Bloodlines
By Nomad
June 2002
Spoilers: I'd say everything up to "Night Five" is fair game.
Disclaimer: I don't own the extended Bartlet family or any of the other characters featured in this fic.
I
"CJ." She looked up, and frowned at the middle-aged reporter standing before her.
"Eric?"
Eric was an old-school reporter, a veteran of the White House beat. Unlike most of the eager young journalists out to prove themselves, it was rare for him to come to her to push private points or ask for clarification. When Eric had a question, he raised it in the pressroom, loud and clear and perfectly honed to give her the minimum of wriggle room.
"Can we talk?"
She nodded and rose to close her office door, taking in his sober expression. Oh, God. Bombshell. She quickly ran over in her mind a list of possible explosions, and came up blank. Wasn't every possible scandal they had out in the open already? The president seemed perfectly healthy, Leo wasn't drinking, and Sam wasn't picking up call-girls. Josh?
Her heart skipped a beat as she followed that thought to the next logical step. Stanley. If the press had hold of the news that the president had been talking with a psychiatrist...
She tried to look on the bright side. Hey, maybe he's just gonna tell me he's heard there are half a dozen nuclear missiles headed our way.
Eric produced a manila envelope. "There's a story, CJ. I don't like it. But it's happening."
"You're giving me a heads up?" she demanded, surprised. That sort of behaviour she might just expect from a smitten Danny, but a hardened old pro like Eric?
He tapped the envelope meaningfully against the desk. "All the lead time in the world isn't gonna keep this one down, CJ. I'm giving you the heads up because it's not politics, and I don't like it."
He handed her the envelope, and she took it with suddenly numb fingers. "Thank you."
Eric nodded, and left. It was a long moment before CJ could bring herself to tug the envelope open and slide the contents out onto her desk.
She read for a moment. Then she very carefully slid the glossy black and white photograph out from behind the written copy. And then she closed her eyes, feeling sick.
"Oh, Jesus."
Leo looked up as Margaret appeared in his doorway. "CJ," she told him.
"Send her in."
He took one look at the press secretary's face, and his day abruptly disappeared downhill. "CJ?"
"Leo, there's a story," she said without preamble. "And it's bad."
"How bad?"
"The worst."
"The worst?" he asked, with a cynical eyebrow that reminded her just how bad some of the previous had been. His stomach took an abrupt drop as CJ simply nodded.
"It concerns the president."
She handed him an envelope, and he took it with sweaty hands. He pulled out the folded sheet inside and began to read, and then let out his breath in an explosive sigh. "C'mon, CJ, this is unmitigated bull-"
"There's a picture," she said pointedly. Leo looked down at the envelope as if she'd told him it had a bomb in it. Gritting his teeth, he slid the photograph out. And looked at it.
He lowered his head into his hands.
"Holy Mary, mother of God."
"Yeah."
He looked back up at CJ. "Get everybody in here. Now."
Josh, Toby and Sam came skidding into Leo's office.
"What's going on?" demanded Josh.
"We've got a smear story," CJ supplied.
Toby grimaced. "Stay above it," he advised. "We're not gonna-"
"It's bad," Leo cut him off.
"How bad, Leo?" asked Josh gingerly.
"Bad." He straightened up in his seat. "The story is that the president has an illegitimate son. Thirty-one years of age, living in New Hampshire."
The explosion of disbelieving sounds was simultaneous. "C'mon, Leo, they expect anybody to believe that kind of crap?" demanded Sam.
"There's a picture."
Everybody froze. "What... kind of picture?" asked Toby slowly.
"This kind." He slid it across the desk.
Everybody looked down at the black-and-white glossy. Just a snapshot, a young man in a sports jacket, twisting round to talk to somebody. A young man with a profile so familiar, only the clothes and the make of the car behind him proved the picture was not that of another man, twenty years in the past.
One by one, they all looked up at the Chief of Staff. "The boy's a Bartlet, Leo," said Josh softly. Leo nodded.
"That's a given." He stood up.
"What do we do, Leo?" asked Sam, looking lost and suddenly very young.
"You find out every single possible scrap of information about where this story came from." He took a steadying breath. "And I... will go and speak to the president."
Right then, not one person in that room envied him the closeness of his relationship with their leader.