Carpe Diem, a west wing fanfic

Fanfic: Carpe Diem

Carpe Diem
Jane Harper
RATING: PG-14
SUMMARY: Sarah gets thrown into the politics and personalities of the President's staff in order to help them heal from the assassination attempt. Begins about a month after the Rosslyn shootout.
ARCHIVE: Help yerself. HTML version supplied upon request.
DISCLAIMER: We didn't start the fire ..

After a meeting with her supervisor, Sarah Cooper, chaplain intern, ran into the Chief of Trauma Services in the hallway outside the cafeteria. He had already walked past her when he spun around, backtracked, and stopped in front of her wheelchair.
"Hey Sarah, your year here is just about up, isn't it?"
"Oh hi Mike. Yeah, it is. And I found out today that there's not going to be a new position for me to stay on in, so if you know anybody who wants to hire a chaplain, let me know."
The tall bearded man laughed. "I can't say I'm surprised that we're not adding positions. You won't be unemployed, though. Things come up when you least expect them. And with your being a chaplain AND a nurse, something's bound to surface."
"Well, I try to be optimistic, but it's not like I could go back to nursing. Still, I'll keep a positive outlook. And thanks for keeping your ear to the ground." She rolled off in search of lunch.
Later in the afternoon, Sarah was working on her resume when her office phone rang.
"Sarah Cooper."
"Please hold for the First Lady."
A few moments of hold music, then Abigail Bartlet's clear voice came over the line. "Sarah, this is Abbey Bartlet."
"Yes Dr. Bartlet. How can I help you?"
"I'm hoping I can help you. I hear you're looking for a job."
"Excuse me, ma'am? I mean, yes, I am, but how—"
"This is the White House, Ms. Cooper. We know people who know people who … ." Sarah could hear a smile in her voice. "Would you be willing to come by my office tonight? Say about six?"
She cleared her throat. "This evening? Uh .. well .. I don't know .. I'm dependent on District Paratransit .."
"Well, we won't let a little thing like that get in the way. I'm going to give you to one of my executive assistants, and she'll arrange whatever you need."
Click! More hold music. Sheesh. It's four-thirty. I don't have anything to wear – I don't have time to change anyway – oh well; I guess it's come-as-you-are.
Sarah spent the next half an hour spinning her wheels, caught between getting any work done and trying to prepare for the meeting. What can Dr. Bartlet possibly have for me to do? They're Catholic, what do they need with a Jewish chaplain?? Or a nurse in a wheelchair?? This is crazy … Finally she just gave up, realizing that she'd have to wait to see what the First Lady had in mind.
Seeing the White House from a distance was breathtaking; seeing it up close was intimidating. The car brought Sarah in through the East Appointment Gate and to the entrance that led to the First Lady's offices. As she rolled up to the metal detector, she pasted on a silly smile and said to the guard, "I can pretty much guarantee that this thing's gonna go off."
"No problem," the guard responded, checking Sarah's person with a wand, then opening an aluminum gate and waving her through. She was met by Dr. Bartlet's Assistant Chief of Staff, Millicent Green. A gracious lady fully ten years Abbey's senior, she steered Sarah smoothly through the corridors and up the elevator to her appointment. Dr. Bartlet was as Sarah had remembered her, an attractive woman whose auburn hair was never quite in place but whose smile was infectious. Today, though, the smile seemed a bit forced.
Abbey came around her desk to shake Sarah's hand, and motioned her over to a cushy-looking sofa upholstered in a splashy print. "Can we get you anything, Sarah?"
"No, thanks, Dr. Bartlet, I'm fine."
"Thank you for coming over on such short notice," Abbey continued. "The President and I have wanted to see you again, to thank you for the kindness you showed us during that long night after the shootings."
"Don't mention it, ma'am. I wish we had met under more comfortable circumstances, but I was happy to be able to be of service."
"Well, we'd like to call upon that willingness again, if we might."
"Anything I can do for you or the President, I'd be pleased to."
"Well," Dr. Bartlet began, leaning forward toward Sarah's chair, "in the weeks since the shootings, there have been … well, problems. I know you're aware of the kind of changes people go through in these circumstances, because you've worked with critical incident stress teams. Unfortunately, when the critical incident involves the President's staff, or his family, we can't just call in the Federal Occupational Health people; there'd be a hue and cry from the Press Room to the halls of Congress. We have to be circumspect about whom we approach to help us with these issues, and since you've already been involved and already know most of the individuals, the President and I think you're a good candidate."
Sarah wanted to pinch herself, but she just took a deep breath and waited.
"We wanted to do something non-traditional, something that might slip by under the radar of the press so that we can heal without worrying about managing the spin of the situation. So we thought that bringing in a nurse, rather than a psychologist or a physician, would be appropriate."
"With all due respect, Dr. Bartlet, I'm not sure you can completely avoid having to spin this, but I suspect a non-traditional approach might keep press queries to a minimum."
"There's a more personal aspect, too," the First Lady continued. "There have been some … the person who seems to be showing the strain the worst is our daughter Zoey. Physically, she's fine; but her psyche and her spirit are showing signs of strain. The President and I felt a chaplain's help would be of great assistance to her." Abbey blinked rapidly, folded her hands in her lap, and continued. "Would you be willing to step in and help us? Zoey needs someone …"
"Of course I'm willing, Dr. Bartlet, but wouldn't a Catholic chaplain be more appropriate?"
Abbey smiled and bit her lip for a moment. "Sarah, there are two kinds of Catholic chaplains in the world: priests and sisters. Zoey's not really religious, especially not the way her father is – I suspect the last person she'd feel comfortable confiding in would be a member of either of those groups. She has too many issues with the Church. I think someone of another religious perspective – someone like yourself, who's deeply spiritual but doesn't wear it on her sleeve – would be good for Zoey."
"Dr. Bartlet, I'd consider it an honor to do what I can for your daughter, and for any of the other survivors of the incident who might need me."
"Good. The President and his staff and I discussed it, and we feel it would be best for you to work out of my office rather than in the West Wing itself."
"I think that's a good decision; having some physical distance often enables people to feel safer, less likely to be scrutinized. But being in the same building keeps me from seeming too far away."
"Besides," the First Lady added with a smile, "the women's room in this wing is accessible; I'm afraid the one on the other side of the building isn't."
"I suspect that FDR had his own … facilities," Sarah responded with a grin.
"How long would it be before you could join us?"
"Well, the folks at GWUH know I'd have to leave when my year is up, and that's in two weeks. Would it be all right to wait until then?"
"You'll probably be glad you did. Your life will never be the same once you've pitched your tent in this madhouse." Abbey rose and extended her hand to Sarah once again. "Congratulations, Sarah – and welcome to the White House."
The next two weeks alternately flew and crawled. There wasn't enough time for Sarah to put closure to her projects at the Hospital, but she couldn't wait to assume her new responsibilities. The hardest part of all was not telling anyone where she was going; the First Lady hadn't asked her to keep silent, but Sarah felt discretion was the better part of valor. If people knew where she was going, somebody might wonder why, and then the chase would be on.
Late on her last evening at GWU she was packing the final few items from her office into her backpack when she heard a tap on the door.
"Speak now or forever hold your peace," she called over her shoulder. "I'm outta here …"
She spun around to see Sam Seaborn and Josh Lyman standing in her office doorway.
"Hey," she greeted them, "it's the Hardy Boys!" Both of them bent to give her a hug. "You guys ready for me?"
"I don't know," Sam responded. "I think maybe it's a good thing you'll be over on the other side of the building."
"We came to bust you out of here," Josh offered. "This is your last chance to spend an evening unscathed by political shenanigans. Carpe diem!"
Sam flung Sarah's backpack over his shoulder and grabbed the handles of her chair. "C'mon, lady, the drinks are on us."
Josh and Sam took Sarah to an out-of-the-way bar and restaurant, where, after a couple of beers, they presented her with a calligraphed parchment in a brushed aluminum frame. At the top, it read: "Rules Of Public Service". She scanned it, saw that it was a series of sarcastic comments on life in the political soup, and decided to read it later.
"No, no, Sarah, you've got to appreciate this NOW!" Josh insisted. Picking up the frame in his left hand, he read, "'Never tell anyone what you really think, for they might actually understand you.'" I think that's the most important one, don't you, Sam?"
"Sure, buddy," Seaborn responded. "Maybe it's time for us to eat something." He flashed a look at Sarah, who frowned and subtly nodded.
"Yeah, I'm hungry," she agreed. "Let's check the menu."
"Whatever." Lyman replied.
Several hours – and a lot of beer – later, the three were on their way to take Sarah home. Sam was staring out the window of the taxi, and Josh was alternately snoring and muttering to himself.
"I'm worried about him," Seaborn said. "I mean, he used to know his limits, and this is getting to be a pretty frequent thing."
"Well, that's how some people respond to something like the shooting." Sarah looked directly at Sam. "How are you doing?"
"Me? Oh, I'm fine."
"When can Josh go back to work?"
"Another couple of weeks, the doctor says. I hope it helps him."
"It might. In any case, I'll be there when you need me."
She didn't say if, she said when.

Monday morning early Sarah reported to the White House Personnel Office to fill out the dozen or so forms that accompanied entry into government service. It was late morning by the time she was finished and went up to the First Lady's suite of offices in the East Wing. Sally, Dr. Bartlet's secretary, met her at the elevator.
"Hi, Sarah. Let me show you to your office."
It was a small room in the opposite corner of the East Wing from the First Lady's, but it was big enough for a comfortable chair and a desk and a bookcase with a little room to spare. And on the desk there were three separate bouquets of flowers.
"Well," Sally said, "looks like you already have a fan club! This one—" she pointed at a bunch of carnations—"is from Lilly Mays, the First Lady's Chief of Staff, but I don't know about the other two." She stepped aside and let Sarah roll her chair through the door. "Just let us know if you need anything. The computer guy will be here this afternoon to get you connected to the network, and one of the pool secretaries will be by later to bring you a supply catalog so you can get the stuff you need for your office. Welcome to the White House." She walked quickly down the hallway.
Sarah took the backpack off her chair and settled it on the desk, then pulled the two mystery bouquets toward her. One was a beautiful big vase full of multicolored blooms with a card that said, "Welcome from the President and First Lady," and the other was a much smaller bunch of daisies and daisy mums with a much bigger card that said, "Welcome to the zoo, from the inmates" and was signed by Josh, Toby, Sam and Donna, all of whom she had spent time with while Josh was in the hospital.
She had begun unpacking her backpack when a rap came at the door. She looked over to see a tall thin redhead with a potted plant in her hand.
"Hello," Sarah said.
"Hello. You're Sarah Cooper?"
"Yes."
"Hi," the woman said, extending a hand. "I'm Margaret Williamson, Leo McGarry's secretary. He asked me to bring these by and tell you that he's glad you're here to work with the staff."
"I'm sorry," Sarah said, accepting the proffered hand, then shaking her head. "Do I know Mr. McGarry?"
"He's the President's Chief of Staff. I think you met at the hospital."
She had to think for a minute. He must have been the rude one who was always barking orders at people, the one who looked at her when she first came in and yelled "Who the hell is she?" Maybe he meant for the gift to apologize.
"I'm very glad to meet you, Margaret. Please thank Mr. McGarry for me."
"I will. He'd like to meet with you at your earliest convenience. I think he has some time this afternoon, would that be too soon?"
"Of course not, just call and let me know when."
"What's your extension?"
Sarah looked over at the phone. "Six four two three."
Margaret wrote it on her hand, waved, and was off down the hall.
Just as Sarah unpacked the last of the items in her backpack, the phone rang.
"Sarah Cooper."
"Hi Sarah, this is Sally. The First Lady wonders if you could have dinner in the Residence with the First Family this evening."
"Of course! What time?"
"Seven thirty?"
"I'll be there."
She supposed that this was her chance to get to spend some time with the First Daughter, to see if the chemistry between counselor and client would work. She devoutly hoped that it would.

She was supposed to go down to McGarry's West Wing office at six, but at a quarter till she was in the West Wing lobby arguing with a uniformed Secret Service guard.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Cooper," he said, "but you're not on my list for West Wing access."
"I work for the First Lady," she said.
"Congratulations," he responded. "But you're still not on my list."
"I have an appointment with Leo McGarry."
"Why didn't you say so?" the officer asked. He picked up a phone and a moment later Margaret came out to get me.
"I'm sorry," she said. "We need to get you the right bells and whistles so you can have the run of the building."
"That's OK," Sarah responded. "It's going to take a little getting used to, being surrounded with all this . . . " she waved her arms.
"I'm not sure anybody ever gets used to it," she replied, leading Sarah down the hallway into her office. "Can I get you anything while you're waiting? Leo will be done in a few minutes."
"No, thanks, Margaret. You're very gracious." Sarah was, now that she was surrounded by the trappings of the White House instead of her own familiar turf, feeling more and more intimidated and in awe of her circumstances. Just as her mouth was going dry and she began to understand why Margaret offered everyone coffee or soda, she heard a familiar voice.
"Sarah! I heard you were coming over this evening." Donna came in from the hallway to give her a hug. "Welcome to the madhouse!"
"You going to come over to see me?" she asked the lithe blonde with a smile.
"Once we get Josh back so I'm not doing two jobs at once, definitely. Gotta scoot, I just wanted to say hi."
The huge wooden door to the inner office opened, and the gruff man Sarah recalled from the Presidential Suite at GWUH emerged, only with a broad smile on his features instead of the scowl she remembered, and with a much softer voice than before. "Sarah? Good to see you again, come on in." He waved toward the spacious interior.
She rolled past him and came to a stop before the huge desk. He pulled one of the chairs that usually stood there away to make room for her, and sat down in the other, facing her. After a brief beat, they both started talking at once, then both stopped at once, and laughed.
"After you, sir," she said.
"'Sir' is the guy in the office next door. Call me Leo."
"The office next door?"
McGarry got up. "You haven't had the tour, I see." He walked over to the connecting door. "Wait here a second." A few moments later he re-emerged and beckoned to her.
She propelled herself through the anteroom and into the Oval Office, stopping dead when she realized where she was. McGarry was standing in the middle of the room waving her toward the President's desk, as he came around from behind it with a hand extended toward her.
"Sarah, I'm so glad to see you've joined us."
"Nice to see you vertical, sir," she said with a nervous laugh, shaking his hand.
"Nice to be vertical," he responded. "I understand we'll be seeing you for dinner in the Residence this evening."
"Yes, sir," she answered.
"Well, Mr. President, we won't take up any more of your time then," the Chief of Staff interjected.
Bartlet nodded. "Thank you, Leo. Thank you, Sarah."
"Thank you, Mr. President," they both said in response, and returned the way they came.
Once they were back in McGarry's office, she turned to him and smiled. "That was a dirty trick, you know," she said. "You should have warned me."
"I know," he answered with a twinkle and a smirk. "But if you're going to do what needs to be done, you'd better get over those starry eyes." He leaned up against his desk and unbuttoned his jacket. "These are real people, and they've been through a real tragedy."
"I know that very well, Mr. McGarry."
"Leo," he corrected her.
"I've seen their real blood all over the floor and dried their real tears," she continued. "Just because I'm awestruck in the Oval Office doesn't mean I lose track of their humanity."
"That's good," he responded, "because sometimes I do."
She smiled. This man was an interesting mixture of arrogance and self-awareness. This late in the day, he was beginning to look a bit as if he'd been rode hard and put up wet, but the air of efficiency and total dedication was intact, as was the mischievous twinkle that occasionally popped up in his eyes.
He returned to the big leather chair behind the desk. "I won't keep you any longer," he concluded, with a smile. "Don't hesitate to let Margaret know if you need anything, anything at all."
This was clearly a dismissal. "Thank you, Mr. McGarry." She left to go back to the East Wing.

Sarah was escorted into the Residence at a little past seven o'clock and greeted by the First Lady.
"My husband tells me that Leo brought you by to say hello this evening."
"Yes ma'am, and I don't mind saying it was a dirty trick."
Abbey laughed. "You're probably right. And I can empathize, I hate being handled, too. If you call him on it, he'll stop."
"Which 'him', ma'am?"
"Please call me Abbey."
"OK Abbey, which 'him' were you referring to? The President or Mr. McGarry?"
"Yes," Abbey answered. "And nobody calls Leo 'Mr. McGarry'."
"I sincerely doubt that."
"OK, let me rephrase. Nobody who works here calls him Mr. McGarry."
The sound of a door closing announced the arrival of the First Daughter. "Zoey," her mother said, "you remember Sarah, from the hospital?"
The young woman nodded and extended a hand. "Nice to see you again."
"Sarah's joining us for dinner, honey."
"OK. What are we having? Tell me it's not chili."
"It's not chili. We only let your father do that once a year, and he's booked up past 2010."
Sarah tried to watch the First Family with something resembling clinical detachment, but found herself being charmed by these people who maintained so well while living in a fishbowl. The President was a bit preoccupied, as she would expect, but attentive when he was focused. Abbey was solicitous, maybe a little too solicitous, of her daughter, who seemed a bit subdued and withdrawn. After dinner, the President withdrew to his study and the First Lady to hers, and left Sarah and Zoey to have some time alone.
"I figure you know what the agenda was for dinner," the older woman said.
Zoey nodded. "I know you helped Josh and Toby and Sam and Donna after the shooting. Mom thinks I need somebody to talk to."
"Everybody needs somebody to talk to sometimes. Who do you share stuff with?"
"I have a couple of friends at school," she said, "but they don't really understand what it's like."
"I'm not sure anybody who hasn't been the President's kid can understand," Sarah responded. "I know I sure couldn't, not really."
"You know, I could handle it if people hated me for something I did – but instead it's for somebody I am," she said, sighing.
"I can relate to that," Sarah replied.
"You can?"
"Of course. I'm Jewish."
"Oh," Zoey said, embarrassed. "I forgot."
"That's OK."
They spent an hour and a half talking about men, and college, and men, and studying French, and men, and hospitals, and men. "Don't go by my experience," Sarah told her, "I've had two crappy marriages. If you want to look at a relationship that works, look at your folks. They're way over on the other side of the curve, staying together this long."
"Yeah," Zoey responded, "but they have to, they're Catholic."
"I think if somebody really wants out of a relationship," Sarah said, "being Catholic won't stop them. But your folks have worked real hard – I mean, keep working real hard – to stay together. They're really good models for you, even if they are your parents." She grinned.
"Yeah, my folks are pretty great."
At about nine-thirty, Sarah started to excuse herself to come home. She didn't want to disturb the President or Abbey, so Zoey walked her to the elevator and saw her off.
"I can come see you sometimes?" the First Daughter asked.
"I'd like that," Sarah answered. "I'd like that a lot."

A couple of days later there was a rap on Sarah's door.
"Come in!"
It was Sam.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey yourself. C'mon in and take a load off." She waved toward the brand new comfy chair.
"You've done nice things in here," he began.
"Yeah well, it's a cubbyhole, but mine own." She looked at his rumpled hair and droopy eyes. "You look really tired, Sam. Are you sleeping ok?"
"I'm fine."
"Sam .. this is me."
"I'm fine, dammit!"
"OK." She waited for a few beats. "How are things on the other side of the building?"
"Same shit, different day," he said.
She leaned over and put her hand on his arm, but said nothing.
"I'm worried about Josh," he admitted finally. "Either he's acting like nothing happened, or he's going out like the other night and getting ripped."
"You can't make Josh deal with it. He has to come around in his own time. The only person you can lead through the process is Sam Seaborn."
"Do I have to go there?" he asked quietly.
She nodded. "Sooner or later. You can lance a boil with a scalpel or a set of bolt cutters, but the stuff has to come out. The only questions are, how much will it hurt, how long will it take, and how big will the scar be."
He shook his head, then got up and walked out of the office.

Two weeks after starting her duties at the White House, Sarah was discouraged. She spent time every day in the West Wing, but with the preparations for the midterm elections beginning, she was feeling like a fifth wheel. One Tuesday evening late in July, though, she stopped feeling that way.
She was sitting in Josh's office shooting the bull with him and Toby when her pager went off and read 911, and the residence number. "Uh oh," she said, and headed for the door without saying anything more. She sped to the elevator to the residence, and when she arrived across from the China Room the agent waved her inside.
Abbey met her just inside the door.
"What's wrong, Mrs. Bartlet?"
"It's Zoey. She went to some event at school and freaked out. Her detail brought her home, but now she's locked herself in her bathroom and won't come out."
A thin dark-haired woman came striding down the hallway and stopped next to Abbey, holding out a hand toward Sarah. "Hi, I'm Gina Toscano, Zoey's AIC. Think you can help us out here? We don't want to have to kick down the door and go busting in there if we can help it."
Sarah looked up at her. "I'll do the best I can."
Gina beckoned to her and the three women went up the hallway to Zoey's bedroom. "We were going to a party," the agent began, "and just as we arrived somebody set off some firecrackers left over from Independence Day. Mike and I knew what they were, but Zoey didn't, and she freaked out, jumped back in the car and started screaming. We brought her back here instead of to the dorm, she ran into her room and locked herself in the bathroom. That's when we called you."
"What happened to the guys with the firecrackers?" Abbey asked.
Gina grinned. "They got an eyeful of blue steel and an earful of lecture."
"Good for you," the First Lady said.
Sarah rolled up right next to the door and knocked softly. "Zoey? It's Sarah Cooper. I heard what happened."
Silence.
"Can I come in?"
Silence.
"You don't have to come out, I just want to come in. Nobody will force you to come out unless you want to. If you feel safe in there, then you can stay."
The door opened a crack. Gina came closer but Sarah waved her off as she opened the door a little farther. Zoey was in the far corner of the room sitting on the side of the bathtub.
"I'm gonna have to open this door wide so I can get in, Zoey. Is that OK?"
The girl nodded but did not speak.
Sarah turned back to Abbey and Gina and said, "We're OK. Would you mind waiting outside the room? I don't think Zoey's going to feel good about my opening this door all the way up if you're right there."
"We'll be right out here," Gina said after Abbey nodded, and they pulled the bedroom door mostly closed behind them.
"OK, Zoey, everybody else is gone, can I come in now?"
"OK," the youngster said.
Sarah rolled in and pushed the door shut behind her. "Must have been pretty scary."
Zoey nodded. "All I could think of was— was—"
"I know." She waited a few moments then went on. "If I were in your shoes I'd probably feel like a nut magnet."
The First Daughter laughed. "It's not just scary because of me. Everybody around me—" she stopped.
Sarah leaned forward a little. "I'd worry how many more people were going to get hurt because I was around."
Tears appeared in the girl's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "Sarah, they almost killed my Daddy, because of me."
"No, Zoey, that's not true. It wasn't because of you. It was because there are sad and sick people in the world, they try to hurt people they don't understand. They're scared because the world is changing too fast, and they think violence is a way to make that stop."
She didn't say anything, but her body language relaxed a little, so Sarah continued. "People like that will find somebody to hate, regardless. If not you, they would have picked somebody else. You just showed up on the radar when they were looking for a scapegoat."
"How can people be like that?"
"I wish I knew. It might explain what happened to six million of my people."
"How can you not—" She stopped to take a deep breath. "—want to run away?"
"Where can I go? The world's too small. There's noplace left to hide. Besides, if I run, then they win. They get to tell me where I can be and where I can't, what I can do and what I can't."
"Who you can be with—"
Sarah nodded. "You've been through something horrible, and it's not going to be easy to begin to make sense of it, but I think we can, if we try. In any case, trying might make it a little less scary."
Zoey got up and went to the sink and threw some water on her face. "I look awful."
"You look beautiful. Want to go out and hug your Mom? She's worried."
The First Daughter walked out of the bathroom and into the arms of her family.

Several days later Abbey invited Sarah to lunch in her office. After the nosh, she leaned back on her sofa and said, "I just wanted to do something to say thanks for what you did with Zoey the other evening."
"That's why you brought me here, Dr. Bartlet. No thanks are necessary. I was lucky enough to be able to say the right thing at the right time." She put her coffee cup down. "There is something you might be able to help me with, though."
"I will if I can," the First Lady said. "Which hat am I wearing?"
"I guess it's your physician's hat. In confidence, please."
"OK."
"I suspect that at least one of the more-visible members of the staff either has or is about to develop a substance problem, so I'd appreciate your advice about how one goes about getting somebody high-profile into rehab. Or at least into a 12-step program."
"If it's Leo you're talking about, been there, did that, and I can almost promise you that he's not gonna lapse. There are no guarantees in life, but I'd personally bet the farm on his recovery."
"He's an alcoholic?"
"Don't you read the papers?" Abbey laughed. "It was all over them last winter. He's eight years sober and six plus clean from Valium."
"Do you know if he still goes to meetings? What meeting could the President's Chief of Staff possibly go to?"
"There is a meeting for high-profile people, or so I understand."
"So he's the one I should talk to about it?"
Abbey nodded.
"I should probably tell you, in the interest of full disclosure, that I'm twenty-five years clean myself."
"That's wonderful," she responded. "It helps to be able to speak from experience if an intervention is necessary." There was a knock on the door and Abbey looked up. "I guess my appointment is here. Remember though, I'm here for you if you need me."
"I appreciate it, ma'am."
The First Lady smiled and stood to walk Sarah to the office door. "Tell Leo I sent you."
Sarah made an appointment to see him the following evening. When Margaret showed her in, he was leaning back in his leather chair behind the fortress of his desk. "What can I do for you, Sarah?"
"I came to ask you about your meeting."
"Which meeting might that be?"
"The First Lady said there's some sort of secure AA meeting you've been attending."
He blinked, pulled off his reading glasses and laid them on the pile of memos in front of him. "Why do you ask?"
"Two reasons, sir. First, there's at least one staffer here that I think may need an intervention before all this is over, and I'd like to see what kind of support is available for him or her. Second, I'd like to find a meeting for myself that's not too far away, in case I'm needed here in a hurry."
"I thought I told you, 'sir' is the guy in the office next door." His smirk widened into a smile for a second, then disappeared. "A meeting for yourself?"
"Yeah. Twenty-five years."
"You must have been young."
"Oh flatter me!" She laughed. "You've kissed the Blarney Stone."
He shrugged and grinned. "You still go to meetings?"
"Yeah, when I need to. And I'm feeling the need coming on."
"Well," McGarry continued as he stood up, "I'll have to talk it over with the meeting before I can bring you over. These folks are understandably paranoid."
She looked up and caught his eyes. "It must be scary to work in a setting where you can't really trust anybody."
He shrugged again, and walked around his desk to open the door for her. "I dunno, Sarah, I've never known anything else."
He extended a hand to her as she left, which she took and gave a perfunctory shake. "Thanks, Mr. McGarry."
He sighed. "It's Leo. And you're welcome. I'll be in touch about the other thing."

Late the following afternoon there was a rap on Sarah's office door. It was Donna.
"Hey," she greeted the Assistant Deputy Chief of Staff. "C'mon in and set a spell." She pushed the comfy chair with her foot.
Donna sat down and sighed. "I don't know how this works…"
"Well, it's a good start to say what you want to talk about. It's ok, just blurt it out."
"I'm so worried about Josh."
Sarah nodded.
"He looks so tired all the time, and he's . . . nasty."
"Nasty?" She gave a puzzled look.
"He says hateful things."
"Didn't he do that before? I mean, he's got a sarcastic sense of humor, sometimes that seems nasty when it's not really meant to."
"No," Donna shook her head. "He's always been sarcastic. Now he's insulting."
"How does that make you feel?"
"Lousy, how do you expect it to make me feel?"
"He aims some of these insults at you?"
"Yeah."
"I think that would really piss me off." She searched Donna's face for a reaction.
"It does, usually."
"Do you tell him?"
"Sometimes."
"When somebody steps on my toes, if I don't say 'ouch' they usually don't know they've done it."
"I know. It's just that he's been through so much—"
"He has. And I'm sure it's not really about you. He's just striking out, and because you're standing closest, you get hit first."
"What do you think I should do?"
"Well, Donna, I don't know what you should do, but I can tell you what I would do."
"What?"
"Well, if he said something that really hurt me, I'd say ouch. Otherwise, I'd just let it roll off. It wouldn't mostly have anything to do with me personally."
"OK."
"And remember, if he really gets to you, you can always come up here and I'll loan you the Nerf bat and you can beat the tar out of his picture." She grinned.
The willowy blonde got up and leaned over to hug Sarah. "I'm so glad we met you. It would have been so much harder—"
"Thanks. I'm here to do what I can."

Two weeks after she initially contacted him about the meeting, Leo called Sarah in her office.
"You still want to go to my meeting?" he asked, avoiding preliminaries.
"Yes sir."
He sighed. "Meet me here in the office at quarter till eleven."
"Tonight?"
"No, a week from next Tuesday. Of course tonight."
What a jerk! she thought. It was a reasonable question, how many meetings start at nearly midnight? "Yes, sir. I'll be there."
The line went dead.
That evening, Sarah borrowed the sofa in CJ's office for a nap. She woke up at ten-thirty and was in Leo's outer office by twenty till eleven.
"That you, Sarah?"
"Yes sir."
He sighed. "This 'sir' crap has got to stop, at least for tonight. There are going to be some _very_ high-profile people there, but everybody leaves rank at the door, and we're all first names inside the room. It's set up to look like a card game, and there's a Secret Service agent at the door. You'll know why when you get there."
"Yes sir."
He shot her a look.
"Yes, Leo."
"That's better," he said with a smirk.
She hadn't used the tunnel between the White House and the Old Executive Office Building before, so it was a good thing McGarry was with her, or else she would have gotten very lost. He introduced Sarah to the agent at the door.
"Bobby Lee, this is Sarah Cooper. She's going to be joining the game from time to time."
The two shook hands, and the agent smiled. "Hope you brought your wallet, Ms. Cooper. Mr. McGarry's a real card-sharp."
"Actually," she answered, smiling, "I left my wallet in my office, for that very reason. It's very nice to meet you, Bobby Lee."
He opened the door for the newcomers.

A few days later Sarah was doing her rounds of the offices and ran into CJ.
"Hey!"
"Hey yourself, Sarah. How's it going?"
"Pretty good, you?"
"Is that a personal or a professional question?"
"Do I have to choose one?"
The younger woman laughed and beckoned Sarah into her office. With a look, Sarah asked if she should close the door, and then did so.
"I'm worried about Toby," CJ said.
"Because .. ??"
"He's so angry. He storms around here like a tornado most days."
"If somebody had shot at me and my friends I'd be angry too!"
CJ nodded. "He's really out there, though."
"It's ok, that's where he needs to be. It'll pass. How are _you_ doing?"
She sighed. "I'm OK."
Sarah gave an exaggerated sigh of her own and rolled her eyes around. "What is it about you guys that you need to act like super heroes? Nobody around here is affected in the least by the fact that people shot a couple hundred rounds of ammo at you and damn near killed a friend!"
CJ blinked and stared. "What brought that on?"
"It's just not human, CJ. You guys are buttoned down so far that something's gonna explode." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm just so frustrated because I feel like I'm doing nothing to help."
"You are, Sarah. Just having you here to talk to is a help."
"So talk then."
"OK." She took a deep breath. "I think I may have told you, I didn't see anything that night because Sam knocked me down just in time to keep me out of the line of fire. The police car got its window blown out, right where I would have been standing."
Sarah nodded.
"I didn't really have time to be scared until afterward. Then it was really terrifying, because nobody knew anything, then we found Josh, and—" She stopped and took another deep breath. "And I had to come back here and be Business As Usual. And not one of the guys in the Press Room so much as inquired after my health. Not one. Not even Danny."
"You two are especially close?"
"Well sort of, he spent months last year chasing me around trying to ask me out. I almost went for it. But now . . . for weeks he's protesting his undying affection, then I damn near get blown away and there's not so much as a 'How are you?'!"
"That would have pissed me off plenty," Sarah said.
"The more I think about it, the angrier I get."
"Have you said anything to him?"
"No, why bother?"
"Because if I'm that angry and I keep it bottled up sooner or later it'll explode? And that'll be really messy?"
CJ laughed. "Ewwww," she said. "It would."
"I mean it," Sarah said. "It will. Make yourself feel better, give him a little grief, OK?" She grinned conspiratorially.
As if on cue, Danny Concannon knocked on the door. Sarah headed out and winked at CJ as she left.

Josh was on a roll. Donna had been after him to eat dinner, because it was late and he had missed lunch, and he went off on her. "Dammit, Donna, I don't know who's worse, you or those battle-axes who took care of me at GW!!"
Sarah's ears perked up from her seat in the bullpen. She rolled over to his office.
"I'm sorry, Joshua, what did you just say?"
"I said Donna was being as big a pain in the ass as those Nurses Ratchett who made my life miserable in the hospital!"
Donna looked over at him, wide-eyed. "Josh!"
Sarah's eyes narrowed. "I thought that was what you said." Her voice dropped and got colder. "Sit down, Joshua."
He remained where he was.
She rolled over to the space behind his desk and pushed him down in the chair. "I said sit _down_!" She took a deep breath. "Those 'Nurses Ratchett', as you put it, risk their lives every day to keep people alive. Do you know how many health care workers die every year of diseases they contract from their patients? How many have HIV or hepatitis from being stuck with contaminated needles? And those of us who work with the sickest people have the highest risk.
"And for this, we're worked long hours, paid lousy, given grief about taking sick time or vacations, and subjected to verbal and physical assault. Nurses who work in the Emergency Department of many hospitals can't even put their last names on their name tags for fear some gang-banger will hunt them down and kill them.
"Now I appreciate that you had a rough time in the hospital. But it's not the nurses' fault. It's the fault of those three assholes who decided that Charlie was a suitable object for target practice because he was dating the President's daughter. Take it out on them, Josh. Not me, not your friends, and certainly not Donna, who has been at your side since the night of the shooting for very little recompense and certainly no thanks!"
Josh sat there and stared and gaped at her. Suddenly her own discussion with Donna just a few days before played itself back in her head, and she heard herself saying "It's not about you Donna, just let it roll off."
She devoutly wished for the ground to open and swallow her.
"I'm— God, Josh, I'm really sorry—" She bolted from the room and went flying back to her office.
Sitting there alone she wanted to bang her head into the desk. Dammitall, I know better than that!! Why did I let him push my buttons? I should never have gotten angry. Never!
She put her head down on her desk and cried.

Sam was sitting in the White House Mess, and he looked like one. It was ten o'clock at night, there wasn't a soul around, and he was staring into space like a zombie.
"Sam? You OK?" Sarah asked.
No response.
"Sam??" She rolled over and put her hand on his arm.
"Huh??!?" He jumped a bit.
"You ok?"
"Yeah." He shook his head. "I'm fine."
"Sam Seaborn, excuse my French, but that's happy horseshit."
He shot her a look that would have frozen a hot-pot.
"Sweetie, I'm worried about you. When was the last time you had a good night's sleep?" She moved her hand to his. "A decent meal?"
"I am fine," he said from between clenched teeth.
"You are so not fine. But if you want to kill yourself, go right ahead. Just don't take any of the real heroes with you." She spun on a wheel and headed for the exit.
"Wait just a goddamn minute," he said, jumping up and running after her. He grabbed a handle on the back of her chair and spun her around. "Where the hell do you get off talking to me like that??"
"Where the hell do you get off feeling so damn sorry for yourself?" she retorted. "As if you're the only one this affected! I've been here for what, six weeks now? And all I've gotten from any of you is bullshit, I'm fine, he's the one you should be worried about. Cut the melodramatic crap, get mad, and get over it!"
He stepped very close to her, stiffened and clenched both fists. Sputtering with anger, he spoke very softly. "Sarah, you presume upon our friendship…"
She reached out and took one of those clenched fists between her hands. "No I don't. Look at yourself. How do you feel right now?"
"I'm furious!"
"Good! Who at?"
"You!"
"You sure? Whose fault is all this? Mine?" She waited a beat. "Certainly not yours!"
He looked as if he'd just been slapped. "No, of course, it's not . . . mine . . . It's not!" He blinked back tears. "Those bastards .. "
"It's OK, Sam. Come on up to the office and we'll talk…"

At the end of Sarah's first month at the White House, she met with Abbey to go over what still needed to be done, who needed referral, what other resources might have been necessary. At the end of the hour, Sarah sighed.
"There's one more thing I need to bring up, Dr. Bartlet."
"What's that?"
"I'm pretty sure I screwed the pooch with Josh. You may want to refer him out."
"I was pretty sure he was going to need some outside counseling. I was just hoping you could let me know when the time was right." Abbey peered over her glasses at her. "What happened?"
"I let myself get angry with him."
"Oh horrors," the First Lady said. "How dare you be human?"
"That's not the point, ma'am. You know it's totally inappropriate."
"As if other people never do anything inappropriate."
"But I'm—"
"Sarah, I hear a lot of what goes on around here, I have to. I heard that you got on somebody's case because the staffers here think they have to be super-heroes. Well, you're not one either. So cut yourself some slack, OK? Josh will be fine."
"I hope so." She got up to leave.
"Sarah?"
"Yes ma'am?"
"You're doing fine. I'm really glad you're here."
"Me too."