Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me and no copyright
infringement is intended.
Rating: PG-13 for serious themes
Here's a vignette in response to the challenge for how Leo went into rehab.
Hope
It the light fog of early morning, somehow the curb didn't
seem like as much of a good idea as it had the night before.
Then again, very few things seemed like a good idea the morning
after; and a great many things seemed to be a very good idea
while under the influence.
The uneven patching between the concrete curb and the tarmac
of the street dug painfully into his cheek, forcing him to lift
his head to relieve the pressure. His head throbbed without
discernible tempo or rhythm; it simply hurt like a son of a
bitch. Trying to decide which was worse, the concrete pressing
into his raw cheek, or the pain in his head, took a little bit of
time.
Eventually, however, he decided that lying in a gutter like
some cheap drunk was not appropriate to his age or his stature in
the Democratic Party and slowly unfolded himself from his
uncomfortable position. Sitting on the curb with his head in his
hands was ever so much better. Any time now, he'd get up and go
home. Take a shower and shave. Maybe even have some
breakfast...
The thought of food made his stomach lurch and he held onto
his gorge by sheer force of will. He had a lot of willpower. He
was...
"Leo?" The voice burst through his abstraction with the
force of a sonic boom. "Leo McGarry?"
Leo forced himself to look up, squinting at the owner of the
voice. He didn't recognize the faintly blurry outline in the dim
of early dawn.
"Are you okay, Leo?" The voice now held concern.
"Yeah." Leo muttered, looking down at his hands.
"You get mugged or something, Leo?" Definitely concern.
"No." Leo tried to put some life into the word.
"I... see..." The concern was transforming into
understanding and arriving at contempt. "Well... See you
around." Discomfort and embarrassment wound tendrils around
revulsion and the welcome sound of footsteps retreating.
Leo put his head in his hands again. His clothes were
filthy, his cheek was raw and bloody, his hands were shaking, he
was hung over and he was dying for a drink. He reached blindly
into a pocket and felt for the familiar bottle of sweet calm.
There were none left. None, even though he had the
prescription filled less than a week ago.
Well, nothing left to do but go home. He felt for his
wallet; it was there, with its customary twenty dollar bill
tucked away for emergencies. Hailing a cab, he gave his address
automatically and sat back, trying to fight back the urge to tell
the cabbie to drive to a bar he knew and knew would be open at
this hour.
**
Jenny was up when he came in, but she said nothing to him.
She merely nodded and cleared out of the way to the stairs. Leo
nodded back and made his was upstairs and into the shower.
His head was a little clearer once the hot water rinsed away
the dirt and sourness of his night on the street. No matter how
many times he soaped up, it didn't wash away the humiliation of
the contempt in the unrecognized voice of someone he probably
knew.
Jenny was calmly eating toast and reading the paper as he
came into the dining room and sat down. There was fresh coffee,
a plate of toast and his paper, folded to the crossword, by his
plate, as well as his favourite gold pen. He looked up at Jenny,
who was looking at him with unreadable eyes.
"I'm sorry I didn't come home last night." Leo said slowly,
not sure what to say to her.
"I assume you went out for a drink after work and found
somewhere to spend the night." Jenny said, without rancour.
"Since your clothes were rumpled and filthy, I suppose you slept
pretty rough. I hope you were warm enough."
Leo looked sharply at his wife. There was no anger, no
sarcasm, no accusation in either her voice or manner. There was
no concern, either, just sadness and resignation. As if she had
seen it all before and expected nothing less.
Leo looked past his plate at the shaking hands in his lap.
He wanted a drink. He wanted some pills. He wanted... out.
"Jenny, what was the number of that rehab place in Arizona?"
He asked quietly. Jenny looked sharply at him.
"Oh, Leo..." Jenny whispered. All the resignation and
indifference fled from her face; there were tears in her eyes and
something more. Hope.
Leo nodded once, as firmly as he could manage with tears
springing to his own eyes and hope starting to form in his heart.
END