Disclaimer: The West Wing belongs to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, and Warner Bros. Alias belongs to J.J. Abrams, Bad Robot, and Touchstone. I doubt either Aaron or J.J. ever thought to cross their shows; I, on the other hand, have. No copyright infringement is intended.
Spoilers: Nothing specific for either show, except the first season WW episode "Six Meeting Before Lunch." For timeline purposes, this is set somewhere in the later half of WW's fourth season and before the events of "Phase One" (the post-Super Bowl episode) in Alias' second season.
Author's Note: The inspiration for this comes from Carl Lumbly who co-stars on Alias as Marcus Dixon and who also once guest-starred as Jeff Breckenridge on The West Wing. So in this story, I'm playing with the idea that when Josh met with Jeff Breckenridge in "Six Meetings Before Lunch," he was actually meeting with Marcus Dixon posing as Jeff Breckenridge.
Many thanks go to the incredible beta work of Classic She and Jane. They both rock!
THE MOSS IDENTITY
***
Chapter 1
***
Copenhagen
Friday, 10:47 PM GMT
The security guard wouldn't come down the hallway for another twelve minutes. She had just enough time to break into the lab and download the right files before she would have to climb back through the air vent in the janitor's closet she came through. She had to laugh, silently, of course, at the overall lack of security at the Astronomical Observatory, considering the kind of scientific equipment within its walls. She didn't really care about the gamma ray research she was sent there to retrieve; if it meant the CIA could take down SD-6 sooner - any sooner - she would do it.
With the final digit of the code entered on the small keypad, the lab's electronic door slid open. Sydney Bristow, CIA double agent and reluctant member of SD-6, lowered her head to speak into her hidden communicator. "Dixon, I'm in."
***
Washington, D.C.
Friday, 11:58 PM EST
"Senator Hale, I can't promise you that. You have to understand the enormity of what you're asking. It's not in the President's power."
Josh Lyman paced behind his desk, rubbing his exhausted eyes with one hand while cradling the phone in the crook of his shoulder with the other. He barely acknowledged his assistant, Donna Moss, as she came through the doorway carrying a cardboard box overflowing with binders and scraps of paper. Dropping the box loudly on the desk, which made Josh jump, Donna exited the room.
"I understand that, sir," Josh said into the phone. "The majority leader has vowed...I know, but it's not like...we don't want to see that happen. I can assure you that as the Deputy Chief of Staff, I don't want to see that happen either. " He paused and remained motionless as Donna entered again, this time with a stack of files. She pulled out the contents of the top folder as Josh continued his conversation.
"Thank you, Senator. The President looks forward to seeing you on Monday," Josh concluded the call and set the receiver back in its cradle.
"He's coming?" Donna asked.
"He's coming. What's this stuff?" he inquired, eying the open box and folders on his desk.
"That's the info you wanted me to get."
"I asked for that like an hour ago."
"I had to go over to the OEOB, Josh. I don't keep these kind of files by my desk."
"Maybe you should," he muttered angrily under his breath, knowing full well Donna would be able to hear him. He braced himself for the fight he knew he deserved, keeping Donna in the office past midnight for the last six days.
Instead, he was met with a resigned, "Is there anything else, or can I go home?"
Josh exhaled loudly. "Yeah, go home," he said, shuffling some papers in a vain attempt to appear busy. "I need you back here at seven tomorrow."
"Josh!"
"What?"
"Tomorrow's Saturday."
"So?"
"So, I haven't slept in the last six days."
"Fine. Come in at eight."
"Good night, Joshua." She was out of his office and logged off her computer before he could respond. She was already in the lobby by the time he checked the mailboxes as a stupid excuse to watch her leave.
"I'll apologize tomorrow with breakfast," Josh said out loud to himself. Noticing the light still on in C.J.'s office, he walked across the bullpen.
C.J., without looking up from the early edition of the Washington Post open before her, asked, "Was that Donna I just saw leaving in a hurry?"
"Yeah," Josh replied, digging his hands deep into his pockets and collapsing on the couch, not wanting to say more.
"Listen, I'm glad you came by," she said as she leafed back two pages and joined Josh on the couch. "I know you barely knew the guy, what with the confirmation hearings falling through, but..." She paused before continuing. "Jeff Breckenridge had a heart attack. He died."
Josh stared down at the obituary and accompanying photo.
"That's not Jeff Breckenridge."
***
Copenhagen
Saturday, 6:10 AM GMT
Sydney settled into her window seat with a quiet sigh and stared out at the first signs of light across the tarmac. Any seat would have felt good to her at this point; after tripping up the alarm system at the Observatory, she was forced to run through miles of underground sewer tunnels with security guards fast on her trail. The intel SD-6 had provided outlining the schematics for the lab had failed to include a key element: a second code needed to leave the room. It was hours before she managed to catch up to her partner, Marcus Dixon, who had quickly moved their tech van out of position when he heard the alarm sound.
He was on another flight now, making a stopover in Cairo first before following her home to Los Angeles. The original plan called for both of them to meet up with Dixon's contact, an underground arms dealer, but a recent explosion in a local marketplace had spooked the source into hiding. He refused to speak with anyone other than Dixon.
So Sydney would be able to return to LA two and a half days early, a welcome relief to her jet lag. She pulled the small shade on the oval window down, but before she could close her eyes, a flight attendant appeared and asked her to keep the shade open until the plane had reached its flying altitude.
Even though she understood every word the flight attendant said, Sydney had to match the passport in her purse and the identity that came with it. In a perfect accent she replied, "Scusi. Non capisco."
***
Washington, D.C.
Saturday, 12:47 AM EST
"Anna, I'm home," Donna called out, closing the door to her apartment behind her. "Finally," she added. She tucked her keys back in her purse and let the bag fall to the ground before falling onto the couch herself in an exhausted heap.
With just enough energy to lift her head up, Donna called out again, "Anna?" It took all the effort she could muster to sit up and notice the yellow post-it taped up to the television, the usual place her roommate left messages for her.
She peeled off the paper and smiled despite her pounding headache. "Out with Ned. Said he was sorry. Don't wait up (like you ever do). Hope that stupid boss of yours let you leave at a humane hour. Anna."
"Well, at least one of us is having fun tonight," Donna sighed out loud. Her momentary flash of self-pity vanished when she heard the hungry purrs of Lincoln and Booth, Anna's four-year-old tabby cats. "Don't tell me Anna didn't feed you two." Lincoln wrapping herself around Donna's legs was a good enough answer.
"Okay, okay, I hear ya," Donna said as she headed to the kitchen. Booth pounced onto the countertop while Lincoln sat on the linoleum patiently waiting. Donna struggled to reach the can of cat food in the back of the cabinet.
A heavy pounding on the door caused her to jump, and as she slammed the tin can on the counter, she muttered loudly, "Josh Lyman, I swear to God if I find you on the other side of this door!"
With one hand on the door lock, she peered through the peephole. Despite her building's poorly lit hallway, she could distinctly make out three men wearing dark suits. She didn't recognize them as Secret Service.
"Donnatella Moss!"
The sound of her name sent her mind racing through a startling string of what ifs. What if Josh was hurt? What if there had been another assassination attempt? What if something happened to Anna? The tone of the man's voice, however, insistent and aggressive, kept Donna frozen on the spot.
"Federal agents, Miss Moss! Please open the door."
Donna's hand automatically moved to latch the chain to the doorframe. She opened the door a few inches.
"Yes," she managed to say. "Is something wrong?" She prayed her voice didn't shake too much as she spoke.
"We can't discuss it in the hallway. Open the door, Miss Moss."
"Can I see some identification please?" She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure with each word.
"Of course," the lead man replied with a smirk that made Donna nervous. He reached into his breast pocket, but instead of pulling out his badge, he brandished a semiautomatic handgun from its holster. The man on the right kicked the door in with such force the chain lock detached completely from its base. Donna let out a short scream, too terrified to do more, and fell back. The three men surrounded her in another instant.
"Donnatella Moss, you are under arrest by order of the federal government in connection with the theft and possible sale of classified documents to enemies of the United States."
"What?" Donna was barely able to get the word out before she felt warm steel clasp around her wrists. Any attempt she made to resist was met with tighter grips from the two men flanking her on each side.
"Wait! Please. I-I don't understand. I haven't done anything. Please. You have to listen to me!" Donna struggled and pleaded with every syllable, trying to twist her arms to escape. All three men remained silent. "Why are you arresting me? Who are you with? Please. I didn't do anything! I work at the White House."
As they ushered her out of the apartment, the phone began to ring, but Donna's cries drowned out the continuing sound. The lead man made a slight survey of the room and closed the door in one swift motion, leaving the hanging chain lock swinging from the force. The only sound that remained was that of the telephone.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Click.
"Hi. You've reached Anna and Donna. If you're looking for Anna, please leave a message. If you want to talk to Donna, try the office."
Beeeep.
"Donna, I know you're there. Pick up. Pick up, Donna! Okay, fine. Don't pick up. I know I said come in at eight tomorrow, but something's happened. I need you here at seven. There's a thing with Jeff Breckenridge...I can't find his file. I need you to pull up some info for me. So, I guess I'll see you at seven...um, sleep well."
o
***
tbc...
Spoilers: Nothing specific for either show, except the first season WW episode "Six Meeting Before Lunch." For timeline purposes, this is set somewhere in the later half of WW's fourth season and before the events of "Phase One" (the post-Super Bowl episode) in Alias' second season.
Author's Note: The inspiration for this comes from Carl Lumbly who co-stars on Alias as Marcus Dixon and who also once guest-starred as Jeff Breckenridge on The West Wing. So in this story, I'm playing with the idea that when Josh met with Jeff Breckenridge in "Six Meetings Before Lunch," he was actually meeting with Marcus Dixon posing as Jeff Breckenridge.
Many thanks go to the incredible beta work of Classic She and Jane. They both rock!
THE MOSS IDENTITY
***
Chapter 1
***
Copenhagen
Friday, 10:47 PM GMT
The security guard wouldn't come down the hallway for another twelve minutes. She had just enough time to break into the lab and download the right files before she would have to climb back through the air vent in the janitor's closet she came through. She had to laugh, silently, of course, at the overall lack of security at the Astronomical Observatory, considering the kind of scientific equipment within its walls. She didn't really care about the gamma ray research she was sent there to retrieve; if it meant the CIA could take down SD-6 sooner - any sooner - she would do it.
With the final digit of the code entered on the small keypad, the lab's electronic door slid open. Sydney Bristow, CIA double agent and reluctant member of SD-6, lowered her head to speak into her hidden communicator. "Dixon, I'm in."
***
Washington, D.C.
Friday, 11:58 PM EST
"Senator Hale, I can't promise you that. You have to understand the enormity of what you're asking. It's not in the President's power."
Josh Lyman paced behind his desk, rubbing his exhausted eyes with one hand while cradling the phone in the crook of his shoulder with the other. He barely acknowledged his assistant, Donna Moss, as she came through the doorway carrying a cardboard box overflowing with binders and scraps of paper. Dropping the box loudly on the desk, which made Josh jump, Donna exited the room.
"I understand that, sir," Josh said into the phone. "The majority leader has vowed...I know, but it's not like...we don't want to see that happen. I can assure you that as the Deputy Chief of Staff, I don't want to see that happen either. " He paused and remained motionless as Donna entered again, this time with a stack of files. She pulled out the contents of the top folder as Josh continued his conversation.
"Thank you, Senator. The President looks forward to seeing you on Monday," Josh concluded the call and set the receiver back in its cradle.
"He's coming?" Donna asked.
"He's coming. What's this stuff?" he inquired, eying the open box and folders on his desk.
"That's the info you wanted me to get."
"I asked for that like an hour ago."
"I had to go over to the OEOB, Josh. I don't keep these kind of files by my desk."
"Maybe you should," he muttered angrily under his breath, knowing full well Donna would be able to hear him. He braced himself for the fight he knew he deserved, keeping Donna in the office past midnight for the last six days.
Instead, he was met with a resigned, "Is there anything else, or can I go home?"
Josh exhaled loudly. "Yeah, go home," he said, shuffling some papers in a vain attempt to appear busy. "I need you back here at seven tomorrow."
"Josh!"
"What?"
"Tomorrow's Saturday."
"So?"
"So, I haven't slept in the last six days."
"Fine. Come in at eight."
"Good night, Joshua." She was out of his office and logged off her computer before he could respond. She was already in the lobby by the time he checked the mailboxes as a stupid excuse to watch her leave.
"I'll apologize tomorrow with breakfast," Josh said out loud to himself. Noticing the light still on in C.J.'s office, he walked across the bullpen.
C.J., without looking up from the early edition of the Washington Post open before her, asked, "Was that Donna I just saw leaving in a hurry?"
"Yeah," Josh replied, digging his hands deep into his pockets and collapsing on the couch, not wanting to say more.
"Listen, I'm glad you came by," she said as she leafed back two pages and joined Josh on the couch. "I know you barely knew the guy, what with the confirmation hearings falling through, but..." She paused before continuing. "Jeff Breckenridge had a heart attack. He died."
Josh stared down at the obituary and accompanying photo.
"That's not Jeff Breckenridge."
***
Copenhagen
Saturday, 6:10 AM GMT
Sydney settled into her window seat with a quiet sigh and stared out at the first signs of light across the tarmac. Any seat would have felt good to her at this point; after tripping up the alarm system at the Observatory, she was forced to run through miles of underground sewer tunnels with security guards fast on her trail. The intel SD-6 had provided outlining the schematics for the lab had failed to include a key element: a second code needed to leave the room. It was hours before she managed to catch up to her partner, Marcus Dixon, who had quickly moved their tech van out of position when he heard the alarm sound.
He was on another flight now, making a stopover in Cairo first before following her home to Los Angeles. The original plan called for both of them to meet up with Dixon's contact, an underground arms dealer, but a recent explosion in a local marketplace had spooked the source into hiding. He refused to speak with anyone other than Dixon.
So Sydney would be able to return to LA two and a half days early, a welcome relief to her jet lag. She pulled the small shade on the oval window down, but before she could close her eyes, a flight attendant appeared and asked her to keep the shade open until the plane had reached its flying altitude.
Even though she understood every word the flight attendant said, Sydney had to match the passport in her purse and the identity that came with it. In a perfect accent she replied, "Scusi. Non capisco."
***
Washington, D.C.
Saturday, 12:47 AM EST
"Anna, I'm home," Donna called out, closing the door to her apartment behind her. "Finally," she added. She tucked her keys back in her purse and let the bag fall to the ground before falling onto the couch herself in an exhausted heap.
With just enough energy to lift her head up, Donna called out again, "Anna?" It took all the effort she could muster to sit up and notice the yellow post-it taped up to the television, the usual place her roommate left messages for her.
She peeled off the paper and smiled despite her pounding headache. "Out with Ned. Said he was sorry. Don't wait up (like you ever do). Hope that stupid boss of yours let you leave at a humane hour. Anna."
"Well, at least one of us is having fun tonight," Donna sighed out loud. Her momentary flash of self-pity vanished when she heard the hungry purrs of Lincoln and Booth, Anna's four-year-old tabby cats. "Don't tell me Anna didn't feed you two." Lincoln wrapping herself around Donna's legs was a good enough answer.
"Okay, okay, I hear ya," Donna said as she headed to the kitchen. Booth pounced onto the countertop while Lincoln sat on the linoleum patiently waiting. Donna struggled to reach the can of cat food in the back of the cabinet.
A heavy pounding on the door caused her to jump, and as she slammed the tin can on the counter, she muttered loudly, "Josh Lyman, I swear to God if I find you on the other side of this door!"
With one hand on the door lock, she peered through the peephole. Despite her building's poorly lit hallway, she could distinctly make out three men wearing dark suits. She didn't recognize them as Secret Service.
"Donnatella Moss!"
The sound of her name sent her mind racing through a startling string of what ifs. What if Josh was hurt? What if there had been another assassination attempt? What if something happened to Anna? The tone of the man's voice, however, insistent and aggressive, kept Donna frozen on the spot.
"Federal agents, Miss Moss! Please open the door."
Donna's hand automatically moved to latch the chain to the doorframe. She opened the door a few inches.
"Yes," she managed to say. "Is something wrong?" She prayed her voice didn't shake too much as she spoke.
"We can't discuss it in the hallway. Open the door, Miss Moss."
"Can I see some identification please?" She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure with each word.
"Of course," the lead man replied with a smirk that made Donna nervous. He reached into his breast pocket, but instead of pulling out his badge, he brandished a semiautomatic handgun from its holster. The man on the right kicked the door in with such force the chain lock detached completely from its base. Donna let out a short scream, too terrified to do more, and fell back. The three men surrounded her in another instant.
"Donnatella Moss, you are under arrest by order of the federal government in connection with the theft and possible sale of classified documents to enemies of the United States."
"What?" Donna was barely able to get the word out before she felt warm steel clasp around her wrists. Any attempt she made to resist was met with tighter grips from the two men flanking her on each side.
"Wait! Please. I-I don't understand. I haven't done anything. Please. You have to listen to me!" Donna struggled and pleaded with every syllable, trying to twist her arms to escape. All three men remained silent. "Why are you arresting me? Who are you with? Please. I didn't do anything! I work at the White House."
As they ushered her out of the apartment, the phone began to ring, but Donna's cries drowned out the continuing sound. The lead man made a slight survey of the room and closed the door in one swift motion, leaving the hanging chain lock swinging from the force. The only sound that remained was that of the telephone.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Click.
"Hi. You've reached Anna and Donna. If you're looking for Anna, please leave a message. If you want to talk to Donna, try the office."
Beeeep.
"Donna, I know you're there. Pick up. Pick up, Donna! Okay, fine. Don't pick up. I know I said come in at eight tomorrow, but something's happened. I need you here at seven. There's a thing with Jeff Breckenridge...I can't find his file. I need you to pull up some info for me. So, I guess I'll see you at seven...um, sleep well."
o
***
tbc...