Chapter Two
The void within the waiting room was endless. Four walls, white. Bland and cold. To sit for one minute was to sit for years. Waiting for the doctor to come in and let them know what was happening. Waiting as people passed on both sides of the doors—one that led to the entrance, one that led to the emergency room. Every shadow that walked by taunting them with the promise of news.
Only now the doctor was with them, and the wait was over.
For now. And he bore no news; only suggestion.
“We can’t make you very comfortable here,” he was saying, “and Josh’s procedure is likely to take twelve to fourteen hours. So—”
There was a sudden rustling from the other door—the one that led to the foyer of the hospital with nurses and secret service and reporters. It was Donna. Her hair pulled back, her eyes worried but relieved. It was almost amazing that they had forgotten to call Donna in the midst of all this. Donna, who was closer to Josh than anyone.
Sam sighed. The notion that she had heard about it from the television or from Mrs. Landingham—when it could have been one of them—did not sit right. Nor did the knowledge of what they had to tell her now.
“I’m sorry,” she said, glancing apologetically to the doctor. “They told me I should come back here. I’m sorry.” She sighed with a weak smile, hands finding her hips. “Is there word on the President?”
CJ turned to her and nodded. “The President’s going to be fine.”
Her face fell with relief. “Oh thank God.” She sighed again, tension rolling off her shoulders. “Oh thank God, that’s the best news I’ve ever heard. I got here as soon as I could. I had a hard time getting in. I had—I had to find an agent who knew me, and I was shaking. I was just…I didn’t know—”
“Donna,” Toby said shortly, interrupting her respite. “Josh was hit.”
That was it. Sam watched her eyes darken, her face fall. Dazed. As though Toby had suddenly spoken in Greek, far beyond her realm of understanding.
“Hit with what?” she asked, confusion buried in denial, her voice shaking.
Toby glanced down. “He was shot—in the chest.”
“He’s in surgery right now,” CJ added.
A beat. All eyes were on Donna, but she saw none of them. “I don’t understand,” she said, hysteria teetering in her tone but controlled. Somehow controlled. “I don’t understand. Is…is it serious?”
“Yes,” Toby replied. He was employing that special voice of his that attempted to guard his weaker sentiments. Sam had heard him use it before, but could not remember where. Only that it meant the man was wracked with something that he couldn’t deal with, and needed the protection of something higher to keep himself guised. “It’s critical. The bullet collapsed his lung and damaged a major artery.”
The full effect finally crashed down, and emotion swarmed Donna’s eyes. Tears brimmed but not shed, her hand covering her mouth to keep her cry from escaping.
“I was just saying,” the doctor continued softly, “we can’t make you very comfortable here, and the procedure’s likely to take twelve to fourteen hours. We won’t know anything until morning. I’m sure there are things you’re supposed to be attending to right now, so if you like we can stay in contact with your homes and offices throughout the night.”
It was doubtful anyone heard him. Donna collapsed into the chair opposite CJ, a blank look on her face. Drawing it all in.
Josh was shot.
Sam closed his eyes and licked his lips, settling back. The entire day was one large nightmare; he kept waiting to wake up. Counting back seconds in the hope that the hours would rewind. That they would be back at Rosslyn, and he would know something. Sense something. In the midst of all that bliss of the night—Toby’s brother was all right. The pilot was all right. And Willow was coming to visit him.
Oh God, Willow.
“Willow,” he murmured suddenly, feeling awful that in the midst of the stress—in the knowledge that his best friend could die—he had forgotten that the woman he loved had likely been in town for hours. Or had been forced to land elsewhere since the planes were grounded as the search for the signalman spanned the East Coast. “God, she must be worried sick.”
“I rather doubt she’s the only one,” Toby said.
It was a fortunate mention. For the next second, Sam’s mind was throbbing, his temples pulsing, his ears ringing—the shock of the blast so great he fell from his chair, hands grasping the sides of his head as he howled in pain.
People around him were shouting, but he heard only one. A scream so loud, so full of terror that it drowned out all around him.
“SAM!”
God, he knew that voice.
“Sam! Sam!” That was Donna, hovering over him in a panic. “Sam, God, you can’t do this to me now!”
He heard her, wanted to reassure her, but the other voice came again. Stronger. More panicked. “SAM!”
“Willow!” he gasped, barely aware of the blood trickling from his nose. “Willow, she’s…she’s outside. She’s…ahhh!” It came again. Even stronger. “God, she’s…she needs to get in. She’s…someone go get Willow!”
The medical staff was rushing inward, but Toby had taken to explaining that Sam just had a headache while CJ and Charlie stared at them like they were insane. No one made a move to adhere to his outburst; focused rather on the fact that he had had an outburst and was currently writhing on the floor.
The Deputy Communications Director grumbled deep in his throat and fought to his feet, praying the call didn’t come again. One more, and he felt his head might explode. “Willow’s here,” he gasped again, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief. “She’s here and she can’t get in.”
CJ’s eyes were wide. “Sam—”
He was gone the next second, rushing through the communal door. Thinking at her as hard as he could that he was coming. He didn’t know how he knew which entrance she was at, but didn’t think to question it; nor did he second-guess his fortune that she didn’t blast him with another wave. All he knew was that Willow was here and he had to get to her. Had to get her inside now.
He needed to see her. Needed Donna to see her. Hoped Buffy and Spike were with her, because Donna would need them, too. Right now more than ever. Right now while Josh was being cut open.
He nearly stumbled over himself when he finally saw her. Outside the hospital, standing beside two familiar blondes as they tried to keep her from blasting him again. Standing there as a secret service agent tried to calmly explain that she couldn’t get in without clearance. Her eyes were black. God, her eyes were black.
Black. That night at Longwood, her eyes had been black. And before, standing at the edge of a writhing Slayer’s bed as a god threatened to steal her from the arms of the most tormented man he had ever seen.
“Willow!”
Those black eyes found him immediately, and washed dry with relief. “Sam!”
The secret service agent that was trying to restrain her paused in confusion.
“Mr. Seaborn?”
“Mike, she’s fine,” he said, nodding to Buffy and Spike behind her. “So are those two. Let them in.”
“Mr. Seaborn—”
“You heard the bloke,” Spike snarled, grasping the Slayer’s hand tightly. “Move aside.”
Willow did not need to be told twice. The minute the agent stepped aside, the redhead had leapt into her boyfriend’s arms, allowing the tears that had been bubbling since the first shots were fired to fall free. “Oh God!” she gasped, clutching him as close as she could. “I was so worried.”
“It’s okay.”
It really wasn’t. He knew that. He just needed to say it.
“How’s Josh?” Buffy demanded breathlessly.
“You know about Josh? I didn’t know that had made it to the press yet.”
Spike snickered. “It din’t. Li’l Red here has a higher channel than the one you blokes carry. She had a fit the minute it happened.”
“Willow?”
“It was building up way before then,” Buffy jumped in, ignoring the stern look her friend was giving her. “For the last hour before we landed, she was all feverish.”
The redhead glared at them. “I’m fine. It was…it was a thing. How’s Josh?”
“Willow?”
“’m thinkin’ this isn’t the best place to catch up.” Spike nodded to his mate, and they began simultaneously edging the couple back into the hospital. Away from the cameras and screaming citizens who wanted to see their President. “On inside, right?”
It was strange how the vampire seemed to be the calm one in this scenario. The Deputy Communications Director was terribly shaken, and now overwhelmed by the woman he loved in his arms. Just a couple weeks since he had last seen her had suddenly turned to years with a spray of bullets. This night itself had gone on forever.
Sam led them back to the room where the Senior Staffers were waiting for updates on either Josh or the President, holding onto Willow fiercely enough to suggest the world would tear her away if he loosened his grip. The surreal sparks surrounding them sustained admirably; Buffy and Spike followed, out of place and more than a little uncomfortable. As though tonight was for those on the inside alone, and of everyone back home, Willow was the only one who could claim such privilege. Despite all that had passed, there was none other so close to any of them.
So close that she would suffer a mystical seizure when one of them was injured.
That notion quickly fell to the wayside. For the minute they crossed the threshold, the minute Donna looked up, she burst into tears and leapt to her feet. “Spike!” The vampire blinked stupidly as the blonde lurched into his arms, sobbing harshly against his shoulder. “It’s Josh,” she cried. “Josh was shot. He’s—”
The vampire cast the Slayer a sheepish look, but she smiled weakly and shrugged. It was no secret that Donna held Spike in high esteem, and had gone to great lengths to be there for him when she was sick in Natchez. He stood awkwardly for a few seconds, looking at the room over the blonde’s shoulder, his arms outright before finally settling to comfort her. “’S all right, pet,” he murmured. “Wanker’s got a thick head. Don’ wager he’ll go under without a fight.” He met the Communication Director’s heavy eyes and flashed an uncomfortable smile. “’Lo, Toby.”
He nodded. “Spike.”
“Spike?” CJ arched a brow. “You’re Spike?”
Sam grinned weakly. “You couldn’t tell?” A pause. “Donna, are you just taking advantage of the fact that he doesn’t breathe?”
Donna snapped back at that and pulled away from him reluctantly. “Sorry,” she replied, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t…” She glanced to Buffy. “Sorry.”
The Slayer offered a warm smile. “Hey. I think the circumstances allow a little gratuitous hugging.” And at that, she stepped forward to take the woman into her arms. The sight was almost comical—Donna dwarfed her in height. “It’s good to see you.”
A sniffle. “You, too.”
Spike wrapped an arm around Buffy’s middle when they pulled apart again, turning a mindful eye to the room. “So,” he asked, voice ringing out inelegantly against the cold silence that filled the air. There were notably five people here that he did not know, though CJ was no stranger to anyone who watched CSPAN. The First Lady and Zoey Bartlet were another two never far from the spotlight. It was a strange sensation—Spike had met famous faces before and walked away unaffected. Perhaps it was the personal strings that tugged at him now; he knew people involved. Josh, the enormous wanker, was dying in the next room. It made everything sublimely surreal. “How’d the speech go?”
The Slayer looked at him strangely, and he offered a helpless shrug.
“Sam,” CJ said slowly. “Maybe some introductions are in order.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” He nudged Willow, whom anyone would have known simply for the way the man had raved about her in the weeks subsequent to the incident in Natchez. Envisioning a thousand plus ways that he would introduce her to his friends. How he would arrange the meeting with the President so that everyone might know what she had done to save their lives. Tonight was still dreamlike. A scene from a horror movie he had never cared to watch. Sitting in the George Washington Memorial Hospital waiting room, not knowing whether or not his best friend would make it through the night. “CJ, Charlie, Zoey, Mrs. Landingham…Mrs. Bartlet…this is Willow Rosenberg.”
The redhead in his arms smiled weakly and nodded at them in turn. And, as though by suggestion alone, Donna cried out again and lurched herself into her friend’s embrace, effectively tearing her away from Sam completely. “God. I’m so sorry for all of this.”
Willow glanced to her boyfriend helplessly, the last of the black fading from her eyes. “Don’t be silly,” she berated, voice gentle and smooth. Direct contradiction to the way her heart pounded.
“We wanted tonight to go so well for you.”
“Donna,” Toby mused from the back, temperate. “She does need to breathe.”
“Oh, right.” She glanced down, embarrassed but not overly self-conscious, and forced herself back to her seat.
Sam smiled at her as best he could, and quickly turned to the vampire and the Slayer, eager to keep his mind occupied. The longer the truth remained away from the spotlight, the longer he could keep reality from crashing inward. “This is Buffy Summers, and Spike.” He gestured to them. “Everyone, Buffy and Spike.”
“What, we don’t get a roll-call?”
Buffy nudged her mate and flushed, turning to the room that was studying them as though they were specimen in a lab. “Is there…we don’t really have much information to go on. Will kind of broke into convulsions when it happened—”
“Started a bit before it did, too. She was feelin’ sickly the entire flight.”
Donna blinked at her in concern. “Willow?”
The Witch shook her head dismissively. “They’re overstating how serious it was. Really—”
“She keeled over jus’ as the plane was landin’,” Spike continued, ignoring the glare he received. “She went into some trance before, but when the plane was landin’, she collapsed an’ started gaspin’, ‘He’s been shot,’ a thousand bloody times over. Before that, she kept mutterin’ about somethin’ bein’ wrong.”
“This is more stuff that you haven’t told me about, right?” CJ asked. “Some Natchez-related thing?”
Donna was staring at the redhead as though she was the second-coming. “You knew that Josh was shot?”
“I…well…” Willow glanced up, shrugging uncomfortably. “Yes. I felt it.”
“That’s not all she felt—”
“You guys aren’t really helping, you know.” The Witch turned to Sam, her eyes now completely clear. No more blackness from before, though now he understood where that had come from. Whatever had happened on the plane had taken her over so entirely. It also accounted for the expedience in her ability to get through so much security. With Spike and Buffy, he had come to expect it. Willow, though…despite her uncanny capacity to navigate magic, she was still just…Willow.
There was only twice before tonight that said capacity was demonstrated in a way that terrified him. Those instances, similarly, had been shoved as far back as his mind would allow.
“How is the President?” the redhead asked suddenly. “I know…I didn’t…” She met Abbey Bartlet’s eyes and flushed. “I…didn’t feel him. I couldn’t, I just—”
The First Lady looked at her for a long minute. There was almost an unspoken pact between those that didn’t know the group well to not ask questions. “He’s going to be fine.”
“The bullet didn’t hit anything,” Toby confirmed. “There was visible entry and exit…he’s just under general anesthesia right now.”
“Josh’s procedure is going to take about fifteen hours,” Mrs. Bartlet continued. “If you like, I will speak to Ron Butterfield to make sure the secret service doesn’t stop you from getting back. I’m sure you are all very tired and—”
Willow shook her head. “I’m staying here.”
Buffy and Spike exchanged a look. The redhead had just interrupted the First Lady. She had to be out of it.
“We do need to see ‘bout our things,” the vampire offered quietly. “Red took off like a bloody bat outta hell once the seizure stopped.”
“Could you stop using that word?”
“Ummm, lemme think. No.”
“Sam and Toby have to get back to the White House,” CJ said. “Leo…the Chief of Staff is meeting with leadership right now. And I have…some things to get done while Josh is in surgery.”
“I’ll be back soon,” Sam added. “We just—”
Willow nodded. “Yeah. I’m staying here…if that’s all right with everyone.”
Donna’s eyes widened in agreement, and she patted the vacant seat next to her with enthusiasm. “Sit. Please. Spike, Buffy…you too.”
The blondes exchanged another look.
“I believe you’re wanted here,” Abbey said. “That’s fine. The White House will make sure your assets are returned to you. I think it’s…I think it’s safe to say that none of us are at our best tonight.”
Which was why they weren’t asking questions.
“Besides,” the First Lady continued, “if I know my husband, he’ll want to speak to someone who understands Latin when he’s less groggy.”
Spike quirked a smile. “Told you, did he?”
“Not so much that I understand why you’re here or what happened those two weeks everyone was conspicuously absent in some remote southern town, but he can’t keep quiet when Latin’s involved.” Abbey glanced around, her eyes still hazed a little with tears of worry that had not quite shed. “As for the rest, it is a pleasant distraction. I don’t think anyone here is going to bother you for answers tonight.”
“I had this entire speech planned,” Sam murmured. “Introducing you to the President…and CJ and everyone here.”
Buffy and Spike shared one last glance. It was bizarre. It was admittedly bizarre. They were strangers in a different land. In a world where reality was the nonreality, and the riddles being spoken talked themselves into circles. CJ, Abbey…everyone here that didn’t know them knew enough to not challenge their presence. And tonight, they wouldn’t ask questions. Not about Willow and her seizure, her seeming knowledge of Josh’s injury a good hour prior to arrival. Nor would they inquire about the presence of two who were wholly unrelated to everyone here; all except Donna, who needed them now that she had allowed her emotions out.
When they sat, there were no more words. Buffy’s head found Spike’s shoulder, their hands entwined as the night crashed around them. Donna sitting across from them. Grateful but silent. Charlie rose finally and mentioned something about the Residence to get some of the President’s things. Abbey Bartlet remained in her corner with her daughter, and the President’s men left reluctantly to go back to work.
The country wouldn’t sleep, not even when her native son was dying. When her leader was shot.
Strangers in a waiting room, left to the will of time.
And they waited.
TBC
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