The Junior Senator from Virginia pulled at the button of his suit jacket where the lapels met. In a few short months that he'd been a Senator, there was an argument to be made that he had rarely functioned as one. The era of politics that prevailed in DC was such that anyone who came into the job with any pre-existing notoriety functioned almost more as a celebrity than as a legislator.

As he reflected back on his schedule since being elected, he remembered a considerable number of fundraisers, a lot of campaign events and appearances on the Sunday morning talk shows but few speeches on the floor of the Senate chamber. Word had even started to spring up that a few of his Republican colleagues had begun to refer to him as the 'Senator from the Green Room'.

Always a fan of classic movies, his mind wandered back to Senator Lafe Smith, the tall and somewhat aloof playboy Senator from Rhode Island played so effortlessly by Peter Lawford in Advise and Consent. Lawford seemed to exist in the background for most of the movie, content to leave the business of playing real Senators to Walter Pidgeon and Charles Laughton or even stars that were of lesser infamy like George Grizzard and Don Murray. In the scenes that took place over cocktails or the poker table however, Lawford shone.

It all led up to the moment at the end of the movie when, overcome by the death of his friend Senator Brigham Anderson – played powerfully by Don Murray – that Senator Lafe Smith of Rhode Island finally acted like a Senator. As Nate stood in the Democratic Cloak Room, he prepared for what he felt was just such a moment. While he'd received plum committee assignments, he never felt like the committee room was the place to be effective, he was far more effective questioning Generals or Cabinet Secretaries over drinks at a charitable event than he was before the C-SPAN cameras.

But the issue of force deployment in the Philippines had finally come before the Senate. In a chamber the Democrats controlled 51-49, a request for the use of military force was expected to not only be controversial but it wasn't guaranteed passage. The ranking Republican on the Armed Services committee had brought the motion to the floor of the chamber to carry water for the White House. This was one of the few times that CNN was willing to go live from the floor of either house of Congress for speeches. Usually, congressional footage was limited to votes.

He pushed the door to the Senate chamber open and strode purposefully along the open space behind the back row of desks to his nearest the centre aisle. On his feet at the moment was distinguished Senate Minority Leader, Mark Royce of Indiana. As Nate settled into his desk and intently watched his Republican colleague address the cameras more so than his colleagues in the rest of the chamber, he noticed some of the quaint subtleties of debate. Many Senators avoided sitting near the Senator who was speaking, largely to keep their perusal of briefing books and newspapers invisible to the television cameras.

A few Senators on both sides of the aisle noted the presence of the Junior Senator from Virginia when Nate took his place at the rear of the chamber during debate. Quorum was present but the Senate seemed somewhat sparsely populated otherwise. It used to be that a Senator's effectiveness and reputation stemmed from their abilities during debate in this place. That's why giants like Henry Clay, Daniel Webster, Robert La Follette and others enjoyed the reputation that they did. Watergate, Vietnam and Civil Rights had changed the chamber's theatrical function in the last century putting more emphasis on operators and Committee chairs like Lyndon Johnson, William Fulbright or Frank Church.

It was a tricky spot for his own leadership to put him in. But that's why he was there. John Hoynes was the Senate Majority Leader and he'd just taken a loss in the Democratic Primaries to Jed Bartlet due in no small part to Nate's almost continuous stumping against him. But with the expected announcement of Nate as the Democratic nominee for the Vice Presidency, Hoynes no doubt saw the opportunity to put him between a rock and a hard place. As interim Secretary of State, Nate had helped lay the groundwork for the Philippines intervention.

But many of the Bartlet people, with the sole exception of Leo McGarry, were against it. Hoynes was jamming the campaign. Either Nate would support the intervention, which would slay him with the liberal base of his own Party, or he would oppose it and be thought a hypocrite who took the politically expedient way rather than defending his own nascent actions in planning the mission at the State Department.

As Nate leaned back in his chair and rested his head on the knuckle of his fore finger, Senate Majority Whip Ed McLaren of Missouri came over and sat next to his junior colleague. Stood just under six feet with piercing blue eyes and a silver sheen of hair that was neatly cropped. Approaching 65, McLaren had served as a Senator since he was 40 and had known his fair share of Sunday morning celebrities that had walked the halls of this hallowed chamber.

He was a loyal Party man and wanted to see the ticket prevail in November but had given his reluctant assent to this play by Hoynes to put Mr. Ross of Virginia on the spot. Ed had his own reasons. His wife was a teacher and she always talked about the smart kids in class who sat at the back and goofed off rather than actually live up to their potential. So far, Mr. Ross had definitely shown his bright penny side, but it left Ed wondering if there was much substance there. This was the first time that the Senior Senator from Missouri could remember being in the Chamber with the Junior Senator from Virginia…..at least since they'd both attended the State of the Union in the House.

"I can get you out of this." McLaren offered under his breath, a hand over his mouth clearly shielding his lips from the Chair at the front of the Chamber. "Just say the word and I'll take you out of the on deck circle."

In the back rooms, the machinations around this vote were already working to hold on to the 51 Democratic votes and McLaren had little reason to believe the majority would hold. They were likely to lose at least four votes and maybe as many as seven. The question surrounded whether they would lose the 11 necessary to shutdown debate. The Junior Senator from Virginia had, to this point remained something of a mystery. McLaren had no idea how he was planning to vote, much less what he'd say when he got to his feet.

But as he sat there waiting for his response, he could see the gears turning behind the dark eyes of the Senator from Virginia. The seconds on the clock ticked down as Mark Royce of Indiana finished his remarks and returned to his seat. The Vice President – in his role as the presiding officer of the Senate looked to the floor for the next speaker and the Junior Senator from Virginia cracked a rueful smile before extending his long legs out from under his desk and rising, in a shroud of uncertainty to deliver either a furious paean to peace or rousing rebuke to his own Party.

1750 ZULU

THE PENTAGON

ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

Across the river, televisions in the Pentagon were tuned to the Senate proceedings much in the same way that they were across both official and unofficial Washington. Most of Harm's work since taking over the job as the Staff JAG for the Joint Chiefs had been dedicated to the proposed incursion into the Philippines. This was something that he felt a vested interest in, something that he'd put countless late nights into, something that he'd actually debated with Rachel a dozen times before it finally made its way to the floor of the Senate.

His office became a natural congregating point for all the Navy personnel attached to the JCS as the Senate debate continued. The rationale, basis and implementation strategy around the Philippines mission was compartmentalized but, from what Harm had access to, it all seemed solid. It was within the parameters of the request from the White House. That was the only part that made him nervous.

The White House was interested in limiting the incursion. They didn't want to send tens of thousands of troops. They want scaled conflict – seek and destroy. That was the kind of thing that had given birth to the original 'Three Wise Men' program two years ago. The Nate Ross that he had worked with in that program would have been all over this incursion. But facing voters did a strange thing to people who were normally inclined to see the world in terms of right and wrong.

A part of Harm let his mind wander back to those days when he shared that Pentagon office with Mike Bradley and Nate Ross. He wondered what Mike was thinking as he watched this whole thing go down either at CIA Headquarters or in the White House Situation Room. There was too much instability in the whole situation. No one knew how the vote was going to go. Much of official Washington was waiting for Senator Ross of Virginia to get to his feet. The belief was, if he backed the incursion, it would bring along enough votes to make it filibuster-proof in the Senate.

Admiral Tom Wilson stepped into the office to join the Naval personnel who had gathered to watch the Senate debate. Harm moved out from behind his desk and stood next to Wilson who leaned back against the bookcase at the wall opposite the television screen. "Any sense on what's going on down on the Hill?" Harm whispered from behind his hand.

"I've got friends on Armed Services and they're all pretty panicked." Wilson's thick Texas drawl seemed to add a musical quality to every syllable. "The President broke a cardinal rule of Washington, don't bring something to a vote until you know you have the votes."

"You've been around these guys for a while, what do you think they're banking on?" Harm pushed, feeling the need to have complete information.

"I think the President thinks that Nate Ross is General Jack's kid, I think that he thinks Nate Ross was one of the guys who laid the groundwork for this interdiction when he was the Interim Secretary of State." Tom Wilson tapped on his upper lip with his forefinger. "If, like everyone thinks, he's going to be Bartlet's Vice President, the President had no way of finding out how he was going to vote. I think he put his money on a 2 to 1 bet instead of a 5 to 2."

Before Harm could answer, the phone on his office desk rang. He weaved his way through the bodies in his office to answer it. "Harmon Rabb."

"Are you watching this?" The urgency in Mike Bradley's office was palpable.

"Where are you watching it from?" Harm figured his answer was implied and just wanted to get to the point.

"The Situation Room." Bradley was now the Deputy Director for Intelligence, it only made sense that he'd be with the top brass watching this.

"You've known the guy for twenty years, what's he going to do?" Harm had never watched a Senate debate in his entire Washington career, committee meetings were more his style. They had more of the dramatic tension that he was used to enjoying in a courtroom.

"I wish I knew." Mike Bradley admitted with a kind of shocked sorrow. "He's changed. I remember him more ruthless once upon a time. He would have loved an incursion like this. He would have seen the benefit in it. Now, I think he's fallen a little in love with seeing his own image on CNN. The glare of a television spotlight is a more dangerous Washington addiction than whiskey or interns."

That last comment was classic Mike Bradley and earned a chuckle from Harm. There was something that seemed kind of narrow about making this little mocking jape about their former colleague but Mike was right, Harm noticed a difference in Nate since the attack a GWU if not before. This Nate Ross never would have taken that swing at him at Mayport when they were trading barbs over Bax's court martial.

"You think he's more cautious or more compromising now?" Harm figured the answer to that question would give him some insight into how the vote might go or even what Nate might say.

"It's hard to tell." Bradley could almost be heard shaking his head over the phone. "I want to give him the benefit of the doubt and say it's caution. But there's a lot of factors there. It's not just this town, Presidential politics does funny things to how people think. He may want to do something here and may have people above him telling him that he has to vote and speak a certain way."

Washington was an atmosphere obsessed with 'brands'. It was in love with the idea that each Senator, each Congressman and Cabinet Secretary had a brand. Like it was something the voters recognized or subconsciously acknowledged that made them prefer one candidate or politician to the others. Harm saw it was an extension of ego, something that powerful people told themselves to help them sleep at night.

"I've got a call coming in on the other line." Harm stared down at the blinking light on his secure telephone unit. The line went dead and Harm transferred over to Line 2. "Harmon Rabb."

"It's me." Professor Rachel Muller's voice came over the line.

"Are you watching CSPAN, too?" Harm's smile was almost ear to ear.

"I've got two dozen students crowded into my office." Rachel was grinning, too. Harm was sure of it. "They all want to know what I think is going to happen. I figured I should call my source."

"I'm a pretty lousy source on this one." Harm answered. "We're all just watching and waiting. Tom Wilson thinks it'll be a 'go', though."

Just as Harm said it, the CSPAN camera panned around to the back row seat on the aisle and the Junior Senator from Virginia got to his feet.

1801 ZULU

US SENATE

WASHINGTON, DC

Sam Seaborn stood in the Democratic cloak room. Normally, other aides were sent down to the cloak room to deliver things to a Senator. A Chief of Staff had the ability to use the cloak room but would rarely find himself down near the floor of the Senate. The simple fact is, he had no idea what his boss was going to say. The campaign couldn't decide on a cohesive message on the Philippines, though it seemed as though the Senator had sided with Leo McGarry against most of the campaign staff.

Sam's phone vibrated in his breast pocket. He reached in and grabbed it. "Sam Seaborn."

"Did he come to a decision when the two of you spoke this morning?" Mac's voice rang through the phone. "We argued about it last night and again over breakfast this morning and I still don't think I know which way he's going to come down on it."

"From the day we became fraternity brothers, he has always prided himself on the idea that it takes real intelligence to see both sides of an argument rather than to blindly commit to a particular ideology." Sam stared up at the CSPAN footage which showed the Senate Minority Leader still on his feet. "It's the only character trait he has that I thought might hold him back in a job like this."

"When he left the House this morning, I might have put money on him opposing the mission." Mac allowed herself a chuckle. "But sometimes I think he just likes arguing with me."

"See, when he got off the conference call with the Bartlet people, I figured that he'd be supporting it." Sam could understand Mac's need to chuckle. "Every Senator that's come out of the chamber since he went in seems to think that even he doesn't know what he's going to say. I think the Chamber is going to be full by the time that he gets to his feet."

"Great, just what his ego needs." Mac allowed herself to laugh a little harder. "He doesn't need an audience."

"Given the fact that every single television in the Capital and million around the world are going to be tuned in, I think the ship has kind of sailed on that one." Sam countered. "I told him to oppose it, you told him to support it and both of us come away thinking that he's going to do the opposite. Everyone in our office is asking me what the boss is going to say. When I walked down to the cloak room, I passed Senators and reporters who wanted to know and it's hard to not even be able to drop a hint."

Mac's mind went back to the conversation that she'd had with Lily at George Mason the night of the Illinois primary. Something about years as a Marine and as a JAG had given her a keen sense of when she was being lied to. Lily had guilt written all over her face. A couple days at home with both men had just cemented her doubts. They looked more alike now than they ever had before. She noticed small details that she's largely overlooked before – a particular natural highlight in their hair or a mannerism that both had when they were stressed or frustrated.

"Sam, at some point before the wedding, I need your legal and political advice about something." Mac hesitated but this struck her as the best way to deal with things. It wasn't something that she felt that she could keep from Nate anymore and the reality was that there was no way Sam's political advice or his perspective as one of Nate's closest friends.

"If it's that sensitive, then let this be as far as we take it over the phone. I'm on a cell phone and your phone is a government asset." Sam's natural cynicism took over. "I've worked in Washington too long to believe that any phone call ever only has two ears listening in."

"Come over to the house one night before the wedding." Mac suggested. "You know our door's always open to you."

"Thanks, Mac." Sam grinned. "I'll be sure to do that." He paused. "What do you think he's going to do? You probably know him better than anyone else."

"I wish I knew." Mac shook her head. There was always some value to maintaining an element of mystery in a relationship but Nate's internal struggles often had their own motivations. "One of the things I've learned since I became an honorary member of the Ross family is that one of the central relationships every man with an imposing father figure struggles with is how to live up to a standard that has been set. The only person that I imagine knows what he's going to say is the General. My gut tells me that Nate's going to do exactly what he thinks General Jack would do."

Sam nodded his head slowly in comprehension. He'd known Nate Ross since he was a brilliant, but often rebellious, Master's student. The young man had been dealing with living in the General's shadow almost as much as the Junior Senator from Virginia still did. A father who was a Marine Corps officer would be a tough enough figure to live up to. But a Marine Corps Commandant, any kid's going to find that a tough act to follow.

Even if he wanted to, Sam wasn't enough of a family insider to just call the General out of the blue. And even if he did, he had some understanding of the nature of honour and honesty in that family, he knew that the General would tell him that Nate would give him the information in the first place if he wanted him to know. He ended his conversation with Mac just as his phone rang again.

"What the hell is your boss about to say?" Josh Lyman barked into the phone from Bartlet Headquarters in Nashua.

"You and, I imagine, the rest of the country are about to find out any minute now." Sam replied quickly. "He and I went over it after we got off the conference call. From everyone that I've talked to, I've heard that he's spoken to at least a couple more people about the merits and failings of this particular missions all day."

"He needs to oppose it." Josh wasn't asking for an opinion any longer. "It's pretty well unanimous here. This is a bad mission, if he gets up there and puts his personal stamp of approval on it, then we've got a problem. Because either the Governor has to back a mission that he doesn't believe in or he's going to have the press digging into a difference between himself and his running mate."

"Josh, you're talking about someone who has worn his country's uniform in two different conflicts on two different continents. He's been awarded the Legion of Merit, the Silver Star and the Bronze Star. I don't think he needs a lesson in when it's appropriate to put American lives in harm's way." Sam countered just as strongly. "He's been one of those lives. In case you weren't paying attention, the other guy on that conference call who's worn the uniform, thinks this is one of those times."

As he heard Josh prepare his counter-argument, Sam looked up at the CSPAN television feed and saw his boss get to his feet. "Here we go."

1815 ZULU

US SENATE

WASHINGTON, DC

He buttoned the front of his jacket and stared down at the top of his desk. He had been informed by the Senate President Pro Tempore, Mills Paulsen, that the desk he had been assigned had once belonged to Eugene McCarthy. At the moment, he wondered how the consummate anti-war Minnesotan and Democratic peacenik would feel about having a Marine veteran standing in the same place thirty years later – even if they did belong to the same Party.

"I became a Marine as a result of NROTC training and reported for active duty for the first time in 1984. By the time I reserved my commission in 1992, I had served my country in Panama, Iraqi-occupied-Kuwait and on missions and other interdictions around the world." Nate started. "I was a young man, raised with the idea that being born an American is the single greatest advantage provided to a human being since eyesight. Being born with that advantage came with the responsibility of serving the country that gave it to you."

He took a breath. "At the same time, no amount of training or preparation prepares you for what war is. It can't. I had a father who served in Korea, served four tours in Vietnam and was wounded in combat. I used to ask him when I was a teenager what it was like. I was never told." He paused. "Because when you've been there, you realize that it's not something that you want to subject your kids to. No good parent would. You also relive it every time you tell it and some of those images are impossible to remove from your mind. Every time you talk about them, you breathe new colour into images that have, over time, faded to black and white in the recesses of your memory."

"War is the single nastiest form of human endeavour. Nothing about it is ever clean or nice. All the rhetoric about it whether in favour or against is nothing more than orphaned wind. We stand here in the great temples of our democracy casting about the thirty thousand foot view of the importance of fighting terrorism, the nature of warfare, the need to protect democracy and the desire to provide safety." Nate stopped. "Let's talk about what this actually is. Thousands of American families will see a loved one in harm's way. We will alter the lives, the memories and the relationships of thousands of young men and women."

"Far too many won't come home." Nate felt a slight catch in his throat. "One flag draped casket is one too many." He gripped the sides of his desk. "There are no assurances that we here can provide about what this war will look like - and make no mistake, that's what it is, a war."

"I understand what this mission is. I played a part in its infancy. It has merit and it is important to protecting this nation from further terrorism and sorrow, the likes of which we have recently witnessed." Another pause, here was the thesis. "I will be supporting it on one very real condition. I want to see considerably more money spent on veterans' healthcare services. I don't want us talking about our warriors without talking about our wounded warriors. I don't want vets coming home fighting every day to keep what they witnessed from turning to colour again in their minds. Too many of them become forgotten, too many of them aren't getting the help they need and I've gone to too many funerals for too many men whose future became a needle in their arm or a pistol between their teeth."

"Because again, one is too many and we all know we've had more than one." Nate looked around the Senate chamber. "We have a moral covenant, as Americans with the millions of men and women who wear our nation's uniform. It doesn't end when they come home from their mission, that's just when our mission begins. And I won't support creating one more veteran unless I see a real plan to improve how we're going to uphold our end of that moral covenant."

"That's my offer to the President and to my colleagues." Nate opened the front of his jacket and returned to his seat. His colleagues rose in their chairs to applaud. In the cloakroom, Sam Seaborn was near tears. Across the river, Mac and AJ Chegwidden both had a solemn recognition in their eyes.

And at the old house in Leesburg, General Jack had never felt more proud.