Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine. Whedon and Sorkin's only.
Summary: The First Daughter is missing, California's collapsing, the Slayers are having dreams, the First Family is falling apart in the mix... and CJ broke her favorite mug. Can the Sunnydale crew keep the Bartlet administration afloat?
A/N: Wow! I didn't expect the response I've gotten so far! Thanks for letting me know your opinions, it means a lot. Oh — and the Republican bashing is about to go up another level. Don't take it personally, anyone! I'm a Democrat, yes, but my cousin works in the Bush White House, so politcal tolerance is my experience. However, this being the Bartlet White House, and Walken being so sketchy... anything's fair game!
Chapter Two — Conversations with Politicians
"Josh is going home," Donna announced, leveling her gaze on Leo as if daring him to complain.
Leo glanced over the top of the report he was reading. "This have anything to do with CJ's door?"
Donna nodded, glancing at the door connecting Leo's office to the acting president. "It's the first episode he's had in ages. I think it was adding the noise on top of the stress and worry about Zoey. Er... what's He going to do about California?" She jerked her head toward the door, should Leo have any questions about who she meant.
"It's the only piece of normal business I'll let through," Leo admitted. "He'll be declaring it a disaster area and making sure the funding gets there. Hey, Donna — do you want to follow Josh home and make sure he's alright? I don't think he should be alone."
"Please, call me in if anything happens," Donna begged. "I can't bear to think about what she's going through... Please, Leo — and it'll help Josh, too -"
"The moment we've a word," the Chief of Staff stated, nodding toward the exit by way of dismissal. He glanced at the clock on his desk as Donna showed herself out. Nine hours and counting.
+
Learning the sewer systems of DC while crammed into the coach section of an airplane was a less than comfortable task, Buffy mused, as she squinted at the screen. The doctors had termed her recovery miraculous but hadn't the time to complain while she checked herself out, due to the hundreds of victims of aftershocks trickling into the hospital. According to the pilot, they weren't sure whether or not they'd actually be able to land in D.C., and if they were, they might not be able to disembark. With that, Buffy's seatmate had launched to his feet and charged to the front of the plane, leaving her alone to her devices. Last minute ticket purchases had Kennedy, Giles, Lindsay and Willow sitting at various points throughout the coach section.
Ready to offer an opinion about approaching the city center through the sewers, Buffy slammed the laptop shut and rose from her seat — only to bump into her returning seatmate. "Sorry about that. Didn't mean to get in your way. Any luck with your destination?"
The man looked at her distractedly. "Er- only some. I can use the phone when we've reached the right altitude. It's just — it's imperative that I get into town immediately." He wasn't moving and happened to be blocking her into her seat, so Buffy decided to chat until he realized the position.
"Hot date? Or a business meeting?"
"Neither. There's a crisis, and I have to be there." The man shifted awkwardly. "I mean, I don't belong there anymore. I quit. But they're my friends and my family. They're worried sick about her, they shouldn't have to worry about me too, right?"
It sounded serious, but Buffy didn't have a clue what he was talking about. "Um — sorry to touch on a painful topic, but are you planning on explaining any of that?"
"Oh. OH. Um..." the man shrugged, almost bashfully. "I worked at the White House. Sam Seaborn."
The name was placed within moments. "Oh, wow. You're the guy who ran when Horton Wilde died. Oh — um, I voted for you, if it matters. Buffy Summers, entirely not-famous school counselor." And vampire slayer extraordinaire, but she had the feeling the man's response would be to run away were she to answer that way. She shook Mr. Seaborn's hand before returning to her seat and letting him settle into his. Learning more about Zoey Bartlet seemed to be a priority over chatting with Kennedy. "I don't mean to pry — well, yes, I guess I do — but what do you think you can do by going back?"
"A lot of it is probably for my own peace of mind," Mr. Seaborn admitted, flashing a quirky smile at Buffy. Her heart melted — silly politician grin. "Working for President Bartlet is like becoming a member of his family. I've watched Zoey grow up since I joined the campaign. If she gets hurt... I just can't imagine what it'll do to him. To Mrs. Bartlet, and to Leo, and Josh, CJ, Toby, Donna, and the others... I'm sorry, I don't mean to bore you..."
"No! You're not. Not at all. Tell me — what's Zoey like? She's about my age and all, it just seems weird to hear about terrible things happening to her." There, the pouty face Xander hated. If only it worked as well on politicians.
Success! "She's vibrant, outgoing... dating this French guy I'm sure wasn't good for her. She was dating the President's primary aide for a while, Charlie Young, but I think they split up in part because of the attempt on Charlie's life. Do you remember reading about it in the paper?"
"Do I ever. Who would forget an assassination attempt? So — do you know the guy that got shot? Was he the Josh you mentioned?"
"My best friend," Mr. Seaborn admitted. "Josh is doing fine, these days. Or he was, last time I saw him. But with Zoey being kidnapped... you heard about the ransom note, right? It came to Josh's office. I don't know why."
"And the note was in Arabic or something, right?" Buffy asked, glancing distractedly at her fingernails.
Sam frowned. "Yeah... but for some reason, it doesn't seem right. It's off somehow." He shook his head, as if dismissing the notion. "I'm sorry, Ms. Summers — what is it you do?"
"High school counselor and armchair detective. Or, I was a high school counselor, until the school dropped into hell." She smiled, trying not to laugh at the myriad of expressions crossing the man's face. Confusion, disbelief, then realization.
"Sunnydale. I knew you looked familiar, I was watching CNN while we were trying to get here. You ran that whatever team, with the last busload of kids to get out?" Mr. Seaborn tapped on the arm of the seat. "Er... it was some martial arts thing?"
"Just a general martial arts club, kind of a take-back-the-night type of thing." Bending the truth had never been quite so much fun. "They're good girls. One of them's with me now, Lindsay Simon. All of us were supposed to go to a karate competition, but Lindsay's the only one up to doing it now." It was the nationals, held in Bethesda, and they'd been lucky enough to actually have a potential signed up to go. Sometimes the world worked in convenient ways.
Mr. Seaborn nodded solemnly. "Well, I'm not sure how close in you'll be able to get. We might be rerouted to Newark. Although... you know, I might be able to get you and your student a ride into D.C. proper. I'm picking a car up in New Jersey and driving the rest of the way in, if that's the case. I'd make the detour to central Maryland, but as I'm in a hurry -"
"Just let us off where ever's convenient," Buffy smiled. "I'm sure we can call and get a pickup from the White House area, even."
He leaned closer. "You know, I might be able to wrangle a tour for you. Once Zoey's found and things calm down. And as survivors of the earthquake, you might even warrant a meeting with President Bartlet."
After Zoey was found, Buffy firmly intended to be on a plane back to L.A. to work out insurance and find a new job. However, she gave a flirtatious grin and nodded, hoping it could help them get to the White House. "I'd be honored, Mr. Seaborn."
+
Her eyes were wide with fear, and she was bound and gagged in a musty cellar, or boiler room, or dark space. She was twenty-two, but she looked ten, younger than the home video images being played over and over on the television screen by countless networks. The men in the room with her were not men — they were monsters, faces hideously deformed, eyes yellowed and feral, and teeth sharp and canine. She was afraid, but unable to break her bonds as one poked at her with a booted toe and the others poured over books in the corner. She was bound, uncomprehending, in the center of a pentacle and a circle of burning candles.
CJ screamed herself awake, hardly comprehending that the darkness surrounding her wasn't the same as the darkness Zoey faced in a back room somewhere. Someone was at her side instantly, shaking her to full consciousness.
"Are you alright? Can I get something for you?" It was Ginger, and she appeared beyond spooked.
She finally caught sight of the clock on the desk. Only 7:30 p.m., and she'd been sleeping for hours on Toby's couch after shattering the door to her office. The Communications Director was nowhere to be found. "I'm alright. Sorry, Ginger — it was a bad dream. I didn't mean to startle you."
"Sometimes dreams can mean things. At least, that's what Margaret says... do you want to talk about it? Or- should I go grab Toby? Some coffee? A hairbrush?" Ginger stood, taking half a step toward the door.
"I dreamed about Zoey," CJ winced. "This is going to sound so stupid... it was a group of monster Satanists, and they were going to sacrifice her for a — I don't even know what. They were going to kill her, though."
Ginger shook her head. "That's horrible. But the ransom note said -"
"Have you looked at the picture? On the note? You can't tell it's Zoey. Leo thinks it's a fake. And I guess — I guess my subconscious agrees, or something, but I want desperately for that note to be the truth and for Zoey to be let go and for the president to be the president -"
"Hey, calm down." Ginger grabbed CJ's shoulders. "It's gonna be fine. They'll get her back."
Toby poked his head into the office. "CJ. Are you up to a drive?"
Ginger opened her mouth to answer, but CJ shook her head at the assistant. "What do you need me for, Tobus?"
"Sam's coming in to Annapolis. It's the closest planes are landing. I need you to pick him up and bring him in. He needs to be here. You alright with that?" He crossed to his desk, flipping through stacks of paper and generally keeping himself busy. "Leo's going to cover this evening's briefing whether or not you do this."
"I'll get him. When?"
"Leave now. Take Will, before he loses it and yells at Walken. Oh, and Sam's bringing people with him — survivors of the Sunnydale earthquake. I don't know why, but you're gonna have to take Danny Concannon's van. He offered it."
CJ narrowed her eyes, but chose not to respond to that one. Whenever Danny offered anything, there was a price. "Get me the keys and I'll go. I need to get out of here for a while."
"You'll have a new door when you get back. Now bring Sam home."
+
Josh had been on the phone to Stanley for hours. While he worked through the flashes of being back at Rosslyn, Donna stayed nearby and kept a close watch on the television. The death toll in California had risen, and Zoey still hadn't been accounted for — despite a total of four ransom notes, each from different organizations and asking for different results. As Josh continued describing what had happened in CJ's office, Donna's cell phone rang. She excused herself to the kitchen to take the call. "Hello?"
"Donna, it's Sam. I'm about to land in Maryland."
"Sam — oh, thank God. What do you know?" She started poking through the cupboards, looking for food of any sort to craft into a dinner, out of reflex.
"Nothing. Just what CNN's been saying, and MSNBC. Qumari terrorists. Do we know anything else?"
Donna sighed, shaking her head, though he couldn't see it. "It might not be the Qumaris, Sam. We've got more than one note. I can't say more over the phone... say, were you close to the earthquake? Did you lose anything?"
"I'm okay." He didn't sound okay. His voice was wavering, and Donna could hear people talking to either side of him. "I grew up in California, you get used to the earthquakes after a while — but this was the big one. It was something. Most of my stuff's still in DC or I'd have some cracked china. The apartment building next to mine was nearly destroyed, and we're thirty miles from the epicenter."
"You saw the news conference about the President."
It wasn't a question, but Sam answered anyway. "President Half-wit Walken. Oh, goodie. Will I even be let in the White House?"
"I doubt it. Listen, Sam, I'm at Josh's -"
"Josh? Is he alright? What's going on?"
Leave it to Sam to know when Josh was having problems. It was odd to remember Sam's obliviousness when Josh needed it most. "CJ broke a door early this afternoon. We're not quite sure how — it just shattered, it was scary. But the door frame snapped in half and made a loud bang, which sounded just like -"
"A gunshot," Sam finished. There was an uncomfortable pause. "But didn't Josh say that Stanley said music was his trigger? Music and sirens?"
"He hadn't been in this kind of stress. We thought he was better. I thought he was better. But I guess it takes more than we'd thought." Donna pulled out a package of macaroni and cheese and started looking for an expiration date. "Don't go to the White House, Sam. Come here. At least until Zoey's found and President Bartlet's taken control again. Walken won't let you in."
There was a pause, and Donna heard Sam talking to someone else faintly. "Yeah, I'll head over there, Donna. CJ's picking me up. Do you mind if I bring a few people? They're from the epicenter — one of them's on the karate team and is supposed to be in Bethesda at some national tournament thing. Is Josh up for the company?"
"Hold on a minute." She covered the receiver and peeked out into the living room. "Josh?"
He held the phone away from his ear. "Yeah? What is it, Donna?"
"Sam's coming here. He wants to bring a couple people from the epicenter. With Washington crashed, I don't think they can get to their hotel or something." He looked more centered than when she'd helped him into his apartment, shaking and holding onto her arm for dear life.
"I'll be fine. I can always retreat," he offered, gesturing vaguely toward his bedroom.
Donna nodded and ducked back to her phone. "Alright, Sam. Bring em, but tell them not to be too loud. And maybe you can try to talk CJ into letting Danny interview them? Once Zoey's found, he'll be happy for something to cover."
"I'll talk to Miss Summers," Sam said. "I've got to go, we're landing. See you in a few, Donna. Hang in there." And he hung up.
Once Zoey's found. The phrase echoed, though she'd uttered it. Optimism seemed so easy, until now. There was no telling what had happened to the President's youngest daughter. According to Josh, through Charlie, Zoey had been slipped a drug in her cocktails, possibly Ecstasy, and possibly something else entirely. Jean Paul had been hauled back to the White House and was being questioned by the Secret Service. The Bartlets had disappeared into the Residence, presumably to pray. And sitting in her president's chair was a political enemy.
Compared to all of that, Amy's question seemed stupid to dwell on.