Authors: Anne Callanan and Kathleen E. Lehew
E-mail addresses: Anne - annemcal@gofree.indigo.ie
Kathleen - nitehowl@livingston.net
Summary: This is a continuation of the story arc we began in our premiere story, 'A Frightened Peace', and which we attempted to bring to at least a partial conclusion in 'Farther off from Heaven'. As you can see, we were unsuccessful, hence the arc continues on its merry way here. Don't blame us!! None of these characters would cooperate!! It's very frustrating.
Spoilers: Just to be on the safe side, all of the first three seasons – this particular story now takes place after 'Posse Comitatus' and during the break between season three and four - and of course the above mentioned stories. It is sort of necessary that you be a little familiar with both. For those who want to check out/refresh their memories of 'A Frightened Peace' and 'Further off from Heaven', you can find it on www.fanfiction.net, here at www.therealthing.8k.com, http://westwingstories.com/library/index-02.shtml, http://www.jabbers.cjb.net/, or http://anotherunofficial0.tripod.com/, a great new site you should seriously check out.
Characters/Pairing: Jed and Abbey to be sure. Can't forget those two G. Leo and Ron insisted on being included as well. Then there's Fitz, Nancy, Charlie, the WHOLE of the senior staff and... okay. Everybody. Talk about people wanting screen time!!
Category: Drama and - we're baaaack! VBEG - Action/Adventure. In our opinion, these people were starting to get just a little too comfortable. They needed to be shaken up a bit.
Rating: PG - 13. Some language, - and not just Jed this time- a few adult/political issues and a bit of graphic violence. Our usual excuse is that nobody told us we couldn't, so we did. As long as that excuse works, we're gonna stick with it. Besides, this is too much fun.
Feedback: PLEASE!! - picture us begging and you'll come pretty close G. Honestly, if it weren't for the great encouragement we've received, we wouldn't have known where to go with this. Keep it up and we may actually finish the silly thing VBEG. Oh, and the threats? Those ain't half-bad either.
Again, some major kudos and thanks to Sheila for being the best beta reader a couple of fledgling West Wing writers could find. Luckily, the job hasn't slowed her down on her own latest story, so any guilt we've been feeling has happily been dispersed G. We now have a clear conscience. Any stubborn mistakes that remain are ours, not hers
Authors' notes: To any lawyer reading this, and we're darn sure there are few, we make no claim of ownership for the characters contained herein. Like many authors who have gone before, we're just borrowing them. With all due respect to Aaron Sorkin, we promise to give them back in time for the season four premiere.
This is getting complicated - not our fault, blame the characters! - but keep in mind this arc began with 'A Frightened Peace', continued with 'Farther off from Heaven' and takes off with a bang here. Revelations are made, yet more clues are presented, and danger surrounds all. Did you honestly think we could keep things simple? HAH!!
As always, we hope you enjoy it.
Okay, Kathleen was stupid enough to leave the dedication to me this time, so I want to dedicate this to her. G For being a great friend ever since we first met online through another fandom, for encouraging me to start to write and teaching me how to do it properly. And for seizing on 'A Frightened Peace' and turning it into the totally evil conspiracy fest you've been reading. Thanks for the fun, Kathleen. I was so thrilled when I learned you were a WW fan too.
Falls the Shadow
By Anne Callanan and Kathleen E. Lehew
Part 1/14
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
Thomas Stearns Eliot: 1888 - 1965
"Why am I just finding out about this?" Seated behind his desk, Josiah Bartlet, President of the United States, calmly raised his hand to forestall the lame excuses he knew were coming. He'd heard it all before and he knew he was going to hear it again. "Humor me," he said softly, leveling the two people seated across from him with an ominously cool stare.
Leo McGarry exchanged a harassed glance with Nancy McNally, the National Security Advisor. Not that he'd really expected it, but he got little support from her, just a helpless shrug. Knowing the President as he did - a forty-year friendship did have certain advantages - he'd known from the start that this was not going to end well.
Hell, it hadn't started well. And McGarry knew it was all going to go steadily downhill from there. He consoled himself with the grim reminder that while this particular day of reckoning had been a long time coming; at least it was finally here. He only wished he had more to give the man. Supposition and vague hints backed up by very few sure facts were all he had.
Still, what little he did have was valid enough to warrant this meeting, despite the lack of certainty. Too much was at stake to risk otherwise. The reticence he felt, an unaccustomed inability to voice opinion or defense to the President's question, was borne as much from fear for his friend as it was from frustrated duty.
Until he could get his bearings, a drawn-out moment of speechless deferral was all McGarry could offer his Commander in Chief. He had few answers to give, only conjecture and more questions. Considering the haggard look in the President's eyes, his features careworn by recent events, he didn't relish the idea of adding to the man's burden.
Following his lead, Nancy held her tongue as well. When it came to handling Josiah Bartlet's sometimes mercurial moods, she'd learned when to speak and when not to. This was not one of those moments where a casual platitude or evasion would serve. Right now, this was McGarry's show, and she didn't envy him at all.
In the strained, unproductive silence that followed, a brief thought occurred to Bartlet as he watched his advisors struggle to find an answer that would satisfy him. Politics, the art of the possible. For the life of him, he couldn't remember where the quote was from. A vague recollection of a Broadway musical, Abbey dragging him kicking and screaming out the White House doors - she never had been impressed with Presidential tantrums - was the best he could do.
Politics was an art. He had no problem agreeing with that observation. It was the possibilities inherent in this conversation that had sent his blood pressure and temper soaring to new, un-dreamed of heights. A pity that possible and politics very rarely went hand in hand with responsibility.
McGarry cleared his throat. "Mr. President... "
One executive brow rose with sardonic inquiry. "Leo?" His voice dripped with angry scorn. Tired and irritable, he wasn't in the mood for excuses.
Unfortunately, excuses were all McGarry had. "It was an election year, Mr. President."
Nancy winced. "Good one, Leo," she whispered to the Chief of Staff, sotto voce. He in turn gave her a narrow eyed frown that clearly indicated he was not at all amused.
Neither was she.
Nancy may not have known the President as long as McGarry, but like many of the other advisors, she'd learned - more often than not the hard way - how not to open a statement to their somewhat prickly Chief Executive. Especially now, with recent events weighing heavily on the man's conscience.
McGarry should have known better. He did know better. Do not open any response to the man's questions, however open-ended, with an evasion. The fact that he'd obviously forgotten one of the most important rules of presidential engagement was a clear indication that his own personal strain was beginning overrule his common sense. It occurred to her that McGarry was riding the edge of control as narrowly as his friend, frustration dulling his instincts. Bartlet, however, was not holding up as well under the strain.
The President did not look well. Shadows darkened his eyes and the lines of care and worry had deepened across his face. He rarely smiled anymore. While Nancy missed his relentless humor, she also understood that he gave too much of himself, accepted too many burdens and received little in return. Too much had happened of late, with no chance to rest or recoup his losses, both mental and physical. Those few moments of peace he'd been allowed had been fleeting.
Nancy scowled. Now this.
"And there's the sound byte," Bartlet was saying, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "An election year. I suppose that grants them absolution? 'Excuse us, but we were too busy trying to keep our jobs we forgot to mention the criminal element running amok in what's left of our government? Oh, and by the way, one of them is trying to kill you. Sorry for the inconvenience.' Russian pragmatism, Leo?"
"The communist, hard line incumbent is about to get his ass kicked by a liberal wild card, the polls have him trailing and losing momentum by the minute." McGarry retained his normal unperturbed, affability. But there was a distinct gleam of annoyance hardening his eyes, a sharp, and cutting edge to his words. "You, a man whose opinion for some bizarre reason beyond my understanding carries a tiny bit of international weight, make no secret of the fact that a reformer in the Kremlin would please you absolutely no end ... "
"So this is my fault?"
"Oh for God's sake!" McGarry rolled his eyes heavenward. "Of course it's your fault! Isn't everything? Inflation, piss-poor education standards, failing social security ... "
"A slashed defense budget," Nancy added with a growled mutter.
"Hey!" Bartlet turned on his National Security Advisor with a scowl. "Four decades of putting up with me cuts him some serious slack. You're relatively new. Behave."
"My apologies, Mr. President."
"Ignore him, Nancy," McGarry told her. "You're a target of convenience."
"That makes me feel so much better."
"Then give me an inconvenient one, Leo," Bartlet demanded in a deceptively sweet tone. To anyone who didn't know him, he presented the image of studied patience.
To be continued…