What's Scarier than a Republican Whip?
by
Minx Trinket
Disclaimer: Joss, meet Aaron; Aaron, Joss.
Author's note: There's really no good excuse for this one. I
do realize that. But it seemed more a thing for the Wingnuts than the
Slayerettes. Apologies in advance to Toby fans, but, I mean, please. Who else?
Josh Lyman,
lounging in Sam's office with one leg over the arm of a chair, squinted one
eye, took careful aim, and bounced the bottle cap off the rim of the trashcan.
It fell into the can with a satisfying, papery crackle.
"In.
Your turn," he said.
Sam Seaborn
leaned over from behind his desk to fish the cap out of the trash.
"Score?" he asked.
"I'm
winning, 8-6."
Sam sat
bolt upright and cried, "Liar!"
"Come
over here and call me that again, tough guy."
"I
will not," he sniffed. "It's beneath my dignity."
"Oh,
but whining isn't?"
"I'm
not whining. I am pointing out a fact, and that fact is that is that you're a
big fat liar."
"Am
not."
"Are
too. You're a liar and a coward. You're cheating just to get out of the meeting
with the Senate Republican Whip and stick me with it."
"I
don't like that name, 'Whip.' Why d'ya think they call them that?"
"You
really do have issues."
"I
defy you tell me two words in the English language that are scarier than
'Republican Whip.'"
"Boys?"
Donna asked, popping her head into the office.
"Don't
you mean 'gentlemen'?" Josh asked.
"No,"
she said, "pretty sure I don't. Sorry to interrupt, but there's a Buffy
Summers here to see Toby and nobody can track him down. You wanna talk to her,
Sam?"
"Sure,
send her in."
Josh stood
up. "I'll get out of your way."
A petite
blonde in a tube top and hip huggers entered the room and flashed an electric
smile.
"Or
not," Josh corrected, and held out his hand to her. "Hi, I'm Josh
Lyman, Deputy White House Chief of Staff."
"Buffy
Summers," she said, shaking the offered hand.
"It's
very, very nice to meet you."
Sam stepped
up and jostled Josh aside. He took her hand and said. "Welcome to the
White House, Miss Summers. I'm Sam Seaborn. I'm Deputy Director of
Communications. I write all the President's speeches."
"Wow,"
Buffy nodded. "That's…impressive, really. Um, I had an appointment to see,
er…." She dug into the pocket of her skin-tight jeans and Josh and Sam
watched her, tilting their heads appreciatively. She produced a business card
and read from it. "Um, Toby Ziegler, Director of Communications. He your
boss?"
"Well,"
Sam shrugged, "he's not so much my 'boss' as my 'mentor.'"
"And
not so much Sam's 'mentor' as 'the man that owns his ass,'" Josh
clarified. "Technically, both of them work for me."
"Uh-huh,"
she said. "Well, do either of you know when he'll be back?"
"Can't
say we do," Sam said. "But we'd be happy to give you a hand with---
whatever it is you need."
"Do
you think he's gone for the day?"
"I
doubt it," Josh said, forcing himself back into her line of sight.
"He's kind of a workaholic, y'know? Not much of a personal life. He gets
here before sunrise every morning and doesn't leave 'til after sunset."
"I'll
bet," Buffy smiled.
"Can
we get you something?" Josh offered. "Some coffee, maybe, or water?
Juice? Something?"
"Sure,"
she said. "Coffee's just great."
"Donna!"
he shouted, leaning out into the hallway. "Can you get us some coffee in
here?"
"No!"
Donna shouted back.
Josh turned
to Sam. "Sam, go get the lady some coffee."
Toby
appeared in Sam's doorway. "What's going on, gentlemen?" he asked
darkly.
Buffy
Summers spun around and beamed at him. "You're Toby Zeigler, aren't
you?" she asked brightly. "I'm Buffy Summers, from the UC Sunnydale
Journal."
"Oh,
yeah, right, hi," Toby replied, and shook her hand perfunctorily.
"Let's take this in my office."
Buffy
bounced off beside Toby and into his office next door. He closed the door
behind them. Josh and Sam, each sticking their heads out the door to watch her
go, sighed.
"Damn,"
Josh said.
"Hot
damn," Sam agreed.
"Y'know,"
Josh said thoughtfully. "Toby's not even gonna notice she's a girl, much
less a hottie."
Sam jerked
his head toward his desk. "I'll play you for her."
Josh
squinted. "Bottle caps?"
"Paper
footballs."
"You're
on," Josh said, and then "Ow!" as Donna, whizzing by with
an arm full of files, smacked him on the back of the head.
"Pig,"
she said simply, and disappeared around a corner.
As they
were about to duck back into the office, Josh and Sam heard an unusual sound
coming from Toby's room. It wasn't Toby's shouting, because that wasn't
unusual. It wasn't the girl yelling at him, which wasn't unusual either. But
the crash of splintering wood and metal as furniture was hurled against a wall,
that, well, that was different. Sam looked at Josh. Josh looked at Sam.
They looked at Toby's door.
With a
thud, Toby's door hit the hallway floor and he and the girl tumbled out into
the corridor, a ball of limbs. They bounced against a cubicle wall and rolled
to a stop, the girl straddling Toby. She had his tie in her left hand and a big
pointy stick in her right.
"Hey,"
Sam protested weakly.
"We're
gonna make with the dustage now, 'kay?" Buffy asked sweetly.
"Excuse
me," Toby spat, "but was that supposed to be ENGLISH?!"
He grabbed Buffy around the waist and tossed her away. She flew past Josh and
Sam and landed 10 feet down the hallway with a bounce. Toby leapt to his feet,
shaking his fist in the air. "This is what I'm saying people! The
damn Republicans are never gonna stop screaming for vouchers if this
is what our public schools are producing! Homicidal maniacs with no grasp of
syntax!"
"Grasp
this," Buffy sneered, and backflipped rapidly down the hall toward him.
Toby dodged, and she landed on her feet behind him, stake poised.
"Well,
aren't you witty!" he said. "'Grasp this.' How clever, how
original!"
Sam blinked
at Josh. "Should we call the Secret Service?" he asked.
"Give it
a minute," Josh replied, eyes on the action. The combatants were fighting
hand to hand now, punching and kicking.
"You
know," Buffy panted, between blows, "I am so sick of aging
Baby Boomers making cracks at me and my friends. I mean, HELL-o,
who raised us, people? And don't go playing all pure as the driven snow. Can we
say 'Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test'? Can we say 'The Doors'?"
"You
tell 'em, girl," Donna agreed, flitting by with a bust of George
Washington under one arm and a bowl full of live goldfish under the other.
"Jim
Morrison was a POET!" Toby growled.
"Right,"
she laughed. "Jimbo says he wants to kill his father, and you call
him a poet. Eminem says he wants to kill his mother, and you call him a
psychopath."
"Y'know,
she's got a point," Sam said.
"Shut
up, Seaborn," Toby spat. "Eminem's a hack. And if anything, you've
just proven how unoriginal his line of bullshit is! Your clothes, your music,
your complaints about the planet, they're completely derivative! Devoid of
original thinking!"
"Also
a good point," Josh nodded. Buffy shot him a look. He backpedaled: "I
mean, interesting. Maybe, Buffy, you and me could discuss it, over dinner,
maybe?"
"Smooth,"
Sam muttered.
"Shut
up, Seaborn," Josh snapped.
"Our
screwups are 'derivative," right," Buffy said calmly to Toby, landing
a vicious punch to his solar plexus. "As in, 'all your fault.'"
All of a
sudden, horrible ridges blossomed on Toby's forehead, and his eyes glowed a
sinister yellow. "One thing we never taught you," he hissed,
"was to blame somebody else for your own damn mistakes." Long, ivory
fangs sprouted from his canine teeth. Josh leaned toward Sam.
"Ever
seen him do that before?" Josh whispered.
"Once
or twice," Sam shrugged.
"Hate
to disagree with you, big guy," Buffy sighed, slipping aside as Toby
lunged for her throat. "But you guys were the original 'Tune in, turn on,
drop out' crowd. If it wasn't about music and dope you figured it was someone
else's problem and left if for your kids to straighten out." She executed
a whirling crescent kick that caught Toby in the small of the back. He went
down. "Well that's what I'm here for, to clean up your mess."
Toby
scrambled, crab like, away from her and shimmied up the wall to his feet.
"Why do you think I do this job, Summers? For the media scrutiny? The cold
pizza at midnight? The flattering drab gray suits? I know we've messed up,
okay. We thought we were gonna fix the world, and we ended up making things
worse. But we're trying. Don't you get that?"
Buffy's
face softened. She let her stake hand fall to her side. "You really mean
that, don't you?" she asked quietly. Donna brushed past her, carrying Leo
over her shoulder.
"Yes,"
Toby sighed. "I do."
"So
really," Buffy said, stepping toward him, "aside from the part about
you being a blood-sucking, soulless killer, we're on the same side here."
"I
guess so," he shrugged.
"Huh,"
she said thoughtfully, and staked him.
Toby,
looking more surprised than anything, crumbled to dust at her feet. She flipped
her hair, threw another dazzling smile at Josh and Sam, and said, "Sorry
'bout that. It's my job."
"S'allright,"
Sam nodded.
"Yeah,
no problem," Josh nodded.
"Nice
meeting you," she said, and ran into Toby's office. There was the tinkle
of broken glass, a thud as she landed on the lawn, and the sound of her running
footsteps fading in the distance.
"Y'know,
I think I thought of two scarier words," Sam said. "'Vampire
Slayer.'"
"Yeah,"
Josh admitted. "She's still damn hot, though."
"You
said it."
C.J.
entered the hallway from the pressroom and, surveying the mess in the hallway
with a frown, approached Josh and Sam. "What happened here?" she
asked. Josh turned to her.
"Toby
was a vampire," he said mildly.
"Slayer
got 'im," Sam added. "Wanna get a beer, Josh?"
"Sounds
good."
As they
strolled away, C.J. threw her hands in the air and shouted, "Why doesn't
anybody keep me in the loop on these things?!"