ARCHIVE: Yeah, we need to increase the amount of public deb-- oops, wrong speech. We need more WW FF archives out there! I'd do it but I've got finals next week. :)
SPOILERS: For "What Kind Of Day Has It Been?" 
NOTES: This is my season finale idea. I thought of it the other day and realized it hasn't been done and if I don't do it, who will? It's in the form of an internal monologue of a non-cast character. 
DISCLAIMER: I don't own "West Wing" or any of it's characters. Blah blah blah, yadda yadda yada. Thank you Aaron Sorkin for that wonderful brain of yours and for not getting mad at us for using TWW. :)

I should have known. The minute she told me what she did for a living, I should have walked away. Now I'm so wrapped up in this that I don't know how to feel. God, I don't even care about the damn red lights. I wish they would all be green so I could just get to her. I hate phones now. I hate them. Next time it rings, someone else I love is going to be in trouble, or someone else is going to be dying. God, the minute she said it, I should have known.

I almost did. I almost did walk away, but I was too wrapped up by that time, goddamn it. I loved her too much, and I knew that she loved me. God, I hope she's all right. I hate her job. How could she do this? To hell with patriotic duty. God, can't this piece of crap go faster?

She looks so frail there. God, she's always been such a strong person, always willing to fight. I wonder if that will do a bit of good. The doctor tells me I can go in to see her. What good would it do if I stare at her from the hallway or sit by her side holding a hand that won't hold me back? Gina, why do you do this? I never understood the secret service, all that talk about taking bullets for the President. He's no more important than you are. 

God, your hand is so cold. Your breathing is so slow. I know I heard what the doctor said, but I don't care. You can't die. I should have known. I should have seen something like this coming when your work started becoming more and more important to you, and our plans kept getting put off for the next week, the next month, the next year. This is just your way of putting things off for the next lifetime. You always did have to have your own way.

The President walks into the room. Look at him. He doesn't understand this. He says that he's sorry for my loss. What the hell does he know about my loss? If it weren't for Gina, his daughter would be dead. A lot of people would be dead, I suppose. He says I should be proud of her. I am proud of her, but who says that those people deserve to live while she's shoved six feet under in some military graveyard? Bartlet shakes my hand with a soft mournful smile and then the hand of her brother. Her brother. Her brother in tears. 

My wife is a hero. What does that mean, Bartlet? I suppose it's what she always wanted, to make a difference in the world. Did she have to die to do it? In the long run, many more people are alive than there would have been, but she's dead, and two other agents are. You tell me your aide was shot. But he will survive. You tell me you are eternally grateful to Gina for saving your daughter's life. But she's not here to accept your gratitude. I don't know whether to cry and thank you for your comments, or to slug you in the jaw. I do neither. I don't want to cry, and Gina believed in you too much for me to hurt you.

It's cold. It's going to rain I believe. If it does, I welcome it. I'm surprised how many people have showing up. There's a man to my right staring at the coffin. He's comes a few inches short of me and the frown buried in his goatee seemed to be amplified by his sad brown eyes. He seems so sad about this, and yet I've never heard Gina mention someone like him. Maybe it's just one of those things, the feeling that death brings. No one likes death, especially the people who are affected. Was he so affected? Does he despise death so much that he feels obligated to stare at her coffin with utter despair?

My God! What the hell makes those assholes think that the one thing we want to hear at the funeral of a loved one is GUNFIRE?? My God! She was shot by a gun, and they salute her with six of them. I'm not so sure I should have agreed to this. Maybe she would have been better off in her hometown... No, that's not true. She loved her job more than anything and she had no family back there. The only family she cared about was her brother and he's standing here next to me, trying not to cry over his uniform. What a realization I just had. She loved her job more than everything, didn't she? More than me, I think sometimes. 

So this is how it's done. Down it goes, back to the earth, they say. If she were going back to the earth, we wouldn't put six inches of wood and metal around her body. Why am I thinking like this? Why do I feel so much like a stone? Shouldn't I be crying too? My heart is broken but I can't feel it. Maybe I knew this day would come. Maybe I should have known.

The End

Comments? Questions? Suggestions? I'm planning on rewriting it. This is just like... draft one, so pleaase respond! :) Help me make it better!



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