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Sarabande Jane Harper RATING: R for language (one F word and a few scatological references) SYNOPSIS: The morning after the night before. Occurs several weeks after "Tentative Duet". ARCHIVE: Help yourself. HTML version available on request. DISCLAIMER: This world belongs to Aaron Sorkin; I am merely a textual poacher.
Sarah Cooper turned to face the man who had shared her bed that night. *Leo McGarry,* she thought, *do you have any inkling what a _bad_ idea this was?"* He was already up, showered, and half-dressed, headed for the kitchen. "I make a pretty mean omelet," he offered. "Want one?" Sarah heard cupboard doors banging and saw, in her mind's eye, her carefully organized kosher kitchen falling apart. "Damn!" Flinging herself into her wheelchair, she sped to stop him. "What's the matter?" he asked, a carton of eggs in one hand and a half-gallon of milk in the other. "Leo, do you know anything about the Jewish dietary laws?" "Uh, no .." he grinned. "But I have a feeling I'm about to-" She careened over to him and snatched the egg carton away. "you're going to treyf my kitchen!" Exasperated, she reached for his hand. "I'm sorry. It's just that-" "What's a treyf?" he asked, gently putting the milk carton onto the counter. Sarah sighed, picked it up, and moved it to the other side of the sink. "It's what happens when things get put down in the wrong place. I'll explain it later. Want me to fix something?" "No, _I_ want to fix something. You haven't showered yet. By the time you get done breakfast will be ready-" "OK." She reached into a lower cupboard and pulled out an omelet pan. "Here, use this pan, and break the eggs into one of these before you mix them together." She laid a glass custard cup on the counter. "And I'm doing that because … ??" Leo scratched his forehead. "Because if there's even a flake of blood in the egg, you can't use it. If you've got four eggs in the bowl and the one you just put in has a speck, all five eggs have to go down the disposal." "OK .. Anything else?" "Use this bowl, and these utensils." "Is there some significance to the color? They're all blue." "The kitchen is color-coded, blue for milk, red for meat. In a kosher kitchen, no meat product can touch any milk product, not even second hand." "Second hand touch? Sounds fun..." He grinned over the open refrigerator door at her. "Veggies?" "In the vegetable bins," she laughed. "Does it matter what knife I use to cut 'em up?" he asked. "Knife? You sound like you'd rip them apart with your teeth!" she grinned and handed him a chef's knife. "I save those for Congress. But I'm in the mood to leap a few tall buildings on the way to work. Want to watch?" "Heaven help us." She shook her head and turned back toward the bedroom. "I'm in the shower," she said, rolling off in that direction. Twenty-five minutes later she emerged from the bedroom, showered, dressed, and ready to face the day. Leo had set the table (with the blue dishes, she noticed) and was buttering the toast. "You're quick," he said, carrying the toast over to her tiny butcher-block table. "Don't you have to spend another half-hour at least fixing your face, or something?" "It's not broken," she responded. "I'm pretty much wash-and-wear." "But you're only what, six years younger than … than me?" "You mean, than Jenny? It's OK, Leo. We can't pretend she doesn't exist. And she and I have spent our lives in very different worlds." He said nothing, only reached out and squeezed her hand as he sat down across the table from her. Sarah reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a royal blue scarf, draping it over her head. Before Leo could grab a slide of toast, she picked up its plate and sang a blessing. She sat the plate back down and tucked the scarf back into her pocket. "That was beautiful," he said as he dug into his omelet. "Which one was it?" "The blessing over bread." "Only the bread?" "It covers everything." "Oh OK. Someday I'll get all this stuff straight." "Well, there's no exam." They ate in silence for a minute or two, then Sarah spoke again. "Do you think my face _needs_ fixing?" Leo covered his mouth with his napkin to keep from spraying his coffee. "No, Sarah, I don't. I like it just fine the way it is." "Me too. But then I'm mostly an aging hippie." She glanced up from her omelet to see his reaction. This time there wasn't one. His cell-phone rang. "McGarry … OK … five minutes, OK?" He switched it off and put it back in his inside coat pocket. "Car's here," he said to Sarah as he finished his coffee. "You ready?" "No, I'm not .. what about these dishes?" "Leave 'em!" "For whom?? Leo, I don't have anybody to clean up after me but me!" He carried the dishes over toward the sink. "Does it matter which side?" he asked. "Right side. You go ahead, I'll do them and drive myself to work." "But then you won't get to see me leap-" Sarah held up her hand to stop him. "Leo, think. It's six-thirty. I don't have to be there for another hour and a half! Besides, it's going to be suspicious enough when you show up in the same suit and tie- Shit, where's your tie?" He patted down all his pockets, then dashed back into the bedroom and retrieved it from the dresser. Tossing it around his neck, he went over to the sink where Sarah was filling the dishpan. He bent over and kissed the top of her head, turned to leave, then turned back and whirled her around to face him, as he bent down to look her in the eye. "Sarah," he said, deadly serious, "we're not kids. I don't think either one of us ever were the kind of people who didn't take … certain things … seriously. It's going to take me awhile to sort out how I feel, but I need for you to know that you are important to me." "I understand," she answered, kissing her index fingertip and pressing it to his lips. "Now go!" * * * * * The night before had been tender, and awkward, and funny. Their first date had been a mad dash to a kosher deli after a celebration in the West Wing, and had ended with a chaste peck on the cheek. Ten days later, they had dinner at his hotel and went to the symphony, topped off by an only-slightly-less-chaste tap of the lips. Two weeks after that, she and Leo had gone to see the revival of "1776" with the President, the First Lady, Charlie, and Zoey, and listened to every conceivable joke about Bartlet's great-great-great-great grandfather. On the way to take Sarah home, Abbey Bartlet had whispered, "It's none of my business, Sarah, but if Leo hasn't showed you his etchings yet, it's probably because he can't remember where he put them..." They giggled like schoolgirls and refused to tell the men what they were laughing about. She was still laughing when the limo pulled away; Leo had discovered it was impossible to try to kiss somebody who couldn't keep a straight face. This time, though... this time was different. He had come to her place after work, loaded down with videotapes and microwave popcorn. He seemed much more comfortable with her limitations, willing to let Sarah do for herself and even forgetting at one point that she couldn't just hop up and change the tape. He blushed, then, and apologized as he settled back into the sofa, next to her. "God, Sarah, I'm sorry, I forgot-" "I'm glad," she said. "You're _glad_?" "Uh huh. It means you've stopped thinking of me as someone who can't do things." She slid over closer to him on the sofa, and he put his arm around her shoulders. "Sarah?" "Umm hmm?" "Can I ask you … what happened?" She sat up straight and turned slightly to face him. "Guillian-Barré." "Gee-yawn Barray? Where have I heard of that?" "Remember the Swine Flu Vaccine? That's what people got from it." "Is that what happened to you?" "No, this was years after that." He took her hand. "If you don't want to talk about it-" "Leo, we've been in _meetings_ together. I'm a whole lot less self-conscious about this than I am about being an addict." "OK, but anytime you feel awkward-" Sarah nodded, and went on. "I was working in California at a county hospital." "As a chaplain?" "No, that wasn't until much later. As a nurse. In the ICU." Leo nodded. "At first I thought it was the flu, or bronchitis. After three or four days, though, I got out of bed to go to work and couldn't stand up. Guillian-Barré attacks the nerves, starting in the hands and feet and working up. If it gets to your diaphragm, you can't breathe." "So they have to put you on some kind of machine?" he asked. Sarah nodded. "I was lucky, it didn't get that far. But I was unlucky in another way. Oftentimes, GBS will go away completely. Mine didn't. I still have some weakness, mostly in my lower legs. I _can_ stand up and walk a little, just not for very long or very far. I get very tired very fast." "But everything else-" Sarah laughed, which made Leo blush. "Why Mr. McGarry, are you asking if the rest of the equipment is fully functional?" She couldn't stop blushing a bit herself. "Well, it hasn't been full-out road-tested, but as far as I can tell everything else works just fine." He leaned over and kissed her, tentatively at first, then with a tender passion. At first she was caught up in the rush, but then she started to back away. "What's the matter?" he asked, nuzzling her ear. "Leo-" "Mm-mm?" He headed south toward her collarbone. "You sure you wanna do this?" "Are you nuts?" "I must be. There's no way our relationship can possibly go anywhere." "Bullshit. And you _know_ where we're headed at the moment-" She sighed and started pulling at his shirt-tail. "Uh-huh. But we'll be sorry-" "Probably. I'm sorry after one game too many of racquetball, too, but that doesn't... keep me... from playing." He tossed her sweater on the floor and reached for her shirt buttons. "I don't mind-" "Where's my wheels?" she murmured. "I gotta-" "Fuck your wheels," he answered. "I always wanted to do this." And with that, Leo McGarry had stood up, thrown Sarah over his shoulder, and carried her off to bed. * * * * * * Early that afternoon, Abigail Bartlet stopped into Sarah's office. "My lunch date cancelled," the First Lady said. "Come on in and keep me company." Sarah grabbed her lunch tote and wheeled down the hall to Abbey's plush office. "No calls," Dr. Bartlet said to her secretary, "unless it's the President..." She turned to Sarah and smiled. "... or Leo McGarry." Once the door was closed behind them, Abbey bounced up and down like a teenager. "Well????!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?" "Well what?" The First Lady waited, but Sarah stayed quiet. "Sa-rah!!" she singsonged. "I saw Leo earlier, he's wearing the _same_suit_! So come on, girl, give!" "Well, what can I say? I mean, what do you want to hear? It was wonderful, it was awful, I'm scared shitless-" "So is he," Abbey interrupted. "My heart is tap-dancing, but my head is running red-lights-and-sirens." Sarah laughed. "How's that for a mixed metaphor?" "You sure it's your _heart_?" Abbey grinned over her chef salad. "Nope. For the moment it's probably a little south of there... but he's getting to me. And I shouldn't let him." "Forget it, you won't be able to stop him. He's not somebody who backs off once his mind is made up." "His _mind_ wasn't exactly in charge." The First Lady stopped eating and looked right at Sarah. "Don't you believe that for a minute." There was a knock at the office door. Abbey's secretary stuck her head in. "The President, line 4." Sarah studied her pita bread carefully as she tried not to listen to the conversation. "Hi sweetheart. Uh-huh. She's here. Isn't it?? Oh I wish I could, but I've got the Children's Defense Fund- Oh I know, they're both so stubborn. We'll think of something. See you tonight. Love you." Another knock at the door. "Dr. Bartlet, you have the Human Rights Campaign in ten minutes." "Thank you, Sally. Sarah, you have the time to run some things down to Mrs. Landingham, don't you?" Abbey smiled her sweetest smile. "Of _course_, ma'am. I'd be pleased to." Sarah gave her a look that said 'we'll talk later' as she and Sally left the office. As Sarah entered the foyer of the West Wing, she saw Mallory O'Brien striding purposefully toward the corner offices, entering Leo's, and closing the door. Sam Seaborn was a few yards behind Mallory, and when he saw Sarah, fell in beside her. "Where you headed?" he asked. "I've got something for Mrs. Landingham." "I believe you have to go past Leo's office to get to hers." "Uh-huh," Sarah said. "That would be a bad idea." Sam reached for the envelope. "Why don't you let me-" "No," Sarah said. "The First Lady wanted me to deliver this personally." "Okay," her young friend answered. "In that case, let's go down by my office and around-" Sarah stopped rolling and refused to budge. "What's going on?" "Well, Mallory-well, she came by to have lunch, and on the way back she overheard someone mention... uh... that Leo was not his usual spiffy sartorial self." Sarah shoved off again. "So somebody noticed that he was wearing the same suit as yesterday, and she put 2 and 2 together." "Uh huh. I wouldn't want to run into her just now if I were you." "Sam, I can't spend my life avoiding the fact that Leo didn't spring full-grown from the heads on Mount Rushmore the week before I met you all." They turned the corner between the bullpen and the Mural Room, and Sarah lowered her voice to a mutter. "And it's entirely possible that this may not be the last time he shows up in the same suit two days in a row-" Sam leaned over and whispered, "You really should get him to leave some clothes at your place-" As Sarah turned toward Mrs. Landingham's desk, Mallory came storming out of her father's office toward Sam, who jumped back in time not to get plowed down. Sarah, unfortunately, was not as quick, and Mallory ran full force into her chair, turning it over onto its side and spilling Sarah onto the floor. The younger woman stopped for a moment, brushed at her skirt, stared straight ahead and kept going, with Sam chasing after her. "Mallory..." "Leave me alone, Sam." Leo's voice echoed down the hallway. "Mallory Colleen McGarry O'Brien, you stop right there!" She stopped. By this time, the crash of Sarah's chair had brought two Secret Service agents down the hall, and they were helping right the chair and getting Sarah re-settled in it. Leo marched down the hallway only to see the President's head pop out of the Oval Office. Bartlet looked around, and said quietly, "Leo, I don't know what's happening, but it needs to be dealt with privately." "Yes, sir." Mallory pulled free from Sam and resumed her stride for the door. Leo started to call after her again, stopped, and instead walked over to Sarah. "You OK?" he asked softly, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. Sarah nodded. Her hands were shaking as she bent to pick up the envelope for Mrs. Landingham, and handed it to the older woman. "Take her into the Mural Room," Mrs. L. suggested. "I'll send in some tea." "Mrs. Landingham, would you ask Margaret to reschedule my next two appointments?" "That's not necessary, Leo," Sarah said. "I'm OK. I'll just go back over to my office." Slowly and a bit stiffly, she propelled herself toward the lobby.
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