a distinct edge of hysteria in it. “I was right… you really are insane.” She sucks in a deep breath, and he can see her fighting for control. “Greg, I can’t marry you.”

Once, Greg was caught up in an explosion at the crime lab and was thrown, with force, through a floor to ceiling window, obtaining cuts and bruises, not to mention third degree burns.

That pain was nothing compared to the pain those words cause.

However, he was back at work, albeit dopey on painkillers, five days after the explosion, and that very resiliency enables him to keep a straight face, keep any hurt out of his voice. “Sure you can.”

“No, I can’t.” This time, there’s no mistaking the hysteria; it’s becoming more and more evident with every word.

“You’re going to give me a reason why?”

“A reason wh-? Greg, we haven’t been together in seven years…”

“Ellie, we e-mail every day. Talk on the phone every other day. We know each other better than any other person on the planet... and I’m very interested, by the way, in how you know exactly how long it is since we broke up. But we’ve never really been over Ellie, and you know that.”

“It’s not the same thing-” she argues, but he has a counter-argument for that too.

“No,” he says. “It’s better. I know what we had together Ellie, I know what it’s worth. I know that I haven’t come close to having that with anyone in the last seven years, just like I know that I’ve spent every day of those seven years thinking that we’re going to get back together some day.” Up to now, she hasn’t taken her eyes off his; at those words, she looks down and to the right, away from him, bites her bottom lip. “Why not today? Why not now?”

He’d thought that he was getting somewhere with her, but those words make her look up at him, fire burning in her eyes. “Why not?” she flares at him. “Why not? Greg, look around you. Look at where you’re sitting. You’re in the White House residence. There are Secret Service agents outside the door, there are press reporters camped outside the gates, you had to jump through hoops to get into the hospital yesterday. Everything I do, everywhere I go, I get followed, either by the agents or the press, who keep their distance because of my father’s rules, not that that stops them all… in the last few years, my father’s been shot, my sister’s been kidnapped as retaliation for a political assassination ordered by my father, I’ve been subpoenaed to testify in a hearing about whether his non-disclosure of having MS was a fraud on the American people… and you ask me why not?”

He doesn’t think that she took a breath throughout that whole speech, which rather impresses him. And he knows that as far as she’s concerned, she’s just made a valid argument. However, he also knows that he can refute it easily. “You think any of that’s news to me?” he demands. “I was at the farm that first Election Night. I’ve visited you, gone on vacation with you; I’ve seen the agents, the press. And during the MS announcement, after the shooting, I was there too. I know what your life is like.”

He reaches out as he talks, takes both of her hands in his, and there are tears in her eyes when she speaks again. “Then you know why I can’t let you into it,” she whispers, her voice ragged, and once again, he counters that easily.

“I’m already in it,” he reminds her. “I always have been.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not the same thing Greg… whatever you might think, living with it full time, it’s not the same as living with it for a couple of weeks. I know you, I know what you’re like… you’d hate it.” Her voice drops, and along with it, her gaze. “And pretty soon, you’d end up hating me.”

He releases one hand to tilt her chin up so that she’s looking at him again. “I could never hate you,” he tells her quietly. “And if what you’ve just described is the price I pay for having you in my life… then I’ll pay it. Happily.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” she whispers, holding his gaze. “Please don’t ask me to.”

One tear escapes, traces a silvery path down her cheek, and he knows that there is a time to push and a time to pull back, and that this is definitely the latter. “OK… ok…” Leaning forward, he kisses the top of her head, is somewhat surprised when her arms slip around his waist, holds onto him tightly, almost fiercely. When he pulls back to look at her again, he nods once. “Just so you know…” he tells her. “I’m going to ask you that question again one of these days. That ok with you?” She nods shakily, more tears falling from her eyes, and he sighs, because there’s nothing more that he can say to her, nothing that can make her feel better save go back in time and take back his original question, and he can’t do that, even if he wanted to. The only thing he can do is be her friend, try as best he can to return to the status quo of the last seven years, so that’s what he tries to do. “OK,” he says, standing up. “You get dressed. I’ll go make us some breakfast.”

Those first few steps away from her are the hardest he’s ever had to make, but he stops at her voice. “Greg?” It’s so soft, so unsure that for a split second, he thinks he imagined it, but when he turns, sees those wide eyes taking up most of her face, he knows that he didn’t. “Are we ok?”

Part of him wants to smile at the question, because it’s one that they’ve asked each other before, back when times were so much simpler for them. Another part of him though, wants to do anything but smile, wants to plead with her to change her mind. He pushes those thoughts aside, conjures up something approaching a smile and gives the answer they’ve always exchanged at that question. “Always.”

Her smile isn’t anywhere near the genuine article, but she nods, and so does he, turning again, taking a few more steps towards the door. Once more though, he’s stopped by her voice, but this time, there’s nothing soft or unsure about it. She calls his name and it’s more of a panicked shout, one that has him wheeling around in concern, only to see her out of bed, crossing the room towards him in a few quick strides, fairly leaping into his arm. He catches her as she flings his arms around his neck, his arms going around her waist, those ugly flannel pyjamas warm under his hands, and for a moment, he lets himself savour the sensation of holding her. Then he realises that her shoulders are shaking, that she’s crying, no, more like sobbing, muttering something incoherent against his shoulder. He frowns, trying to make it out, but the best he can come up with is, “Eye chains are kind,” and he’s pretty sure that that’s not what it is. But she’s repeating it over and over, so it must be some kind of important, and he pulls away from her slightly, moving his hands to cup her face, wiping her cheeks as she tries to catch her breath.

“Hey, it’s ok…” he tells her as his hands move across her cheeks. “You want to translate that for me?”

She nods, taking in a deep breath, her shoulders moving up and down with the effort. She swallows hard, but it doesn’t stop her voice from shaking as she answers him oh-so-carefully. “I changed my mind.”

Greg is reasonably sure that his heart stops beating for a second, wills it to start up again so that he can make sure he’s heard what he thinks he heard. “You want to say that again?”

This time when she smiles, it’s the real deal, and it goes all the way up to her eyes as she repeats herself, enunciating every word clearly. “I. Changed. My. Mind.”

He nods, suddenly unsure of what to say. “Oh. OK then.” His confusion makes her giggle, and he nods again, just for something to do, the gesture dislodging something in his brain, making him realise what he should do now. “I should probably ask you again… just to do it properly.”

“OK.”

She laughs again as he looks around him, then shrugs his shoulders, dropping down onto one knee. Once he’s there, he looks up at her, takes one hand in both of his, and opens his mouth to say something indisputably romantic, something that she’ll remember for the rest of her life.

He closes it again when he can’t think of a damn thing.

“Right…” he says instead. “Feeling the burden of expectation here… kind of not sure of how to go about this… which is interesting because I had no problems a few minutes ago…”

“Greg…” Her name on a laugh interrupts his train of lack of thought, and her free hand stretches out, her fingers brushing his cheek. “Just ask me.”

“Right.” He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, he’s still there, in the Residence of the White House, in her bedroom, and she is standing before him, smiling, the girl of his dreams in ugly flannel pyjamas, and there’s not a doubt in his mind that this is exactly where he’s supposed to be. “I love you,” he says simply. “Will you marry me?”

She doesn’t blink. “Yes.”

Then she laughs, and he joins her, standing up and pulling her into his arms, bringing his lips to hers and proceeding to kiss her senseless.

Breakfast, he decides, can wait.

>*<*>*<

Ellie’s head is spinning as she makes her way to the kitchen of the Residence, hand in hand with Greg. Not, for once, from her surroundings, which, even after seven years, still don’t entirely sit comfortably with her. Nor from the fact that her mother almost died a few hours ago, nor even from what she and Greg have just been doing, though she’s sure that’s the reason he’d like to ascribe to. No, she’s dizzy because after ten years of knowing him, loving him, she just agreed to marry Greg.

It’s everything she wants, but she’s very aware that there are myriad reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this.

As if he can hear her thoughts, he squeezes her hand, and she looks up, receiving a reassuring smile. He doesn’t say anything, just brings their joined hands to his lips, and that small gesture is enough to ease her mind.

Until, that is, they walk into the kitchen and see her father standing at the coffee machine. His favourite Notre Dame mug is raised to his lips, lowering slightly as they come in, the better for them to see his quick grin as he spies their joined hands. All this registers with Ellie in a flash, even as she’s speaking, her voice alarmed. “Dad! I didn’t know…”

“Your sisters staged a coup at the hospital,” her father tells her wryly. “Aided and abetted by my Secret Service agents, I might add.” A pause where his gaze moves from her to Greg to their joined hands, lingering there pointedly before moving back to Ellie’s face. “They said they would have waited for you, but they didn’t know when you’d surface.”

Again with the teasing smile, and Ellie’s sure that there was a hell of a lot more than that said. She’s grateful when her father doesn’t comment on it further, especially when she sneaks a peek at Greg from the corner of her eye, sees his cheeks flaming red. “Daddy…” she begins, but her father cuts her off with a wave of her hand.

“No need to explain,” he says, his eyes alight with mischief. “I understand that Greg’s come a long way, and you’re both tired and wanted to sleep and God knows that’s all I need to know, since one parent with heart problems is surely enough for anyone…”

He lets his voice trail off, still teasing, and Ellie takes a deep breath, knowing that she has to get this over with now, just get it out there. Greg’s hand is warm in hers, pressure increasing for just a second, but long enough, and then the words come out in a whoosh. “Daddy, Greg asked me to marry him and I said yes.”

The words hang in the air, making her father blink once, then twice, his gaze going between both their faces as if searching for the tell that will render this some colossal joke. It doesn’t come though, and Ellie suspects all he finds is nerves on her part, terror on Greg’s.

The mug is laid down heavily on the counter, the sound echoing in the too-quiet kitchen. “You asked her to marry you?”

The question is directed at Greg, who swallows convulsively, his “Yes Sir,” a strangled croak.

Then her father’s gaze falls on her, and she swallows too. “And you said yes.”

All she can do is nod.

“Well.” A long pause follows, his face inscrutable. Then, miraculously, he smiles. “It’s about damn time.”

The words are so unexpected, yet so totally in character for her father, that Ellie can only laugh, while Greg’s jaw just drops. Neither of them can speak, so her father hugs her in silence before shaking Greg’s hand.

“What, did you think I wasn’t going to be happy?” he asks, looking from Ellie to Greg and back again. “This has been coming for years… literally; we were wondering what it was going to take. This is wonderful news!”

“Really?” Ellie studies her father’s face, searching his eyes, because this is the most important decision she’s ever made, and while she knows it’s right, she still needs her father’s blessing. “You don’t think it’s too sudden?”

Her father’s eyebrows lift. “Too sudden? Ellie, how can anything with the two of you be too sudden?”

It’s true, so true that she giggles despite herself, especially when Greg stage-whispers, “He’s got a point.”

“Yes I do.” The words are serious all of a sudden, and her father looks hard at Greg. “You’re going to take care of her?”

Ellie opens her mouth to protest. “Daddy-”

“You’re going to tell me that you can take care of yourself,” her father guesses, meeting her eyes. “And I’m not disputing that at all. But you’re going to find out when you two have children that these are the questions you want to know the answer to.” He looks back at Greg then, eyes locked on Greg’s, and Greg does not blink. “So… you’re going to take care of her?”

His jaw set firm, Greg nods once. “Yes Sir.”

Then her father looks back at her. “You’re happy?”

Tears fill her eyes, but she is smiling. “I really am.”

Her father nods, then steps towards them again. “Then so am I.” He pulls them into a three way hug, and they stay that way for a long time.

>*<*>*<

Greg feels a certain sense of relaxation once the President has been told, once he gives him and Ellie his seal of approval. In part, it’s because he’s standing in the White House, telling the President of the United States that he wants to marry his daughter, but also because he knows Ellie is nervous. She’s always had a slightly – more than slightly, if the truth be known – fraught relationship with her father, has always been more than a little scared of him. That’s something that’s always bled into Greg’s dealings with the man, though Jed Bartlet has been nothing but cordial to him. Cordial, in a kind of “You hurt my little girl and I will make you bleed” kind of way, but cordial nonetheless.

Still, cordial or not, terrifying or not, the man is still the President of the United States, and Greg very much wants to marry his daughter, and once he’s told, everything should be fine.

Greg knows this.

But it doesn’t make it any easier to sit in a car with him, on the way back to the hospital. When the President heard that they were going to tell Mrs Bartlet their news, he insisted on being there, any tiredness he might be feeling forgotten, and they waited as he showered and changed quickly before leaving the White House. The car journey passes in silence, the sights of Washington flying past the windows, and though he knows that the worst should be over him, Greg is still very glad that Ellie’s hand is in his, because it’s possibly the only thing that stops him opening the car door and flinging himself onto the road.

It’s only when he enters Mrs Bartlet’s hospital room that he realises why he’s so nervous; the entire Bartlet clan is there. Liz and Zoey sit in two chairs, Doug and Charlie behind them, and all five look to the door when he and Ellie walk in, the President behind him.

“Greg!” Abbey Bartlet, Greg thinks, looks pretty damn chipper for someone who came close to death’s door, and she bestows upon him a beaming smile that reminds him of her daughter. “I heard you were in town…”

Greg nods, letting Ellie go to her mother, kiss her on the cheek. He briefly wonders whether to make a smart comment, ends up opting for sincerity, telling her, “It felt like I should be.”

She nods at him, her hand sliding down to squeeze Ellie’s. “I’m glad,” she says, the two words seeming to have special significance somehow.

“How are you Mom?” Ellie asks, and Mrs Bartlet makes a face.

“I’ve already had these two interrogating me,” she says tartly, “And I still feel fine.”

Behind Greg, the President clears his throat. “I think you might feel better in a minute.”

Ellie swings around to shoot her father a narrow-eyed glare, and Greg feels a cold hand squeeze around his heart. “I might?” Mrs Bartlet’s eyes are narrowed too, darting between Greg and Ellie and her husband as if she’s missing something. “Why?”

In the second before Ellie speaks, Greg catches Zoey’s eye, sees a huge smile split her face, knows she’s guessed. Her reaction is enough to loosen the cold hand around his heart, have him grinning as he looks down at his fiancée. “Greg and I are engaged,” Ellie says simply, not looking at her sisters, just her mother, because, after all, she’s always been closest to her.

And in the chorus of shocked gasps and breathless congratulations that follow, it is Abbey Bartlet’s words that that resonate loud and clear through the room.

“Well,” she says. “It’s about damn time.”