Thursday
The funeral proceedings had been endless, not that Roger had seen much of them. Simon Donovan had not been joking around when he'd said security would be tight; Roger felt like all he'd seen the entire day had been a row of black-suited backs between him and anything that might threaten him. All the Secret Service agents carried respirators now, one for themselves and one for their principal in case of another attack. They were bulky things, with airflow lines and battery packs, but the folks studying the toxin from the Capitol disaster were reasonably sure they would work if donned in less than forty-five seconds, and that was the important thing. He'd spent an uncomfortable half-hour practicing to let himself be wrestled to the ground and stuffed into the thing by very serious agents who could do it in less than thirty while holding their own breaths. It would've been farcical if he didn't see the footage from last Thursday night playing in his head every time he went to sleep.
In any case, though he was loathe to argue with the people putting their bodies on the line to keep him alive, all the security precautions had made for a tedious day. Even after the ceremony, very solemn and sad in a National Cathedral packed with carefully vetted guests, he'd barely had time to say two words to Zoey and her family before they were off to Manchester on a specially chartered flight that was definitely not Air Force One even if it carried the body of the President and used one of the same planes. They hadn't wanted to linger for the reception that passed for a wake, and he didn't blame them.
There were many other people vying for his attention, though, and it had taken a cordon of Eric, Angela and Donna working in tandem to corral all the dignitaries who wanted to meet the new president and take his measure in person. As Secretary of Agriculture, Roger hadn't exactly been a political non-entity, but he'd been about as close as you could come in the top echelons of government. It was amazing, he thought wryly, how many old friends he suddenly had. Gladhanding had never been Roger's favorite activity, and the glowering ring of security made it even harder, but he hadn't done or said anything egregiously wrong enough to earn Eric's surreptitious facepalm. He counted that as a success. A few brief prepared remarks for the cameras, and then it was back to the safety of the White House.
Roger had been unprepared for the changes that had been made while he was gone. In the brief few hours out of the building, a wave of porters and movers had come in, removing all the Bartlet family's personal possessions from the Residence and replacing them with his own. Roger had no idea who had gone in and packed up his stuff, or what kind of scheme they'd used in doing so, but it was a little weird to see his scruffy paperback novels in the antique bookcases and his clothes hanging sparse and forlorn in the armoire. It was more than a little weird to find his underwear and socks neatly folded into the dresser in the master bedroom and his toiletries neatly lined up in the bathroom. It occurred to him to wonder what condition he'd left the house in when he'd left for the State of the Union, whether his laundry was on the floor and if he had anything embarrassing laying around in the corners, but that way lay madness.
It turned out that the possessions of one long-divorced man who spent most of his time at work didn't go very far towards filling the residential wing of America's most famous house. Roger rattled around the master bedroom for awhile like a single die in a Yahtzee cup, trying not to feel like the ghosts of past presidents were leaning in towards him whenever he looked away or closed his eyes, trying not to hear President Bartlet's advice about the toilet. (It really was a bit sticky, he'd noticed.) Finally, around two in the morning, he walked out in his pajamas past the emotionless eyes of the Secret Service, climbed the stairs, and went to sleep in his third floor bedroom.
He wasn't the only one who'd had a restless night, from the look of his senior staff meeting. All his staffers were on time and prepared, but the White House veterans all looked at least a little hungover. Red eyes and headaches could've meant drinking or grieving, but Roger wasn't about to wade into that minefield. He started gathering status reports instead. Calvin reported that the Sears Tower had been officially cleared and was slated to reopen later in the day. "The devices were not as sophisticated as the ones used in the Capitol attack," he reported, clutching his notebook in both hands. He still wasn't quite blase about attending meetings on this level. "They still contained the toxic payload, but the build was very different."
"What does that mean?" Roger asked.
"The FBI is theorizing that Howell has the formula for the toxin and the basic idea for the devices, but he probably wasn't heavily involved in the initial build," Calvin replied. "He or whoever he's working with planned another attack to build terror, but they were much sloppier than Baylor's group. Not only did they leave clues for the maintenance staff, but we think as many as a third of the devices would've failed to detonate on command."
"That's good news, right up until one of the damn things accidentally detonates in a public space while one of those assholes is carrying it around" Eric pointed out acerbically. "Are we any closer to actually catching them?"
"I haven't got a lot for you on that," Calvin admitted, "but the FBI guys looked more optimistic than they have recently."
"They can do that?" Roger quipped. "Look optimistic?"
"It was a surprise to me too, sir," Calvin deadpanned. "There'll be another briefing this afternoon, we hope to know more."
Roger nodded and moved on with the briefing. Donna and Angela seemed to be working together well enough so far; they tag-teamed on the discussion of Cabinet vetting and Senate confirmations. "Senate gavels in for the first time this afternoon," Angela reported, "in the, ah, Indian Treaty Room at the OEOB. Fifty-four senators are expected to be in attendance, forty-six of whom will be sworn in by Senator Vinick before the session begins."
"There's been a lot of press interest in that," Carol reported, consulting her own notes. "Right now all the attention is still on the funeral, of course, but people are going to be interested in seeing the government get back on its feet. I've got calls in to the Secret Service regarding press pool attendance there, but the Senate has its own press liaison dealing with it too."
"With the Senate in session, we can start getting nominations finalized, right?" Roger asked.
"Yes sir," Donna answered quickly. "Rather than formal hearings, which would take a lot of time we don't have right now, Senator Vinick has been hosting a series of question and answer panels with the prospective nominees we've sent over to them thus far. He is hopeful that we'll have our first confirmations by sometime tomorrow."
"His suggestion," Angela continued smoothly, "and I think it's a good one, is that we hold one large swearing-in ceremony at the end of the week for all successful confirmations, as well as any senior staff members whose positions require it. It's another step towards proving to the public that we're open for business and getting our numbers back up."
"That sounds good," Roger agreed with a nod. "Lily, can you make that happen, arrange for a room to be available and whatnot?"
Lily nodded and jotted a note. She looked perhaps the worst of anybody there that morning, as though organizing the funeral and the departure of the Bartlet family had depleted every iota of energy from her body. Personal friend of Mrs. Bartlet, he reminded himself, that had to make things even more difficult. He ought to try and make sure she could get to Manchester for that funeral. "Yes sir. Also…" She trailed off as though not sure she wanted to complete the thought.
"Yes?" Roger asked encouragingly.
"I know it may not seem like a priority right now," Lily said hurriedly, sounding like she wanted to get the words out as fast as possible, "but with no First Lady in the White House, there's currently nobody officially in charge in the East Wing. The First Lady traditionally takes on the hostess role for ambassadors and foreign dignitaries, as well as official White House functions. It might seem frivolous, but it's an important part of maintaining the decorum of the office."
Roger blinked thoughtfully at that. "So," he finally said, "are you saying that I have a legal obligation to start dating immediately, or will a suitable spouse be provided to me after vetting by committee?"
Eric snorted. "I'm sorry Mr. President, but the Constitution strictly forbids cruel and unusual punishment, especially of the innocent."
Lily blushed and gave Eric a look that wasn't entirely friendly, but soldiered bravely on. "Not at all, sir. The position of White House Hostess is traditionally filled by the First Lady, but that hasn't been the case whenever a President is widowed or unmarried. Grover Cleveland and James Buchanan were both bachelors when they took office," she pointed out. "A sister, an adult niece or other close female relative can serve as the Hostess with no difficulty." She smiled thinly. "And you don't even have to get her approved by Congress."
"That's a relief," Roger told her, "or at least it would be if I had any female relatives. My mother died in 1993, and I'm an only child."
"Which makes you a Presidential first," Margaret chimed in helpfully. "No other president has been an only child."
"Because this administration is definitely lacking in uniqueness," Carol teased, smiling a little.
Margaret rolled her eyes but didn't seem truly annoyed. "So what happens if the President doesn't have an appropriate female relative?"
Lily shifted through the papers in her hands. "Well… it's never happened before," she admitted. "But I suppose someone else will have to be found. A close and trusted female friend, perhaps even a former First Lady could pinch hit if you could find one willing to step in. There are no actual legal requirements, you understand. The office of the First Lady has always been shaped mainly by tradition."
Roger nodded. "I'll have to think about that one," he told her, "though honestly it's going to have to wait till I've sorted through about two dozen other things."
"But the duties of the office, sir," Lily protested. "I don't have the authority or the personnel-"
"Donna," Roger interrupted, "I know you've got a lot on your plate in Operations, but can you temporarily fold the East Wing into that portfolio for the moment? Just so we keep all the clocks wound until I can give this matter the consideration it deserves."
The idea didn't seem to thrill Donna, but she simply nodded. "Yes sir," she told him, already jotting notes on her ever-present clipboard. "Can you meet at eleven to talk about the swearing-in event?" she asked Lily, who nodded in turn.
"Excellent," Roger said, clapping his hands and happily putting that awkward issue behind him. His two closest female friends were already working in the Administration, and he had no idea who else he could ask. And wouldn't that be a hell of a conversation? 'Hey, come live in my borrowed mansion under airtight twenty-four hour security so you can host my parties and let reporters badger you about your choice in clothing. Because we're friends!' Seemed like a tough sell. Much better to move on for now. "Liz, what can you tell me about the public reaction to the Cabinet nominations?"