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.

"CJ?"

The Press Secretary's head jerked up from her desk. Enjoying a brief moment of solitude in her own office. Not expecting her assigned VP shadow back so soon. Not expecting anyone else to have either spare time or *unmonitored* time for social visits. And certainly not expecting *this* person to drop by.

"Hey, they let you out of your cage!"

Leo propped a hand against the door jam. "Yeah, things are looking up a bit." It was a very rare occasion indeed when the White House Chief of Staff had nothing to do - under *normal* circumstances. No doubt right now he wanted to revel a bit in his renewed liberty. "And I think the general surveillance thing might be easing as well."

CJ's eyebrows rose above her eyeglass frames. "Wonders never cease. What prompted this complete come-about? Or has *Hoynes* been replaced by an imposter?"

Leo didn't smile, clearly unwilling to trust their good fortune just yet. "I don't know - maybe an avenging angel dropped in on him during lunch. Anyway, let's not waste it, in case he switches back again."

She smirked. "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hoynes. It fits."

Leo glanced away tiredly. "You don't know the half of it."

CJ relaxed in her chair. "I'm glad you came by; I've got a bone to pick with you." He looked back, brows quirked. "You knew the President was coming around the offices this morning, and you didn't tell us."

"I *did* tell you. Or didn't Josh pass on my message in time?"

"Sure he did - like it made a lot of sense before the fact."

Now Leo allowed a grin. "And if I'd spelled it out point-blank, there would've been no surprise. My way was far more effective, don't you agree?"

At his guileless expression CJ had to laugh. "You definitely don't get out enough."

He feigned surprise. "You think?"

"Say, what's the latest on our executive patient? From what I heard recently he's really playing hard to control."

Leo rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that sounds right."

"Maybe things aren't all that bad after all," CJ said hopefully.

"At this rate he's going to suffer a relapse. I wish he'd listen to us *just once*."

"Why break the habits of an administration now?" she countered.

*"Touché."*

Then something different flared in Leo's vision. "Briefing in the Oval, eight tomorrow. Hoynes has arranged a little jurisprudence." And he gave her a knowing look.

She understood exactly what he meant, and her own gaze snapped sparks in reply. "About time. I wouldn't miss it."

Leo nodded shortly. "I never doubted. See you later; I've got some lost exercise to catch up on in these halls. I'm not used to all this freedom of movement anymore." He started to leave, then turned back for a final word. "Oh, and if you see Mandy before I do, tell her I appreciated the video."

That detail made CJ remove her glasses entirely in pure astonishment.

*****

The White House was well supplied with conference rooms of various sizes, and on an average day two or three of them might be needed at any given hour. One would figure that these conferences were of no small import to merit being held in such a setting. Toby knew the truth better than most, and sometimes felt that he spent more time seated in one such historically-decorated chamber listening to pointless debates than on any other single activity.

Of the same mind, designers had selected the boardroom chairs with an eye for *dis*comfort, so that those participants forced to sit through hours of inconsequential chatter would be less likely to doze off. And there were times when Toby heartily cursed that foresight. Enduring these endless meetings *awake* should qualify as "cruel and unusual punishment".

He sat beside Franco, his VP-assigned companion, across from two representatives of one more federal lobby group who were convinced that their pet legislation was the greatest thing since Internet on cable, and called upon his reputed composure to fight back a yawn.

The first official hadn't paused for breath, it seemed, in several minutes. "The White House was just warming up to our bill here, and suddenly now we've got the equivalent of a whole new administration to deal with!"

Toby did not shift in his place or alter his expression, and yet still managed to project a scathing contempt. "Well, on behalf of the President, I apologize. We'll try to make sure that his next brush with death is more accommodating to your schedules."

Few people could teach a lesson in manners faster than the White House Communications Director - which was probably why he ended up in these meetings so often.

The loudmouth backed down fast. "All right, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it quite like that." And, having thus been soundly reprimanded like a schoolchild rather than a senior executive with prestige to spare, he scrambled for firmer ground. "Say, how's he doing?"

After such flagrant disregard for his boss, Toby was not inclined to let himself be pacified. "Since, as you've pointed out, Congressman, the President's actual health doesn't impact upon your business here today, why bother to ask?"

"It *does* impact on us!" the second guy insisted. "We were just getting to know him, only to be hit with a totally new personality that we have no idea how to predict!"

Still Toby did not move to any perceptible degree. His quiet tone alone, despite its careful modulation, proclaimed his weary opinion of such high-handed self-importance in this building. "First off, I'm not impressed with the validity of your agenda - not if it's based solely upon your skill at predicting the policies of the President. Second, President Bartlet has never been *other* than unpredictable in his policies, which is one very strong reason why Democrats chose him as their presidential candidate, *and* why Americans voted him into the Oval Office. This is something you should be aware of and used to by now. So, gentlemen, it will greatly facilitate our time here once the truth sinks in that your forecasts won't be any more accurate whether you're dealing with President Bartlet or Vice-President Hoynes. I hate to disillusion you all so brutally, but this bill is just going to have to market itself on its own virtue."

An embarrassed silence descended while the officials traded uneasy glances.

Toby had, of course, been careful not to slam Hoynes in any perceivable fashion. That was not kosher in the *public* face of party politics, never mind Franco's silent evaluation of *private* party business. Besides, he had more important details on his mind than such standardized character assassination practices just now. He wanted to end this charade as soon as feasible and report on the results, which would not be quite as trivial as he had first supposed.

"Okay." The second official raised his palms as though begging for peace on the subject. "You've made your point. Let's move on. It's just that we sort of hoped - well, maybe you could give us *some* clue as to what kind of stance we might expect from the Vice-President on this? It'd go a long way towards reassuring our fellow - "

Toby expelled a martyr's sigh and closed his eyes as though in physical pain. "This is so transparent," he muttered, looking up again to spear his visitors with a cold glower. "I can't believe you're here on such a flimsy pretext. For your edification, we are fully aware of more than a few federal groups besides your good selves who are very anxious to test the revised chain of command in the White House for any potential weak spots, to which can then be applied some strategic pressure. Well, let me point out for your own welfare that both the President and the Vice-President take a rather dim view of anyone with designs to capitalize upon what, I will stress, only *appears* to be a executive upheaval."

He paused. No one dared fill the gap. Several seconds ticked by while the two representatives opposite just sat there and stared at him. Found out, told off and trimmed down to mere caricatures of what they thought themselves to be.

"Good. Now that we have cleared up the subterfuge issue, can we please get on with this? It's late, and I have a judicial hearing first thing tomorrow. A hearing which, unlike *this* conference, will actually tax my brain cells."

*****

Hard at work on her computer and concentrating, nevertheless Donna knew when her supervisor passed by. Papers on several desks ruffled in protest as he barreled through the bullpen at only slightly less than the speed of sound.

"Josh?" He didn't look, didn't reply, didn't stop, didn't even decelerate. That was nothing new for him, so she at once leaped up and set off in pursuit. "Josh!"

He still didn't glance her way. "Oh, what now?"

She endeavored to pull up alongside, but his pace didn't make it easy. "Josh, you haven't sat still for two solid days now! You're driving me crazy!"

"You mean you're not there already? Everyone else around here winged out long ago."

"I have a very stable personality," she declared confidently, and ignored his snort of disbelief. "One which, I might add, you are sorely trying right now."

He turned a blind corner at the same rapid stride, regardless of who might be coming the other way. "Then you can finally join the club of lucky individuals whose case Hoynes' people have been riding nonstop with no end in sight. I can't do a thing around here without one of *them* looming over my shoulder."

Donna finally drew up level enough to see his face and gauge his expression. "And of course it's your job to loom over their shoulders too, right?"

"Theirs and everyone else's. This situation breeds paranoia." Josh had shed his blazer at some earlier hour, and his tie blew back over one shoulder from the wind of his passage.

"Well, you can now calm down a *little*. The word is that Hoynes seems to have had a change of heart or something about reshaping the West Wing in his own image."

"You need a heart before you can change it," he sniped.

"I'd think *any* improvement would be welcome - "

"I'll believe it when I see it." The Deputy Chief of Staff's breath hissed out, like a boiler near the bursting point. "Man, I'll be glad when the President returns to work. Even his all-night trivia marathons are easier to take than this. I'm not sure what I feel more like these days: the manager of a kiddy camp, or the shepherd of a sheep farm."

She thought about that. "I'm not sure I like being compared to a sheep, Josh. No - scratch that. I *am* sure I *don't* like being compared to a sheep."

Now he *did* spare a glance aside at his running mate. "Why not? I've been riding herd on you since your first day here."

"You do like reminding me of that, don't you?"

"One of the perks of my job. And since I don't have many, I like to enjoy the few I've got." He had shifted into his smug-boss mode, still without slowing down.

Donna was starting to hyperventilate. "Do these perks include running laps through every corridor of the White House?" They had left the main foyer and were swinging back towards Communications. "How many miles have you clocked so far today?"

"I've lost count. Just consider this my substitute for physical training."

"And since when have you been interested in PT?"

Josh was pretty good at the deadpan humor himself, but his next reply could not be stripped of all its residual emotion. "Since I heard that judgment will be handed down tomorrow morning on public enemy number one. *Not* me."

It took only a moment for his assistant made the connection. "Ah." She paused, gathering air and thoughts together. "Well, then, you'd better pick up the pace if you want to be in shape for *that*." And she stopped, watching as he pulled away.

His fists were clenched, and not from the physical effort. "Sound advice."

"And Josh?"

This time he looked right around, meaning he had to stop to do so.

"Knock him dead." And Donna meant it quite literally. Her usual soft voice grated like stone.

He nodded back, just as serious. "That is the plan."

*****

One tried and true axiom in the West Wing was that you could never let your guard down for any length of time. Not even at night, and not even when you're *supposed* to be alone.

"Sam!"

He jumped in his seat, startled half to death, and scrambled with the papers across his desk in an air more of guilt than fear. *Then* the familiar voice was identified in his memory, and he relaxed and put a hand to his head in articulate relief.

"I've got to get a motion sensor, or something." He glanced up at Mandy, framed in his office doorway, arms folded and smiling with obvious pleasure at the reaction she'd earned. "All I need right now is for you to be Jasmine, or someone else even less desirable."

Mandy looked more closely at him, as though pondering dissection. "Which is to say, am I more or *less* desirable than your unwanted apprentice?"

He exhaled and waved both hands. "Look, this is really not the best time today to bawl me out for... for whatever it is you're about to bawl me out. You'll get a much more vociferous reaction tomorrow, I promise." And returned to his work.

She permitted him to jot down two more words before interrupting again. "I take it the tension is still rather high around here for your liking."

He didn't look up, but any conversation forced him to stop writing. "Spot on, Sherlock. Maybe those mysteries of yours are paying off after all."

This political consultant ignored his sarcasm, while exploiting his lapse in concentration shamelessly. "So where is she?"

"I sent her out for supper."

Mandy couldn't prevent an unladylike chortle. "Supper."

Now Sam raised his head. "*Yeah.* I needed the breather, our people need the rations, and I thought I might finally be able to pass on my long-standing role as the White House delivery boy. Besides, if she's going to stick around, she might as well make herself useful."

"Looks like there might be hope after all - you're finally learning to delegate."

Sam looked down. "Your support is immeasurable." Like he really meant that.

Mandy watched him some more. "You know," she proposed at length, again forcing him to pause in his scripting, "I could've saved you a lot of effort. Clarice figured out pretty fast just how far she could go with *me*. If you want lessons sometime, let me know. I'll give you a reduced rate."

"I'll make a note of your offer." He gamely resumed, one painfully slow word at a time between each individual thought. "Not that I don't delight in our conversation here, but I really *should* get this done before Jaz turns up beside you. On the President's Secret Service, you know."

"And you guys accuse *me* of watching thrillers, Mr. Bond." Mandy shook her head in self-vindication. Then she added, "Don't forget: staff at eight. Or should I come and get you?"

This time Sam spoke through gritted teeth - and *not* because she wouldn't leave him in peace. "No chance I'll forget *that*. Which is why I have no recriminations to spare for *you* right now. I'm saving them all up towards one big transaction."

His favorite tormentor was not joking now, either. "Not a bad idea." And hesitated one more time. "Oh, by the way... you might want to work on that innocent act of yours. I'm letting you off light: Jaz wouldn't."

This helpful hint only soured Sam's mood further. "Input's always welcome."

*****

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

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