Surprises and Revelations
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Everything up to Stirred
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: On a night of surprises, what's one more?
Author's Note: As always, thanks to everyone who sends feedback, and who's enjoying this series!
I close the door of my office behind me, shutting out the rest of the West Wing for a precious few minutes. I've sent the Senior Staff home, and the Vice-President has gone back to his office. It's even later now than it was the last time I told Margaret to go home, and despite her pledge of "I go home when you go home," I think she was relieved to hear that I was just going to tidy up some stuff on my desk, then I was leaving too.
It's been a long night, which shouldn't surprise anyone; after all, that's what we're used to here. However, it's also been a draining night for a lot of us, full of surprises and revelations.
The day was passing relatively calmly, until it came time for me to go to my meeting. Over the past few weeks, where we've been getting more and more bogged down in campaign matters, I've been half thinking of stopping going; certainly there have been nights where I've arrived late. I wasn't kidding when I told the President that they were a luxury, although I'm sure that he'd disagree with that. It's not the first time that I've thought about stopping either; after all, I went for years without going to a meeting, only starting again when Jenny left me. That was the time that I needed to go, when I was getting used to being on my own, to not going home to the house that I was so familiar with, but to a hotel room, and later, an apartment that had my belongings, but no feeling of home. There were nights in that time when I wasn't tempted as such, but I remember thinking that any other time I'd have been out drowning my sorrows. Most of the time I convinced myself to think about how far I'd come, feeling proud that I wasn't giving in to that temptation. However, there were times that I could almost feel the glass in my hand.
Those were the nights that those meetings were my lifeline.
I needed them.
Over the last year, I haven't felt that same need.
Over the last year, I had Ainsley.
Be it as a friend, or as something more than a friend, she was always there for me if I needed someone to talk to, someone to vent to. She would listen, and she would advise me if I needed it, or she'd just make me laugh. Make me forget about my problems for a little while. There was more to my life than work, for the first time in a long time, even before Jenny left, if I'm honest with myself. I was going home to her, her apartment feeling more like ours the more time I spent with her.
I could see myself spending all my time there.
I could see myself spending all my time with her.
I was happy, and I didn't feel the urge to drink. I didn't think I needed the meetings anymore. I discussed it with her once or twice, and to my surprise, she didn't think that it was a good idea that I stop. "I know that you don't feel like you need it anymore," she told me. "And that's great. But there are times when you're going to need to talk about it with people who understand what it's like. And much as I want to help you, much as I'd do anything for you, I can't be that person. You should be with people who can."
Grudgingly, I admitted that she had a fair point, and I kept going to my meeting, every Thursday night.
Then just after Christmas, I found that I needed to go back to them again, because I screwed up royally, and Ainsley left me.
I knew I'd hurt her, hurt her badly. It didn't make any difference that I was hurting pretty badly myself; as far as I was concerned, I deserved every ounce of pain and guilt that I was feeling, because I'd brought it all on myself. Of course, there were ways to assuage my guilt, to make me forget about it, and I knew them all by name. This time, not only could I feel the glass in my hand, I could taste the familiar tang of oblivion in the back of my throat, and only the imagining of the look on her face if she found out I'd fallen off the wagon kept me from doing so.
Then, by some miracle which I'm really not sure that I deserve, she came back to me. Told me that she wanted to try again. It hasn't been easy; we've been finding our way back to one another by inches, me trying to get over my guilt, her trying to get over her hurt, both of us wanting to be where we were before Christmas, but neither of us sure how to get there.
But we are getting there.
So I don't need my meetings any more.
The President doesn't know any of this of course, and he thinks that I should keep going. He was there for the worst times with me, he saw what alcohol does to me, what it did to my life, and he's terrified of that happening again. Nor have I discussed this with Ainsley yet, though I very much doubt that her answer has changed from what it was a few months ago.
They both knew that I had a meeting tonight, and my thoughts were very much on Ainsley as the meeting began, and the charter was read out. When he got to the line about "When we were wrong, we promptly admitted it," I had to take a sip of my coffee to wash down the lump in my throat, because that's not one that I've found easy to live up to lately.
I was wrong to go out to dinner with Jordan on Christmas Eve. I was wrong to keep it from Ainsley. I was wrong not to promptly admit it, to let her find out from someone else. Maybe if I'd come clean, I could have saved both of us a world of hurt.
I was thinking about that, only half listening to the banter around the table until I heard my name. I snapped off a quick retort, hoping that would be enough, until I realised that it wasn't a joke. That there was a legitimate concern from one of the other members that I could cause them all to be outed. I wasn't quite sure what to say in response; after all, he was making very valid points.
It was the Vice-President who intervened with the words, "My meeting…Leo stays." He didn't hear any objections, just those words in the voice of a man used to being obeyed. A vote of confidence, a show of loyalty.
It would have sat better with me had I not left Josh wondering how best to broach the subject of removing him from the ticket in November.
I know that Bruno and Doug have a point. I've seen the numbers, I've checked and double-checked the maths, just like they have. I know that it's an option worth exploring. I even agreed that Fitz would be the best candidate. I know that we have a responsibility to the Democratic Party. I know that we have to consider everything, and I know that nothing was decided at that point.
It just didn't feel right somehow. Especially not after that. It's hard to think about stabbing someone in the back when they've just defended you.
When I walked into the Roosevelt Room tonight, and they suggested a Bartlet-McGarry ticket, I really did think that I'd entered the Twilight Zone. Being President, or Vice-President was never an ambition of mine; no matter what Jed might have thought that first day that I came to see him at the State House. I knew that the American public would never accept me as President, not once my history came out. To hear them suggest it might have amused me, were it not for the fact that I knew the demons in my past are in John Hoynes's past too.
"You guys don't think an alcoholic can be Vice-President? You really think the 20th century didn't see an alcoholic in the West Wing?"
That's what I asked them. That's also when I left, because I was slowly coming to the realisation that the President was going to have to be told about Hoynes, as well as the Senior Staff. I felt awkward approaching John about it, but, surprisingly enough, he understood. In fact, he thought that I'd told the President long ago. There were times that I came close, but it's called Alcoholics Anonymous for a reason.
The meeting in the Oval Office was another one that was full of surprises. I didn't expect John to be so matter of fact about his alcoholism; I didn't expect the President to take it as well as he did.
I certainly didn't expect John to know about the meeting going on next door; didn't expect him to take it so well.
And knowing the history between the two of them, I certainly didn't expect the meeting to end with the President giving the Vice-President his unqualified endorsement.
Like I said earlier, a night of surprises and revelations.
I sigh now, rubbing a hand over my face, wondering if it's too late to call her. Checking my watch, I realise that I've called her far later than this, and I flip open my cell phone, dialling her cell number. It rings a couple of times before she answers, but I hear a smile in her voice when she says hello, and I feel better than I have all evening. "Hey," I greet her. "Where are you?"
"Buried in reports in my office," she groans. "I think I have a small rain forest in here."
"Sounds like fun. You think you can tear yourself away for the night?"
There's no pause, but there is a dry chuckle. "I think I manage that," she tells me. "You want to meet at the place?"
"I'll see you there," I tell her, hanging up the phone.
It doesn't surprise me that that's where she suggested; after all, we've had some of our best conversations at that little coffeehouse. We got out of the habit of going there for a while, preferring to head straight for her apartment much of the time, having dinner or a late night snack there instead before heading to bed. But since we've been seeing one another again, we've gone back to meeting there, with me walking her to her car afterwards, kissing her quickly on the sidewalk before I walk back to my apartment. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to do more than that, but I know that I have to be patient. There's still an awkwardness between us sometimes; when something that's said will throw up the memories of Christmas Eve and its aftermath, and neither one of us knows quite what to say to move the situation on. I understand what needs to be done, but it's hard. If I've learned anything from this whole situation, it's that I don't want to be without her. That I love her, and I want to show her how much I love her.
But I can wait. After all, I waited before, didn't I?
As always, I get there before she does, and our regular waitress doesn't even come over to the table. Instead she catches my eye, raising an eyebrow in question. I nod, she smiles, and when Ainsley comes in, before she's even sat down, the waitress is on her way over with our usual order. Ainsley smiles up at her, then over at me. "Now that's what I call service," she quips, pulling her latte towards her, leaving the two plates side by side on the centre of the table so that we can share our desserts.
"Benefits of being a regular," I tell her, and she grins.
"How was your day?" she asks after tucking into her chocolate cake.
I roll my eyes. "I suppose you heard about the thing in Idaho?"
She nods. "Not many details though."
"Deserted stretch of road, two trucks crash into one another in a tunnel. One of them carrying depleted uranium rods. What are the odds?"
"I don't even want to do that math," she tells me, spearing a piece of my cheesecake.
"Last I heard, the radiation team were in the tunnel, radiation levels weren't any higher than you'd normally expect. We got lucky."
She chuckles. "When was the last time that happened?"
My answer is prompt. It always is to that question. "Super Tuesday."
"I keep forgetting that you're the other guys," she says, her eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. "Did you go to your…" There's an almost imperceptible pause as she glances from side to side, as if afraid someone might overhear. "Card game?"
I take a sip of my cappuccino before I reply. "Yeah," I say tersely, not really wanting to dredge up those memories. I was just managing to forget about the President and the Vice-President, and everything that had gone on. She blinks in surprise at my tone, looking down at the tabletop uncertainly, and a flash of guilt rushes through me.
"It went ok?" she asks me quietly.
"You know how these things are," I shrug, and she looks up, bestowing a small smile upon me.
"I can imagine," she murmurs, before looking down at the table again. We sit in silence, one of those awkward pauses settling over us, then something must occur to her, because she lifts her head, eyes wide suddenly. "What was that meeting in the Roosevelt Room about tonight?"
"What meeting?" I parry, though I know well what the meeting was about.
"The one with all the Senior Staff, Larry, Ed, a couple of other people…it looked pretty serious."
I shrug. "Nothing serious."
Her eyes narrow. "It looked serious." I meet her gaze, but she doesn't blink. "I see the same numbers you do Leo."
It takes a moment for the meaning of her words to sink in, and when it does, I lean back in my chair, shaking my head. "How do you do that?" I ask, wondering where she learned to read me so easily.
"Practice," she tells me, with a shrug and a sassy grin. "Also, I have a friend in the Ritchie campaign. She and I were talking about numbers and how we thought things were going to shake out in November, based on numbers we have now." I open my mouth to say something and she quickly amends her statement. "We used CNN/USA Today figures. Neither one of us disclosed privileged information."
"So, you came up with the same conclusion we did."
She nods. "Ritchie's a sure bet to take Florida; it's his home state. Hoynes didn't deliver Texas the last time, no way he's going to deliver it now. Which leaves you needing-"
"-The Northeast, the industrial Northwest and the Pacific Coast," I finish.
"None of which are dead certainties." She picks up my thought, extending it, and I have to hide a smile, because I'd forgotten how well we worked together when we were really in sync with one another. She continues by saying, "We added the figures up six ways to next Sunday-"
"You did this for fun?" I ask her, hiding my smirk behind another sip of coffee.
She shoots me a look before she continues. "-And we figured that if Bruno Gianelli didn't at least suggest replacing Hoynes on the ticket then he must have a secret affiliation to the Republican cause." She takes a mouthful of her chocolate cake. "Who did you suggest?"
She holds my gaze for a long moment before lifting an eyebrow almost in challenge, daring me to contradict her. I nod slowly, accepting, knowing that she's not going to repeat this to anyone. "Fitzwallace."
Her eyes widen at first, then narrow as she considers the possibility. Finally, she nods. "Improves black turnout across the board," she says. "Southern vote explodes in your favour as well…with his record as Secretary of State, it'd be hard to criticise him…"
"Try impossible," I correct.
"So, what's stopping you?"
"CJ and Toby raised the prospect of Hoynes entering as an independent."
"Which would split the Democratic vote, thus almost certainly ensuring a Ritchie victory," she nods.
"Not what we're after."
"How does the President feel about it?" Ainsley wonders. "After all, he and Hoynes don't see eye to eye on a lot of things; that's no secret."
"Well, that's what ended the meeting. He wants Hoynes on the ticket."
Ainsley's eyebrows climb towards her hairline, and she shakes her head, chewing on a piece of cake thoughtfully. "I guess I can see his point," she finally concedes.
"You can?" I know the President's thoughts on the matter; his note, with four simple words made that clear enough. I would be interested in hearing Ainsley's opinion on it though, and not just for a Republican perspective. I've always enjoyed our political discussions, even if I don't agree with her. Especially if I don't agree with her.
"Admiral Fitzwallace has a lot going for him," she begins. "But that doesn't necessarily mean that he'd do a good job at the office of Vice President. Nor does it follow that he'd work well with President Bartlet. Perhaps it's a case of better the devil you know. Plus, Hoynes is popular in the Democratic Party, and with Democratic voters and independents. Dumping him could cause more problems than it solves, not to mention the fact that his approval ratings are, at this moment in time, higher than the President's." She ticks off the points one by one on her fingers, and I find myself nodding. We're in perfect agreement on this one, although I do happen to believe that the President and Fitzwallace would work together with less explosions than the President and Hoynes. "As long as no-one drags any skeletons out of the Hoynes closet, you're fine," she concludes.
It's a particularly unfortunate turn of phrase after tonight's events, and while I do my best to keep my face neutral, I must give something away, because she frowns slightly. "What?"
I shake my head. "What do you mean?"
"You flinched. Just now, you flinched."
"I didn't."
Her curious demeanour is giving way to suspicion. "Why are you lying to me right now?"
"Ainsley, I'm not lying to you."
My tone of voice wouldn't even convince me, and it's not convincing her either. Not that she shows any outburst of displeasure. She just shrugs. "OK then," she says before going back to her dessert.
Another one of those awkward silences falls on the table, and I instantly lose my appetite. I hate keeping things from her; I always have. Part of the reason we broke up is because I was attracted to another woman, went to dinner with another woman, and didn't tell her about it, but even before that, I never purposely kept things from her. I never needed to. There were things that we didn't talk about, sure, things she never asked about, things we didn't discuss. But when something came up during the normal course of conversation, like it has just now, when that happened, if she asked me about something, I told her.
Which is why she reacted like that just now. Wondering what it is that I'm not telling her, wondering what it means for us.
I've never talked to her about my meetings; she's never asked. Even if she had, I would have told her what I told John in my office earlier on this evening. That I respect the anonymity of an alcoholic. That I would never repeat what was said in a meeting. It's like we said earlier on tonight, what they forgot to read at the start of the meeting. "What we see here, what we say here, what we hear here, stays here."
I've always lived by that rule.
"Ainsley…" I find myself saying.
"Leo, I understand." She cuts me off firmly.
"There are certain things that I can't-"
"Leo." She interrupts me again. "It's fine. There are things that I don't need to know. That's fine. It's no big deal."
Her words might be saying that, but her body language, the clipped tone of her voice, the look in her eyes, is telling another story entirely. "That's not what it feels like."
She shakes her head. "I can't do anything about that."
Her voice is flat, lifeless, and she lays her fork down beside her cup, with more than half of each cake still left. I reach across the table and take her hand in mine, squeezing it gently. She might not be able to do anything, but I can, even if it goes against what I would normally do. This isn't just anyone that I'm talking to. This is Ainsley, the woman I love, the woman I'm going to spend the rest of my life with, if I have anything to say about it. There's nothing I can't tell her.
Just as I open my mouth to speak, she begins to talk. "You don't have to tell me Leo."
I frown. "What if I want to?"
Her gaze was fixed on our joined hands, but now she looks up at me. "Would I be right in saying that there are skeletons in the closet after all?"
I nod slowly, not breaking our gaze. "You would."
"I knew that. Because you flinched when I said it. You had a look on your face, and do you know when the last time I saw it was?" Her voice is vaguely teasing. "A couple of minutes before that, when I asked about your card game." Her lips press into a line, and she shrugs her shoulders. The look on her face is a silent question, and I tighten my grip on her hand in response. "You believe, I think, that because of what happened at Christmas, I don't trust you. That's not true. I knew there was something bugging you just now, and I knew it after Christmas as well. I could see from your face that you were keeping something from me. That you had something that you wanted to tell me, but you didn't know how."
"I don't like keeping things from you," I say quietly. It's important to me that she know that.
"I told you once that there is nothing you could tell me that would change how I felt about you," she says. "After Christmas, I thought that I was wrong about that. But I wasn't." I feel surprise register on my face, and she smiles. "Oh, I was mad at you, don't get me wrong. And hurt, and upset and confused. But it didn't stop me loving you. It just took me a while to realise that, is all." Her hand closes over our joined ones, and she leans closer across the table. "My point is, that if there's something I don't need to know, or that you can't tell me, that's all you ever need to say. I can accept that. But if there's something you think I should know, or something that you want to share with me, and you keep it back because you're afraid, that's different. I can see it, I can feel it. And it makes me feel like you don't trust me." She shrugs. "That's why I may have been a little terse just now."
"I do trust you Ainsley," I tell her now. "And I want you to know that you can trust me. That I'm not keeping secrets from you."
"Secrets are ok Leo. Just not the wrong kind of secrets."
I nod. "Are we ok?" I'm getting the feeling that we've made significant headway tonight; that this conversation has helped us along the way to where we once were.
"We're good," she replies, a smile spreading across her face.
I grin in response, feeling as if a load has been lifted off my shoulders. Because I know that not only are we good, but that we're getting better.
That's not a bad place to be.