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.

Saturday.

The White House did not share the public sector's tradition of a more casual dress code on Fridays - not with diplomats, generals and presidents running around at any given moment. Besides, considering the number of times these employees worked weekends, a dress-down weekday would be somewhat redundant.

*This* weekend saw a full House indeed - at least as far as the senior staff was concerned.

"Yes, Congressman." Josh nodded into the phone receiver, not that the other party would see it anyway, but human habit dies hard. He was slouched in his chair, feet up on his desk. "I really appreciate it, sir. All right, I'll see you Monday."

He paused, rubbing his already-tousled hair as the other voice rambled on for a bit. "Well, to be honest, the only thing we know for sure is that there's been no change for the worse." Pause. "Sure, I'll pass on your good wishes the first chance I get. Yes, sir, thank you."

He hung up, looked around... and found Toby standing silently on his office threshold, hands in pockets, motionless and expressionless as ever.

"You like watching me work, don't you?" Josh grinned.

Toby did not. "Well, it's such a rare phenomenon."

The Deputy Chief of Staff let that one go. His interest diverted to their contrasting attire: Toby's dress shirt, dress pants and sports jacket to Josh's jeans, tank top and unbuttoned jersey.

"Don't you ever relax?" He waggled his propped-up sneakers in emphasis.

Toby was even less effusive today than his usual guarded self. "What?"

"Forget it." At least the Communications Director had foregone his tie; that was some progress.

"Have you spoken to Mercerie yet?"

"About ten minutes ago. He and Lockheed are on for Thursday." Josh lowered his feet and shuffled through a copious pile of notes. "The Bill 612 faction comes in Tuesday, Stratherney and Yorker have agreed to postpone until Friday, and Brock still has to let me know about tomorrow." He rubbed one ear. "My ear is ready to fall off from all this re-scheduling."

"Think of it instead as evidence of a productive time."

Josh leaned both elbows tiredly on his desk, looking as though he wanted to put his head right down. "Productivity is relative at this point. We're just trying to do as much as possible before Hoynes can screw it all up."

"We can always bill *him* for the overtime," Toby deadpanned.

"I wish." Josh paused. "You know, the most surprising thing about this is that everyone I've talked to sounds genuinely concerned about the President's condition."

"Naturally; it's a matter of survival. They know that if they *don't* show some sympathy, I'll be knocking on their doors." And there was no sarcasm behind those words at all.

Josh couldn't prevent another smile, if only a brief one. "That must be it. When you start your rounds, count me in."

"I'll *consider* it. What's your rate of successful contact?"

"Not bad, overall. Of course it helps when you know their home phone numbers."

Toby shifted in place for the first time. "I personally am convinced that the ELO is ignoring my calls. No federal lobby can be *that* dead, even on a Saturday."

Josh sat up straighter in blatant disbelief. "What - they don't want to talk to a sunny guy like you?"

"My reputation precedes me."

"Or else your number. Maybe they have Call Display."

"In that case - "

"Hey, don't look at me. *I'm* not making the call for you. Give me communists over lobbyists any day."

"Fine." Toby could not have appeared less interested in the political consequences. "Then the Governor can make his merry way out here from Iowa to discover that he's been stood up by the White House."

"Wouldn't be the first time, would it?"

Leo joined them at that moment. "Oh, Toby; good. You need to hear this, too."

Josh took one look at his boss's proper suit and tie, and just shook his head. But then, the Chief of Staff always had to set an example.

Toby noticed his reaction, and raised one eyebrow in vivid commentary.

Leo was blissfully unaware of this silent exchange. "Guys, I'll warn you now: don't schedule anything special for Monday."

Josh blinked. "Too late. I just did."

"Then you'd better *un*schedule it. I don't care *what* it is." Leo was quite serious.

"Oh, *great*." Josh rocked backwards so far that his chair creaked alarmingly. "As if we're not famous enough already for bumping meetings left and right."

"Trust me: on Monday tensions will be far too high to worry about anything else. I want you thinking about your work when you meet these guys, not about Hoynes." And on that note Leo departed, clearly with a lot else occupying his mind.

Toby did *not* leave. Josh studied him, wondering why.

"Well?"

"What?" Exactly like before.

"I could swear we've had this conversation already," Josh muttered. "Don't you now have calls to remake as well?"

The Communications Director just stood there and returned his look. "No."

Pause. "Let me guess: you already knew to leave Monday free."

Somehow Toby achieved the effect of a smug smile without the slightest twitch to his face. "Of course. Common sense."

Wearily, Josh reached again for his phone.

*****

Sam had his phone receiver wedged under his jaw as he attempted to discuss one topic and enter something totally unrelated into his laptop at the same time. One learned early to divide one's attention in this workplace.

"Senator, I'm not trying to finagle anything. I'm being perfectly frank: the more you and I can get done over the phone right now, the better off both of us will be next week."

Pause. Computer keys clicked audibly in the quiet.

"Let me put it this way: would you have pushed for a financial conference here a year and a half ago when this administration was first getting its feet wet?" Pause. "Right. And the Vice-President will need his own getting-acquainted time."

Pause. He squinted at the laptop's screen, shifting mental gears in mid-stride.

"Okay, then. I'll call you back in a couple of hours." Pause. "Thank you, sir. I'll be sure to tell the President that you're pulling for him. We all are." Another pause, *not* for the same reason as the previous one. "Bye."

Abandoning both phone and keyboard, Sam rose, stretched, and poked his head outside his office. "Cathy?"

Instead of his assistant, Donna stepped into view. "She was drafted for a courier run. Luck of the draw when bodies are few. What do you need, Sam?"

He stared at her. She looked ready for a cruise, shorts and sleeveless print jersey and sandals together.

"So, when do you sail?"

She dimpled. "Well, I won't get to the Bahamas this year, but I can still dream. They always turn the air conditioning down on the weekend; it does a fair imitation of a balmy climate." She surveyed his black jeans, white T-shirt and cowboy boots. "So, where did you park your Harley?"

Sam rallied quickly. "In the First Lady's spot, of course. Say, isn't this your second weekend in a row or something?"

"Third - but who's counting?" Donna sounded resigned.

"I'd think Josh would've given you this one off on principle, especially when we consider what's coming."

Her smile returned. "I don't want him to think he can do without me for any length of time."

"Ah." Made perfect sense. "Listen, I - "

"Sam." Leo rounded a nearby corner. "Excuse me, Donna." She drew back discretely. "Sam, you're doing that subsidy meeting with Backwater, right?"

"I'm working on it. The senator's not a very happy camper right now. He hates being put off, for *any* reason."

"Stay on him." Leo handed over a file. "Wall Street's entered a tailspin. It should level out somewhat by day's end, but..."

"But it's not likely to climb again until the nation knows for sure that the President is still in one piece," Sam concluded gravely, opening the folder.

Leo's nod was every bit as grave. "That's not the primary reason why *I* want to see him in one piece again, but it is an added factor. The Chairman of the Fed just about had a stroke when he saw the opening numbers this morning."

"Which will echo through all the other banks both here and around the world." Sam whistled over the figures. "Talk about a dominoes effect."

He stopped to gaze into the distance. "You know, I've never really wanted to be President myself, and now I know why. Bad enough having to recover from a car crash without the whole planet going into hysterics as a result."

Leo grunted a depressed endorsement. "I hear you."

Sam paused again, this time to study his boss more closely.

"Leo, there is absolutely no doubt that he's going to be fine."

The Chief of Staff studied him somberly in return. "I wish I had your optimism."

"It's based on pure fact," Sam insisted with a straight face. "He knows all of us will never forgive him if he doesn't."

That earned the rueful grin he was after.

"You got *that* right." Leo nodded his gratitude, then reverted to business before he became any more demonstrative. "In the meantime, the last thing we need right now is panic on the Hill. Try to keep Backwater on an even keel, okay?"

"Oh, is that all? You should give me something difficult."

"Believe me, you have my sympathy," Leo muttered as he left.

Donna edged closer. Sam had apparently forgotten about her, nose to the financial report.

"Sam? Did you want something earlier?"

He glanced at her. And hesitated. "Well... I don't want to tie you up."

"Don't worry about it. Josh is closeted with his phone." She smirked. "And anything Cathy can do..."

Sam returned the expression. "Okay, you asked for it. I was just thinking how nice it would be for someone to bring *me* lunch for a change." And tried to look innocent as her face fell.

*****

The entire surface of the good-sized conference table was covered with newspapers, as though the White House had entered into a massive recycling campaign.

Each paper bore a different name: some from American cities, some international.

Each paper bore the same date: today.

Each paper bore a headline in glaring black, all variations of the same subject.

Mandy sat alone, flanked by these untidy piles. Her casual attire looked to be the height of current fashion, as though she was a model moonlighting at the printer's shop. She focused intently on the heartbeat of the world, alternating between hard copy before her and electronic format on her laptop. The White House could hardly be on *every* paper's mailing list - there were way too many in the States alone. Fortunately the Internet helped make up the difference, as well as providing translations where needed.

At some point to the day Leo strode in. "Mandy?"

"Do you believe this?" she demanded at once, without waiting to hear what he wanted, and rotated the laptop his way. The banner on its screen declared, *"BARTLET KILLED IN CAR CRASH"*.

He went very still, almost hypnotized by that message. His voice dropped to a whisper. "And it could so easily have been true."

After a moment Mandy realized this and deliberately swiveled her laptop around again, hiding the words and breaking the spell. Leo shuddered, throwing off the effect.

"And I doubt that's the only one, too." He surveyed the litter on all sides.

She resumed her scrolling. "Wouldn't surprise me, either. There's hardly a breath of any other news on the airwaves in *any* language. And some of the inaccuracies are laughable, ranging from heart failure to paraplegia. Talk about jumping to conclusions! Does it never occur to them to confirm the facts before publishing? Oh, and you don't want to know how many people are convinced this was an assassination attempt, not an accident at all."

"Anything to improve the situation." Leo pocketed both hands with an air of bracing for impact. "A few of our *non*-allies oversees seem inordinately excited right now."

"I noticed that too." Mandy cast a very serious eye his way. "They're not going to believe anything less than seeing the President for themselves, in living color. The more we insist he's alive, the more they'll doubt it."

"At this very moment, catering to diplomatic paranoia is low on my list of interests. The President should convalesce a *bit* before we drive him in front of the cameras." Leo checked his watch. "Still, I'd like you to attend the NSC meeting at three; a PR viewpoint could be valuable. Perception is four-fifths the battle right now."

That invitation came as a clear surprise. Independent political operators did not normally take part in security issues. Clearly Leo wanted all the help he could get on diffusing what had become a multinational time-bomb. "Right, I'll be there."

"Good." Leo paused. "Hoynes will meet with the Joint Chiefs early next week. Surely that'll be enough to hold the world together."

Mandy's lips pursed. "Here's hoping the world knows Hoynes as well as we do. If so, we won't have a thing to worry about. Compared to the President, he's positively trigger-happy."

"In more ways than one." And something echoed ominously in that brief phrase.

Leo was almost out the door when she looked up once more. "Say, where's our favorite limo-wrecker been all this time?"

"Hopefully on bread and water," the Chief of Staff growled as he strode into the hall. No further words were needed to express his simmering opinion on *that* topic.

"Here, here." And Mandy went back to work.

*****

When CJ walked into reception outside the Oval Office, she caught the tail end of Mrs. Landingham's phone conversation.

"Thank you, Madam Ambassador. I'll see that the President gets your message at the earliest opportunity. I know he will appreciate it."

The Press Secretary waited until the call was over and the note-taking complete before she approached. "Happy Saturday, Mrs. Landingham. For some reason I'm not at all surprised to find you here."

Not only here, but looking as fresh and proper as every other day, bar none. Anything else would have seemed positively unnatural.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Mrs. Landingham paused to study the dark, form-fitting outfit that emphasized CJ's height and contrasted well against her auburn hair. "You know, you really are too slim for your own good."

No one else around here would dare a comment like that. But CJ appreciated the thought. True, her narrow build was somewhat less evident under a suit. "I was overweight as a child; this is by far the better alternative. Now I burn calories through sheer nervous energy." She glanced at the neat stack of messages, a stack almost two inches thick. "Offhand, I'd say you're no less busy than the rest of us."

"Expressions of concern are pouring in from around the globe."

For a moment CJ just stared. "Wow. That's really kind of them. Imagine having kings and queens worried about your health." She found the idea slightly mind-boggling.

"The President is a citizen of the world theater." And no doubt Mrs. Landingham had ferried messages from many of those fellow "world citizens" before this; her own career in the White House was far longer than any presidential term.

"Funny how I can forget that." CJ shook her head in bemusement. "Oh, have you seen Leo recently?"

"Not in the last few minutes. He seems to be... *on the move* today."

"So I gathered. Trying to wrap up as many loose ends as possible in the short span of *normal* time we have, no doubt - "

Leo walked in just then. "CJ, there you are."

She grinned. "Well, speak of the devil and he pops right up."

"I doubt he's ever had a more hectic day than I am right now," Leo countered. He did look a bit harried, and more than a bit tired.

"Playing 'Beat the Clock', are we?"

"Someone *else* can be the contestant next time. There just aren't enough hours in the day. Have you seen the headlines?"

"*Oh*, yeah." The Press Secretary shook her head. "Don't worry, I'll straighten them out this afternoon."

"And fast - before someone starts predicting the Apocalypse or the President's resurrection." The Chief of Staff exhaled wearily. "What's the latest?"

"Walter Reed is under siege. There must be a reporter from every paper and station in the country, not to mention every foreign correspondent around." CJ raised her hands in wonder. "I wouldn't have thought that many hotel rooms existed in all of DC."

Leo massaged an aching temple. "We really shouldn't have expected otherwise. We're bringing the President home the moment he's well enough to move. At least here a sufficient level of security is already in place."

"Good! Then *we* can mob him."

"I'll second that." He looked down. "No medical report can equal the evidence of your own eyes."

Silence fell. Every step through these vibrating halls and every measure taken to smooth out the business of the nation only served to remind them - Leo most of all - that their leader wasn't here... and *why*.

Gently, CJ touched his arm in whole-hearted agreement. He glanced at her, clearly welcoming the support.

"Mr. McGarry?" Mrs. Landingham spoke up quietly after another moment.

Both turned. She extended the stack of messages.

"The latest installment?" Leo accepted them with a nod and a sigh. "At least *something* can still put the fine art of political back-stabbing on hold. Thanks, Mrs. Landingham. CJ, I'll get back to you." And without further adieu he headed for his office.

CJ watched him go. "For some of us, this day can't end soon enough," she mused. And glanced around again, to meet the presidential secretary's knowing eye.

*****

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

| << back | send feedback | The National Library |