Fic: Blood in the Clover, Josh Lyman, PG13
Title: Blood in the Clover
Rating: PG13
Fandom: The West Wing
Characters: Josh Lyman (President Santos, Helen Santos, Donna Moss)
Spoilers: all seven seasons are fair game - especially season 7 and In The Shadow of Two Gunmen/Noel.
Summary: Josh has a bad feeling, which seems to manifest as a return of his PTSD. It turns out, he has pretty good reason.
Warnings: Implied/possible character death. Violence. Guns. PTSD.
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions &etc. No profit is being made.
For the first time in years, Josh hears sirens while everyone else hears music. He stares at the flimsy paper program, tries to convince himself that this is Mozart's finest filling the room, but every time he blinks he can almost see the flashes of blue and red. He reaches, instinctively, for Donna's hand, but the chair beside him is empty and he remembers too late that she's up front with the First Lady.
He makes it to the door.
Before he can head for the privacy of the waiting car, the theatre begins to empty behind him. The Secret Service barrel through the crowd in formation, President Santos and the First Lady in their midst. He catches Donna's eye as the first shot rings out, and as everyone falls to the ground, Josh freezes. Seconds (it feels like years) later, his knees cooperate and he hits the cold stone with relief. His hand reaches instinctively for his abdomen, but there's no blood this time, only the memory of pain flooding his senses and confusing him. He isn't shot, and it's all going to be okay.
Helen Santos has never raised her voice in his company, Josh realizes. It's why he doesn't recognize the yell, or the scream that follows. He attempts to sit up, to tell her that he didn't get shot this time, and it's all going to be okay. She probably doesn't know that, because unlike him, unlike Sam, unlike Donna, she hasn't been through this before. The strong hand of a Secret Service agent forces him back down on the ground, and moments later he's being bundled into a car.
In the car, with Arnie Vinick of all people, who likes Mozart and can get any ticket he likes as Secretary of State, someone mentions calling the Vice President. Josh doesn't care for Baker, and why he'd want to speak to him right now is beyond Josh's comprehension. He manages to blurt out "Mr. Secretary" in recognition, before Vinick places a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"You have to call the Vice President, Josh."
The sirens are fading now, as the sleek black car pulls away from the chaos. Josh knows, from his internal compass, that they're headed straight back to the White House. As his head clears, he puts together the flashes that his brain has been ignoring. The blood. Blood on Mrs Santos' white jacket, like some kind of paint spray. The prone body on the ground. The spotless tuxedo that the President had rushed to change into when the Budget meeting overran. History repeating, a variation on an unthinkable theme. A night at the theater gone horribly wrong, and the country brought once more to its knees.
Josh remembers being told once that he had a world-class political mind. Dancing around the reality, the harsh fact that he can't articulate, he reverts to his constant role of politician. He'll obfuscate, deny and misdirect; he'll lose himself in a hundred different priorities, and he will not ask the question that's practically falling from his lips.
If the President is dead, Josh doesn't want to know. Not yet, when there's so much to be done. He squares his shoulders, and accepts the handset for the secure line that the agent is offering him. He thinks of Leo, he thinks of CJ, and he thinks of what his father would have said. With a deep breath, he realizes that he can't hear a single siren.
"Hello, Mr. Vice President? It's Josh Lyman."
Rating: PG13
Fandom: The West Wing
Characters: Josh Lyman (President Santos, Helen Santos, Donna Moss)
Spoilers: all seven seasons are fair game - especially season 7 and In The Shadow of Two Gunmen/Noel.
Summary: Josh has a bad feeling, which seems to manifest as a return of his PTSD. It turns out, he has pretty good reason.
Warnings: Implied/possible character death. Violence. Guns. PTSD.
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions &etc. No profit is being made.
For the first time in years, Josh hears sirens while everyone else hears music. He stares at the flimsy paper program, tries to convince himself that this is Mozart's finest filling the room, but every time he blinks he can almost see the flashes of blue and red. He reaches, instinctively, for Donna's hand, but the chair beside him is empty and he remembers too late that she's up front with the First Lady.
He makes it to the door.
Before he can head for the privacy of the waiting car, the theatre begins to empty behind him. The Secret Service barrel through the crowd in formation, President Santos and the First Lady in their midst. He catches Donna's eye as the first shot rings out, and as everyone falls to the ground, Josh freezes. Seconds (it feels like years) later, his knees cooperate and he hits the cold stone with relief. His hand reaches instinctively for his abdomen, but there's no blood this time, only the memory of pain flooding his senses and confusing him. He isn't shot, and it's all going to be okay.
Helen Santos has never raised her voice in his company, Josh realizes. It's why he doesn't recognize the yell, or the scream that follows. He attempts to sit up, to tell her that he didn't get shot this time, and it's all going to be okay. She probably doesn't know that, because unlike him, unlike Sam, unlike Donna, she hasn't been through this before. The strong hand of a Secret Service agent forces him back down on the ground, and moments later he's being bundled into a car.
In the car, with Arnie Vinick of all people, who likes Mozart and can get any ticket he likes as Secretary of State, someone mentions calling the Vice President. Josh doesn't care for Baker, and why he'd want to speak to him right now is beyond Josh's comprehension. He manages to blurt out "Mr. Secretary" in recognition, before Vinick places a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"You have to call the Vice President, Josh."
The sirens are fading now, as the sleek black car pulls away from the chaos. Josh knows, from his internal compass, that they're headed straight back to the White House. As his head clears, he puts together the flashes that his brain has been ignoring. The blood. Blood on Mrs Santos' white jacket, like some kind of paint spray. The prone body on the ground. The spotless tuxedo that the President had rushed to change into when the Budget meeting overran. History repeating, a variation on an unthinkable theme. A night at the theater gone horribly wrong, and the country brought once more to its knees.
Josh remembers being told once that he had a world-class political mind. Dancing around the reality, the harsh fact that he can't articulate, he reverts to his constant role of politician. He'll obfuscate, deny and misdirect; he'll lose himself in a hundred different priorities, and he will not ask the question that's practically falling from his lips.
If the President is dead, Josh doesn't want to know. Not yet, when there's so much to be done. He squares his shoulders, and accepts the handset for the secure line that the agent is offering him. He thinks of Leo, he thinks of CJ, and he thinks of what his father would have said. With a deep breath, he realizes that he can't hear a single siren.
"Hello, Mr. Vice President? It's Josh Lyman."