Fic: Hour Follows Hour, Part II
Author: Ryo Sen
Disclaimers, etc., in part I.
Josh was sitting in his dark office, chin propped on his hand, staring vacantly at his empty guest chair. He'd run out of productive things to do, and was thinking about gunshots. He remembered how much it hurt to wake up with months and months of recovery ahead of you. He thought about Molly, the agent who'd never wake up. He remembered Zoey's panic attacks after Rosslyn, and wondered if she'd come back with a new, lovely psychological disorder. He swore to himself that he would do every last thing in his power to make sure she knew how to ask for help before she reached critical mass.
But as hard as he tried not to, he couldn't stop thinking about the horrific possibility that Zoey wouldn't come back at all.
The short knock startled Josh, and it took him a moment to catch his breath. "Yeah," he called, his voice husky but almost eager. Good news would be quite welcome, and short of that, he'd appreciate any sort of interruption that kept him from remembering another funeral, a devastated father, a trembling mother, the dreadful sight of a coffin.
His door opened about halfway, and CJ leaned in. "Hourly update. We have no new information," she said, her tone discouraged. Even with her nearly unwrinkled suit and her perfect hair, she looked tired.
Josh nodded. "Thanks." He glanced reflexively down at his own suit, which looked like he'd slept in it for a few days. When he looked back up at CJ, she gave a curt nod and started to withdraw. Josh sat up straighter. "How can someone just disappear off the face of the earth?" he asked, honestly puzzled.
CJ paused in his doorway, ever-present leather folio tucked under one arm, her free hand on her hip. "I honestly don't know, Josh."
"She's the president's daughter," Josh continued, his tone disbelieving, "she was at a club with a couple hundred other people. How can nobody have seen anything?"
CJ stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind her, and moved towards the guest chair. She dropped heavily into the seat and placed her folio in her lap, folding her hands primly on top. "Molly O'Connor saw something," CJ said quietly. "Or at least they thought she did."
Josh shook his head. "She couldn't have seen anything. You really think if she'd seen anything suspicious they would've been able to put a bullet in her head? You think she wouldn't have alerted Wes?"
"I don't know what happened, Josh," CJ admitted. "I don't know the crime scene details. I don't know if she had her gun in her hand when she was shot, or if it was still in the holster. I don't know if Zoey tried to press her panic button and wasn't able to, or if her abductors left it as proof of her abduction. I don't even know yet if Jean-Paul drugged Zoey with GHB, which may or may not have knocked her out." Her voice rose in frustration. "I just don't know."
Nodding slowly, Josh reached for a pen, lacing it through his fingers. "I know." He flexed his fingers, wondering how much force he'd need to snap the plastic. "Do you think--" He stopped, swallowed. "Who do you think has her?"
CJ closed her eyes against the question, her expression pained. "I don't know."
"It doesn't feel like international terrorism," Josh mused. "This isn't a particularly well-funded abduction."
CJ snorted. "You're making a lot of assumptions, Josh. We don't anything besides Zoey's missing, they shot an agent, and the Bajhi cell may or may not be responsible. How do you know there wasn't a Qumari-owned helicopter waiting ten blocks away?"
Josh grimaced, not wanting to even entertain that possibility. Could it be retribution for Shareef? Could Zoey already be dead? Josh shook his head, denying the very idea. "This can't be an official governmental action," he said, answering CJ's unasked question.
"We killed Abdul Shareef," CJ countered, once again displaying her eerie ability to voice what Josh was trying not to think about. "Would you have considered that a legitimate official government action before we did it?"
"No," Josh answered stubbornly. "But Shareef was a terrorist, and he was a political player. Zoey's a civilian. They know this would be considered an act of war."
CJ snorted. "And assassinating a high-level member of Qumar's government isn't an act of war?"
Josh couldn't come up with a satisfactory answer. "Danny's got the story?"
"He's holding it. Originally for three days."
"Why three days?"
"The Bravo level, the increased chatter," CJ answered with bitter irony. "We asked him to hold off printing this until things settled down so something like this wouldn't happen."
Silence fell for a long moment, then Josh frowned. "Where is Danny?"
"I kicked him out of the building," CJ answered, her tone matter of fact.
"CJ!"
"It was for his own good," she answered, defensive. "He got home from Germany and came straight here, and I swear to God he was sleeping at his computer. As soon as--" She shrugged. "As soon as Carol told me, I lifted the restriction, but I think he must've gone home and passed out before he heard."
Josh nodded slowly. "Yeah. Danny would want to be here if he were awake."
CJ studied her hands, not answering. Josh still couldn't figure out the exact nature of the relationship between CJ and Danny, but he knew that more than Danny's crush on CJ kept the reporter around the Bartlet White House. During the campaign, Danny had spent quite a bit of time with Abbey researching the biography he'd written. In the process, he'd become one of the President's favorite reporters, and he and Zoey had become pals when she'd started riding the press bus to get away from her father's incessant trivia quizzes. Danny would definitely be here if he knew, even if he had to cover his real reasons with work.
"No word on the ransom note?" Josh asked after a while.
CJ accepted the change of subject without comment. "Not that I know of. Could be for real, could be some quick-thinking terrorists looking to capitalize on a bad situation."
Josh used his fingers to turn the pen end over end. "CJ, I can't stop thinking--"
"Josh."
He looked over at her and was startled at the depth of pain in her eyes. "CJ?"
"Just -- please." She'd gone still in her chair, her hands clutching at her folio, her mouth drawn into a tight line.
"What if they hurt her, CJ?" he asked, the words spilling from him like poison. "What if they're hurting her right now while we're sitting around on our asses doing nothing?" He slammed his fist down on his desktop, but all that accomplished was snapping the pen in half, spilling ink on his fingers, and making his hand ache dully.
"We're doing everything we can," CJ shot back angrily. "In case you hadn't noticed, none of us are detectives, so we're here doing our jobs--"
"So what?" Josh interrupted, wiping the worst of the ink off with a napkin. "I've talked to the leadership, about thirty percent of Congress, plus the Governors of Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, Ohio, North Carolina, Delaware and Pennsylvania tonight. How the hell is that helping if Zoey's being hurt?"
CJ's voice was brittle when she spoke again. "If by hurt you mean raped, I don't know what to tell you, Josh. It's not uncommon for female captives to be sexually abused. Hell," she continued, "it's entirely possible that she was kidnapped by a sexual predator who's also a damn good marksman."
"God, CJ," Josh bit out, appalled. "What is your problem?"
She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing in anger. "I asked you not to go there, Josh. I don't want to speculate on what could be happening to Zoey. I don't want anything to be happening to Zoey. But you wouldn't stop, and then you wouldn't even say the words out loud."
He hurled the remnants of the pen into his trashcan. "I was talking about torture. I was asking if they'd torture her."
"Rape is a form of torture," CJ bit out.
Josh held her furious gaze for a moment, then slumped back in his chair, shading his eyes with one hand. "What the hell are we talking about?" he asked.
CJ dropped her chin. "I honestly don't know," she answered quietly, her face shadowed by her hair.
Another silence, this one less comfortable than the ones before. CJ glanced at the pictures on his wall, studying his favorite picture of Joanie. A few times, CJ opened her mouth as if to speak, but seemed unable to find the words.
Finally, she met his gaze. "There's no vice president."
Josh stared at her, refusing to acknowledge her meaning. "So what."
"Josh."
"We're not talking about this, CJ."
"Maybe we should be talking about this," she answered, her tone determined. Josh knew her well enough to know she was unlikely to let it go until she was satisfied. She lifted her chin. "Will pointed out earlier that we have no vice president, and I did a little brushing up on 3 U.S.C. 19--"
"He wouldn't do that," Josh interrupted fiercely. President Bartlet wouldn't hand over control of the country to Speaker Walken. He just wouldn't. Josh refused to even entertain the thought. "The President knows he can't do that."
CJ shook her head slightly. "Can't?"
"The political reality--"
"Josh," CJ interrupted, frustrated. "We just spent the last twenty minutes discussing horrible possibilities -- retribution, torture -- you think the President's not doing the same thing? It's his daughter."
Josh winced. "I know. But he can't step aside. Maybe if we had a vice president," Josh mused, kicking himself for not finding a suitable nominee in time. "But the next in line is Walken, CJ. Glen Walken. The President would be trusting his daughter's fate to his political enemy."
"Look, I disagree with Glen Walken on any number of issues," CJ argued, "but he wouldn't let something happen to Zoey out of spite!"
"I'm not suggesting he would," Josh answered. "I'm saying that the President needs to be the person making the decisions right now."
CJ stared at him for a moment. "What if it comes down to a choice between Zoey's life and something a President should never do?"
"He's already ordered a political assassination," Josh pointed out grimly.
"Josh."
He met her worried gaze, but couldn't think of a single thing to say to reassure her. What would the President do if it came down to the integrity of the Office or his daughter's life? No president should ever have to make that decision. That was the rationale behind the Secret Service protecting the president's family.
Josh glanced away from CJ. "He wouldn't step aside," he repeated, but he could hear the doubt in his tone. When he met her gaze again, CJ looked as uncertain as he felt.
"Yeah," she answered belatedly. "You're right. He probably wouldn't do that."
They stared at each other for a moment, and then someone knocked on his door. Donna poked her head in, "Josh, Carol called -- CJ. There you are. Carol's looking for you. Danny woke up."
"Oh, boy," CJ muttered. "Thanks, Donna." CJ pushed herself up, groaning a little with the effort. She flipped open her leather folio, then laid an expensive silver pen on Josh's desk. "Here," she said, her tone gentle. "Don't break that one."
Josh managed a smile. "Thanks." He watched her disappear through his doorway, then picked up the pen she'd given him. He laced the cool metal through his fingers and stood, heading for the bullpen. "Donna," he shouted, stopping abruptly when she appeared in his path.
"Quit yelling," she admonished. "I'm right here."
"Good," he said. "Listen, I need you to pull 3 U.S.C. 19."
Donna nodded. "Okay. What's--?"
"Donna." But she was giving him that look that made him regret snapping at her. He lowered his voice so he couldn't be overheard by Will's ubiquitous interns. "1947 Act of Succession," he explained.
Donna's blue eyes grew wide. "Josh?" she asked nervously.
"We're not going to need it," Josh assured her. "Really. Just pull it for me in case, okay?" She nodded and moved to get him the relevant code. Josh watched her for a moment, and tried to convince himself that he wouldn't need it. President Bartlet wouldn't do that. Josh was almost sure that he was right.
***
Hour Five
Toby's steps slowed as he entered the hospital, with its pastels and its antiseptic scent. He'd never been entirely comfortable in hospitals, since trips there usually involved people he loved dying, or coming too damn close to dying. The last time he'd been to this particular hospital was the day that Josh was released, his frame gaunt, his breathing labored if he moved too much or too fast.
Today had been a much more positive experience, at least at the hospital. Then he'd answered his pager, and he'd had to tell Andy that Zoey was gone. When he'd left, he promised himself that he'd return with good news. He'd called once in the intervening hours, reaching only the charge nurse, to his relief, who had informed him that Andy was still sleeping and the babies were still fine.
And now he was back in the hallway outside her room, his footsteps echoing in the quiet. The nurse nodded a greeting, and Toby felt his attempted smile turn into a grimace. He turned away, pausing to steady his frazzled nerves. Toby wasn't one for emotional displays, preferring to deal with his feelings in private, and only when necessary. But given the highs and lows of the past 24 hours, he was on the skinny edge of a pretty impressive outburst of some kind, and the last thing he needed was for an orderly to sell the story of the White House Communications Director's breakdown in the middle of GW.
Gently, Toby pushed the door open and peered inside Andy's hospital room, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Andy was on her side, curled up like a child under the white blanket, her vivid red hair splayed out behind her. The pattern of light shifted, and he glanced at the TV mounted high up on the wall. CNN. Of course. And the anchors were still speculating on Zoey's fate, as the live shot of the front of the club occupied most of the screen.
He moved quietly to Andy's side, using the remote to turn down the volume before placing the chair next to her bed. Up close, he could see dried tear tracks on her cheeks, and he wanted to kick himself for leaving her. He'd been watching her for a few minutes when she opened her eyes unexpectedly, smiling groggily at him.
Toby wondered what she saw in his face, what caused her to reach for his hand and whisper, "Oh, Toby."
He swallowed hard past the tightening in his throat and tried to clear his expression, tried to look happy for her. They were brand new parents of healthy children, and that had to be worth something.
But Andy had remembered now. She glanced reflexively at the TV, an expression of sorrow and compassion on her face. The picture was the same as it had been all night, and the tagline still read "Bartlet Daughter Missing." She pushed herself up onto the pillows, wincing. "Toby--"
"Don't," he warned, suppressing his anguish as he fussed over her, tucking the blanket snugly around her shoulders.
She ignored him, as usual, and propped herself up on one elbow, reaching for him with her free hand. "Has anything--?"
"No," he interrupted, taking her hand between both of his. "No news."
Andy glanced at the clock, her expression darkening when she realized what time it was. "Still?"
Toby nodded. "Yeah." He knew as well as she did that the longer Zoey was missing, the worse her chances. The more time that elapsed, the farther from D.C. her captors could have taken her. Every moment, her trail grew colder.
But while Toby was generally not the most positive of people -- a point Andy had brought into sharp relief only hours before -- he refused to be realistic about Zoey. He knew horrible things happened every day. He just couldn't make himself believe that Zoey could be gone.
"How are the Bartlets?" Andy asked quietly.
"I don't know how to answer that question," he admitted. "I haven't seen Abbey, but CJ said someone's with her."
"A doctor," Andy surmised.
"Yes. And the President is -- I don't know." Toby sighed. "Leo says he's handling it, but won't go into detail. I'm not sure what to make of that."
Andy nodded slowly. "The President is an incredibly strong man. He'll handle it."
"How?" Toby asked, his voice sharper than he intended. "How can we expect him to handle this?"
Frowning, Andy studied him closely. "Toby?"
"Never mind." Toby nodded in the direction of the TV. "Have you been watching that?"
"A little. They don't have much in the way of facts, and I think the image of those two agents guarding the front of that club has been burned into my mind." Her tone was warm. "Mostly I've been sleeping." She squeezed his hand.
"Good," Toby decided. He tried to smile. "You deserve some rest. You did some pretty amazing stuff earlier."
She grinned back at him. "We women are a tough lot."
"I'll say," Toby answered. Despite the films he'd been forced to watch in their Lamaze classes, he hadn't been entirely convinced his kids would make it out of there alive. It just hadn't seemed possible. He gestured vaguely towards her midsection. "I thought you would, you know..." He shrugged. "Deflate more."
"Deflate?" Andy repeated, her tone incredulous. "Are you saying that I'm bloated?"
"Certainly not," Toby answered. "But you did expel two small children from in there."
Andy smoothed the blanket over her stomach and studied her shrouded figure. "I think I have slimmed down quite a lot in the last 24 hours," she announced. "I bet I could even touch my toes if I wanted."
Toby tried to look impressed, but his heart wasn't in it. Every time he let himself revel in the fact that the waiting was over, every time he took time out of worrying to remind himself that he was a father, he was hit with terror that he'd be the morose father Andy seemed to expect, and incredible guilt that he could think of himself at a time like this. How could he rejoice in the birth of his children when Zoey Bartlet was enduring untold horrors, and her parents were torturing themselves with worst-case scenarios?
"Toby?"
Andy had always been able to read him so well. Perhaps that was a part of the reason their marriage failed; he couldn't hide his anger, he couldn't hide his disappointment. And, as he'd learned so painfully, he apparently couldn't hide his infectious sadness. But at least she could answer the questions he was unable to ask.
"I don't want to dwell on," he hesitated, tilting his head towards the TV, "on such sadness tonight."
"Toby." Andy squeezed his fingers. "Don't do that. Tell me what's happening."
"Nothing," he answered. "Considering the sheer number of law enforcement agencies involved in this, we know very, very little about what happened."
She nodded slowly. "Do we suspect international terrorism?"
"It's a possibility that's being considered. Zoey's boyfriend was high on GHB, but he claims he bought Ecstasy."
"Do they think the dealer was involved?"
"Possibly."
"Qumar?" Andy guessed. "CNN mentioned something about a possible connection to sleeper cells in the states."
"I'm not in the Situation Room, Andrea. I don't know the details."
"Yes, you do," she argued, narrowing her eyes as she studied his face. "Is this because of Abdul Shareef?"
Toby told himself not to react, not to flinch. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"That's a politician's answer," she muttered.
"Well, I'm a politician."
"Not tonight, you're not," Andy told him. "Tonight, you're one of the closest friends of a man whose daughter has been abducted."
Toby made a disbelieving noise. "Leo is the President's friend; I am the President's Communications Director. He doesn't need me tonight."
"That's not true, Toby. He needs people he can trust to counsel him right now. Right now probably more than ever before, because he can't be dispassionate about this."
Toby met Andy's gaze. "Have you ever known this President to be dispassionate about anything?"
"Don't be argumentative, Toby. You know what I mean. And you know that I'm right."
Toby shrugged, frustrated. "I don't know what I can do to help with this. I don't want--" He looked away, swallowed hard. Andy didn't press, just waited quietly for him to speak. "I don't want to write the statement I might have to write," he confessed in a harsh whisper.
"You can't think like that," Andy said. "That's not going to happen. You need to go back to the White House, and you need to be there when the President calls for you, which you know he'll do."
Toby studied their intertwined hands, her small, pale fingers tangled with his. "Yeah." ,Toby thought about the arguments he'd had with the President over the years. He remembered pushing the President to face unpleasant realities, and he wondered if a similar situation was in store for him tonight. "What if--" Toby cleared his throat. "What if the President doesn't want to hear what I have to say?"
Andy lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "He'll argue for a half hour, he'll yell at you, and then he'll think about it."
Toby tried to block out the nightmare scenarios in his head, he tried to stop thinking about a shouting match in the Oval Office, about military retribution, about a father crazy with grief and rage.
"Toby." Andy waited until he met her gaze. "You'll know what to say to him. He trusts you to tell him the truth."
Toby turned that over for a few moments. "Yeah," he answered belatedly. "Okay."
Andy focused on the TV again, dropping back onto the pillows, sliding down a little and settling the blanket over her midsection. "I wish I could be with the Bartlets," she said quietly. "I wish I could do something."
"I'll let them know when I see them," he answered. The thought that had been niggling at him for hours, the idea he'd dismissed resurfaced. Toby watched Andy, watched the way she seemed to sink into the pillows tiredly. He told himself it could wait, that they could discuss it later.
Andy rolled onto her side, her intense gaze coming to rest on him. She didn't speak, but he could tell from the look on her face that she wouldn't let him leave until he told her what he was thinking.
Leaning closer, Toby gently brushed her hair back from her face, pushing it behind her ear, letting it drop to the pillow behind her. "The Secret Service Agent's name was Molly," Toby said matter-of-factly. "Molly O'Connor."
Andy watched him wordlessly for a moment, her eyes sparkling. He couldn't bring himself to suggest it, couldn't risk the words, because he didn't trust his voice. But he knew Andy would understand.
"Molly Ziegler," she said softly.
Toby swallowed hard. "Yeah," he managed, his voice rough. "Molly Wyatt Ziegler."
Andy exhaled slowly, not allowing herself to cry. "I'm tired, Toby. I'm going to take a nap." She smiled at him. "You should go tell Molly her name."
***
Leo trudged towards his office, feeling every one of his 60 years. It wasn't just the impossibly late hour, or the dreadful situation with Zoey, or the near miss with the plane, or the thought of doing what he was about to do. He could have handled any one of those situations, he told himself. He probably could've handled two of them. But all at once, it was just too much.
He rounded the corner into Margaret's small office. She was at her desk, but her head was in her hands, elbows propped on the desk, and he thought for a moment she was asleep. He was weighing whether to wake her or face her wrath later on when she jerked suddenly upright, wide eyes on him.
"Leo."
"Margaret, I need to make a phone call," he said.
She pushed herself upright. "Okay. Would you like some coffee, Leo?"
He shook his head. "I'm fine."
Margaret gave him her best disapproving look, but her own face was lined with fatigue, so she really had no room to talk. "It's nearly five o'clock in the morning."
With a tired shrug, Leo gave in. "Fine, get me some coffee, but get yourself some, too. Or better yet, go get some sleep."
The set of Margaret's jaw was answer enough. "I'll get you that coffee."
"Wait," Leo said as she skirted past. "I really need to make this call now."
Margaret nodded. "To whom?"
The words stuck in his throat for a moment. "The Speaker of the House. Get me Walken on the phone."
Margaret stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Then her mouth dropped open the slightest bit. "Leo?"
"Margaret, just get me the Speaker." Leo tried to retreat to his office, but Margaret stuck to him like a burr.
"Leo, the President--"
"Yes, Margaret," he said tiredly. "He's stepping aside. Now, please, get me the Speaker."
Margaret gave him her big, hurt eyes for a beat. "I was going to ask how he was feeling."
"How do you think he's feeling?" Leo snapped, his voice rising in frustration. "His daughter's vanished, an agent died tonight, there's a ransom note, Margaret! The President is displaying the ultimate respect for this office by stepping aside, now would you please get me the Speaker of the House on the phone!"
She pursed her lips, but didn't speak, turning towards the door as if to absent herself before Leo had time to apologize. Later, on a better day, he'd make it up to her. Tonight, he didn't have the energy. Tonight, he had to brush up on the Constitution and make sure that blowhard Walken didn't destroy the Presidency (or the nation) during his brief -- God-willing -- tenure as Acting President.
"Leo," Margaret called from her desk. "Speaker Walken."
Leo took a moment to compose himself, then picked up the phone. "Mr. Speaker, I apologize for calling at this hour."
"Don't worry about it, Leo," Walken answered churlishly. "What can I do for you?"
"Are you watching CNN?"
"Should I be?"
"Zoey Bartlet is missing," Leo said by way of an answer.
"I know," the Speaker answered immediately. "I spoke with Josh Lyman a little after midnight."
"Good," Leo said, refusing to let his irritation seep into his tone. "Then you know that a Secret Service Agent was killed execution-style in the alley, and Zoey's panic button was found just outside the back door of the club."
"Are we at war?"
"No," Leo answered. "Not yet. We're not sure if this is an international incident. We've got a ransom note from the Bajhi cell, but no confirmation on whether they have her."
"Okay," the Speaker said. "Leo, I appreciate the update, but I'm not entirely sure why you're calling me--"
"I need you to get to the White House as soon as possible," Leo interrupted. "The President needs your assistance."
"My assistance," Walken repeated gruffly.
"Yes."
"In what capacity?" Walken asked, his tone carefully neutral, and Leo knew he'd guessed the reason for a call from the White House.
"Until the situation is resolved," Leo answered, doing his best to keep any trace of bitterness out of his voice, "the President is invoking the 25th Amendment."
Silence spooled out on the line. "Well," the Speaker said finally. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Thank you, Mr. Speaker," Leo said, and then he hung up the phone and sat in silence for a long moment. The situation, the hour, the lack of sleep, the emotional fallout -- it was beginning to hit, but Leo couldn't afford it, not now, not yet.
"Leo," Margaret said quietly from the doorway. "Coffee."
Leo stood on tired legs and accepted the peace offering. He held Margaret's gaze. "Thank you," he said softly.
She smiled.
Leo took a sip of the coffee, hissing when it burned his tongue.
Margaret raised one finger. "Oh. I made it fresh. Might be hot. Want me to add an ice cube?"
Leo rolled his eyes and handed back the mug. "I need Charlie," Leo said, shifting back into gear. "Tell him to meet me on the Portico. I'm going to need the senior staff in about twenty minutes."
***
Hour Seven
"So help me God."
CJ stood in the Oval Office as she had hundreds of times before, but everything was wrong. This was the wrong situation, the wrong words, and absolutely the wrong man saying them.
Speaker Walken -- President, she corrected herself -- President Walken thanked the federal judge and glanced at the faces staring at him. His assistants moved closer, flanking him there in front of the President's desk, the move baldly territorial in CJ's opinion. Then Walken glanced at Leo and said, "Thank you, Leo. You'll keep me updated?"
Leo's voice was clear and strong when he answered, "Absolutely, sir."
"Okay, then," Walken answered, glancing at the senior staffers. "Y'all are dismissed."
There was an awkward moment of silence and inaction, when Bartlet's team tried to figure out what protocol demanded of them. Leo moved first.
"Thank you, Mr. President," Leo said, his expression impassive. His gaze shifted to Josh, whose terrible poker face revealed his intense disappointment.
Still, Josh straightened his shoulders, nodded to Walken, and said, "Thank you, sir."
Walken studied Josh for a moment, and CJ worried that he'd insist on Josh calling him "Mr. President." CJ wasn't entirely sure what would follow such a command, but she was pretty sure that Secret Service agents would be involved, and possibly an announcement about a new vacancy on the senior staff.
Thankfully, Walken dipped his chin in acknowledgment. Then CJ followed Josh's lead. Then Will, then Toby, then Charlie, and the senior staffers stumbled after Leo through the connecting door to his office.
Leo stopped in front of his desk, fingertips on the polished wood, shoulders just a little bit slumped, from sheer exhaustion or from the events of the past hour, CJ wasn't sure. He turned when he heard the door click shut. Josh, Toby, and CJ stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Leo, Will a half-step back, and Charlie leaned against the connecting door, as if he couldn't muster the strength to stand up on his own.
Leo looked at each of them in turn and then nodded. "I'm going to the Residence to see the President--"
"Which one?" Josh asked quietly. There was no bitterness in his tone, but disappointment emanated from him in waves.
"Josh," Leo snapped, "this was the President's decision to make--"
"He was wrong," Josh interrupted forcefully. "He made the wrong decision."
Toby shifted his weight, but didn't look at Josh. "No, he didn't."
Josh whirled around to face Toby. "Look, Toby, he should've talked to us--"
"Josh," CJ said quietly, meeting his angry gaze. It was a futile, pointless argument, and he knew it, but being Josh, he needed to exorcise his anger and his guilt by lashing out at someone.
Josh blew out a frustrated breath. "Right." He turned away, walking in a small circle as he ran a hand through his already mussed hair.
"I'm going to the Residence to see the President," Leo repeated with a pointed look at Josh. When no more remarks were forthcoming, Leo softened his tone. "I know you'd all like to see him, to sit through this hellish vigil with him, but the best thing you can do for him right now is your jobs."
Will took a tentative step forward. "I understand that, Leo, but what exactly are our jobs right now? Is the Speaker-- the--" He shrugged. "Is the Acting President going to want us to write his speeches? Or give his press conferences?"
"This is just temporary," Leo answered firmly. "It's just until we get Zoey back."
No one said it aloud, but CJ knew they were all thinking the same, horrible thing. What if they never got Zoey back?
Josh, who had always treated Zoey like the younger sister he never had, was the first to break the silence. CJ wondered if it was because the thought she might not be found was something he couldn't stand to contemplate. "Okay," Josh said. "Until -- until then, we keep the White House running flawlessly, so the real President has no trouble when he resumes his powers."
Leo nodded. "I'm sure that President Walken is going to want his own people around him, but they're going to have to work out of the OEOB. This is President Bartlet's White House."
Charlie pushed away from the door. "I'm going to the Residence," he announced quietly, avoiding the sympathetic looks from CJ, Will, and Josh.
"Charlie," Leo called, "tell him I'll be up in a few minutes."
Charlie nodded and closed the door behind him.
"I've got my phone," Leo told them. "I'm not leaving this building. You have a problem, any sort of squabble with the Acting President's staff, you find me and I'll handle it. Understood?"
"Yeah," Toby answered softly. "This is a unique situation, and the press is going to be all over us. We're going to be living in a fishbowl for as long as this lasts. The President is going to be fighting an uphill battle when he comes back into power, and we can't afford stories about intra-staff squabbles on top of that."
"If that's for me," Josh said, wheeling on Toby, "I'll keep the squabbling to a minimum."
"It wasn't for you," Toby answered, rocking back on his heels as he held Josh's gaze. "It was for all of us." He nodded to Leo. "Will and I will work on the statement."
Leo checked his watch. "Good. We've got an hour or so. CJ, stay out of the press room until after the announcement. Josh, the staff is going to look to you."
Josh nodded slowly. "I know."
"Good." Leo moved towards the door. "I'm going to the Residence."
"Tell him--" CJ broke off with a shrug. "Tell him whatever he needs, we're here."
Leo managed half a smile for her. "I'll tell him."
CJ nodded and watched Leo as he left, his slight limp more pronounced tonight than normal. Then she glanced at Toby, who wore a somber expression. Josh had his arms crossed and still looked angry, and Will was fidgeting, just a little.
CJ shrugged. "So. What do we do now?"
Toby grimaced and moved towards the door. "Will and I have the announcement."
Will nodded at CJ and followed his boss, leaving Josh and CJ alone in Leo's office. They exchanged a look, and Josh gave his unruly hair another swipe.
"What do we do now?" he asked, repeating her question.
"Yeah," CJ answered.
"Hell if I know."
THE END
06.02.03
Disclaimers, etc., in part I.
Josh was sitting in his dark office, chin propped on his hand, staring vacantly at his empty guest chair. He'd run out of productive things to do, and was thinking about gunshots. He remembered how much it hurt to wake up with months and months of recovery ahead of you. He thought about Molly, the agent who'd never wake up. He remembered Zoey's panic attacks after Rosslyn, and wondered if she'd come back with a new, lovely psychological disorder. He swore to himself that he would do every last thing in his power to make sure she knew how to ask for help before she reached critical mass.
But as hard as he tried not to, he couldn't stop thinking about the horrific possibility that Zoey wouldn't come back at all.
The short knock startled Josh, and it took him a moment to catch his breath. "Yeah," he called, his voice husky but almost eager. Good news would be quite welcome, and short of that, he'd appreciate any sort of interruption that kept him from remembering another funeral, a devastated father, a trembling mother, the dreadful sight of a coffin.
His door opened about halfway, and CJ leaned in. "Hourly update. We have no new information," she said, her tone discouraged. Even with her nearly unwrinkled suit and her perfect hair, she looked tired.
Josh nodded. "Thanks." He glanced reflexively down at his own suit, which looked like he'd slept in it for a few days. When he looked back up at CJ, she gave a curt nod and started to withdraw. Josh sat up straighter. "How can someone just disappear off the face of the earth?" he asked, honestly puzzled.
CJ paused in his doorway, ever-present leather folio tucked under one arm, her free hand on her hip. "I honestly don't know, Josh."
"She's the president's daughter," Josh continued, his tone disbelieving, "she was at a club with a couple hundred other people. How can nobody have seen anything?"
CJ stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind her, and moved towards the guest chair. She dropped heavily into the seat and placed her folio in her lap, folding her hands primly on top. "Molly O'Connor saw something," CJ said quietly. "Or at least they thought she did."
Josh shook his head. "She couldn't have seen anything. You really think if she'd seen anything suspicious they would've been able to put a bullet in her head? You think she wouldn't have alerted Wes?"
"I don't know what happened, Josh," CJ admitted. "I don't know the crime scene details. I don't know if she had her gun in her hand when she was shot, or if it was still in the holster. I don't know if Zoey tried to press her panic button and wasn't able to, or if her abductors left it as proof of her abduction. I don't even know yet if Jean-Paul drugged Zoey with GHB, which may or may not have knocked her out." Her voice rose in frustration. "I just don't know."
Nodding slowly, Josh reached for a pen, lacing it through his fingers. "I know." He flexed his fingers, wondering how much force he'd need to snap the plastic. "Do you think--" He stopped, swallowed. "Who do you think has her?"
CJ closed her eyes against the question, her expression pained. "I don't know."
"It doesn't feel like international terrorism," Josh mused. "This isn't a particularly well-funded abduction."
CJ snorted. "You're making a lot of assumptions, Josh. We don't anything besides Zoey's missing, they shot an agent, and the Bajhi cell may or may not be responsible. How do you know there wasn't a Qumari-owned helicopter waiting ten blocks away?"
Josh grimaced, not wanting to even entertain that possibility. Could it be retribution for Shareef? Could Zoey already be dead? Josh shook his head, denying the very idea. "This can't be an official governmental action," he said, answering CJ's unasked question.
"We killed Abdul Shareef," CJ countered, once again displaying her eerie ability to voice what Josh was trying not to think about. "Would you have considered that a legitimate official government action before we did it?"
"No," Josh answered stubbornly. "But Shareef was a terrorist, and he was a political player. Zoey's a civilian. They know this would be considered an act of war."
CJ snorted. "And assassinating a high-level member of Qumar's government isn't an act of war?"
Josh couldn't come up with a satisfactory answer. "Danny's got the story?"
"He's holding it. Originally for three days."
"Why three days?"
"The Bravo level, the increased chatter," CJ answered with bitter irony. "We asked him to hold off printing this until things settled down so something like this wouldn't happen."
Silence fell for a long moment, then Josh frowned. "Where is Danny?"
"I kicked him out of the building," CJ answered, her tone matter of fact.
"CJ!"
"It was for his own good," she answered, defensive. "He got home from Germany and came straight here, and I swear to God he was sleeping at his computer. As soon as--" She shrugged. "As soon as Carol told me, I lifted the restriction, but I think he must've gone home and passed out before he heard."
Josh nodded slowly. "Yeah. Danny would want to be here if he were awake."
CJ studied her hands, not answering. Josh still couldn't figure out the exact nature of the relationship between CJ and Danny, but he knew that more than Danny's crush on CJ kept the reporter around the Bartlet White House. During the campaign, Danny had spent quite a bit of time with Abbey researching the biography he'd written. In the process, he'd become one of the President's favorite reporters, and he and Zoey had become pals when she'd started riding the press bus to get away from her father's incessant trivia quizzes. Danny would definitely be here if he knew, even if he had to cover his real reasons with work.
"No word on the ransom note?" Josh asked after a while.
CJ accepted the change of subject without comment. "Not that I know of. Could be for real, could be some quick-thinking terrorists looking to capitalize on a bad situation."
Josh used his fingers to turn the pen end over end. "CJ, I can't stop thinking--"
"Josh."
He looked over at her and was startled at the depth of pain in her eyes. "CJ?"
"Just -- please." She'd gone still in her chair, her hands clutching at her folio, her mouth drawn into a tight line.
"What if they hurt her, CJ?" he asked, the words spilling from him like poison. "What if they're hurting her right now while we're sitting around on our asses doing nothing?" He slammed his fist down on his desktop, but all that accomplished was snapping the pen in half, spilling ink on his fingers, and making his hand ache dully.
"We're doing everything we can," CJ shot back angrily. "In case you hadn't noticed, none of us are detectives, so we're here doing our jobs--"
"So what?" Josh interrupted, wiping the worst of the ink off with a napkin. "I've talked to the leadership, about thirty percent of Congress, plus the Governors of Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, Ohio, North Carolina, Delaware and Pennsylvania tonight. How the hell is that helping if Zoey's being hurt?"
CJ's voice was brittle when she spoke again. "If by hurt you mean raped, I don't know what to tell you, Josh. It's not uncommon for female captives to be sexually abused. Hell," she continued, "it's entirely possible that she was kidnapped by a sexual predator who's also a damn good marksman."
"God, CJ," Josh bit out, appalled. "What is your problem?"
She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing in anger. "I asked you not to go there, Josh. I don't want to speculate on what could be happening to Zoey. I don't want anything to be happening to Zoey. But you wouldn't stop, and then you wouldn't even say the words out loud."
He hurled the remnants of the pen into his trashcan. "I was talking about torture. I was asking if they'd torture her."
"Rape is a form of torture," CJ bit out.
Josh held her furious gaze for a moment, then slumped back in his chair, shading his eyes with one hand. "What the hell are we talking about?" he asked.
CJ dropped her chin. "I honestly don't know," she answered quietly, her face shadowed by her hair.
Another silence, this one less comfortable than the ones before. CJ glanced at the pictures on his wall, studying his favorite picture of Joanie. A few times, CJ opened her mouth as if to speak, but seemed unable to find the words.
Finally, she met his gaze. "There's no vice president."
Josh stared at her, refusing to acknowledge her meaning. "So what."
"Josh."
"We're not talking about this, CJ."
"Maybe we should be talking about this," she answered, her tone determined. Josh knew her well enough to know she was unlikely to let it go until she was satisfied. She lifted her chin. "Will pointed out earlier that we have no vice president, and I did a little brushing up on 3 U.S.C. 19--"
"He wouldn't do that," Josh interrupted fiercely. President Bartlet wouldn't hand over control of the country to Speaker Walken. He just wouldn't. Josh refused to even entertain the thought. "The President knows he can't do that."
CJ shook her head slightly. "Can't?"
"The political reality--"
"Josh," CJ interrupted, frustrated. "We just spent the last twenty minutes discussing horrible possibilities -- retribution, torture -- you think the President's not doing the same thing? It's his daughter."
Josh winced. "I know. But he can't step aside. Maybe if we had a vice president," Josh mused, kicking himself for not finding a suitable nominee in time. "But the next in line is Walken, CJ. Glen Walken. The President would be trusting his daughter's fate to his political enemy."
"Look, I disagree with Glen Walken on any number of issues," CJ argued, "but he wouldn't let something happen to Zoey out of spite!"
"I'm not suggesting he would," Josh answered. "I'm saying that the President needs to be the person making the decisions right now."
CJ stared at him for a moment. "What if it comes down to a choice between Zoey's life and something a President should never do?"
"He's already ordered a political assassination," Josh pointed out grimly.
"Josh."
He met her worried gaze, but couldn't think of a single thing to say to reassure her. What would the President do if it came down to the integrity of the Office or his daughter's life? No president should ever have to make that decision. That was the rationale behind the Secret Service protecting the president's family.
Josh glanced away from CJ. "He wouldn't step aside," he repeated, but he could hear the doubt in his tone. When he met her gaze again, CJ looked as uncertain as he felt.
"Yeah," she answered belatedly. "You're right. He probably wouldn't do that."
They stared at each other for a moment, and then someone knocked on his door. Donna poked her head in, "Josh, Carol called -- CJ. There you are. Carol's looking for you. Danny woke up."
"Oh, boy," CJ muttered. "Thanks, Donna." CJ pushed herself up, groaning a little with the effort. She flipped open her leather folio, then laid an expensive silver pen on Josh's desk. "Here," she said, her tone gentle. "Don't break that one."
Josh managed a smile. "Thanks." He watched her disappear through his doorway, then picked up the pen she'd given him. He laced the cool metal through his fingers and stood, heading for the bullpen. "Donna," he shouted, stopping abruptly when she appeared in his path.
"Quit yelling," she admonished. "I'm right here."
"Good," he said. "Listen, I need you to pull 3 U.S.C. 19."
Donna nodded. "Okay. What's--?"
"Donna." But she was giving him that look that made him regret snapping at her. He lowered his voice so he couldn't be overheard by Will's ubiquitous interns. "1947 Act of Succession," he explained.
Donna's blue eyes grew wide. "Josh?" she asked nervously.
"We're not going to need it," Josh assured her. "Really. Just pull it for me in case, okay?" She nodded and moved to get him the relevant code. Josh watched her for a moment, and tried to convince himself that he wouldn't need it. President Bartlet wouldn't do that. Josh was almost sure that he was right.
***
Hour Five
Toby's steps slowed as he entered the hospital, with its pastels and its antiseptic scent. He'd never been entirely comfortable in hospitals, since trips there usually involved people he loved dying, or coming too damn close to dying. The last time he'd been to this particular hospital was the day that Josh was released, his frame gaunt, his breathing labored if he moved too much or too fast.
Today had been a much more positive experience, at least at the hospital. Then he'd answered his pager, and he'd had to tell Andy that Zoey was gone. When he'd left, he promised himself that he'd return with good news. He'd called once in the intervening hours, reaching only the charge nurse, to his relief, who had informed him that Andy was still sleeping and the babies were still fine.
And now he was back in the hallway outside her room, his footsteps echoing in the quiet. The nurse nodded a greeting, and Toby felt his attempted smile turn into a grimace. He turned away, pausing to steady his frazzled nerves. Toby wasn't one for emotional displays, preferring to deal with his feelings in private, and only when necessary. But given the highs and lows of the past 24 hours, he was on the skinny edge of a pretty impressive outburst of some kind, and the last thing he needed was for an orderly to sell the story of the White House Communications Director's breakdown in the middle of GW.
Gently, Toby pushed the door open and peered inside Andy's hospital room, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Andy was on her side, curled up like a child under the white blanket, her vivid red hair splayed out behind her. The pattern of light shifted, and he glanced at the TV mounted high up on the wall. CNN. Of course. And the anchors were still speculating on Zoey's fate, as the live shot of the front of the club occupied most of the screen.
He moved quietly to Andy's side, using the remote to turn down the volume before placing the chair next to her bed. Up close, he could see dried tear tracks on her cheeks, and he wanted to kick himself for leaving her. He'd been watching her for a few minutes when she opened her eyes unexpectedly, smiling groggily at him.
Toby wondered what she saw in his face, what caused her to reach for his hand and whisper, "Oh, Toby."
He swallowed hard past the tightening in his throat and tried to clear his expression, tried to look happy for her. They were brand new parents of healthy children, and that had to be worth something.
But Andy had remembered now. She glanced reflexively at the TV, an expression of sorrow and compassion on her face. The picture was the same as it had been all night, and the tagline still read "Bartlet Daughter Missing." She pushed herself up onto the pillows, wincing. "Toby--"
"Don't," he warned, suppressing his anguish as he fussed over her, tucking the blanket snugly around her shoulders.
She ignored him, as usual, and propped herself up on one elbow, reaching for him with her free hand. "Has anything--?"
"No," he interrupted, taking her hand between both of his. "No news."
Andy glanced at the clock, her expression darkening when she realized what time it was. "Still?"
Toby nodded. "Yeah." He knew as well as she did that the longer Zoey was missing, the worse her chances. The more time that elapsed, the farther from D.C. her captors could have taken her. Every moment, her trail grew colder.
But while Toby was generally not the most positive of people -- a point Andy had brought into sharp relief only hours before -- he refused to be realistic about Zoey. He knew horrible things happened every day. He just couldn't make himself believe that Zoey could be gone.
"How are the Bartlets?" Andy asked quietly.
"I don't know how to answer that question," he admitted. "I haven't seen Abbey, but CJ said someone's with her."
"A doctor," Andy surmised.
"Yes. And the President is -- I don't know." Toby sighed. "Leo says he's handling it, but won't go into detail. I'm not sure what to make of that."
Andy nodded slowly. "The President is an incredibly strong man. He'll handle it."
"How?" Toby asked, his voice sharper than he intended. "How can we expect him to handle this?"
Frowning, Andy studied him closely. "Toby?"
"Never mind." Toby nodded in the direction of the TV. "Have you been watching that?"
"A little. They don't have much in the way of facts, and I think the image of those two agents guarding the front of that club has been burned into my mind." Her tone was warm. "Mostly I've been sleeping." She squeezed his hand.
"Good," Toby decided. He tried to smile. "You deserve some rest. You did some pretty amazing stuff earlier."
She grinned back at him. "We women are a tough lot."
"I'll say," Toby answered. Despite the films he'd been forced to watch in their Lamaze classes, he hadn't been entirely convinced his kids would make it out of there alive. It just hadn't seemed possible. He gestured vaguely towards her midsection. "I thought you would, you know..." He shrugged. "Deflate more."
"Deflate?" Andy repeated, her tone incredulous. "Are you saying that I'm bloated?"
"Certainly not," Toby answered. "But you did expel two small children from in there."
Andy smoothed the blanket over her stomach and studied her shrouded figure. "I think I have slimmed down quite a lot in the last 24 hours," she announced. "I bet I could even touch my toes if I wanted."
Toby tried to look impressed, but his heart wasn't in it. Every time he let himself revel in the fact that the waiting was over, every time he took time out of worrying to remind himself that he was a father, he was hit with terror that he'd be the morose father Andy seemed to expect, and incredible guilt that he could think of himself at a time like this. How could he rejoice in the birth of his children when Zoey Bartlet was enduring untold horrors, and her parents were torturing themselves with worst-case scenarios?
"Toby?"
Andy had always been able to read him so well. Perhaps that was a part of the reason their marriage failed; he couldn't hide his anger, he couldn't hide his disappointment. And, as he'd learned so painfully, he apparently couldn't hide his infectious sadness. But at least she could answer the questions he was unable to ask.
"I don't want to dwell on," he hesitated, tilting his head towards the TV, "on such sadness tonight."
"Toby." Andy squeezed his fingers. "Don't do that. Tell me what's happening."
"Nothing," he answered. "Considering the sheer number of law enforcement agencies involved in this, we know very, very little about what happened."
She nodded slowly. "Do we suspect international terrorism?"
"It's a possibility that's being considered. Zoey's boyfriend was high on GHB, but he claims he bought Ecstasy."
"Do they think the dealer was involved?"
"Possibly."
"Qumar?" Andy guessed. "CNN mentioned something about a possible connection to sleeper cells in the states."
"I'm not in the Situation Room, Andrea. I don't know the details."
"Yes, you do," she argued, narrowing her eyes as she studied his face. "Is this because of Abdul Shareef?"
Toby told himself not to react, not to flinch. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"That's a politician's answer," she muttered.
"Well, I'm a politician."
"Not tonight, you're not," Andy told him. "Tonight, you're one of the closest friends of a man whose daughter has been abducted."
Toby made a disbelieving noise. "Leo is the President's friend; I am the President's Communications Director. He doesn't need me tonight."
"That's not true, Toby. He needs people he can trust to counsel him right now. Right now probably more than ever before, because he can't be dispassionate about this."
Toby met Andy's gaze. "Have you ever known this President to be dispassionate about anything?"
"Don't be argumentative, Toby. You know what I mean. And you know that I'm right."
Toby shrugged, frustrated. "I don't know what I can do to help with this. I don't want--" He looked away, swallowed hard. Andy didn't press, just waited quietly for him to speak. "I don't want to write the statement I might have to write," he confessed in a harsh whisper.
"You can't think like that," Andy said. "That's not going to happen. You need to go back to the White House, and you need to be there when the President calls for you, which you know he'll do."
Toby studied their intertwined hands, her small, pale fingers tangled with his. "Yeah." ,Toby thought about the arguments he'd had with the President over the years. He remembered pushing the President to face unpleasant realities, and he wondered if a similar situation was in store for him tonight. "What if--" Toby cleared his throat. "What if the President doesn't want to hear what I have to say?"
Andy lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "He'll argue for a half hour, he'll yell at you, and then he'll think about it."
Toby tried to block out the nightmare scenarios in his head, he tried to stop thinking about a shouting match in the Oval Office, about military retribution, about a father crazy with grief and rage.
"Toby." Andy waited until he met her gaze. "You'll know what to say to him. He trusts you to tell him the truth."
Toby turned that over for a few moments. "Yeah," he answered belatedly. "Okay."
Andy focused on the TV again, dropping back onto the pillows, sliding down a little and settling the blanket over her midsection. "I wish I could be with the Bartlets," she said quietly. "I wish I could do something."
"I'll let them know when I see them," he answered. The thought that had been niggling at him for hours, the idea he'd dismissed resurfaced. Toby watched Andy, watched the way she seemed to sink into the pillows tiredly. He told himself it could wait, that they could discuss it later.
Andy rolled onto her side, her intense gaze coming to rest on him. She didn't speak, but he could tell from the look on her face that she wouldn't let him leave until he told her what he was thinking.
Leaning closer, Toby gently brushed her hair back from her face, pushing it behind her ear, letting it drop to the pillow behind her. "The Secret Service Agent's name was Molly," Toby said matter-of-factly. "Molly O'Connor."
Andy watched him wordlessly for a moment, her eyes sparkling. He couldn't bring himself to suggest it, couldn't risk the words, because he didn't trust his voice. But he knew Andy would understand.
"Molly Ziegler," she said softly.
Toby swallowed hard. "Yeah," he managed, his voice rough. "Molly Wyatt Ziegler."
Andy exhaled slowly, not allowing herself to cry. "I'm tired, Toby. I'm going to take a nap." She smiled at him. "You should go tell Molly her name."
***
Leo trudged towards his office, feeling every one of his 60 years. It wasn't just the impossibly late hour, or the dreadful situation with Zoey, or the near miss with the plane, or the thought of doing what he was about to do. He could have handled any one of those situations, he told himself. He probably could've handled two of them. But all at once, it was just too much.
He rounded the corner into Margaret's small office. She was at her desk, but her head was in her hands, elbows propped on the desk, and he thought for a moment she was asleep. He was weighing whether to wake her or face her wrath later on when she jerked suddenly upright, wide eyes on him.
"Leo."
"Margaret, I need to make a phone call," he said.
She pushed herself upright. "Okay. Would you like some coffee, Leo?"
He shook his head. "I'm fine."
Margaret gave him her best disapproving look, but her own face was lined with fatigue, so she really had no room to talk. "It's nearly five o'clock in the morning."
With a tired shrug, Leo gave in. "Fine, get me some coffee, but get yourself some, too. Or better yet, go get some sleep."
The set of Margaret's jaw was answer enough. "I'll get you that coffee."
"Wait," Leo said as she skirted past. "I really need to make this call now."
Margaret nodded. "To whom?"
The words stuck in his throat for a moment. "The Speaker of the House. Get me Walken on the phone."
Margaret stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Then her mouth dropped open the slightest bit. "Leo?"
"Margaret, just get me the Speaker." Leo tried to retreat to his office, but Margaret stuck to him like a burr.
"Leo, the President--"
"Yes, Margaret," he said tiredly. "He's stepping aside. Now, please, get me the Speaker."
Margaret gave him her big, hurt eyes for a beat. "I was going to ask how he was feeling."
"How do you think he's feeling?" Leo snapped, his voice rising in frustration. "His daughter's vanished, an agent died tonight, there's a ransom note, Margaret! The President is displaying the ultimate respect for this office by stepping aside, now would you please get me the Speaker of the House on the phone!"
She pursed her lips, but didn't speak, turning towards the door as if to absent herself before Leo had time to apologize. Later, on a better day, he'd make it up to her. Tonight, he didn't have the energy. Tonight, he had to brush up on the Constitution and make sure that blowhard Walken didn't destroy the Presidency (or the nation) during his brief -- God-willing -- tenure as Acting President.
"Leo," Margaret called from her desk. "Speaker Walken."
Leo took a moment to compose himself, then picked up the phone. "Mr. Speaker, I apologize for calling at this hour."
"Don't worry about it, Leo," Walken answered churlishly. "What can I do for you?"
"Are you watching CNN?"
"Should I be?"
"Zoey Bartlet is missing," Leo said by way of an answer.
"I know," the Speaker answered immediately. "I spoke with Josh Lyman a little after midnight."
"Good," Leo said, refusing to let his irritation seep into his tone. "Then you know that a Secret Service Agent was killed execution-style in the alley, and Zoey's panic button was found just outside the back door of the club."
"Are we at war?"
"No," Leo answered. "Not yet. We're not sure if this is an international incident. We've got a ransom note from the Bajhi cell, but no confirmation on whether they have her."
"Okay," the Speaker said. "Leo, I appreciate the update, but I'm not entirely sure why you're calling me--"
"I need you to get to the White House as soon as possible," Leo interrupted. "The President needs your assistance."
"My assistance," Walken repeated gruffly.
"Yes."
"In what capacity?" Walken asked, his tone carefully neutral, and Leo knew he'd guessed the reason for a call from the White House.
"Until the situation is resolved," Leo answered, doing his best to keep any trace of bitterness out of his voice, "the President is invoking the 25th Amendment."
Silence spooled out on the line. "Well," the Speaker said finally. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Thank you, Mr. Speaker," Leo said, and then he hung up the phone and sat in silence for a long moment. The situation, the hour, the lack of sleep, the emotional fallout -- it was beginning to hit, but Leo couldn't afford it, not now, not yet.
"Leo," Margaret said quietly from the doorway. "Coffee."
Leo stood on tired legs and accepted the peace offering. He held Margaret's gaze. "Thank you," he said softly.
She smiled.
Leo took a sip of the coffee, hissing when it burned his tongue.
Margaret raised one finger. "Oh. I made it fresh. Might be hot. Want me to add an ice cube?"
Leo rolled his eyes and handed back the mug. "I need Charlie," Leo said, shifting back into gear. "Tell him to meet me on the Portico. I'm going to need the senior staff in about twenty minutes."
***
Hour Seven
"So help me God."
CJ stood in the Oval Office as she had hundreds of times before, but everything was wrong. This was the wrong situation, the wrong words, and absolutely the wrong man saying them.
Speaker Walken -- President, she corrected herself -- President Walken thanked the federal judge and glanced at the faces staring at him. His assistants moved closer, flanking him there in front of the President's desk, the move baldly territorial in CJ's opinion. Then Walken glanced at Leo and said, "Thank you, Leo. You'll keep me updated?"
Leo's voice was clear and strong when he answered, "Absolutely, sir."
"Okay, then," Walken answered, glancing at the senior staffers. "Y'all are dismissed."
There was an awkward moment of silence and inaction, when Bartlet's team tried to figure out what protocol demanded of them. Leo moved first.
"Thank you, Mr. President," Leo said, his expression impassive. His gaze shifted to Josh, whose terrible poker face revealed his intense disappointment.
Still, Josh straightened his shoulders, nodded to Walken, and said, "Thank you, sir."
Walken studied Josh for a moment, and CJ worried that he'd insist on Josh calling him "Mr. President." CJ wasn't entirely sure what would follow such a command, but she was pretty sure that Secret Service agents would be involved, and possibly an announcement about a new vacancy on the senior staff.
Thankfully, Walken dipped his chin in acknowledgment. Then CJ followed Josh's lead. Then Will, then Toby, then Charlie, and the senior staffers stumbled after Leo through the connecting door to his office.
Leo stopped in front of his desk, fingertips on the polished wood, shoulders just a little bit slumped, from sheer exhaustion or from the events of the past hour, CJ wasn't sure. He turned when he heard the door click shut. Josh, Toby, and CJ stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Leo, Will a half-step back, and Charlie leaned against the connecting door, as if he couldn't muster the strength to stand up on his own.
Leo looked at each of them in turn and then nodded. "I'm going to the Residence to see the President--"
"Which one?" Josh asked quietly. There was no bitterness in his tone, but disappointment emanated from him in waves.
"Josh," Leo snapped, "this was the President's decision to make--"
"He was wrong," Josh interrupted forcefully. "He made the wrong decision."
Toby shifted his weight, but didn't look at Josh. "No, he didn't."
Josh whirled around to face Toby. "Look, Toby, he should've talked to us--"
"Josh," CJ said quietly, meeting his angry gaze. It was a futile, pointless argument, and he knew it, but being Josh, he needed to exorcise his anger and his guilt by lashing out at someone.
Josh blew out a frustrated breath. "Right." He turned away, walking in a small circle as he ran a hand through his already mussed hair.
"I'm going to the Residence to see the President," Leo repeated with a pointed look at Josh. When no more remarks were forthcoming, Leo softened his tone. "I know you'd all like to see him, to sit through this hellish vigil with him, but the best thing you can do for him right now is your jobs."
Will took a tentative step forward. "I understand that, Leo, but what exactly are our jobs right now? Is the Speaker-- the--" He shrugged. "Is the Acting President going to want us to write his speeches? Or give his press conferences?"
"This is just temporary," Leo answered firmly. "It's just until we get Zoey back."
No one said it aloud, but CJ knew they were all thinking the same, horrible thing. What if they never got Zoey back?
Josh, who had always treated Zoey like the younger sister he never had, was the first to break the silence. CJ wondered if it was because the thought she might not be found was something he couldn't stand to contemplate. "Okay," Josh said. "Until -- until then, we keep the White House running flawlessly, so the real President has no trouble when he resumes his powers."
Leo nodded. "I'm sure that President Walken is going to want his own people around him, but they're going to have to work out of the OEOB. This is President Bartlet's White House."
Charlie pushed away from the door. "I'm going to the Residence," he announced quietly, avoiding the sympathetic looks from CJ, Will, and Josh.
"Charlie," Leo called, "tell him I'll be up in a few minutes."
Charlie nodded and closed the door behind him.
"I've got my phone," Leo told them. "I'm not leaving this building. You have a problem, any sort of squabble with the Acting President's staff, you find me and I'll handle it. Understood?"
"Yeah," Toby answered softly. "This is a unique situation, and the press is going to be all over us. We're going to be living in a fishbowl for as long as this lasts. The President is going to be fighting an uphill battle when he comes back into power, and we can't afford stories about intra-staff squabbles on top of that."
"If that's for me," Josh said, wheeling on Toby, "I'll keep the squabbling to a minimum."
"It wasn't for you," Toby answered, rocking back on his heels as he held Josh's gaze. "It was for all of us." He nodded to Leo. "Will and I will work on the statement."
Leo checked his watch. "Good. We've got an hour or so. CJ, stay out of the press room until after the announcement. Josh, the staff is going to look to you."
Josh nodded slowly. "I know."
"Good." Leo moved towards the door. "I'm going to the Residence."
"Tell him--" CJ broke off with a shrug. "Tell him whatever he needs, we're here."
Leo managed half a smile for her. "I'll tell him."
CJ nodded and watched Leo as he left, his slight limp more pronounced tonight than normal. Then she glanced at Toby, who wore a somber expression. Josh had his arms crossed and still looked angry, and Will was fidgeting, just a little.
CJ shrugged. "So. What do we do now?"
Toby grimaced and moved towards the door. "Will and I have the announcement."
Will nodded at CJ and followed his boss, leaving Josh and CJ alone in Leo's office. They exchanged a look, and Josh gave his unruly hair another swipe.
"What do we do now?" he asked, repeating her question.
"Yeah," CJ answered.
"Hell if I know."
THE END
06.02.03