Analecta

by: N. Y. Smith

Disclaimer: Not Mine

Category: AU (very), Josh/Donna Romance, Josh POV, Angst,

Spoilers: Through Season Three

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: Contains references to 9/11/2001. Amy-free universe.

Ding, Dong the Witch is Dead

I used to think term limits were evil-they were good for Republican administrations and unfair to the Democrats-until January 31, 2003, when we were finally able to drop the proverbial house on the Wicked Witch of the Right-also known as Mary Marsh. Whenever someone would tell me Mary Marsh was coming to the White House, I had visions of Miss Gulch pedaling along with Toto imprisoned in the basket. I couldn't help it; it just came to me along with that loopy music. She did little to dispel that vision. And so it came to pass that I was standing in the Roosevelt Room, between Sam and Toby, with a malicious grin on my face, waiting for the WWR.

"I can't believe you're smiling," Sam sputtered. "She called our wives and CJ whores; our children bastards."

"The issues we have to resolve are important, Sam." My smile grew even broader. "We can put personal feelings on the back burner for that."

"Maybe you can," Sam muttered.

"Sam," Toby had been watching me through knitted brow, "trust us." I saw a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth before it disappeared again. "Have you ever watched a shark?"

"What?" Sam's face contorted but then the entourage strode through the door.

Toby said later that he could see it-- like the eye coverings of a shark sliding into place before the kill-the change in my face as my prey came into range. I remember only that he seemed to shiver a bit then. I held out my hand. "Mary, Al, so nice of you to fit us into your schedule." See, sweet as pie.

"So nice of you to squeeze us in between assignations," Marsh sniped, but I refused the bait.

"How's family life treating you gentlemen?" I really liked Rev. Al Caldwell. He had the rare gift of caring about people with whom he disagreed.

"Ask me when I've had some sleep," Sam chuckled and the Reverend smiled.

"Children are a gift from God, aren't they?" The Reverend sat and we followed.

"Not according to your Family Values Act," Toby said quietly. "At least, not all of them."

"That's not the intent of the act, Toby," the Reverend explained. "The Family Values Act offers incentives for couples to seek counseling before marrying, for prospective parents to marry before the birth of their children, and for couples considering divorce to explore all other options before dissolution."

"It does that, sir," Toby explained, "but there's more to it."

"No," the Reverend disagreed. "The bill closed this afternoon."

"Yes, it did," Sam confirmed, "but not before some of the more conservative members hung a rider on it."

Caldwell glanced sideways at his uncharacteristically-wordless cohort. "What sort of rider?"

Toby, Sam and I sat mute.

"Mary?" he turned to his associate. "Mary, what rider?"

"The only way people will cooperate is if there is a financial incentive to do so, Al," she blustered.

His face reddened. "What kind of financial incentive?"

"Mary?"

She held her tongue.

He looked to us.

I tapped my pen on the wooden table. "Children of married parents qualify for higher health and education benefits than others."

The Reverend went white.

"I take it you knew nothing of any rider?" Toby asked calmly.

He shook his head, eyes bulging.

She spat out, "'I will hide my face from them, I will see what their end shall be; for they are a very perverted generation, children in whom there is no faith.'"⁽²⁾

He turned his glare to Mary Marsh, quoting, "'But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he had denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.'"⁽³⁾

"Am I to infer from your reaction that the Christian League would not approve of such a rider?"

The Reverend faced them. "You infer correctly. This rider will never see the light of day, gentlemen. I promise it."

"Good," I nodded. "Thanks for..."

"Hi, Dad!" a voice called from the door and three heads turned.

The voice belonged to my wife who held our eight-month-old's outstretched arms as he tiptoed slowly toward me, honey-colored curls jostling in time to his halting steps.

"Hey, buddy," I scooped him into my arms then leaned over my wife's again-pregnant belly. "Hi," I grinned then pecked her on the lips.

"Is it really six o'clock?" Sam asked.

"Yes, Samuel," Mallory O'Brien deposited their daughter in his arms.

"After, actually," Andrea Wyatt handed her son to his father.

"It's the best time of the day," Abigail Bartlet slid into the room, her arms also full of a precious child. "Little Will gets to help Mommy until she goes home."

"Here you are!" CJ rushed into the room, pulling her son into her embrace while the rest of us greeted the First Lady.

"Sorry, Reverend," I apologized. "I didn't realize it was this late."

"Time for the harem to return?" Mary Marsh asked acidly. "I'd bet they're not even sure who belongs to whom."

"Oh, they know."

"Good evening, Mr. President, " we chorused.

The President stole the baby away from CJ. "I thought you were coming by my office first, Abigail."

"Jed, the actual parents have the right to see their children first."

The President chuffed, before nuzzling the child in his arms. Then he greeted each of the other children, individually and by name, before speaking to the guests. "Good evening, Al, Ms. Marsh."

"Good evening, Mr. President."

He turned to me, "Did you get that Family Values Act thing worked out?"

"We certainly did, sir." I grinned. "I don't think we'll have anymore surprises."

Reverend Caldwell cut his eyes to Marsh. "I can assure you of that, Mr. President."

"Outstanding," the President jostled the child, who gurgled. "Ms. Marsh, I'm glad we caught you before you left."

"Charlie said you wanted to see me, Mr. President?" Leo McGarry gathered his granddaughter into his arms.

"Yes, Leo. I didn't think you'd want to miss this."

"Miss what?" Leo tickled the baby.

"You wanted this, Mr. President?" Charlie Young held out a small gift box.

"Yes, Charlie," the President handed the baby back to CJ and turned to Mary Marsh. "I thought you'd all want to be here for this little presentation. This very small token of our even smaller esteem is for you, Ms. Marsh, on the occasion of your last visit to the White House."

"You can't..." she sputtered.

"Oh, yes he can," Leo, Toby and I said in unison.

"And, since you will, in all likelihood, be a private citizen very soon," Al Caldwell nodded vigorously, "let me introduce the ladies you've so crassly referred to as the White House Wh..."

"Jed!" Abbey Bartlet cut him off, "tender ears are listening."

"Pardon me," he nodded to us. "From your right is Representative Andrea Wyatt, a member of Congress and the wife of the White House Director of Communications. You should call her Congresswoman Wyatt. Next to her is CJ Cregg, Ms. Cregg to you, who is the White House Press Secretary and will be accorded all respect and courtesy due her position. At her left is educator Mallory O'Brien Seaborn, the daughter of the White House Chief of Staff and the wife of the White House Deputy Director of Communications. You might want to call her Mrs. Seaborn. And, finally, let me introduce Donna Moss Lyman, the Assistant to the White House Deputy Chief of Staff for Strategic Planning and wife of the White House Deputy Chief of Staff and White House Deputy Director of the Office of Homeland Security. You may address her as Mrs. Lyman. I make these introductions so you will be able to speak to them properly should you see them outside the White House-which will be the only place you'll be seeing them unless you can con your Congressman into signing you up for a tour." He nodded and a uniformed guard ushered her down the hall. "Well, guys, did I get it right?"

"Perfect!" I laughed and shared a victory handshake with Toby.

Reverend Caldwell offered Donna, and each of the ladies his hand. "My apologies ladies. I can only muster the utmost respect for you," he patted each of the children, "and these lovely little blessings."

"Thanks, Reverend," I said. "You know you're welcome any time."

He nodded and stepped lightly down the hall.

"Well," CJ turned back to us, "that made for some interesting dinner theater."

"Who came up with that little drama?" Mallory patted her daughter, who was still grinning at her grandfather.

"Well," Andi ruffled her son's curly head, "I could see Josh's fingerprints all over it."

"And Toby's." Donna said while Toby and I faked umbrage.

"But I thought vengeance wasn't Jewish," Leo jiggled his granddaughter.

"It isn't," the President explained. "But sometimes justice needs a helping hand."

We all nodded until we realized Sam's face bore a puzzled expression like he couldn't quite hear something.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Mallory's face clouded.

"Nothing," he responded reflexively, but Mallory's face forced him to elaborate.

Now Sam is a veritable cornucopia of memories, but this one stands at the forefront, even if only as an example of that freaky bond-that folie a deux-- we seemed to share.

"It's just that," we all leaned in for the explanation, "when Mary Marsh was leaving, I swear I could hear Munchkins singing."

Chapters - Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23

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