Title: Turkey Day
Author: Tinkerbell99
Rating: T
Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.
Summary: Because Donna's in Wisconsin, Josh is falling apart, Lord John's running loose, and someone wants the President to pardon a pig. Any other questions? Companion piece to Stopping for a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve, which is Donna's POV.
Chapter 7: A Wonderful Day (Josh POV)
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Beeep! Beeep!
What the hell is that noise? And why is my head…ooh…my stomach…
Bang! "Josh! Get up!"
Huh?
"Whaa…Leo? Why are you at my house?"
Beeep! I silence my phone.
Leo flips on a light switch before yanking away my blanket…or coat as it were. "I'm not at your house, Josh. We're in your office where I need you to work!"
I sit up in my bed only to discover it's actually the couch in my office. I'm having a little difficulty focusing here. "What…time is it?" I can't seem to locate my watch.
"Time for you to get up and do your job. A job, I might add, that you are lucky to have after that stunt you pulled last night."
Which stunt is he…Oh. Right. The turkey. Toby on a desk. The President in his bathrobe. Lord John hunting wild game. Raiding a zoo. Getting a new turkey. Celebratory drinks with Sam. Lots of celebratory drinks. Drinking Wild Turkey. That would explain my head. "Leo, it's all taken care of." And my stomach.
"Yeah, thanks to an early morning raid of the National Zoo." He opens up the blinds. Demonic sunlight enters the room. My head is going to implode. "I swear to God, Josh. How you and Sam even manage to put yourselves in these kinds of situations astounds me."
"Well, technically it wasn't my fault that-"
"Loosing a bird in the White house wasn't your fault?" He saunters over to my desk and squints at the mess before pushing some of it aside.
"I-"
"And super-gluing the feathers back on the bird?" He points at me with a pencil. "Whose great idea was that?"
Well, it seemed like a great idea at the time.
Leo continues grumbling. "Lucky we don't have PETA on our ass right now." He's writing on my desk now…and speaking awfully loudly. "Did you even go home last night?" I blink, trying to remember. "Right. Stupid question. Well, get up, get showered and get some coffee. You brief in less than an hour."
I…what? Brief? Oh. Right. CJ is gone. I brief. This is bad.
Meanwhile, Leo has come to stand directly in front of my current position on the couch. "True or false. If I were to go into Sam's office at this very moment I would find him in more or less the same condition as you."
Squinting against the daylight, my brain fumbles for the correct answer. "True?"
"Josh!" He throws up his hands. "What the-"
"Leo…" Ow. Must speak softly. "It's fine. There was a little celebration after we-"
"Celebration, Josh?"
"Yeah. After we got the replacement bird from the zoo, Sam and I…had a few drinks." Or a few dozen. I'm not sure at this point.
"Great. So I've got two hung over senior staff members, one of whom needs to stand in front of the entire White House Press Corps in less than an hour and explain to them the business of the nation!"
"Leo-" If he would just stop shouting…
"Get up! Get some coffee, get cleaned up and be standing behind that podium in forty-three minutes. Got it?"
I manage a nod as Leo leaves my office. Slamming, I notice, the door behind him as he mutters something about payback.
Head throbbing, I hobble my way around looking for Donna's stash of aspirin and come up empty before heading out to the coffee cart, where I encounter a very pale and woozy Sam.
"Hey."
"Hey."
That's about the extent of the conversation until my previously silenced phone once again begins to beep with the presence of voice mail. Simultaneously, Sam's pager goes off and he wobbles over to use Donna's phone. He dials as I hold a quick conference with my digestive system on the possible acceptance of a bagel. I'm thinking maybe half a plain would possibly stay down when I notice Sam turning from the phone. If possible, he looks even paler than before.
He weaves back over to me and stands silently for a moment before speaking. "Well."
I raise my eyebrows. "You gonna elaborate there, Sam?"
"We have a problem." He looks awfully green.
"What kind of a problem?"
"The pig thing."
"You mean the turkey thing."
"No." He shakes his head quickly, then winces. "I mean the pig thing."
"Sam? What's the problem?"
"The Pork Producers. They're holding the demonstration. They're holding it now. On Pennsylvania Avenue. With a pig."
Suddenly, the bagel doesn't seem like such a good idea. "Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"You mean…" This is a lot to comprehend. "They're bringing a pig to the White House?" He nods sickly. "Because we're going to pardon a turkey?" Again, he nods. "Well."
"Yeah."
"Leo's going to kill us."
"Yeah."
"Sam? We have to fix this. We have to fix this now."
"Yeah."
As much as I don't want to do this, there's only one course of action. "I'm calling Donna."
Suddenly, I'm feeling quite sober.
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One hurried conversation with a very unhappy Toby later, I run back to my still-demolished office. Snatching up my phone and speed-dialing Donna, I attempt to find a place to sit only to realize that is still an impossibility. I settle instead for turning on the television only to be greeted by C-SPAN, now covering…Bessie.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Bessie the pig is marching on Washington. She's marching on Washington with a throng of protestors, signs, and a big blue ribbon around her neck.
I'm a dead man.
Gulping down cold coffee from…Tuesday? I swallow before Donna finally picks up the phone. She doesn't sound happy.
"Hello."
"Donnatella! How are things in the land of cheese and trees?" Might as well go for cheerful, not apoplectic.
"What do you need Josh?" Maybe I woke her up.
"Look, I promise this will just take a second…" I continue on, trying to figure out a way to work missing aspirin into the conversation. Unfortunately, Donna doesn't seem to be catching on to the problem at hand.
"Josh, you're going to have to explain this a little…more."
"Well, when we…Donna…Are you slurring your speech?" If possible, she sounds even worse off than I am.
"The turkey, Josh. The pigs." Short, clipped speech, and still no yelling. Definitely hung over. Interesting.
Nevertheless, there are issues at hand. "The Pork Grower's Association recently conducted a survey showing that more Americans are including ham as a part of their Thanksgiving dinners. I'm a mashed potato man myself, especially when they have the-"
"Josh!" Right. Keep it short.
"Right. Anyway, they feel that the president only pardoning a turkey is biased and, in their words, 'unfairly prejudicial toward an animal Americans know and love year round, not just on holidays.'"
"They want you to pardon a pig?" She's speaking very slowly now. Perhaps I should clarify.
"Actually, they want the President to pardon a pig, but, yes. Look, I know this is your vacation and I'm sorry to do this to you now, but CJ's with her dad and we need to rein this thing in quick."
"What's the rush? We don't have to pardon anything until next year."
"It seems that the pork growers, in an effort to draw national exposure to the plight of the pig, have chosen Thanksgiving day as a time to showcase their cause on a rather large and potentially embarrassing scale."
"How embarrassing?"
"They're parading a two hundred pound sow named Bessie up Pennsylvania Avenue as we speak."
A few moments and several more clarifications later, we arrive at a solution. Or at least what I hope will be a solution. Still no aspirin, but Donna does not seem to be in the mood to conduct a scavenger hunt by phone around her desk.
"Listen, Donna? I really am sorry to keep bothering you. I know you want to see your family. I really do apologize." I hope she knows I mean that. This is her vacation and I've now called her…I don't remember how many times.
She sighs before answering. When she does, she sounds a little wistful. "It's alright, Josh. It's actually nice to feel needed sometimes."
Maybe it's the residual alcohol, but the next thing I say is the first thing in my mind. "You're always needed, Donna. You're invaluable. I hope…I hope you know that." I miss her. "Happy Thanksgiving, Donna."
"Happy Thanksgiving, Josh."
Hanging up the phone, I take a deep breath. Despite the pigs and the turkeys and the headache and the disaster that is my office, I'm feeling more than a little pleased. A day and a half until Donna returns and I might just make it.
As I chug the rest of the cold coffee and reconsider the bagel, there's a knock on my door. "Come in!" Ow. I really shouldn't yell.
"Josh?" It's Margaret. That's great. She's just the thing for a throbbing headache. "Leo said to tell you to shower before you brief. He also said to take some aspirin and coffee and that he's looking forward to seeing you and Sam at Thanksgiving dinner in the Residence at 1:00." With that she ducks back out the door. At least she was mercifully brief.
A shower. I don't need a…okay, maybe I do. I check the clock and realize I'd better get moving. Aspirin would be good. If Leo was really concerned he would have…wait.
Wait a minute.
Sam. Me. Leo. Dinner in the residence. That wasn't on my schedule. I'm sure I had this afternoon open…
All of a sudden it hits me and I remember Leo penciling something in on my schedule this morning.
Shifting aside takeout containers I see that my schedule has indeed been changed. "Payback" has now been scheduled for 1pm.
Lunch with the history of the yam in Latin. With a hangover. With Leo. And Sam. And…Lord John. Great. This is shaping up to be a wonderful day.
