DISCLAIMER
Roger Tribbey and all things West Wing belong to Aaron Sorkin. It's possible that the White House and the Capitol belong to the United States federal government. I own a word processor, an overactive imagination, and student loans, so the aforementioned entites would probably be better off not sueing me. I am making no money from this, or, in fact, from anything else.
WARNINGS
Dark content which may be difficult for some people to read, and I'm not kidding around with that one. Multiple character deaths and implied terrorism.
SUMMARY
"If someone blows up the Capitol building during the State of the Union, the man my country will be looking to is the Secretary of Agriculture?" AU vignette post-'He Shall From Time to Time'.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Phenomenal Capacity
Approximately three thousand reporters in the world have White House credentials, and it seems that every last one of them is in the press room right now. As I enter, those who managed to find chairs get to their feet in a silence so dead that it sounds like a roar in my ears. A couple of flashlights go off. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to not recoil from them.
"Good evening. Two hours ago, an explosion occurred inside the Capitol building during President Bartlet's State of the Union address..."
* * *
I had been in the President's study watching the speech on television. Being reminded why I had supported this rank outsider for the nomination while most of the career Democrats on the Beltway did the smart thing and put their money behind Hoynes.
"Tonight we speak of the present and of what we can achieve today, and we say that government should be an instrument of good. We forget our failures in the past and we set aside our worries of those in times to come, and we strive to become an instrument of good, in which people can come together and where no one gets left behind."
And then an explosion, and then blackness.
I thought, as I'm sure did most if not many of the people watching, that a camera had blown. Technical glitch. No problem.
It wasn't until I found myself surrounded by Secret Service agents, seconds before C-SPAN flickered back to life with the words 'Special Report' across the screen, that I even considered this could be something bigger than a mere technical fault.
* * *
"Our priority at this time is recovery of the injured, and we will not rest until all hope has been exhausted..."
* * *
I didn't want to think about what those staff who had stayed in the West Wing were going through. Those people were their friends and their bosses and the men and women they had spent their day-to-day lives with. Their family.
The first person I found was a young woman in her late twenties, staring at a television in blank terror. She started when she saw me.
"Mr Sec... Mr President."
It almost sent us both reeling.
"I... I'm sorry."
Because this is the White House, and there's a protocol to be observed and a procedure to be followed. Even when the people you love are buried under rubble and you have no idea whether they're dead or alive.
"Donna Moss."
"You are?"
"Senior Assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff for Strategic Planning." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I work for Josh Lyman."
I heard President Bartlet's voice in my head as he talked me through what I would have to do and what neither of us seriously thought would be a reality.
"Get the other senior assistants together, get on the phone to the Governors and tell them I need delegates in Washington. Find Jeremy Radcliffe, he's head of the political science department at Georgetown University and should be at home in Virginia, and send two agents to bring him here. Did any of the senior staff stay behind?"
"CJ Cregg."
"I'll be in Leo McGarry's office in half an hour."
"Yes, sir."
"Miss Moss?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Are you all right?"
"I..." It was a ridiculous question and we both knew it. Her entire world had just been rocked on its foundations. "I think that if I sit down or stop thinking about other things that I have to do, I'll start to comprehend that this is real, and I don't think I'll be able to get back up."
* * *
"Admiral Fitzwallace and the Joint Chiefs of Staff are in the Situation Room, together with the Assistant Attorney General..."
* * *
"Mr President."
I had left the bullpen and gone downstairs, followed by five Secret Service agents who stationed themselves outside the door of the Situation Room when I went in.
It took me a couple of seconds to realise that they were standing up for me.
My instincts kept me away from President Bartlet's chair.
"Admiral. Mr Connelly."
I nodded to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and the Assistant Attorney General, and I thanked whatever fate or luck it was that made Percy Fitzwallace stay in the White House tonight. I recalled Jed Bartlet's voice again before he left for the Capitol, and the words came out of my mouth.
"I'm taking us to Defcon 4 until we know more about what the hell happened out there tonight."
"Mr President, I want us to bring out the National Guard." The Assistant AG looked at me from down the table. "Obviously, President Bartlet could be alive, but for reasons of national security and government stability, I think it's important that we assume worst case scenario. Until the rescue teams can tell us otherwise, you are the Commander in Chief. You have to appoint a chief of staff."
"He's on his way over. The National Guard? Do it."
"If you don't mind my asking, sir..."
"His name is Jeremy Radcliffe. He's the head of the political science department at Georgetown and he served in the Gulf War."
"You trust him?"
"Yes, Admiral." I got to my feet. "With my life."
* * *
"We will be keeping you posted on developments throughout the night and over the course of tomorrow and the next few days..."
* * *
"Are you Leo McGarry's assistant?"
"Yes, sir. Margaret."
"Do you mind if I use his office?"
I couldn't bring myself to go into the Oval Office. It seemed like the ultimate disrespect to a man who was a great leader and who may still be alive. Using his Chief of Staff's office seemed less so, somehow, but I wasn't about to walk in there without asking his assistant.
"CJ Cregg's waiting for you."
"Thank you."
She got to her feet as I went in, and nodded at me with a brief, "Sir." Just like I couldn't bring myself to go into the Oval, they couldn't bring themselves to call me Mr President.
"How are you?"
"Guilty. For being all in one piece. I wish one of them had stayed behind instead of me. Sounds stupid when I say it out loud."
"I understand."
"The press are starting to chomp, sir."
"Can they keep chomping for a while longer?"
"Of course."
"I'll give them a statement at..." I checked my watch. "Ten-fifteen, if that's okay."
* * *
We hope that many lives will be saved over the course of the next few days, but we have as of yet no idea of the casualty list, and it is probable that many people have been killed tonight..."
* * *
Josiah Bartlet. Abigail Bartlet. Leo McGarry. John Hoynes. Joshua Lyman. Sam Seaborn. Toby Ziegler. Glen Walken. Edgar Finney. Andrea Wyatt. Matthew Skinner. Howard Stackhouse.
The list of people who had been in the chamber or in its immediate vicinity when the explosion took place was seemingly endless.
I found myself speaking to a God I hadn't prayed to since before I graduated high school. An instinct that came back in times of deep crisis and trouble.
* * *
"Does anyone have any questions?"
"Mr President, how are you feeling right now?"
"I'm numb," I tell her honestly.
"Sir, do you think that you'll be able to handle the Office of the President effectively over the course of the next few days?"
"I believe that I'll be able to handle it to the best of my ability, and I believe the same of the staff who are working with me. People have phenomenal capacity."
I glance over at the door, at CJ and Donna and Margaret and two or three other assistants, all of them just barely holding it together, but holding it together all the same.
"A great man told me that, not too long ago."
Roger Tribbey and all things West Wing belong to Aaron Sorkin. It's possible that the White House and the Capitol belong to the United States federal government. I own a word processor, an overactive imagination, and student loans, so the aforementioned entites would probably be better off not sueing me. I am making no money from this, or, in fact, from anything else.
WARNINGS
Dark content which may be difficult for some people to read, and I'm not kidding around with that one. Multiple character deaths and implied terrorism.
SUMMARY
"If someone blows up the Capitol building during the State of the Union, the man my country will be looking to is the Secretary of Agriculture?" AU vignette post-'He Shall From Time to Time'.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Phenomenal Capacity
Approximately three thousand reporters in the world have White House credentials, and it seems that every last one of them is in the press room right now. As I enter, those who managed to find chairs get to their feet in a silence so dead that it sounds like a roar in my ears. A couple of flashlights go off. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to not recoil from them.
"Good evening. Two hours ago, an explosion occurred inside the Capitol building during President Bartlet's State of the Union address..."
* * *
I had been in the President's study watching the speech on television. Being reminded why I had supported this rank outsider for the nomination while most of the career Democrats on the Beltway did the smart thing and put their money behind Hoynes.
"Tonight we speak of the present and of what we can achieve today, and we say that government should be an instrument of good. We forget our failures in the past and we set aside our worries of those in times to come, and we strive to become an instrument of good, in which people can come together and where no one gets left behind."
And then an explosion, and then blackness.
I thought, as I'm sure did most if not many of the people watching, that a camera had blown. Technical glitch. No problem.
It wasn't until I found myself surrounded by Secret Service agents, seconds before C-SPAN flickered back to life with the words 'Special Report' across the screen, that I even considered this could be something bigger than a mere technical fault.
* * *
"Our priority at this time is recovery of the injured, and we will not rest until all hope has been exhausted..."
* * *
I didn't want to think about what those staff who had stayed in the West Wing were going through. Those people were their friends and their bosses and the men and women they had spent their day-to-day lives with. Their family.
The first person I found was a young woman in her late twenties, staring at a television in blank terror. She started when she saw me.
"Mr Sec... Mr President."
It almost sent us both reeling.
"I... I'm sorry."
Because this is the White House, and there's a protocol to be observed and a procedure to be followed. Even when the people you love are buried under rubble and you have no idea whether they're dead or alive.
"Donna Moss."
"You are?"
"Senior Assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff for Strategic Planning." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I work for Josh Lyman."
I heard President Bartlet's voice in my head as he talked me through what I would have to do and what neither of us seriously thought would be a reality.
"Get the other senior assistants together, get on the phone to the Governors and tell them I need delegates in Washington. Find Jeremy Radcliffe, he's head of the political science department at Georgetown University and should be at home in Virginia, and send two agents to bring him here. Did any of the senior staff stay behind?"
"CJ Cregg."
"I'll be in Leo McGarry's office in half an hour."
"Yes, sir."
"Miss Moss?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Are you all right?"
"I..." It was a ridiculous question and we both knew it. Her entire world had just been rocked on its foundations. "I think that if I sit down or stop thinking about other things that I have to do, I'll start to comprehend that this is real, and I don't think I'll be able to get back up."
* * *
"Admiral Fitzwallace and the Joint Chiefs of Staff are in the Situation Room, together with the Assistant Attorney General..."
* * *
"Mr President."
I had left the bullpen and gone downstairs, followed by five Secret Service agents who stationed themselves outside the door of the Situation Room when I went in.
It took me a couple of seconds to realise that they were standing up for me.
My instincts kept me away from President Bartlet's chair.
"Admiral. Mr Connelly."
I nodded to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and the Assistant Attorney General, and I thanked whatever fate or luck it was that made Percy Fitzwallace stay in the White House tonight. I recalled Jed Bartlet's voice again before he left for the Capitol, and the words came out of my mouth.
"I'm taking us to Defcon 4 until we know more about what the hell happened out there tonight."
"Mr President, I want us to bring out the National Guard." The Assistant AG looked at me from down the table. "Obviously, President Bartlet could be alive, but for reasons of national security and government stability, I think it's important that we assume worst case scenario. Until the rescue teams can tell us otherwise, you are the Commander in Chief. You have to appoint a chief of staff."
"He's on his way over. The National Guard? Do it."
"If you don't mind my asking, sir..."
"His name is Jeremy Radcliffe. He's the head of the political science department at Georgetown and he served in the Gulf War."
"You trust him?"
"Yes, Admiral." I got to my feet. "With my life."
* * *
"We will be keeping you posted on developments throughout the night and over the course of tomorrow and the next few days..."
* * *
"Are you Leo McGarry's assistant?"
"Yes, sir. Margaret."
"Do you mind if I use his office?"
I couldn't bring myself to go into the Oval Office. It seemed like the ultimate disrespect to a man who was a great leader and who may still be alive. Using his Chief of Staff's office seemed less so, somehow, but I wasn't about to walk in there without asking his assistant.
"CJ Cregg's waiting for you."
"Thank you."
She got to her feet as I went in, and nodded at me with a brief, "Sir." Just like I couldn't bring myself to go into the Oval, they couldn't bring themselves to call me Mr President.
"How are you?"
"Guilty. For being all in one piece. I wish one of them had stayed behind instead of me. Sounds stupid when I say it out loud."
"I understand."
"The press are starting to chomp, sir."
"Can they keep chomping for a while longer?"
"Of course."
"I'll give them a statement at..." I checked my watch. "Ten-fifteen, if that's okay."
* * *
We hope that many lives will be saved over the course of the next few days, but we have as of yet no idea of the casualty list, and it is probable that many people have been killed tonight..."
* * *
Josiah Bartlet. Abigail Bartlet. Leo McGarry. John Hoynes. Joshua Lyman. Sam Seaborn. Toby Ziegler. Glen Walken. Edgar Finney. Andrea Wyatt. Matthew Skinner. Howard Stackhouse.
The list of people who had been in the chamber or in its immediate vicinity when the explosion took place was seemingly endless.
I found myself speaking to a God I hadn't prayed to since before I graduated high school. An instinct that came back in times of deep crisis and trouble.
* * *
"Does anyone have any questions?"
"Mr President, how are you feeling right now?"
"I'm numb," I tell her honestly.
"Sir, do you think that you'll be able to handle the Office of the President effectively over the course of the next few days?"
"I believe that I'll be able to handle it to the best of my ability, and I believe the same of the staff who are working with me. People have phenomenal capacity."
I glance over at the door, at CJ and Donna and Margaret and two or three other assistants, all of them just barely holding it together, but holding it together all the same.
"A great man told me that, not too long ago."