Disclaimer: "The West Wing" and all related materials are the property of Aaron Sorkin, NBC, etc.
Author's Note: I think I wrote this more for my own closure than anything, but here it is.
Day One
by BJ Garrett
What happened in the minutes before they heard is unimportant. The world those things happened in no longer exists.
Donna's face, ashen. "What's up?" Josh asked, concern etched on his face. Sam nodded, expectant, a little worried.
"The World Trade Centre is under attack," she said quietly.
"What?" the two men replied slowly, in unison.
She took a deep breath and repeated, "The World Trade Centre is under attack. And Leo wants you five minutes ago."
So they went. Their route to the office is unimportant. The look of stricken awe on CJs face is important, as is the carefully moderated anger in Toby's voice as he said, "Good morning, boys."
"Good morning, Toby," Sam said automatically.
The fact that they were all in shock is important. The correlating fact, that they sprung back into their normal, efficiently eccentric selves as soon as Leo looked up from the hasty faxes he had from New York, is also important. What colour suits they were wearing is not important.
"At 8:45, ten minutes ago, the north tower of the World Trade Centre was involved in a collision with a passenger jet. Currently, the top third of the tower is in flames." He pressed a button on his remote control and a television screen came on. CNN, footage of flames licking a few upper levels of the tower, smoke pluming out into the smoggy sky. A few solid specks fell from the smoke haloing the top of the building.
Not really wanting to know, Sam pointed, asked, "Those things...what are they?"
Leo turned to him, the barrier of detachment that served him so well in these situations up and running. "People jumping out of the building. The elevators are stopped, and the stairwells are full of smoke and fire a few floors down. I would imagine there's no other way out."
Sam nodded, dropped his hand. He hadn't really wanted to know.
Unperturbed, Leo continued. "The President is in with the Joint Chiefs right now, trying to figure out what's happened. CJ, we're making a statement in twenty minutes on the front lawn. We don't know if it wasn't an accident, we don't know who did it, we don't know how many people are injured, we don't know if there's structural damage beyond the obvious. Toby, Sam, we're saying rah-rah America will not stand to be a victim of cowardly terrorists, we're going to find out those in charge of this incident and make them regret it, we're extending all federal aid to New York City in its time of need, etc."
"Rah-rah?" Toby asked, disbelieving.
With a quelling look, Leo replied, "Yes, rah-rah. I know it's not your bag, but hey, people need that sort of thing when stuff like this happens. Josh, you stay with me. Go."
The staff filed out, Josh remained. "Yeah, Leo?"
The older man put the TV on mute, set his remote on the desk before answering. "Get someone from the senate out there. Two from Congress if that's not possible. New York representatives."
"I'm sure I'll have to twist some arms, but okay. Any reason why nobody else could know I'm doing that?"
Turning his back on Josh, Leo shuffled some papers, looking for the faxes from New York. "This is between you, me, the President, and one person from New York for the next fifteen minutes, Josh."
Josh took a step forward. "Are you okay, Leo?"
"Two more planes have diverted from their courses since the collision. Let whoever goes to New York know that, but nobody else. Got me?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Go."
He went. The stillness in Leo's office after he left is important. The sunlight that streamed lopsided through the windows and highlighted the brass fittings on his desk is not.
Seven minutes later a plane collided with the south tower.
Everyone filed back into Leo's office without being called. The footage of the plane curving towards the tower and the ridge of flame bubbling out from the other side, the collision itself hidden by the crippled form of Building One, played again and again on the silent TV set.
"You okay, Toby?" Leo asked, back still to the door. Margaret had slipped in to tell him the news. He couldn't bring himself to turn the volume back on.
Toby shrugged, seeming nonchalant. "I'm from Brooklyn. Manhattan matters very little to me, Leo."
"Same game plan," Leo said a few moments later when the shock wore off. "Same game plan. Go."
Again, they went. Things were a little different now. Josh was nervous, and that's important, because nobody noticed, but he thought they did.
"The Port Authorities in New York and New Jersey closed all the bridges and tunnels," Donna said, bringing him a cup of coffee between phone calls.
"Well, yeah," he replied, dialling Senator Philips, who hailed from Poughkeepsie.
CJ introduced the President at 9:30 and the press stood as he mounted the podium. "Look, we've had our differences in the last few months," he began, looking defiantly haggard, "But it seems the country has suffered an apparent terrorist attack and we're going to be straight with each other for the time being, because no matter what you may think of me personally, I'm the President and I know what's going on, and you're the press and you want to know what's going on." The rest of what he said is unimportant, because the measures he spoke of never happened.
After the statement, the staff filtered back into Leo's office, standing mutely, not sure what to say now. They all felt a particular but common sort of helplessness.
The door between Leo's office and Oval Office opened. The President entered, flanked by two Secret Service agents. They swept the room with a single look, seeming to cause the staff to leap to their feet. "We're evacuating the White House," Bartlet announced without preamble. "So let's go."
"What? Why?" Sam stammered, not really wanting to know. His tendency to ask questions he doesn't want the answer to is important.
The President said to Leo, "There are more planes. Two more planes, and we don't know where they're going. Let's go."
Leo nodded then turned to the staff. "Come on, people. Get your computers and your assistants and get out. We've got, what, a plane?" he added, looking at the President, who nodded and went back into his own office. When the staff did not move, Leo prompted, "Get moving. Go."
The three dozen Secret Service agents outside looked up at the sound of a plane approaching. They saw the familiar blinking lights, coming down far too quickly in the wrong part of the sky. They looked across the lawns at each other, shrugging.
Meanwhile, Leo was on the phone with the FAA. "Yeah, shut 'em down. Divert the incoming internationals." The official on the other end squawked something. "I don't know, Hal, Canada?"
The plane's lights disappeared from sight, and a few seconds later, smoke billowed up into the sky.
Eyes widening, they grabbed their earpieces and ran for the White House.
"Holy shit," Leo said, voice full of awe. "Where is everybody?"
"Getting on the plane, Mr. McGarry," one of the agents replied. "The President is going downstairs. He wants you with him."
Leo nodded and stood. They escorted him to what was officially an empty office, but was really a set of stairs leading to the underground command centre installed by President Eisenhower.
At 9:45 they were the first to board a small twin-engine plane with an eagle roosting on the side. The beak was turned toward the olive branch, but it always is, so that's not important.
Toby sat at the back, looking out the window, an abstract expression on his face. He watched the crowd of White House staff milling around on the portico, kept out of the open by Secret Service men and women with tense, suspicious expressions. Politely moving to the back of the plane since she was second in line, CJ sat beside him and opened her laptop. The colour of the desktop wallpaper is not important. The fact that she just stared at the screen is.
"My sister works in a mailroom in the south tower," he confided in a gruff voice, as if the words were torn from him.
CJ's head tipped back involuntarily, and she stared at the ceiling of the plane instead of the screen of her laptop. "Why didn't you say something?"
"Because my sister works in a mailroom in the south tower. And I work in the White House. And I don't know any more than her kids do."
Her hand stealing around his where it lay on the armrest is important.
What drink Sam had in his hand when he sat down behind Josh is unimportant. "Where did you get that?" Josh asked, looking over his shoulder to find the source of the sound of tinkling ice.
"It's not important," was the reply as Sam put the plastic tumbler in the indent of the armrest and flipped open his laptop.
"You're working?" His voice was disbelieving.
"What else can I do? The President will say something, eventually, and he needs something say."
After a second, Josh turned back around. Then he remarked to the back of the pilot's head, "'Holy fuck, what the hell happened?' isn't good enough?"
"Not for the President of the United States, no."
An attendant (her hair colour isn't important, but the Gulf War campaign medal on her uniform jacket is) asked them politely to put their seatbelts on and sat, doing the same. Five minutes later, the plane took off, two F-15s swerving in to escort them.
The President sat in a red armchair, cradling a cup of coffee, ankles crossed. "Abbey's in the air," he said to Leo when the other man entered the antechamber of the command centre.
"I told Hal to divert all international flights to Canada or something, sir." His fingers curved into fists as he watched Jed nod absently. "She's fine, sir. She's on one of our planes."
"They're all our planes, Leo."
He nodded, unable to deny that.
Jed took a sip of coffee. "I wonder how many other people are telling themselves 'she's fine' right now."
"It's not important, sir. Let's get out of here."
"Where are we going?" Donna asked, leaning across the aisle.
"Why?" Josh answered wearily
"Because. Where are we going?"
"I don't know."
"I want to know where we're going."
"For God's sake, Donna--"
"I need to know *something*, Josh. Don't get all huffy on me."
Cathy put an arm around her and pulled her close, shaking her head sympathetically at Josh.
"Probably a military base somewhere," Sam supplied, not looking up from his keyboard. "Or a hotel."
"Some options," Toby grated, raising his voice so the others could hear him. "The fucking Pentagon's not even safe"
The pilot's radio squawked and whistled like a parrot, then some codes were exchanged. The pilot's shoulders stiffened. He took up his microphone--the signet ring on his pinkie finger isn't important, but the fact that his hand was shaking is--and said into it, "Ladies and gentlemen, I've been asked to report that the President, and the Chief of Staff have been removed to an undisclosed location," he paused, listening to the radio, then continued in a choked voice, "and the south tower of the World Trade Centre has collapsed."
CJ's hand tightened around Toby's. His eyes squeezed shut.
It was 10:05.
Author's Note: I think I wrote this more for my own closure than anything, but here it is.
Day One
by BJ Garrett
What happened in the minutes before they heard is unimportant. The world those things happened in no longer exists.
Donna's face, ashen. "What's up?" Josh asked, concern etched on his face. Sam nodded, expectant, a little worried.
"The World Trade Centre is under attack," she said quietly.
"What?" the two men replied slowly, in unison.
She took a deep breath and repeated, "The World Trade Centre is under attack. And Leo wants you five minutes ago."
So they went. Their route to the office is unimportant. The look of stricken awe on CJs face is important, as is the carefully moderated anger in Toby's voice as he said, "Good morning, boys."
"Good morning, Toby," Sam said automatically.
The fact that they were all in shock is important. The correlating fact, that they sprung back into their normal, efficiently eccentric selves as soon as Leo looked up from the hasty faxes he had from New York, is also important. What colour suits they were wearing is not important.
"At 8:45, ten minutes ago, the north tower of the World Trade Centre was involved in a collision with a passenger jet. Currently, the top third of the tower is in flames." He pressed a button on his remote control and a television screen came on. CNN, footage of flames licking a few upper levels of the tower, smoke pluming out into the smoggy sky. A few solid specks fell from the smoke haloing the top of the building.
Not really wanting to know, Sam pointed, asked, "Those things...what are they?"
Leo turned to him, the barrier of detachment that served him so well in these situations up and running. "People jumping out of the building. The elevators are stopped, and the stairwells are full of smoke and fire a few floors down. I would imagine there's no other way out."
Sam nodded, dropped his hand. He hadn't really wanted to know.
Unperturbed, Leo continued. "The President is in with the Joint Chiefs right now, trying to figure out what's happened. CJ, we're making a statement in twenty minutes on the front lawn. We don't know if it wasn't an accident, we don't know who did it, we don't know how many people are injured, we don't know if there's structural damage beyond the obvious. Toby, Sam, we're saying rah-rah America will not stand to be a victim of cowardly terrorists, we're going to find out those in charge of this incident and make them regret it, we're extending all federal aid to New York City in its time of need, etc."
"Rah-rah?" Toby asked, disbelieving.
With a quelling look, Leo replied, "Yes, rah-rah. I know it's not your bag, but hey, people need that sort of thing when stuff like this happens. Josh, you stay with me. Go."
The staff filed out, Josh remained. "Yeah, Leo?"
The older man put the TV on mute, set his remote on the desk before answering. "Get someone from the senate out there. Two from Congress if that's not possible. New York representatives."
"I'm sure I'll have to twist some arms, but okay. Any reason why nobody else could know I'm doing that?"
Turning his back on Josh, Leo shuffled some papers, looking for the faxes from New York. "This is between you, me, the President, and one person from New York for the next fifteen minutes, Josh."
Josh took a step forward. "Are you okay, Leo?"
"Two more planes have diverted from their courses since the collision. Let whoever goes to New York know that, but nobody else. Got me?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Go."
He went. The stillness in Leo's office after he left is important. The sunlight that streamed lopsided through the windows and highlighted the brass fittings on his desk is not.
Seven minutes later a plane collided with the south tower.
Everyone filed back into Leo's office without being called. The footage of the plane curving towards the tower and the ridge of flame bubbling out from the other side, the collision itself hidden by the crippled form of Building One, played again and again on the silent TV set.
"You okay, Toby?" Leo asked, back still to the door. Margaret had slipped in to tell him the news. He couldn't bring himself to turn the volume back on.
Toby shrugged, seeming nonchalant. "I'm from Brooklyn. Manhattan matters very little to me, Leo."
"Same game plan," Leo said a few moments later when the shock wore off. "Same game plan. Go."
Again, they went. Things were a little different now. Josh was nervous, and that's important, because nobody noticed, but he thought they did.
"The Port Authorities in New York and New Jersey closed all the bridges and tunnels," Donna said, bringing him a cup of coffee between phone calls.
"Well, yeah," he replied, dialling Senator Philips, who hailed from Poughkeepsie.
CJ introduced the President at 9:30 and the press stood as he mounted the podium. "Look, we've had our differences in the last few months," he began, looking defiantly haggard, "But it seems the country has suffered an apparent terrorist attack and we're going to be straight with each other for the time being, because no matter what you may think of me personally, I'm the President and I know what's going on, and you're the press and you want to know what's going on." The rest of what he said is unimportant, because the measures he spoke of never happened.
After the statement, the staff filtered back into Leo's office, standing mutely, not sure what to say now. They all felt a particular but common sort of helplessness.
The door between Leo's office and Oval Office opened. The President entered, flanked by two Secret Service agents. They swept the room with a single look, seeming to cause the staff to leap to their feet. "We're evacuating the White House," Bartlet announced without preamble. "So let's go."
"What? Why?" Sam stammered, not really wanting to know. His tendency to ask questions he doesn't want the answer to is important.
The President said to Leo, "There are more planes. Two more planes, and we don't know where they're going. Let's go."
Leo nodded then turned to the staff. "Come on, people. Get your computers and your assistants and get out. We've got, what, a plane?" he added, looking at the President, who nodded and went back into his own office. When the staff did not move, Leo prompted, "Get moving. Go."
The three dozen Secret Service agents outside looked up at the sound of a plane approaching. They saw the familiar blinking lights, coming down far too quickly in the wrong part of the sky. They looked across the lawns at each other, shrugging.
Meanwhile, Leo was on the phone with the FAA. "Yeah, shut 'em down. Divert the incoming internationals." The official on the other end squawked something. "I don't know, Hal, Canada?"
The plane's lights disappeared from sight, and a few seconds later, smoke billowed up into the sky.
Eyes widening, they grabbed their earpieces and ran for the White House.
"Holy shit," Leo said, voice full of awe. "Where is everybody?"
"Getting on the plane, Mr. McGarry," one of the agents replied. "The President is going downstairs. He wants you with him."
Leo nodded and stood. They escorted him to what was officially an empty office, but was really a set of stairs leading to the underground command centre installed by President Eisenhower.
At 9:45 they were the first to board a small twin-engine plane with an eagle roosting on the side. The beak was turned toward the olive branch, but it always is, so that's not important.
Toby sat at the back, looking out the window, an abstract expression on his face. He watched the crowd of White House staff milling around on the portico, kept out of the open by Secret Service men and women with tense, suspicious expressions. Politely moving to the back of the plane since she was second in line, CJ sat beside him and opened her laptop. The colour of the desktop wallpaper is not important. The fact that she just stared at the screen is.
"My sister works in a mailroom in the south tower," he confided in a gruff voice, as if the words were torn from him.
CJ's head tipped back involuntarily, and she stared at the ceiling of the plane instead of the screen of her laptop. "Why didn't you say something?"
"Because my sister works in a mailroom in the south tower. And I work in the White House. And I don't know any more than her kids do."
Her hand stealing around his where it lay on the armrest is important.
What drink Sam had in his hand when he sat down behind Josh is unimportant. "Where did you get that?" Josh asked, looking over his shoulder to find the source of the sound of tinkling ice.
"It's not important," was the reply as Sam put the plastic tumbler in the indent of the armrest and flipped open his laptop.
"You're working?" His voice was disbelieving.
"What else can I do? The President will say something, eventually, and he needs something say."
After a second, Josh turned back around. Then he remarked to the back of the pilot's head, "'Holy fuck, what the hell happened?' isn't good enough?"
"Not for the President of the United States, no."
An attendant (her hair colour isn't important, but the Gulf War campaign medal on her uniform jacket is) asked them politely to put their seatbelts on and sat, doing the same. Five minutes later, the plane took off, two F-15s swerving in to escort them.
The President sat in a red armchair, cradling a cup of coffee, ankles crossed. "Abbey's in the air," he said to Leo when the other man entered the antechamber of the command centre.
"I told Hal to divert all international flights to Canada or something, sir." His fingers curved into fists as he watched Jed nod absently. "She's fine, sir. She's on one of our planes."
"They're all our planes, Leo."
He nodded, unable to deny that.
Jed took a sip of coffee. "I wonder how many other people are telling themselves 'she's fine' right now."
"It's not important, sir. Let's get out of here."
"Where are we going?" Donna asked, leaning across the aisle.
"Why?" Josh answered wearily
"Because. Where are we going?"
"I don't know."
"I want to know where we're going."
"For God's sake, Donna--"
"I need to know *something*, Josh. Don't get all huffy on me."
Cathy put an arm around her and pulled her close, shaking her head sympathetically at Josh.
"Probably a military base somewhere," Sam supplied, not looking up from his keyboard. "Or a hotel."
"Some options," Toby grated, raising his voice so the others could hear him. "The fucking Pentagon's not even safe"
The pilot's radio squawked and whistled like a parrot, then some codes were exchanged. The pilot's shoulders stiffened. He took up his microphone--the signet ring on his pinkie finger isn't important, but the fact that his hand was shaking is--and said into it, "Ladies and gentlemen, I've been asked to report that the President, and the Chief of Staff have been removed to an undisclosed location," he paused, listening to the radio, then continued in a choked voice, "and the south tower of the World Trade Centre has collapsed."
CJ's hand tightened around Toby's. His eyes squeezed shut.
It was 10:05.
