Ira Furor Brevis Est by Ecri
See Part One for Disclaimer.
The Next Day
6:30 AM
CJ Cregg stared out at the reporters from her podium. Steve had asked the question she'd been hoping to avoid. The photos had hit the press over night. They'd had roughly 24 hours advance notice and they'd been unable to find out who had the pictures or who had sent them. Inwardly, she sighed and hung her head. Outwardly, she remained calm and poised.
"I'll look into that, and get back to you."
"CJ, can you give us a comment about it?"
"No."
"Do you think this is Sam Seaborn?"
"I can't comment until I've had a chance to look into this. No more questions."
She stepped away from the podium, trying not to rush because she didn't like the image of her racing out of the room to avoid the questions even if that was what she was doing.
**
Ron Butterfield's serious expression and long strides generally kept people from stopping him as he walked through the corridors of the White House. Of course, knowing what his job was, most people were reluctant to interfere anyway. Butterfield knew this and took full advantage. Finally reaching the Oval Office, he greeted Charlie and asked for a moment of the President's time.
"How urgent is this? I could pull him out."
"It's not life and death, but it is serious, and I'm sure he'll want to hear it right away."
Charlie nodded, and stepped through the door. When Bartlet heard who it was, he swiftly ended his meeting. Once everyone had stepped out, and he heard what Ron had to say, he had never been happier he'd ended a meeting in his life.
**
When Sam Seaborn left his apartment, there was a throng of reporters waving newspapers at him and shouting questions. He ignored the reporters and their questions, even when they accidentally' bumped into him as they crowded around his car. He knew they were taking pictures of it, and that the TV cameras would run footage of this with the words, Seaborn refused to comment running along the bottom of the screen.
He climbed into the car and drove away. Halfway to the White House, his cell phone rang. It was CJ warning him.
"I know, CJ, I'm about to be on CNN driving away from the villagers with their torches."
"Get in here Sam."
"I'm on my way."
"Do you want to sneak in the back way, or should I have someone meet you."
Sam shook his head reflexively, barely aware that he was doing it. "No. I'll walk in the way I always do. I don't want it to look like I'm running away from this. Did they ask?"
CJ wanted to pretend she didn't know who they meant. "Yeah. I gave them the I'm looking into it' line."
Sam sighed. "Okay. I'll be there soon." He hung up.
**
As soon as Sam arrived at his office, Ginger directed him to the Oval Office. He handed her his briefcase and straightened his tie as he went. When he got there, Charlie waved him in, and pulled the door shut behind him.
Sam wasn't surprised to see CJ, Toby, Josh, and Leo, but Ron Butterfield's presence was something he would never have predicted. Startled, he nodded in greeting, and turned to face the President. "Mr. President?"
Jed smiled broadly. "Sam! Just the man we've been waiting for!"
Sam nodded, glancing around, but was able to discern nothing from the varied demeanors of his friends. CJ had a relieved, yet sad smile on her face, and he was sure he saw a tear or two standing in her eyes. Toby seemed as stoic as usual, but also emitted a vibration of relief and concern. Leo grinned broadly, and Josh wore an expression that almost had Sam looking around the room for a keg marked Glory' and Donna bringing the finest muffins and bagels in the land. Ron Butterfield stood at nearly military attention, holding a large file folder.
Puzzled, he turned back to the President. "I'm sorry. Have I missed something?"
Bartlet laughed. "I'll say you have!" He gestured to Ron. "Go ahead and fill him in."
Ron looked apologetically at CJ before beginning, and, after she graced him with a nod, he launched into his explanation.
**
The Press Room vibrated with a strange sort of controlled chaos. CJ had expertly sorted through the raised voices and raised hands to deliver her statement. After her statement, she refused questions and strode slowly from the room, savoring the difference from her last exit.
In the hall, Josh was waiting for her. He pumped his arm in the air. "YES!" Then he did a strange little dance stopping only when CJ smacked him.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"Don't ever do that dance again, Josh. Especially not in front of me!"
"That was my victory dance!"
"There was nothing victorious in that dance. Laborious, maybe."
"That doesn't even make sense."
"Josh, you're no dancer. Give it up. Where's Sam?"
Josh shrugged, as Donna appeared beside them and spoke to CJ. "Sam wanted to speak to you. I think he's in your office."
CJ had expected this. "Okay."
CJ turned towards her office, while Josh fell into step with Donna. "What do you think of my dancing?"
"Dancing?"
"Yeahmy littlethe Victory Dance."
"You don't know how to dance, Josh."
"I do so. What do you mean?"
Donna shrugged. "You don't know everything."
She kept walking as Josh stopped and stared after her. "I keep forgetting that."
**
CJ walked into her office almost dreading what she knew Sam would want to discuss. Sam was leaning against her desk, but when he saw her, he stood and took a step forward. "CJ"
"Don't, Sam."
Sam nodded, and for a brief moment, both Sam and CJ thought he might just turn and leave. Something stopped him. "CJdid youI meandid he"
CJ didn't want to have this conversation, so she didn't help him. She placed her briefing notes on her desk and walked around it to have a seat. Sam moved with her, keeping her in his line of sight. She stared at him when she sat, hoping he wouldn't say anything, but recognizing that as unlikely. Hoping that Sam Seaborn would not be able to speak from his heart was like hoping the world would stop turning.
"CJ. Did you and Simon speak about this?"
CJ nodded, not trusting her voice.
"You didn't ask him"
"No!" She wasn't sure why she'd answered him so vehemently, but it seemed important for him to know that she hadn't asked a favor of Simon. She wouldn't have been comfortable even if she had thought he could do it.
Sam stepped back, suddenly sure this was another bad idea. Imagine him making a bad move with a woman involved. "Do you know why?"
CJ stared at him. Then she shut her eyes. For a moment, her shoulders slumped and Sam watched the slight tremble through the shoulders of her white suit. When she opened them again, her eyes sparkled and shone with unshed tears. "I was raving again. I told him, it wasn't right that you were being railroaded like this. That you were being punished for your faith in your friends." She sighed and sat down, suddenly weary. "He asked me what I wanted to do about it."
She thought back to the moment, and, as she related it to Sam, she actually felt Simon Donovan's physical presence.
"What do you want to do about it, CJ?"
"There's nothing I can do! That's the problem!"
"I didn't ask what you could do. I asked what you want to do."
"I want to get them back. I want to find out who's responsible and make them pay. This is an elaborate scheme. They made a tape. They sent it to him. They knew how Sam would react. I want to prove to the world that Sam isn't the bad guy!"
"Sodo it."
Her eyes had narrowed at that. "Do it. Do it? Just like that?"
"Not just like that, but do it. Find out who's behind this."
"I'm not a detective. I wouldn't know where to begin."
Simon smiled. "No. I guess not, but I guess you'd be pretty grateful to anyone who did manage it."
She smiled at him. "If you're talking about you"
"I'm not."
"You weren't just suggesting that you'd look into this?"
"Why would I do that? I have a full time job looking after you. Where would I find the time?"
CJ stared at him for a moment, not entirely convinced.
"We're not going anywhere, cowboy. We've got time."
His eyes widened in surprise at the nickname. "Cowboy?"
She shrugged. "I try that on people sometimes. Never found anyone who could wear it."
"How did I measure up?"
CJ nodded. "It seems to fit, but"
"What?"
"I'll let you know if you should be wearing the white hat or the black hat after I see some results."
"So I keep you safe from a stalker, and that earns me nicknames and jibes but not respect?"
"It's a cruel, cruel world Special Agent Sunshine."
CJ was lost in thought for a few moments. When the silence suddenly seemed unbearable, she turned to look at Sam. He sat quietly, not pushing her, but needing to thank her.
When she didn't say anything more, he did. "Ron told me that he came across the file folder when they were going through Simon's things. He said another agent, a friend of Simon's, Jim Davenport, volunteered to finish it so that all of Simon's cases would be closed. Even though it wasn't official."
CJ nodded. "Hewanted to help. Jim Davenport only had to tie up a few loose ends."
Sam smiled, somehow seeming sad, happy, grateful, sincere, and astonished all at once. "He did."
She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened, and only opened them again when she was sure she could speak without crumbling. "Yeah. He did. I honestly don't know where he found the time."
"CJ, I wanted to thank youI guess because I can't thank him."
"He'd say he was just doing his job."
"We know better."
"We do."
CJ watched Sam leave her office. She knew he wanted to say more, but was glad he hadn't tried. She didn't want any more condolences. She felt almost guilty at the loss she'd felt since Ron had told her what had happened to Simon. Simon's family, his Little Brother, his co-workers and good friends, they'd lost something. CJ had lost the potential for something. The two things were quite different.
As a tear slid down her cheek, CJ promised herself that one day that argument would work.
**
A Few Days Later
10:00 PM
Sam walked slowly back to his office, eyes never straying from the papers he'd just pulled off the printer.
"I hope that's not the President's statement about the FBI investigation, because you're gonna have to rewrite it."
Startled, Sam looked up to see Toby and Josh waiting for him. Toby stood by the window that separated his office from his deputy's. Josh sat in one of Sam's chairs managing to look rumpled in a perfectly pressed suit.
"Why? Has the FBI made another statement?"
"They're making it now." Josh gestured to the TVs in the bullpen. "They've already begun questioning Ritchie's staff. The paper trail that Simon found was enough evidence to give them probable cause. They said that it's likely someone on Ritchie's team made the tape orhow did he put it" Josh looked to Toby for help.
"caused the tape to be made."
Sam almost laughed.
Josh smiled. "Right. They caused the tape to be made and sent it to you hoping to ensnare a White House Employee."
"Ensnare?"
"Sure. The FBI likes words like ensnare, perpetrator, allegedly, and conspirators."
"So that's it?" Sam needed to hear someone say this was over.
Toby nodded. "This has knocked your pictures right out of the news cycles, so, yeah, that's ituntil the next time."
"You mean until I screw up again."
Toby sighed. "Not you, specifically. We seem to be good at taking turns at that. I meant that's it until the next crisis."
Sam felt too weary to nod or otherwise acknowledge his boss' words or intent.
"Come on, guys!" Josh looked from Toby to Sam and back again. "We should be so on top of the world right now. We won this round! We came out on top! The world gave us lemons and we made lemonade! We"
"We didn't do it." Sam spoke in a hushed, somber tone.
Puzzled, Josh stared at this man he still wished to call friend.
Toby knew just what his deputy meant. "This victory was a gift from beyond the grave."
Josh sobered instantly, suddenly not sure if a victory celebration was in order.
His confusion tripled when he heard the decidedly female voice coming from behind him. Peering over his shoulder, he saw CJ grinning.
He smiled involuntarily. "What?"
"What?" CJ answered.
"What's so funny?"
"Not funny! Wonderful!"
"You feel like sharing?" Toby hoped this was seriously good news.
"You guys aren't watching CNN?"
"CJ, you can see we're not. Just tell us what's got you grinning like a jack o'lantern!"
"Kevin Khan just gave a press conference."
When she didn't continue, Sam spoke. "And"
"He's admitted everything."
"He has?" Josh stared at CJ. "Then he'll take the fall?"
CJ was nodding, explaining about the proceedings, and that the case would likely be moved quickly through the courts. "Public opinion is firmly in our favor. Sam's well-liked, and people hate it when politicians play dirty."
Sam listened to the cheerful banter of his colleagues, and was, in all honesty, pleased that his reputation had been restored. It was that Kevin had taken the fall that shook him. His relief that the Bartlet reelection campaign finally seemed to be moving in the right direction warred with his sympathy for Kevin. Justifying what had happened and the part he'd played in it didn't take long when he recalled Kevin's own hand in the videotape debacle. When he'd first embarked on a career in politics, Sam had believed the need to do something that would benefit the country would never be hindered by the need to come out on top. Now, after everything they'd been through this past year, he wasn't sure of anything.
**
Late That Evening
Sam Seaborn parked his car a half-block from his apartment, glad for the lack of rain, which had threatened that morning. The clear, warm night belied any thoughts of rain or storm from earlier in the day, and Sam savored the short walk to his door. It had been a good day. The President's approval rating had jumped several points and was still rising. Polls indicated that most of the public was sympathetic towards both the President and Sam for having been targeted by a conspiracy to discredit them.
Ritchie had had to backpedal through some comments he'd made just that morning, when he'd attempted to ridicule Bartlet and his people only to be given a lukewarm reception. Cornered by one reporter, and spurred by the negative reaction to his disparaging opinions of Bartlet and his Administration, he'd admitted to a grudging respect for the President and his staff. Pressing the point, the reporter managed to get the Governor to say that Sam Seaborn in particular was an upstanding and honorable young man.
Sam and the rest of the staff, as well as President Bartlet, knew that the admiration and respect Ritchie had claimed was a lie. Ritchie hated Bartlet, and likely despised his staff.
He brought his thoughts back to his surroundings and noticed a dark figure standing by the steps of his apartment. The man didn't even have to turn to face him for Sam to recognize him. When Sam was close enough, he decided to speak first, not sure if the other man had seen his approach.
"Kevin." The way Sam said it, it was neither greeting nor question.
Kevin whirled to face Sam, and, once he recognized the White House Deputy, his face contorted into stark hatred. "Sam Seaborn. Just look at you."
Unsure of what Kevin was trying to say, Sam remained silent.
"Quite a little bag of tricks you have up your sleeve. Somehow, you came out of this smelling like a rose." He made a point of inhaling deeply. "Up close, it's more like manure isn't it?"
"What did you want Kevin?"
"What do you think?"
"An apology would be nice."
Kevin sneered. "I bet. If you don't get it, are you going to get the FBI to look into something else?"
"Your little conspiracy was uncovered by the Secret Service, and I had nothing to do with it."
"Just like you had nothing to do with the open mike?"
"It was a mistake."
"Crap!"
"Kevin, I don't know what to tell you. I didn't have anything to do with the open mike. It was a mistake. I didn't have anything to do with the Secret Service"
"Right. That was CJ Cregg, wasn't it?" He took a step away, then lunged forward again, startling Sam with the suddenness of his moves. "CJ and her boy toy Secret Service Agent. What did she have to do to get that investigation started?"
Sam grabbed Kevin by the lapels. The anger evident on his face provided an eerie contrast for his soft, calm voice, which, somehow, emphasized the menace. "You don't make an insinuation like that about her again, or you'll be on a liquid diet for a month."
Wrenching himself from Sam's grasp, Kevin tried to keep his own focus away from the passion in Sam's eyes. Sam did not back down. Instead, he stepped forward, keeping himself in Kevin's personal space, only millimeters from the political operative.
"You got beat. Face it. You don't deserve any explanations from me about how or why. You know that already anyway. Somewhere inside you, you know that I was trying to be above board with you about the tape. If you don't, then, Kevin, it's time to leave Washington, because you've become what you always said you wouldn't. You're a small-minded, suspicious, cold-hearted politician." Sam emphasized the word as he and Kevin once had to illustrate what they considered an inherent difference. There were politicians, and then there were politicians.
Kevin's surprise at Sam's words showed plainly on his face, but his sneer soon returned. "Look who's talking! That thing had your fingerprints all over it!"
"I told you it was a mistake!"
"Not the open mike! The debate."
"Your candidate asked for the debate."
"He was manipulated."
Sam took a step forward forcing Kevin to take a step back. A cold, hard smile, seemingly out of place on his strong, handsome face, lent a heartless gleam to Sam's eyes. "Yes, he was. Is it gonna happen again? I think it will."
At a loss for words, Sam's ex-friend stepped back, looking as if he'd like nothing more than to hit Sam. With visible effort, he turned and walked away.
Sam stared after him. When Kevin climbed into a car and drove away, Sam forced himself to go into his apartment.
After so much time at the office and on the road, his apartment often looked foreign to him. This was no exception. He threw his briefcase on the floor and moved to the kitchen trying to decide if he should make coffee or settle for a glass of water and a retreat to his bed.
Deciding against the caffeine, he got some water, and made his way to his bedroom. Preparing for bed, he got a glimpse of himself in the mirror. What he saw surprised him. He was tired, certainly, and that showed in his eyes, but it was a good tired. The kind of tired you got when you accomplished somethingthe kind of tired he hadn't felt in a long time. What surprised him was not physical fatigue, but the lack of the perennial soul weariness, the shattered, betrayed, morose, kick-me-when-I'm-down feelings that had plagued him. He realized he had some hope for the future. He realized that, even though he'd thought at various times that he would crumble, that he was crumbling, he had survived. No matter what else happened, he would be okay.
He inhaled enjoying the physicality of the action as only a man pleased with himself can. It had been a rough year, and an even rougher summer. Now, he felt strong. He felt lighter, somehow, unburdened. "Ira furor brevis est." He whispered the phrase to his reflection.
Sam crawled into bed, whispering a translation to the Latin phrase that had popped, unbidden into his mind. "Anger is a brief madness." Settling back into the pillow, he reveled in his brief madness, and his recent recovery. Just as he drifted off to sleep, he whispered, "I'm up off the dirt." For the first time in months, Sam Seaborn slept peacefully.
End
