II
"Hey Zoey." Charlie found himself grinning widely, even though Zoey was on the other end of the phone and he was alone at his desk.
"Hey, Charlie!" Zoey said just as brightly, and he could picture her expression. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"
"Working my ass off, same as I always do," he reminded her.
"Well, don't work too hard. I agreed to marry you as a package deal, and that ass was definitely part of the offer."
"Oh, so now the sordid truth comes out," he smiled, leaning back in his chair.
"Seriously, Charlie, can you get away? I can get us dinner reservations at seven."
"Well, I'll have to ask your father-"
"Ask me what?"
Charlie jumped upright, to the quiet amusement of the president who'd come up behind him. "You had something to ask me, Charlie?" he repeated, smirking ever so slightly. Charlie only hoped he wasn't going to query the 'sordid truth' remark.
"Uh, Zoey has dinner reservations tomorrow for night. I was wondering could I-"
"You can go," agreed the president benevolently, and Charlie smiled in thanks. It was amazing how much easier it was to wrangle time off when the person you'd be disappointing if you failed was your boss's beloved youngest daughter.
"Your father says it's fine," he said into the phone.
"Oh, is he back? I should go. Call me tonight?"
"Sure." The president gestured for the phone, and Charlie told her "Your father wants to talk to you."
"Zoey!" said the president expansively. "Hassling my staff again?"
Charlie rolled his eyes, and pointedly ignored all the jokes the president made at his expense just because he knew he was listening. As was his habit when he got a spare moment, he scanned his employer for signs of... well, signs. He didn't like to think too much about what those signs might add up to, but they'd been depressingly prevalent of late.
The president might be under the impression he was some kind of brilliant actor, but Charlie knew better. He spent more time in the company of Jed Bartlet than even the First Lady or Leo, and often he was hovering in the background with the president barely conscious of his presence. He saw the winces, heard the soft sighs, registered the way he rubbed his eyes and how tired he looked.
The president might fool almost anybody else into believing everything was fine, but Charlie knew better.
His future father-in-law hung up the phone, and Charlie was too slow to flick his gaze away before deep blue eyes met his own. But instead of his usual trick of deflecting attention onto the next pressing item of business - and there was always a next pressing item of business - the president gave him a soft, knowing smile and gestured to the Oval Office.
"Come in, Charlie."
Something like nervousness rippled through him, and it only grew stronger as the president closed the door and gestured for him to take a seat. "Mr. President?" he queried hesitantly.
The president gave him a reproachful look for that. He'd declared that if Charlie was intending to marry his daughter, then in private he should call him 'dad' - a directive that Charlie was almost painfully honoured by, but not one that he found it easy to obey. At the Manchester farm in the holidays perhaps, when the lines were more fully blurred... but not here and now, with the weight of the Oval Office bearing down on him.
The president sat down across from him and sighed. He was silent for a moment. "Charlie, I know you've been... worried about me," he began.
"Sir, I-"
The president waved him quiet "You're not the only one," he admitted, and hesitated. "Me included. Which is why the First Lady and I have decided that I'm going to see a doctor. Tomorrow. Just to... to get a few things checked out." The president's eyes were locked on his now, and he couldn't think of a thing, not a single tiny fragment of a thing to say. "It probably isn't- We're just going to get things checked out."
He nodded slowly, feeling bizarrely disconnected from his own body. "Okay." This was a good thing, right? A good thing. Just the president being careful, looking out for himself the way he was supposed to.
Except...
Except that everybody knew that the president was just about the world's biggest expert on sticking his head in the sand, ostrich-style, and what did it mean that this was serious enough that he couldn't do that?
The president stood up, abruptly, perhaps troubled by the same thoughts as his young personal aide and future son-in-law. He briefly covered Charlie's hand with his own, and when he spoke again his voice was firmer, stronger.
"It's not necessarily anything; we're just covering all our bases, Charlie, okay?"
Charlie nodded again, because that was easier than trusting his voice not to betray his concern.
The president turned to go, and then hesitated. "And, Charlie? Don't... let's not bother Zoey with this, okay? I don't want to worry her unnecessarily."
"Okay," he said again. The president left, and Charlie watched him go, painfully aware of how small he sometimes seemed - when the magical fire of the presidency left him, and he was just a man.
It felt like a long time before he trusted his legs enough to stand up and follow.
"Okay, folks, and how are we today?" CJ stepped up to the podium with a practised air that betrayed nothing of the anxiety she was feeling underneath. She'd heard the strain in Peter's voice, and though he hadn't said it, she knew the truth of the matter anyway.
Her father was dying. She knew it, Peter knew it, Robert knew it. But Peter and Robert could drop everything to be at his side, and she...
And she was the White House press secretary.
"We've got more news on the Sex Education; it looks like the pilot scheme that was mentioned last briefing will be going ahead in both states, and several others will be monitoring reactions with a view to implementing something similar further down the line."
No questions yet, and my, wasn't that a surprise. CJ knew what they were really after, but she soldiered on regardless.
"In other news, we're going to be revisiting hate crimes. Toby Ziegler and Sam Seaborn will be meeting with several action groups and looking towards crafting a much more proactive stance on crimes of prejudice and discrimination; we want to emphasise that this White House has absolutely zero tolerance for organised hate groups."
Okay, not much meat on the bones there, but nobody had anything to say on some juicy freedom of speech issues? She sighed internally and opened a by now familiar can of worms. "Any questions?"
"CJ!"
"Sandy."
"Have Charlie and Zoey set a date?"
The whole room grinned at the way she theatrically rolled her eyes. It was a question that had been bouncing around the pressroom at every single briefing since the news of the engagement had come out. Okay, it was much better than the ugly questions that had first emerged when it looked like Zoey might have been hiding the news from her parents, but CJ still wasn't sure how she was supposed to magically know every detail long before the couple themselves had even considered them.
And yet, they kept on asking.
"Well, I'm sorry, Sandy, but I've yet to be involved in wedding planning. I'm sure they could use my invaluable knowledge, but I'm holding out for an invitation to be a bridesmaid. Yes, Katie?"
"Any word yet on whether Zoey Bartlet wants to be married by a Catholic priest, or-?"
It was going to be a long day.
"Hey, Sam."
"Hey, CJ." He grinned as he fell into step beside her. "Boy, the press really love a wedding, don't they?"
"Apparently, the vogue for royal weddings didn't die with the Declaration of Independence," she said, rolling her eyes. Ever since the news had come out, the press had wanted to talk about nothing else. "Incidentally, talking of young lovebirds-" she added.
"CJ." He couldn't help blushing just a little, embarrassed.
"Seriously, how's things with your other half?"
"Going very well, you'll be disappointed to hear," Sam informed her.
"Sam." She gave him a look which said, all press complications aside, she was fully behind his fledging relationship with Steven Radcliffe. And he appreciated it.
He'd met Steve less than three weeks ago, but he and the cheerful young technical writer had instantly connected, and at a time when he was at his lowest ebb, that connection had been something to be treasured. And it was a least partly Steve's influence that had helped haul him out of the depression he'd been living in. It had been too long since he'd had any kind of anchor outside work to keep him from crashing and burning when things got tough, and - inconvenient as it might be when the press got wind of it - he wasn't going to give up this chance at that kind of stability.
"Seriously, CJ, it's... we're cool," Sam nodded. He blushed slightly, and that made her smile.
"You kids are so cute, do you know that?"
"Hey! I resent that." He wasn't sure he whether he resented being called a kid or being called cute, but he was fairly sure that neither one of them would be good news if Josh got to hear of it.
"Have you called your parents yet?" she asked him, almost out of nowhere, and he winced.
"I've been..." He trailed off.
"Procrastinating?" she supplied.
"Yeah, that would just about cover it," Sam admitted. He pulled a face. "CJ, it's... it's difficult. I'm... you know I'm an only child, and my parents always wanted grandchildren. And then, and then there's my dad..."
Hi, dad, haven't really spoken to you since I found out you were screwing another woman for twenty-eight years of marriage, oh and did I mention I have a boyfriend now?
"Yeah." CJ briefly laid a hand on his shoulder. "Just... just be aware that, you know, this could break at any time. It'll be better coming from you than over the news."
"I know."
"You don't want to burn any bridges with your parents," CJ said seriously. "You never know when-" She shrugged. "You never know."
"Yeah. I'll talk to them," Sam nodded.
One day.
Maybe.
He peeled off towards his office, but stopped as CJ called him back. "Sam. Any idea what this thing with the president is about later?"
Sam could only shrug.
Margaret hesitated in her boss's doorway. "Leo?" He didn't look up. "Leo?" she repeated more loudly.
He blinked up at her, and removed his glasses. "Margaret?" He didn't snap at her, and that bothered her. If he was working late because he had too much to do, then he would snap if she interrupted him. Which meant he was working late for some reason other than the work itself.
And those kind of reasons were never good.
"Do you need anything?" she asked, because it was the only thing she could ask.
"I'm finishing up here. You go on home."
Liar. She knew it, and he probably knew she knew it. But he also knew she wouldn't come right out and say so.
"Everyone's still here," she said instead. "Is there something-?"
"It's nothing."
But Margaret could read Leo's eyes, and she knew it wasn't nothing - at least, not the ordinary nothing.
It was that kind of "nothing".
"You'll go home and get some sleep?" she said. A ritual urging, not one that she expected to have any true effect.
"I'm nearly done." As if, in the world of Leo McGarry, there was ever such a thing as 'done'.
And something about the look in his eye... Margaret suspected that she wouldn't be sleeping too well tonight, either.