And The World Stood Still

by:SheilaVR

Character(s): Jed & Co.
Category(s): General
Rating: TEEN
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is actually intended, but no threat of same will stop me from fantasizing about "The West Wing" anyway...
Summary: The President demonstrates that alcohol and motorcades do not mix.
Author's Note:I wrote this shortly before we heard any details about the first season finale episode. So, for all intents and purposes, humor me and pretend that "What Kind of Day Has It Been" never took place.

If this primary and most prestigious source of news in the country never slept, then neither did the press - which meant that their representatives rarely got a night off either. Well within that promised hour, a score and more of White House Press Corps reporters waited eagerly in the crowded Press Room for what had to be the story of the year.

When CJ marched in the buzz of rumor and hypothesis stopped at once, so that not one word would be missed. And a good thing, for she started in with no preliminaries at all.

"Just so you all know, I'm going to give you all the known details up front. So please don't ask me questions to which I simply don't have the answers."

Hers was the face and the personality that most of the media dealt directly with for the vast majority of the time. As a result, she worked hard to cultivate a relationship of openness and trust, since her level of credibility leant an additional dose of sincerity to the President's public statements and actions. However, the current sharpness to her tone implied that tonight would not be the usual exercise in diplomatic wording and political correctness. She looked physically strained and in no mood for the reserve that her job normally demanded.

"At eight-thirty-eight this evening, the President departed from the Dupont Hotel, after delivering a speech to the ACLU. Meanwhile, one Stanley Bernardo was likewise driving home, alone, with rather more than the legal amount of alcohol in his bloodstream. Why he had a license to drive in the first place is under investigation," she added with an undertone of quiet viciousness. "In any event, he chose to go via N Street, which at that moment was blocked off for the President's passage back to the White House. In his inebriated state he saw the green traffic signal, but he didn't see the DC police officer barring his way. Somehow he swerved safely around the parked motorcycle, and ran straight out onto Connecticut Avenue."

The words became even more clipped, an official report stripped of its emotion - almost. "And of the entire twenty-odd-vehicle motorcade, he still managed to hit the presidential limousine."

The room was silent. A teeth-gritted silence that stretched the nerves taut.

"Now we know why these official processions always include an ambulance - and never have I been more grateful for that fact." CJ paused grimly. "It is not yet certain just how fast Mr. Bernardo was traveling, but suffice to say that both vehicles are write-offs. The limo driver has been treated for whiplash and should be released in the morning. The accompanying Secret Service agent, Kevin Duane, apparently threw himself in front of the President and tried to take the brunt of the impact; at least, that's what is currently being hypothesized. They had to cut him out of what remained of the back seat. He's in Intensive Care in Walter Reed, clinging to life somehow, but we don't have any further detail as to his condition."

CJ had to pause again. "Fortunately - or *un*fortunately, depending on your personal tolerance level - we now have considerable detail on the condition of the President himself."

And paused yet again. "This information is current as of three minutes ago."

And the very same thought cannoned through every media mind: might something *else* have happened in those three minutes since?

No one dared say that aloud... as though by not giving it voice, it couldn't come true.

Taking a deep breath, she flipped the page of her report. "The list is daunting. At least he's been quasi-stabilized by now, but he's breathing only with mechanical assistance, and he still hasn't regained consciousness. There's a greenstick fracture of the left ulna. Fractured tarsal bones in the right ankle. Trauma to four thoracic vertebrae, although no evidence of spinal injury *yet*. Two cracked ribs, three bruised ribs. Two confirmed puncture wounds from metal fragments, in the abdomen and in the chest. At least the internal bleeding has been brought under control, I'm told. There's also a considerable assortment of lacerations and contusions, as might be expected from being hurled through a bulletproof window and then rolled across asphalt." Yet another pause. "And to cap it off, a fracture of the temporal bones of the skull."

CJ slowly removed her glasses and surveyed the room in near-despair. "We're just hoping that won't result in brain damage."

Normally most of the people seated before her would raise arms and shout questions the moment she gave them an opening. Their current stillness felt positively unnatural. For once, everyone in this room of paparazzo adversaries seemed in total agreement. Or shock.

The Press Secretary shook her head dispiritedly. "Right now, all I can think about is the similarity to the 'Titanic'. If, if, if. If this guy had gone anywhere else for happy hour; if he'd left the bar just a bit sooner - or just a bit later; if his timing behind the wheel had been a few seconds off either way; if the *President's* timing had been a few seconds different; if the President had been sitting on the other side of the limo's back seat..."

Sighing, she rubbed a hand over her face. "As for Mr. Bernardo, he is in Secret Service custody pending formal charges. What do you expect: the man walked away with just a few scratches." Her lip curled, like a wolf baring its teeth prior to the attack.

"Also, a few of the President's more distant family members have not yet been notified. But I'm sure you'll take care of that for us, hmm?"

That was pretty much guaranteed. Nothing would hold this newsflash back.

However much CJ might have hoped, this would not turn out to be the dreamed-of press conference completed with no questions at all. One woman finally spoke up.

"Are we to conclude that the Vice-President is now going to assume executive authority until the President has recovered? Assuming he *does* recover, of course."

CJ stiffened. Until now she had steadfastly avoided thinking about that entire scenario. But such a blatant reference to replacing President Bartlet, possibly forever, scored deep. She suddenly looked far less concerned than usual about the public (read *media*) opinion by which all politicians had to navigate to survive.

"Nah, why don't we wheel the President's hospital bed and all of its life-support equipment right into the Oval Office? I'm sure he won't let *that* inconvenience get in his way." She was losing the battle with herself; the distress couldn't be denied any longer. "One doesn't become President in the first place without having a very strong will - but people have died from lighter injuries than this. Do you need to hear me actually say it? *NO*, we still don't know for sure if he'll pull through. But we have to keep the nation running anyway."

CJ heaved another ragged sigh and slumped heavily against the podium, drained by her outburst. "Since you asked, Fran, you must know what the Constitution says, and the reason why it says it. Amendment twenty-five, section four. Look it up."

"And has Vice-President Hoynes said anything - "

She slapped her folder shut in overspilling irritation, usually so cool and composed, usually the last one to lose her temper. "Look, I said at the start that I'd give you everything I have. Now you know as much as I do. And *I* know your editors are all waiting anxiously to launch their emergency broadcasts and early editions, so I'd advise you not to waste each others' time. As for myself, I've got nothing *but* time to waste tonight. When I get more information, whenever that may be, and whether it's for better or worse, rest assured I'll let you know."

And on that note, CJ strode brusquely from the room.

Seated several rows back, Danny jumped up and followed her. She gave no sign that she noticed him, hurrying through the winding West Wing corridors as though the only important thing right now was putting as much distance as possible between herself and the unpleasant news she had just released that was about to wake up an unsuspecting America. Never mind the rest of the world.

"Are you all right?" he called after her.

CJ didn't slow down, knowing that he intended to accompany her all the way back to her office whether she gave him permission to do so or not.

"Sure - why *wouldn't* I be?" she flung over her shoulder, turning another corner even faster. "Look, I'm not a night person, *okay?* At least not when it's the night that the leader of the free world chooses to pick a fight with a speeding sedan and lose." As if all this were the President's fault. That in itself was a clear indication of just how agitated she felt; the senior staff never poked *malicious* fun at their Commander-in-Chief.

"Worried about your job?"

She whirled on the newshound so fast he almost banged into her, and her eyes were flaming as they hadn't before despite the tension of her public statement earlier. "That's rather heartless, Danny. Even for a reporter. And especially for you. Sure, a new President probably means a new Press Secretary. Like I really care right now."

He raised both hands at once in desperate defense. "Hey, I didn't mean it that way, honest! What I tried to say was, I know you're worried about *doing* your job. That *had* to be the hardest briefing you've done in your life. And you were good, CJ. Sure, you're upset. I understand. So does everyone else."

Their respective careers aside, they liked each other. A lot. Even after the whole issue on conflicting interests, an almost visible attraction persisted. But decorum had to be observed, and a battle of wits made a pretty good smoke-screen. Normally CJ would counter his wisecracking advances without delay or effort. It had become almost second nature.

Not this time, however. This time her expression was hard.

"And I make no excuses for it. Contrary to popular belief, some people actually *like* the President - both as a politician, and as a person." And she meant every word.

Danny grinned automatically. "Can I quote you?"

"You can haul your wisecracking butt out of here," she virtually snarled, resuming her flight in a desperate effort to leave him behind.

"Okay, okay! CJ, I'm sorry! No more jokes, all right? It's the stress talking. CJ - "

"Go - away - *now*." Her office was only a few more yards ahead and she gained enough of a lead to swing the door shut between them.

He blocked it before the latch caught, and calmly let himself in. "I don't think so."

Halfway across the modest room, CJ immediately reversed course at his presumption, threw her file at her desk - as opposed to *on* it - and advanced upon him with clenched teeth. She was taller by a good two inches in those heels and looked ready to turn that height advantage into a *physical* advantage. "*I do*, and don't think I won't throw you out myself."

Danny closed the door and set his back against it just as she seized him by the lapels. His actions were so audacious, and so quietly determined, that she hesitated in surprise.

"Look, you know that *I* know and like the President myself. *I'm* really worried about him, too." He drew in a not-entirely-steady breath. "CJ, I don't want to go back to my desk alone and just wait for the next bulletin. I'd much rather wait with a friend." And paused again. "How about you?"

For several seconds neither of them moved, eyes deadlocked.

Right here, right now, they had something in common. Something very strong. Something completely unrelated to romance. *Fear.*

When the truth of that finally got past her tough, no-nonsense personal armor, CJ did not admit aloud that Danny was right... but she did move her hands from his blazer to his shoulders, as though seeking support. Bowed her head, blinking back tears. And didn't resist when he drew her into a gentle hug.

*****

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

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