Author's Note: In the wake of publishing my longer "West Wing" Supreme Court fic Penumbra, some very generous reviewers have requested that I compose some variations on the same theme: a series of ficlets about the Lang Court over the years, or perhaps a less-platonic interpretation of EBL and Chris Mulready's relationship. I've been toying with some ideas to this effect, and what's emerged so far is this series of ten ficlets, about EBL and Chris Mulready's relationship before being nominated in tandem to the highest court in the land. Each chapter is very, very loosely inspired by a different amendment within the Bill of Rights, and I fully plan to move on to the rest of the amendments once our favorite jurists have been comfortably confirmed by the Senate and are ensconced in their marbled Temple of Justice. If nothing else, this is really my own bizarre love song to the U.S. federal judiciary, and I hope that you enjoy reading. :)

Any characters you recognize belong to Aaron Sorkin and the other creators of "The West Wing." Any amendments that you recognize belong intellectually to James Madison and constitutionally to all American citizens. Also, as previously disclaimed, I am not a trained lawyer and therefore must beg the indulgence (or gentle correction) of any readers with sounder understandings of American jurisprudence.

Equal Justice

AMENDMENT I

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Christopher Mulready was not used to being dressed down in public by anyone.

Especially by liberal judges.

Especially by extremely liberal female judges who had only been on the appellate bench for two months.

"Did I hear that right?" he grumbled to Art as they emerged from the air-conditioned cool of the hotel lobby into the luxurious Miami sunshine. "She was only elevated to the Fourth Circuit two months ago?"

Art immediately pulled the appellate panel program from his briefcase and began skimming it.

"AUSA in Baltimore... District Court judge in Greenbelt, Maryland... yeah, says here that she was confirmed by the Senate in June."

"After how long on the District Court?" Chris challenged him.

Art scowled.

"Only three years. Those Bartlet people certainly don't waste their time when it comes to promoting liberal sycophants like this one."

Chris stopped under the scant shade provided by a palm tree. As pleasant as locations like Florida always sounded when the American Bar Association sent out their annual conference brochures, three-piece suits did not mesh well with this sort of humidity.

"Well, I'll give her this much," he sighed. "She, of all people, deserved to jump to the Circuit level that quickly."

Art looked at Chris, concerned.

"You didn't sound that out of your element..."

"I wasn't expecting her to hit back quite so readily!" Chris ranted. "Yes, it ended more or less balanced, but there were one or two moments where I floundered for what I wanted to say. I floundered, Art. I just don't do that."

"But who wouldn't?" Art said bracingly. "Who wouldn't, when faced with such a barrage of barely-supportable arguments that all hinge on somewhat radical readings of the Fourteenth Amendment?"

"Art, you're a professor," Chris grumbled. "You know just as well as I do that any sensible originalist knows the activist line inside and out and can argue handily back against it. I've gotten intellectually lazy, and she exploited that fact."

"So you sit down with the liberals on the D.C. Circuit and have it out with them to sharpen your own arguments! It was one panel, Chris, attended by maybe 40 attorneys. This isn't going to impact the rest of your career. Calm down."

"Hmph." Chris wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and tried to ignore the damp spot developing on his lower back. "The thing about the liberals on the D.C. Circuit is that they're terrible debate partners. Constantly rehashing old and stale arguments that don't even speak to the point you were trying to make, getting horribly defensive about their positions and leaving in a huff the instant they feel too threatened... makes you want to scream, to be honest."

"And she didn't make you want to scream?" asked Art, laughing.

Chris considered this for a moment.

"Not really, no," he said finally. "She made me want to win the argument, badly. But only because she really took the time to engage me on each issue. It wasn't like she had turned up at the panel with a script of liberal talking points planned out in advance. She really listened to what I had to say, and just happened to have a perfect rebuttal for each thought."

"All derived from substantive due process?"

"All derived from substantive due process," sighed Chris. "OK, that did make me want to scream. But I acknowledge that it's a widely-accepted means of constitutional interpretation, and she has a First Amendment right to say what she will, even if she's wrong."

Art smirked. Chris noticed.

"What?"

"Nothing. It just sounds to me like you've identified a new intellectual rival."

"Did I really have an old one?" asked Chris, annoyed.

"Not my point. You just sound much more... I don't know, galvanized, than you usually do about these sorts of things. I'd almost argue that you enjoyed having your ego stepped on a little bit, back there."

"I thought you were defending my debate performance a moment ago," said Chris, slightly hurt.

"Look," Art reasoned, "everyone knows you're brilliant, and you're no exception to that rule. But I don't think it's a bad thing if you sometimes have your feet really held to the fire. It's only going to make you even more precise and thorough in your defenses and arguments, the next time you go head to head with someone who's as good at making a case as you."

"I suppose I'll just have to hope that round two is held in private," huffed Chris.

"Private or not, you'd better be ready for it," Art chastised. "She's on the Fourth Circuit, which is in your neighborhood. You definitely can't avoid her forever, and I'm going to make sure that you're ready when you do meet again."

"Can we at least find somewhere air-conditioned to grab lunch, before you begin your debate prep?" The humidity was compounding his hunger, and that was really beginning to make Chris irritated. "As I am really not in the most rational of moods right now, I vote first and foremost for finding food and a climate that doesn't make me want to go all Tom Buchanan on the world."

"Fair enough," said Art, who was from Savannah and didn't mind the heat and humidity nearly as much as Chris did. "But after we do..."

"Yes, yes." Chris sighed. "After that, we'll figure out how exactly I'm going to maintain any semblance of dignity the next time I face off against Evelyn Baker Lang."