Rating: PG
Spoilers: Everything up to Bartlet for America
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site The Band Gazebo (helsinkibaby.ahkay.net) Anywhere else please ask first.
Summary: Leo heads home on Christmas Eve
Author's Note: And the storm begins to break…this story is in part shaped by the companion piece that I wrote to it last December, A Hayes Family Christmas. And since I wanted to keep this in canon, there was one huge hurdle to navigate - you all can guess what it was! <g> This was a hard one to write, because Leo doesn't understand what he's done either, and he sure as heck couldn't explain himself to me…makes you wonder how Ainsley's going to take it….

Even though it's late at night, there's still a sense of energy in the air, an excitement that can't be mistaken. People are walking through the streets, bundled up against the cold, bags in hand with brightly wrapped packages peeking up from the top. Children skip along holding their parents' hands, faces wide-eyed with joy, smiles splitting their faces. As I walk along the street, I can see the lights of Christmas trees through the windows, orbs of multi-coloured light shining through the glass. All around me, people are heading home to their families, to their loved ones, looking forward to spending a peaceful and joyous Christmas.

It's not a surprise - after all, that sense of excitement, of expectation, of togetherness, is what Christmas Eve is all about.

I have never felt more alone. Or less excited.

Not that this is the first Christmas that I've spent on my own. Since the divorce, I usually see Mallory for some of the day, but for large parts of it, I'm alone, even if the President habitually invites me to spend the day with his family. Last year, that's what I did, had Christmas dinner at the Residence, and saw Mallory that night. The year before, I was alone for most of the day before joining Mal that night.

That's the way it's going to be this year too.

But this year, things could have been different.

It's strange how things can change in a year. This time last year, I wasn't walking home alone; I was walking to a church, with a beautiful young woman on my arm. A woman who made me laugh, made me relax, made me feel totally comfortable in her presence. We sat in that church that night as we listened to the children sing, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world for me to take her hand in mine, to kiss her on the cheek when I took my leave of her.

That was probably when I realised that I felt more for her than just friendship, but there were so many reasons why I knew that it was a bad idea, why we shouldn't take it any further. And at the back of it all was my certainty that she couldn't possibly feel the same way about me - what could a woman like that possibly see in me?

Then that night when it seemed like my world was falling to pieces, there was only one person that I could go to, one person that I wanted to go to. And she held me, and she kissed me, and I saw everything in her eyes that I'd ever wanted to see, ever dared to hope for.

After that, there was no keeping us apart. Having finally admitted our feelings for one another after so long, there was no putting the genie back in the bottle, and since then, she's held me together during the MS disclosure, while we were planning the campaign announcement, during the months since then. She's talked to me, she's held me, she's made sure that I eat and sleep - I don't know how I'd have made it this far without her.

Ainsley Hayes, I have learned, is an amazing woman, and far more than I deserve.

This is a woman who knows that I'm an alcoholic and drug addict, who knows that I have a failed marriage behind me, who knows all the skeletons in my closet, and who doesn't give a damn. I could search for a hundred years and never find another woman like her.

Which in no way shape or form explains my actions over the past couple of days. Over the past couple of weeks if it comes to that.

I could say that it all started when I got word that I was going to be testifying in front of Congress yesterday.

That would be a lie.

Because I've always worried that one day, she'd turn around and realise that she was too good for me. I worried about it before we got together, I worried about it during the time that we were apart when I was in Manchester. I worried about it when she told me that she set Donna up with Cliff Calley, the night we had that huge fight. She told me a few home truths about her life in the White House, about how partisan politics were affecting her life. I worried then that our political differences might pull us apart, and that wasn't the first time that the thought had occurred to me. I worried when Alan Adamley told me about the mission in Vietnam, worried that it would reinforce how to her how big the age difference was, because it brought home to both of us that I was fighting in a war when she wasn't even born.

And looking back now, I can see that all those things added up somewhere in the back of my mind, and I was too stubborn to acknowledge it. Or maybe too afraid to, who knows? I guess it had to come to a head somehow, somewhen. That much insecurity can't be held at bay indefinitely.

So what I'm saying is that the thought of testifying in front of Congress isn't the sole reason that what happened happened, but it's sure as hell a catalyst. The straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak.

Because that's what brought Jordan Kendall into my life.

When I told Ainsley that I'd retained Jordan, her response was that I'd just retained one of the best lawyers in the city. Which is what I'd heard too, but I valued Ainsley's opinion. It was nice to be able to talk to someone else about it - Jenny was never interested in my work. I talked to Jordan on the phone a couple of times, met her briefly right after the MS announcement, but she didn't come to my office, didn't meet with me at any length until a couple of weeks ago.

When she came into my office, there was no small talk, no beating around the bush. She sat down, whipped out her notepad and got straight down to business. She was forthright, she was demanding, and she let me know in no uncertain terms where I stood and what she expected from me. She knew just what she wanted and she let me know that she was going to get it. She was a strong, confident, independent woman.

Just the kind of woman that I've always had a weakness for.

Jenny was that kind of woman. Abbey Bartlet is that kind of woman, and while she's the wife of my best friend, she's one of my best friends too.

And Ainsley is that kind of woman.

I guess that I must have made that observation about Jordan to the President, because all of a sudden, all I was hearing about was that I had a crush on Jordan. And I scoffed at him, and I told him that he couldn't be further from the truth and I meant that. When he came my office when she was there, allegedly having thought that I was alone, he made sure to engage her in conversation for several minutes. And of course, Jordan played along with him - what else do you do when the leader of the free world is talking to you? Later that day, all I heard about in the Oval Office was that he liked her, that he thought that she'd be good for me. That I should ask her out.

It became a daily occurrence.

"Ask her out," he told me one day, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"She's my lawyer," I responded, sure that any relationship between us would abrogate some rule or other about the attorney-client relationship.

Not that that stopped the President. He waved his hand dismissively, making a pfft sound between his lips. "That'll blow over," he said confidently. "You two could be great together. You're the same age, you've got things in common, you can talk to her… she's perfect for you."

How could I tell him that I was already involved with someone? That there was already someone that I was great with, and that she was everything I could have hoped for? "I'm really not interested," I tried again, but that made the President lean forward in his chair, speaking earnestly.

"Leo, I know that you haven't been serious about anyone since Jenny." I didn't contradict him. "You haven't even been casual about anyone since Jenny." Again, I stayed silent. "But you can't be alone for the rest of your life."

"Who says I will be?" I asked, when it became evident that he was waiting for a reply.

"Leo…" He shook his head, a small smile hovering around the edges of his lips. "I know that it's scary. I know that it's hard to start all over again with someone new. I also know that it's worth taking the risk."

This man is my oldest and dearest friend. He knows me inside out and back to front, and I couldn't tell him that I agreed with him. That he was one hundred per cent right and that I knew it, because I'd already confronted these issues in my mind, and overcome them.

But his words, his meaning, sank into my head, took root there.

And against my will, I found myself thinking about what he'd said about Jordan. Thinking about her in a way that wasn't appropriate given our relationship. And certainly not appropriate given my relationship with Ainsley.

But I never did anything about it. I never even considered doing anything about it. Every night, I went home to Ainsley, to her apartment, which both of us had long since come to think of as ours. I spent almost every night there, my books were on her shelves, my clothes in her cupboards and drawers, and to be honest, the place felt more like home than even the house that I shared with Jenny, and I lived there for thirty years. We cuddled together on the couch, held one another, slept in one another's arms, enjoyed lie ins on Sunday mornings. The lie ins may have only lasted until eight or nine o'clock, but we enjoyed them anyway.

I was perfectly content with the way things were between us.

Except that I was hitting on Jordan. I didn't mean to do it, strange as that might seem. I certainly didn't mean to be attracted to her; that was something that I couldn't help. Like I said, she's exactly the kind of woman that I would normally be interested in. But I have Ainsley, and she's enough for me.

So why hit on Jordan you might ask?

My father was an alcoholic. His father was an alcoholic. And neither one of them was what you would call faithful to their wives. While I followed one of those family traditions, I didn't follow the other. I was never unfaithful to Jenny, no matter how drunk I was. That was one line that I would never cross. However, as has often been pointed out to me, both my father and grandfather were blessed with silver tongues, able to charm the birds off the trees. Even when they were drunk, they could promise you the moon and stars and you couldn’t help but believe them. That is a family trait that I inherited from them, and it's one that always came out most strongly when I was drinking. When I was far gone, I was your typical drunk, sure, stumbling, incoherent, a mess. But when I had just enough, I turned on the charm, and it never failed. I would talk to women in bars, would have them eating out of my hand, but it never went further than flirting. Not once in thirty years of marriage to Jenny.

And I guess, even though I was stone cold sober yesterday, and all the times that I'd found myself tossing some line at Jordan, some old habits are hard to break.

I was testifying in front of Congress. I was nervous. I knew what Gibson was going to bring up, I knew what it could cost me. I'd known that all the time that I was in meetings with Jordan, all the times that I'd hit on her and I'd never told her.

I'd never told Ainsley either. Because at the back of my mind was the fear that this could be the thing that pushed her over the age. That she could handle the age thing, the political differences, the long hours, the Vietnam revelations, but that me falling off the wagon would be a bridge too far. I couldn't stand the thought of seeing that disappointment in her eyes. And yet, there were so many times that I wanted to tell her, so many times that I would open my mouth and the words just wouldn't come out. She saw it, I know that she saw it, but she didn't press me on it, probably figuring that I was just worried about having to testify.

Left up to me, I never would have told either Jordan or Ainsley. And I spent the day hoping against hope that Josh would pull off a miracle. Then, when I knew he wouldn't, when Jordan called for a recess, I knew that I was going to have to tell her. And her reaction, her confusion, her disgust, and yes, her disappointment, were like a knife to my heart. Because if this woman, who had no emotional attachment to me, reacted like this, what would Ainsley do? If this strong, independent woman to whom I was so attracted reacted like this, how much more likely was it that Ainsley would do the same thing?

You could have knocked me over with a feather when, after all that, Jordan told me that she'd have dinner with me. No matter how much or how hard I hit on her, I never thought she'd say yes. And I didn't know if I wanted her to.

But what I did know was that after the hearing ended so abruptly, after I dodged that bullet, I stood in that room and I looked right at the Majority Counsel, one Clifford Calley. I knew of him of course, people had told me about him. I knew where he went to school, knew what kind of lawyer he was. But I knew far more than just transcripts and hearsay; I knew that he was one of Ainsley's closest friends. She'd told me all about Cliff her friend, told me that he was a good man, fair, compassionate. I looked right at him before I left that hearing room, and maybe it was just that I was shocked, or reeling from the sudden end to my day, but I could have sworn that there was some kind of acknowledgement between us, some kind of connection that we were both aware of. That's crazy, I know, because he doesn't know about Ainsley and me, but that's the feeling that I came away with.

Anyway, that glance at Calley made me think of Ainsley. That's when I looked at Jordan, and I knew that I didn't want to be with her last night. That the woman I wanted to be with was a tiny blonde with a Southern accent and big eyes, who would hold me and be there for me with no questions asked. And when I got back to the Oval Office, when the President gave me that napkin, I knew that I needed her.

I got my guy to drive me home and he knew that I didn't mean my place. He dropped me off and I managed to drag myself up the steps and let myself in using my key. She stood up when she heard me coming in, and turned to face me, and I could see her face fall as she looked at me.

I don't remember if I moved, or if she did, but the next thing I knew, her arms were around me and I was hanging on to her for dear life. I didn't even realise that I was crying until I felt the material of her shirt growing damp under my cheek. She led me to the couch where she just held me in her arms, whispering to me that everything was going to be all right, that she was here for me. And I cried in her arms, for everything that I'd done, for everything that was going to come out, for all the hurt that this could cause the President, the embarrassment to my family, to myself. Most of all, I cried for the fear that was still there, the fear that this truth would drive her away from me.

She let me pull myself together, then I told her. About the hotel room, about the sixty-year-old scotch. And I waited for the anger, for the recriminations, for the condemnation. It never came. Instead, all she said was, "And Gibson knows about this?"

I nodded, telling her again that he was in the room, that he was going to use this to embarrass me, to embarrass the Presidency, and she frowned. "But this doesn't have anything to do with…"

"I know." I squeezed her hand, sighing heavily. "I know." I paused. "I don't know why they adjourned... They had to know what he had, he must have told them…"

"What's going to happen?" she asked me, biting her lip nervously.

"I don't know. We'll find out in two weeks." I had more pressing concerns on my mind. "What does this mean for us?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You think that I… that this…" I couldn't look at her, and she reached over and took my face in her hands, forcing me to meet her gaze. "Leo, there is nothing…nothing… that could change the way I feel about you. You fell off the wagon at a bad time. So what? You're still the same man that you were this morning. That hasn't changed."

I remembered a different night that I'd fallen apart and come to her, hoping that she could help me put myself back together again. She'd said almost exactly the same thing to me then, and I put my arms around her again, holding onto her tightly. When I let eventually let her go, she stood without a word, just squeezing my hand tightly once, then went into the kitchen. When she came back out, she was carrying two plates, one holding a slice of chocolate cake, the other a slice of cheesecake.

"I thought you could use this," she told me, and I knew what she'd done. That she'd gone all the way across town to what we'd begun to think of as "our" place, in the hopes that it would cheer me up. And even though she'd heard the whole story, she never asked why, never asked me how I could have done such a thing; she just accepted it, and loved me anyway.

Like I said, she's far more than I deserve.

We spent a quiet night together, just holding each other, hardly talking, not really needing to. We exchanged presents, and went to bed early. And this morning, we got up early and she caught a cab to the airport to go to her family Christmas in North Carolina.

We knew that she was going; she'd had it planned for weeks. I even insisted that she go; in fact I wanted her to go sooner, I didn't want her to stay for the hearing at all. Obviously, I'm glad that she did now. But I wish that I hadn't been so quick to insist that she leave, although I know that she had to go. It's her family, and it's Christmas after all. That, and the fact that I could see that she was fighting back tears as she kissed me goodbye this morning. She told me that all I had to do was call her cell-phone if I needed to talk, that she'd ring me tonight. I think she's worried that I'm going to fall off the wagon again.

And I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't tempted.

I'd be lying if I said that the thought of sitting alone tonight didn't make me want to take a drink. I could almost feel the glass in my hand.

Maybe that's why, instead of cancelling dinner with Jordan, I only rescheduled it.

"I like you," I told her. "I've been trying to get it in under the wire."

I don't know what I meant by that, not entirely anyway. I do like her. I am attracted to her. That's part of why I went out to dinner with her.

Another part of it is that I didn't want to be alone.

Part of it is that as well as being attracted to her, being with her wouldn't cause a scandal. She's more my age, and aside from the attorney-client thing, there's nothing between us that would raise eyebrows. That would cause press headlines, and familial disputes.

That part of it is the voice of Jed Bartlet whispering in my ear.

Whatever it was, I did it. I went out on a date with Jordan Kendall. And the restaurant was wonderful, and the food was fantastic. She looked incredible, all dolled up to the nines, and she was warm and funny, much more so than she'd been up to now. She smiled, and her eyes were alive with life and laughter, and the conversation was interesting and stimulating. She was the perfect dinner companion.

But she wasn't Ainsley.

I came to that realisation midway through the evening when she leaned over the table and took my hand in hers, her fingers stroking my skin. The touch just felt wrong to me, and I knew right then and there that this whole thing wasn't going to work. That I couldn't do this, whatever this was. I didn't say it out loud, but I must have given it away by my body language, because I could see a flicker of uncertainty in her face, could almost feel her pull away from me. Her smile seemed to dim, her laugh became less loudly, and at the end of the night, when I put in her a cab, I didn't even kiss her on the cheek.

"I like you," I said to her yesterday. And I do. I like her.

But I love Ainsley.

I love her.

That's the first time that I've admitted that to myself, although I certainly knew that I cared deeply for her, that she was very important to me. She has told me that she loves me, albeit not in the traditional way. She only said it once, when emotions were running high, but that doesn't negate the truth of the statement. She proves it every day; every time she looks at me, I can see it. It's there in the way that she waits up for me, in the way that she takes care of me, in the way that she drives across town to buy two slices of cake in the hopes that it'll bring a smile to my face.

It's incredible to me that after all we've been through, the time that it took for us to get here, that it takes an evening with another woman for me to realise what she's known for months.

And the thought strikes me hard - how is she going to feel when she finds out about this?

She's in North Carolina right now, surrounded by her family, doing whatever it is they traditionally do on Christmas Eve. And I’m here, walking the streets, wishing that she was with me. I consider going to Midnight Mass, back to the church where we went last year, but I don't want to do that without her. And especially not after tonight.

Instead I go back to my place.

Not home. But back to my place. I can't go to hers, not when she's not there. Not that that would normally stop me, but it seems wrong to go there now, having just had dinner with Jordan. It seems to me that being surrounded by reminders of her would just make me miss her more, but when I get to my place, the silence, the almost sterile quality of it, almost makes me want to weep.

And then my cell phone rings.

There's only one person who would be calling me this late on Christmas Eve. Or at least, one person that I want to be calling me this late on Christmas Eve, and a glance at the Caller ID brings a smile, the first of this evening, to my face. "Hey," I say into the phone.

"You shouldn't have done this," she says without preamble, and that brings a genuine smile to my face, despite the events of the last few days. I even find the ability to chuckle. I gave her her Christmas present last night, an emerald bracelet. What she didn't know was that I'd also bought her the matching earrings, and put them into her luggage so that she'd find them when she was unpacking. I wanted to give her a nice surprise, and from the tone of her voice, I succeeded.

"I wanted to surprise you," I tell her. "You like them?"

Her voice is soft. "They're beautiful Leo. But they're too much."

How can she say that? How can she not know that I'd give her so much more than that? "Nah," I say. "They're not enough." I could buy her all the jewellery in Tiffany's, and it wouldn't come close to thanking her for all she's done for me. And I know that if I start thinking along those lines, I'm going to lose it again. "How's the family?"

I can practically hear her rolling her eyes "We're up to twenty Bartlet cracks, and I've got days to go."

"Your brother-in-law hasn't hit on you yet?" I remember her sitting in my office last Christmas, telling me that, embarrassed when she realised what she'd said and to who. Now, her voice stays light, carefree. Young.

"Again, it's early in the vacation. Where are you?"

"I'm at home." I say the words automatically, and then realise anew that I'm not at home. Not without her.

"Did you go to CJ's?" I can tell that she's worried now, and I remember that I told her something about CJ having a dinner party at her place. I said that to her before the thing with Jordan came up, and when she talked about Christmas Eve plans, I suppose I just let her go on thinking that there's where I was going to go.

I've kept enough things from her lately, so I answer, "Nah." I weigh up my next words before I speak, wondering how much I can say safely, without admitting everything - dinner, what the President said to me about Jordan, how I was attracted to her, everything. "I had dinner with Jordan," I admit.

There's a second's pause, then a laugh. "Don't you ever stop working? It's Christmas Eve Leo," she teases. "You know…holidays?"

"Yeah…well…." There's nothing I can say to that, because she's choosing to believe the best of me. She won't even countenance anything else. And the fact of the matter is, I can make all the excuses I want, try to understand why I went to dinner with her, try to rationalise it. The fact of the matter is, I knew what could have happened at the end of the night. I knew that she was interested in me too; she made that abundantly clear at the dinner table. Jordan had her own plans for how the night was going to end, and I knew that. I knew that going into it, and I still went. It pains me to admit that to myself, but there it is.

"Leo…" Her voice is really worried now, and I realise how long I've been sitting here, staring into space. "Did she say something to you? Something about the hearing?"

"No…" I tell her, finally able to tell her something that's true. Because we talked about everything but the hearing tonight. "Nothing like that."

"Are you sure?"

"Ainsley, honestly, there's nothing." I speak in the firmest voice that I can muster, and I don't for a second think that she believes me, but the little pause that follows tells me that she's going to let it drop for now. "What have you been up to?" I ask, hoping she'll let me change the subject.

"Family dinner. Midnight Mass. The usual."

"Kids like their presents?" Because she spent hours looking for the toys, and came back home looking as if she'd been to war, complaining later about kamikaze parents and screaming children. She also went shopping for herself that day, and the memory of what she bought brings a brief smile to my face, one that disappears quickly, killed by a stab of guilt.

"Loved them," she tells me happily "They're in bed now, all tucked up and waiting for Santa." The next thing I hear is a huge yawn, and I laugh, wishing that I could be there with her. Wishing that I could hold her as she sleeps. That, I think, would help me hugely tonight.

"Sounds like someone else should be there too."

"I was on my way. But then I found your surprise and had to call you…" Her voice trails off, and when she speaks again, she sounds as if she's about to cry. Her voice is almost childlike when she whispers, "I miss you," and I feel my own throat start to close up. Because I miss her too, more than I ever thought I could.

"I know. Me too." That might just be the understatement of the century, I reflect.

"I'll call you tomorrow?" She sounds as if she's afraid I'm going to tell her not to, but I couldn't do that.

"Yeah."

"Yeah." There's a long pause before she speaks again. "Leo? I-"

I know without having to hear it what she's going to say. She's going to tell me that she loves me. And I can't hear that. Not now, not tonight. Not when I came so close to betraying her, to betraying what we have together. If I hear her say those words to me, I know that I won't be able to hold myself together. So I settle for a simple, "I know." And then afterwards, "Me too."

There's a soft click as she hangs up the phone, and my hand is shaking as I place it back down. That's the closest that I've come to saying those words to her, and I hope that she understands what I mean. I don't want to say those words for the first time, or hear them from her, over the phone. I want to see her, hold her when I say them.

If I ever get the chance to.

I put my head into my hands, rubbing my eyes. I'm tired, yes, but I'm also thinking more clearly than I have in quite some time as I recap over the thoughts that have run through my head over the past few hours. I was attracted to another woman, besides Ainsley. I went out to dinner with this woman, in the full, if unspoken, knowledge of where the night would more than likely end. A timely burst of revelation, or sanity if you prefer, made me realise that this woman isn't Ainsley, that she's nothing compared to Ainsley, that I could never care for her the way that I care for Ainsley. That, in fact, while I like Jordan, it's Ainsley with whom I'm in love.

There's a certain irony in the fact that the President tried to tell me that I should ask Jordan out. That he knew that it was scary, that I should take the risk and ask her out. Because what he doesn’t know is that asking Jordan out wasn't risky, not for me. Because even if I'm attracted to her, I could never care for her the way that I do for Ainsley. She could never get that far into my heart - I'd never let her. Ainsley, on the other hand, didn't even have to try. She just slipped right in there, setting up home like it was her birthright.

I've told her for months that I don't know what I'd do without her, and I thought I meant those words. I did, but I never truly understood them, not before now. I've been without her for one day, not even one day, and I miss her like crazy. If this is what my life would be like without her, then I can't ever lose her.

But if she ever finds out about tonight, I just might.

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