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.

Tuesday, 9:20 A.M.

Day Four of the Bartlet Convalescence (most of his staff tended to think of it in terms of capital letters) got off on only a slightly better foot than Day Three. Hoynes made his grand entrance again, with the same inflated retinue, and must have fumed at the lack of response he received *this* time. Leo was ordered - commanded, compelled - to summon his senior people and account for the previous day's accomplishments and the current's day's requirements. When one is accustomed to being treated as a near-equal by the President of the United States, it can be very hard to accept patronizing from anyone else, but somehow the staff pulled it off without a full-fledged uprising.

If anything, frustration weighed heaviest on the Chief of Staff himself, since he was clearly expected to *not* get involved in any way with the training (in reality, turnover) process, but rather to personally assist a substitute who firmly believed he could manage alone. The Vice-President might as well have announced out loud that he didn't want any resistance to be coordinated behind his back. *Divide and conquer* has retained a lot of its truth over the centuries.

When the meeting ended, Toby broke from the starting gate first and strode out the door of the Oval Office as though he could not get away fast enough. CJ joined him in the lead position, fell into stride and half-whispered, "Would it be possible for anyone to look more bored than the VP just did?"

"Not without an Oscar nomination." Toby's self-control sounded definitely frayed.

"Leo's sure got my sympathy."

"He's up for *sainthood* in my books," the Communications Director rumbled, just as quietly and as sincerely. "Name one thing worse than being forced to follow Hoynes around so that he can keep an eye on you."

"How does Leo manage to say sane all day? By plotting his own revolution?"

"I for one wouldn't blame him at all."

Mandy was hard on their heels, helping to block the not-so-wide corridor so that none of the Vice-President's staff could advance close enough to overhear. "I plan to smuggle a movie in to him later. Either of you seen 'The Full Monty'?"

Neither Toby nor CJ broke stride - that was a practiced skill in these halls - but both still turned to stare at her in disbelief.

"What?" their political consultant asked, and neither could tell if she was serious or not. "You have a better recommendation? Something nice and violent, maybe? Or how about one of those mysteries nobody else around here seems to appreciate but me?"

The Press Secretary shook her head. "You'd *better* be kidding."

Further words died as they reached the more open communications bullpen, where Josh had been forced to place a good few of their unwelcome visitors, rendering closed ranks and private conversations impossible. Toby paused at the doorway to his office, invited Franco to precede him inside with false graciousness, and then instead of entering himself he leaned against the frame, for no apparent reason other than to observe his department at work for a moment - and to put off resuming his own. Tired of being watched all the time by someone she dared not trust, CJ decided to linger for a few moments with a true friend, ignoring Robert on her left. That guy seemed eager to get back on the job and reluctant (under orders, no doubt) to let his "coach" out of his sight, so he moved a few steps to one side, casting frequent uncomfortable glances her way. Mandy caught the same loitering mood and pulled up at Toby's other hand. This was no place to express personal opinions not intended for general knowledge, but it felt good to share a bit of fellowship, even in silence.

A silence she naturally chose not to preserve. "You know, I can't remember any other office I've ever worked in where the general atmosphere has ever had such an adverse effect on employee attitudes."

Toby didn't spare her a glance. "Glad to contribute to the experiment."

CJ nudged him from the other side. "That might even be a legitimate excuse. Think what some scientists spend on research."

Josh came along bare seconds later, heading for his own office around the corner. He braked with a comical flair and stared at them. "What is this, sunbathing time?"

"Since when do federal employees need an excuse to loaf?" Sam asked brightly, seizing his chance to join them in a brief escape from their indirect oppression.

"Since *this* federal employee is being held responsible for your work level - or lack of same." The Deputy Chief of Staff was at his wittiest today, but not even Mandy objected. They'd all had their fill of tiptoeing around Hoynes' staff, wanted to have their old jobs and their familiar repertoire back, and didn't much care right now what anyone else thought about it. They were *expected* to conspire anyway, so let their undeclared enemies draw whatever conclusions they chose.

Certainly Sam wasn't impressed by Josh's feeble attempt to keep up the charade. "You know, for all our responsibility and the impact attached to most of our decisions, we've always tried to have at least *some* fun at work - a feature sadly missing of late."

"We could hold an office-wide poker tournament," Mandy suggested with exaggerated co-operation.

"Oh, great way to ruin our best method of relaxa - "

CJ suddenly flung out both arms like a school crossing guard, holding her companions back from some as-yet-unidentified danger. They all turned to her in amazement.

She wasn't looking at them. "Uh... remember Leo's rather cryptic message last night?"

They all followed her gaze - and solidified just as she had.

The Press Secretary's eyes were wide. "I think our mystery has been solved."

"Good morning, everyone!"

At *that* voice every other head in the open area whipped about, and anyone else within earshot popped around corners like so many groundhogs.

Never an especially tall or physically imposing man despite his title, Jed Bartlet looked positively frail today, due mostly to the reduced height and blatant infirmity of being confined to a wheelchair. A white splint on his left arm and hand contrasted sharply against the medium blue pajamas and dark blue dressing-gown; a white headband emphasized the pallor of his bruised face; a blanket covered him from the waist down, hiding the cast on his right leg that they all knew was there. At least the oxygen tube was gone, though not the evident discomfort. He sat with a distinct list to port, favoring his battered vertebrae and broken ribs.

But he was alive, and awake, and *here!*

There was one single second of amazed stillness - not even a phone dared ring. And then almost everybody surged forward like a burst dam of sheer delight.

"Mr. President!"

"You're up!"

"This is wonderful!"

"How are you, sir?"

"Oh, it's great to see you!"

"Welcome back, sir!"

"We've been so worried!"

Excited employees crowded around, male and female alike, completely ignoring Charlie who stood right behind the chair, surrounding their Commander-in-Chief with joy and relief, shifting constantly to get closer and see better without crowding him too much.

The President was grinning broadly as he fended off the barrage of voices and forest of hands coming at him from all sides. "Take it easy! I haven't been subjected to such an inquisition since the campaign!"

The questions died down, but not the congratulations on his fast-improving health.

"Man, good thing I didn't break my *right* arm - that would seriously interfere with all these handshakes."

Laughter rolled through the milling throng.

"You know, I can't get used to everybody towering over me like this. Charlie, see if you can track down some kind of booster seat for the future. Then everyone can look *up* to me again."

More laughter.

"I just wanted to visit and see how my faithful subjects are doing. I mean, not that I don't trust you or anything. But you know me: I'm a great worrier. Although I can't imagine *why*. After all, this is only the White House."

Reassurances poured in that business was fine.

"Besides, it's awfully boring upstairs with nothing to do but lie around and watch TV. Great way to rot the mind. I'm glad *you're* having fun, at least!"

Multiple voices insisted they were working hard and enjoying it.

"Now I imagine some of you are pretty mad at me right now. I promise you that I will take full responsibility for upsetting your schedule over the last few days."

Howls of protest refused to let him accept any such blame.

"But seriously..." And now his smile faded. "I can't tell you how sorry I am to have slept through my arrival here on Sunday. I've been told about it. And I'll never be able to fully express my gratitude to you all. I don't know what I've done to earn such wonderful support; but I do promise never to lose it."

That simple sincerity left them all content to just stand around him in silence, proud and smiling and - quite a few - blinking back tears.

Unnoticed, Charlie turned aside to clear his throat, a low and innocent sound... drowned out almost at once by the President's sudden, harsh cough.

Everyone else noticed *that*. And every soul among them froze.

Head lowered, Bartlet registered on the immediate, tension-packed silence (no one could possibly miss it) and, fighting himself for control, finally looked up again at the frightened faces on all sides. And reinstated that charming smile of his.

"Oh, will everybody please relax? I'm fine."

This time he got no response at all. Happiness had fled utterly before consuming concern. All at once no one could see past the chair, the bruises and bandages, and the weakness.

He *wasn't* fine, and after that first euphoria they couldn't pretend that he was.

It was at this point that the President happened to find a gap in the press of bodies all around him, and what he glimpsed through it captured his attention. "Uh, excuse me a minute." He gestured at those in his way and they at once granted a wider angle.

Josh, C.J, Toby, Mandy and Sam stood in a row against the far wall, silently watching the knot of employees that hid their leader from sight - until now. Hanging back at this appointed time, and letting the lower ranks have a go.

After all, they saw far more of their Chief Executive than the average backstage worker around here. It was only fair to grant such usually unnoticed and anonymous employees this rare and prized opportunity to be near the President as well, to speak directly to him, to be addressed in turn. The senior staff was guaranteed that privilege on a regular basis.

Which also meant that they personally knew him better... and that as a result they personally cared for him even more.

Which further meant that they should not be denied the chance to express their care along with everyone else.

"Hey, guys, come on over! What, you think I'm contagious or something?"

The five obeyed at once. Each of them wanting very much to push past the others and judge the President's health for him- or herself, Leo's order notwithstanding.

None of them missed the clear signs of weakness and pain.

Still, his disposition could not have sounded more natural. More reassuring.

Remaining in the background, despite this general invitation, were a number of employees from that *other* office. None of who made a move to join the celebration. Silent, uncomfortable, they clearly felt that they did not belong - not here, not now.

Mandy spoke first, smiling in her offhanded style. "We just thought you were being mobbed enough for one day, sir."

"Do I look *that* fragile to you?" No one answered. "Well, I'm *not*. All members of the Bartlet Fan Club are more than welcome."

Josh accepted the opening. "Leaves me out; I'm afraid I'm not a card-carrying member of that society."

"Really? Well, I *might* be able to forgive you this time, seeing as I still haven't got around to issuing them yet." The President's humor was definitely intact.

"Oh, good," Toby interposed, actually smiling. "I've been meaning to mention it to you. I assumed mine was lost in the mail."

*"JED!"*

Heads turned fast in jolting surprise. Only a close family member would dare address their Commander-in-Chief thus; not even Leo, with forty years of friendship, was ever heard to take such a liberty. And only one such family member could be here now. The President did not even bother to look around; he just rolled his eyes as the crowd behind him parted like the Red Sea before the approach of Moses.

And this newcomer looked like she wielded that same holy might. Or wished she did.

"I turn my back for one minute..." Abigail Bartlet stormed over, assumed an aggressive stance with hands on hips, and glared down at his innocent expression. Then she spun on his personal aide. "Charlie, you're going to hear from me. *You* should know better."

The young man looked appropriately subdued, if not entirely contrite. Few people indeed could talk this Chief Executive out of anything.

Generally, his beloved wife was one person who *could*. Hence Bartlet's obvious departure from the Residence without informing her.

The President sighed tolerantly. "I'm sure I have a *Get-out-of-jail-free* card here someplace," and he began searching for pockets, as if pajamas and dressing-gowns came with as many as his suits did. Several spectators couldn't prevent a titter or two.

The First Lady folded her arms, looking more intimidating by the moment. "There's a little thing called *recuperation*. And you are going to stay put and avail yourself of it if I have to tie you down. You won't heal otherwise."

Her husband looked away. "Abbey..."

She didn't move, as if waiting for something. Everyone else waited as well, though for exactly what they weren't sure. It was quite a treat to observe their First Couple like this, but the undercurrents of the President's health did steal some of the shine...

At last Bartlet exhaled and lowered his head into his right hand. And suddenly all present saw just how weary he was despite his best efforts to hide it from them.

"All right. Fine. Bully your helpless patient. I'll go quietly."

Charlie took his cue from the First Lady's imperative head-jerk towards the exit, and started to ease the wheelchair around. The crowd parted again, silent and grave.

"Feel better, sir," Mandy called after them. "And that's as close to an order as we'll ever have the chance to give *you*."

At that, the President roused himself anew. He never was one to resist a joke. "I'll be back before you know it. That is, unless I decide that I like all this pampering even more!"

And so he left a fresh ripple of amusement in his wake, which provided a much better memory than his exhausted paleness.

CJ took her life in her hands, so to speak, and hastened after as no one else here presumed to do. "Mrs. Bartlet?" she asked quietly.

Abbey turned back, looking up at the tall Press Secretary with eyebrows raised.

Despite all the humor and all the reassurances, some people simply had to know the hard truth. "How is he doing - *really?*"

Even with her low volume, someone else heard. "I never did like being talked about in the third person as though I wasn't even present," the President groused from a length or two ahead. He tried to twist around, which the chair's support and his taped ribs did not permit. "You don't think I can answer for myself?"

His Press Secretary couldn't stop her smile this time. "Respectfully, sir," she replied at a normal level, "I know I won't get an *unbiased* answer from you right now."

Traveling steadily away against his will, Bartlet just sighed and shook his head.

So did Abbey, watching him with far more fondness than that of a detached doctor for a mere patient. "You can tell everyone that he's doing better than you'd ever dare expect after injuries like that - but not as well as he *thinks* he is."

"Well, then, I rest my case." And CJ smiled wider in no little relief.

The First Lady grinned as well. "Don't worry. I'll have him back to work in no time." And she followed her husband out of the room.

Reluctantly, the regular staff turned away to resume their normal operations. The general atmosphere, however, had lightened a great deal.

The Vice-President's friends, whose moods had *not* improved, stirred from their conspicuous stance on the sidelines and tried to blend in again, as though their supposed full cooperation had not just been exposed for the parlor game it was.

Sam wandered over to where CJ was staring thoughtfully after the First Couple's progress down the hall, not yet out of sight.

"Now that just might qualify as the best news of all," the Deputy Communications Director suggested, for her ears only.

She nodded once, her focus still on the departing procession. "It might."

"But you know something else?" Sam added. "I think it was also a pretty impressive demonstration of staff loyalty for the benefit of a certain VP. *His* fan club as well."

After a moment CJ's expression shifted to even more wholehearted agreement, and she nodded again, more emphatically this time. "It was."

*****

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

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