This begins the fifth story set in the "As I Was Drifting Away" series.
The sets go chronologically:
"As I Was Drifting Away;" "In Your Eyes;" "Some Say;" "Stony Limits;" "Beauty and Honor"
Thanks for your continued reading and interest - and thanks for the feedback!
POV: Donna Spoilers: Some 3rd season, but not much Rating: PG Disclaimer: The only character that I created in this story is - well, you'll see. Jed, Donna, C.J., Josh, Toby, and the others are strictly AS's.
Beauty and Honor - Chapter One A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Donna took a deep breath, her face strained and tired from almost two hours of forced smiles, two hours of names and titles and introductions - and being on display. They all agreed, although it had taken a significant argument on C.J.'s part to convince Jed, that this scheduled event would be a timely opportunity for Donna to "come out" only days before the wedding.
So here she was, mingling adequately, if not expertly, among the fifty- three partygoers originally invited to greet the new ambassador from the Netherlands, but whose focus now was completely and unnervingly on her. Even the ambassador seemed distracted from his own reception.
She had stuck by Jed's side at first, her hand on his arm, his ease and confidence shielding her, but gradually she warmed to the crowd and noticed that he moved away, let her take more of the spotlight alone.
Champagne flowed, hors d'oeuvres were consumed, and the tension that tightened the room early on eased as the evening progressed. In a surreal fog, Donna found herself making polite conversation with senators, foreign ministers, and DNC contributors. After endless streams of curious conversationalists, or gawkers as she labeled them, she finally ran into an accidental lull.
It was at that point Josh approached, his step not quite the usual carefree move with arms flinging. With what she could only describe as hesitancy, he eased next to her, clearing his throat.
"Hi," she greeted, hoping it would put him more at ease. This was not Josh, not her Josh, not the sweet teaser she knew.
"Hey. Good party," he offered.
"It's okay."
"Uh, listen, I - uh -"
"Yes?"
"I, uh - "
"Josh?" No banter? No teasing? No egotistical boasting? This was definitely not her Josh.
Then he surprised her and grinned, Josh's grin. "Oh hell, Donna. I just wanted to say that I'm gonna - that I'll - " He cleared his throat and she found her own uncomfortably tight. "That you're going to be a great First Lady and I'm really happy for you - and for the President."
Okay, don't cry now. Not in front of the ambassadors and the senators. "Thank you, Josh," she whispered, not trusting herself to attempt a more verbal reply.
"He looks good," Josh noted, glancing across the room toward Jed, who was apparently entertaining a small group of dignitaries with trivia. Well, maybe not; they actually looked interested. "Happy and relaxed despite-" He stopped and Donna wondered what he would have said. But Josh just looked back at her and grinned again. "And it's because of you." He leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek, then turned on his heel and left, leaving her touched and curious at once.
Sighing at one more reminder of her changing status, Donna let her eyes roam the room on the off chance she might grab a glass of water. As she looked, her gaze caught that of a man staring at her frankly, his dark eyes flashing, his mouth turned up in an intimate grin, too intimate for someone she had never seen before. The sandy hair was cropped short like men do sometimes when they are losing it and want to diminish the effect. Nevertheless, he was not unattractive, except for the rather disturbing way he looked at her. She wondered who he was, what connections he had to merit an invitation.
Then she forgot about him as a gentle touch at her shoulder turned her away. A quick brush of lips against her skin and subtle whiff of familiar aftershave followed.
"Let's see," she mused aloud, "who could this be?"
The rich tone curved her mouth into a smile. And the seductive flavor of it quickened her pulse. "Depends on who you want it to be," he murmured in low tones for her ears only.
"I want it to be the sexiest man in the room," she decided quietly.
"Oh. Well, I'll see if I can find Toby, then."
She laughed, knowing he wouldn't say such a thing to anyone but her, and caught his hand, pulling him close and letting her lips touch his. A camera bulb flashed at that instant and she drew away, sorry she had allowed herself that liberty. But Jed didn't seem to mind at all. Grinning, he squeezed her hand, letting her know the public display was all right.
When she got a good look at his eyes, however, disappointment fell heavily on the shoulders he had just caressed. "Look," he began, hand waving in a vain attempt to make his statement casual. "I've got to go do this - thing, and - "
"Okay." Might as well make it easy for him. It wouldn't stop him even if she didn't.
"I'm sorry. I'll be back - "
"Okay." She tried not to be too abrupt, knowing in her mind that he had to go. It was probably Korea again. Whatever was going on in that damned country had monopolized his time for the past week.
He raised his chin in a gesture she had come to realize indicated he was bracing himself for some unpleasantness. "Donna, I'm sorry. You know I have to - "
"I said okay," she repeated, trying too late to soften the way it sounded. "I understand."
And even though he smiled again tentatively, she could see the doubt in his eyes.
"Okay," he echoed. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
As he left, she felt suddenly alone, even though the room fairly buzzed with music and dancing and eating and drinking and talking. Even though C.J. and Toby were chatting next to the band. Even though Josh had cornered Amy again, trying either to talk her into or out of something. Even though she knew Jed was still in the building.
A slow scream built up in her chest and one of those odd moments pushed at her. A moment when you feel as if you have to get up and leave or let loose in a tornado of a fit like the Tasmanian Devil. Wisely choosing the first option, she moved as calmly as possible toward the doors leading to the South Lawn. Immediately, she felt the ubiquitous presence of her secret service agent.
"Jonah," she said quietly, hoping her eyes relayed the intensity of her request. "I need a moment or two alone."
His gaze never wavered. His stance never faltered.
Damn. "Okay, maybe not alone-alone, but - well, you know what I mean." Please.
He nodded, reluctantly, but stepped away toward the door, leaving her blissfully by herself at the edge of the lawn.
The cooling Washington air brought chill bumps to her arms, but she didn't care. It was sacrifice enough to get out of there, away from the blatant stares, frank assessments. She felt a sudden surge of guilt for making Jed feel guilty himself about leaving. He was the President of the United States, for Pete's sake. This was something that happened all the time and she had better just get used to it, but it wouldn't be easy. Letting out a heavy breath, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders and peered into the haze of lights over the capital city.
"Taking a break?"
The voice snapped her head around, brought her from her thoughts back to the present, the real. Its owner was familiar, the same blonde man who had caught her gaze in the hall, who had fixed her with knowing eyes. She wasn't sure how to respond, so she answered honestly.
"Just needed a little air." Where was Jonah? Okay, she saw him, but he was giving her space, as she had requested.
"Yeah, I bet," he snickered, swirling the liquid in his glass. By the slight sway of his body, she assumed this was not his first drink of the evening. "Tough job, huh?"
What was he talking about? "I suppose."
"Someone's gotta do it, though. Might as well be you." The sly curve of his lips disturbed her, threw up red flags. She tried to remain silent, to ignore him.
"I don't blame you, you know. I say more power to you. A beautiful girl like you. Bartlet's a lucky son of a bitch, if you ask me."
Son of a bitch? Did this idiot just call the President of the United States a son of a bitch?
Well, I didn't ask you, jerk. "I beg your pardon?"
His smile now became slick, revolting. "Pretty smart."
"What?" Hell, why did I ask that? She glanced around at Jonah, still posted obediently by the doors. A simple yell would draw him, but she didn't want a scene, didn't want to cause an incident. So she decided just to remove herself from the problem, to step slowly and casually toward the building.
But before she could move, he continued, easing around so that he stood between her and her planned escape path. Hello? Jonah? Nevermind what I said earlier.
"The set up. Smart. He's pretty rich, I understand. And of course the power's helpful." Now he leaned in close, uncomfortably close. "And I know what he gets in return. An occasional roll in the hay with a hot, frisky thing like you."
A red flash of fury passed across her vision, so intense that she felt dizzy from its power. How did this fool get invited in the first place? Baring her teeth in a deceptive smile, she verbalized her question.
He ignored her, continuing his previous line. "Or does he even make you pay that? Maybe all he needs, or maybe all he can handle," he leered, "is a bauble to hang on his arm at parties like this."
Now the red burned even hotter, scorched her face with its heat. With supreme effort, she restrained the hand that had instinctively risen to brand his cheek like a hot poker.
"I think," she growled between gritted teeth, "that you had better leave."
His brow rose. He lifted his glass in salute, a sloppy grin on his face. "Well, you give Jed Bartlet a run for his money, sweetheart. I'm sure you'll get most of it anyway. But before you get stuck with your sugar daddy, I know somebody who can show you a real good time."
"What?!" This was about to get out of hand, she realized, slightly panicked.
He was deceptively fast for a drunk man, slipping a hand to her waist and pulling her to him hard. With a gasp, she threw her own hands instinctively up between them, pushing at his chest, recoiling from the alcohol on his breath. Where the hell was Jonah? Okay, now was time to make some noise.
But before she could even let her jaw fall to yelp out for help, she saw a hand tap him on the shoulder. Instantly, relief and fear crashed through her. The man stopped and turned slightly, his eyes narrowing until he saw the face that belonged to that hand. And then, Donna figured, he saw very little, because two seconds later he was out cold on the ground.
In the coming years, she would reflect on that incredible moment, a moment she had never imagined seeing, a moment no one would have ever predicted, a moment whose memory still never failed to bring a guilty smile to her lips. In that moment, a fist whipped with unsuspected speed and power to throw a hard punch into the jaw of her assailant. She heard a grunt, wasn't sure if it was from the attacker or the victim. Then, her irritant's head snapped back and he crumpled in a liquid heap at her feet.
Her stunned eyes moved from his prone figure to slowly scan the person standing before her. She started with his shoes, polished and gleaming, continued up his pressed trousers, lingered just a moment at his hips before tracing upward across his chest. Finally, she rested her vision on the face, his face, hard and furious, and a little stunned.
"Dear God," she thought. "What did he do?"
But she knew what he had done. With a textbook right uppercut, Josiah Bartlet, President of the United States, had just dropped her obnoxious harasser on the South Lawn of the White House. Who would have thought?
Jed stared at her, unconsciously flexing the fingers of his hand and wincing. He seemed rather calm, considering.
"You all right?" he asked, true concern bleeding through.
She nodded, suddenly unable to speak. Did what she think just happened really happen?
Footsteps pounded the ground behind them and they both turned in time to see Ron Butterfield and Jonah skid to a halt, followed closely by at least four other dark suits, eyes wide at the sight laid out before them. The President's Head of Security took in the figure on the ground, blood dribbling from the unconscious man's mouth, then raised his astonished gaze to his protectee. Their eyes met. Finally, Jed shrugged, as if that gesture said enough.
"Are you all right, Mister President?" the agent asked when he found his voice.
"Well," Jed breathed, "my hand hurts like hell, but, yeah, I'm fine." He tossed a nod toward his victim. "Get him out of here, would you?"
"Yes, sir." Was that a new gleam in Ron's eye? A flicker of amusement mixed with no small amount of admiration? Donna was pretty sure she read him right.
Almost alone again, except for the agents Ron had stubbornly left in place a few yards away, Jed turned to her again, his eyes demanding the truth this time. "You sure you're okay?"
Who would have thought, indeed? "Yeah. He was just - drunk. Jonah was right there. If you hadn't - " Now she stopped, remembering his grimace that followed the punch. "Let me see your hand."
He looked startled, and his face paled for just a moment. Then he recovered and thrust it out toward her. Oh, God, she realized, I sounded like Abbey. But she didn't say anything, and he didn't comment to let her know if she had gotten that right or not.
The flesh was red around his knuckles and slightly swollen. A sharp hiss accompanied her gentle probing, prompting her to ease up. He chuckled. "You're never going to see if it's broken that way," he noted, gritting his teeth and flexing the fingers on his own.
"Just bruised," he diagnosed, dropping his hand and raising the good one to her chin. "Donna, are you sure -"
"Jed, I'm okay." And she was.
What worried her now was the result of the incident. Surely it would get out. Surely CNN would carry a sensational story about how the President slugged an innocent citizen at a party for the Ambassador from the Netherlands. Nevermind that the citizen was drunk, that he was propositioning the President's future bride, that he was following all the textbook moves toward sexual harassment.
She still wasn't sure how Jed had gotten there and acted before the secret service stopped him. And she wasn't sure she minded that he had. It had been startling, and unexpected, and exciting - and sweet - and sexy.
He had defended her, protected her honor, but at what price?
"Mister President?" Ron had returned, holding a small black case in his hand.
"Yeah?"
"Found this on the attacker, Sir." He held out the case and Jed lifted it with his undamaged hand.
"Damn."
Damn was not a good response. He looked inside for another few seconds, then extended it to her. Inside rested the credentials of a member of the press. Well, sort of.
Tyson G. Travinsky Field Reporter
The Star
Damn.
How the hell was C.J. going to spin this?
"As I Was Drifting Away;" "In Your Eyes;" "Some Say;" "Stony Limits;" "Beauty and Honor"
Thanks for your continued reading and interest - and thanks for the feedback!
POV: Donna Spoilers: Some 3rd season, but not much Rating: PG Disclaimer: The only character that I created in this story is - well, you'll see. Jed, Donna, C.J., Josh, Toby, and the others are strictly AS's.
Beauty and Honor - Chapter One A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Donna took a deep breath, her face strained and tired from almost two hours of forced smiles, two hours of names and titles and introductions - and being on display. They all agreed, although it had taken a significant argument on C.J.'s part to convince Jed, that this scheduled event would be a timely opportunity for Donna to "come out" only days before the wedding.
So here she was, mingling adequately, if not expertly, among the fifty- three partygoers originally invited to greet the new ambassador from the Netherlands, but whose focus now was completely and unnervingly on her. Even the ambassador seemed distracted from his own reception.
She had stuck by Jed's side at first, her hand on his arm, his ease and confidence shielding her, but gradually she warmed to the crowd and noticed that he moved away, let her take more of the spotlight alone.
Champagne flowed, hors d'oeuvres were consumed, and the tension that tightened the room early on eased as the evening progressed. In a surreal fog, Donna found herself making polite conversation with senators, foreign ministers, and DNC contributors. After endless streams of curious conversationalists, or gawkers as she labeled them, she finally ran into an accidental lull.
It was at that point Josh approached, his step not quite the usual carefree move with arms flinging. With what she could only describe as hesitancy, he eased next to her, clearing his throat.
"Hi," she greeted, hoping it would put him more at ease. This was not Josh, not her Josh, not the sweet teaser she knew.
"Hey. Good party," he offered.
"It's okay."
"Uh, listen, I - uh -"
"Yes?"
"I, uh - "
"Josh?" No banter? No teasing? No egotistical boasting? This was definitely not her Josh.
Then he surprised her and grinned, Josh's grin. "Oh hell, Donna. I just wanted to say that I'm gonna - that I'll - " He cleared his throat and she found her own uncomfortably tight. "That you're going to be a great First Lady and I'm really happy for you - and for the President."
Okay, don't cry now. Not in front of the ambassadors and the senators. "Thank you, Josh," she whispered, not trusting herself to attempt a more verbal reply.
"He looks good," Josh noted, glancing across the room toward Jed, who was apparently entertaining a small group of dignitaries with trivia. Well, maybe not; they actually looked interested. "Happy and relaxed despite-" He stopped and Donna wondered what he would have said. But Josh just looked back at her and grinned again. "And it's because of you." He leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek, then turned on his heel and left, leaving her touched and curious at once.
Sighing at one more reminder of her changing status, Donna let her eyes roam the room on the off chance she might grab a glass of water. As she looked, her gaze caught that of a man staring at her frankly, his dark eyes flashing, his mouth turned up in an intimate grin, too intimate for someone she had never seen before. The sandy hair was cropped short like men do sometimes when they are losing it and want to diminish the effect. Nevertheless, he was not unattractive, except for the rather disturbing way he looked at her. She wondered who he was, what connections he had to merit an invitation.
Then she forgot about him as a gentle touch at her shoulder turned her away. A quick brush of lips against her skin and subtle whiff of familiar aftershave followed.
"Let's see," she mused aloud, "who could this be?"
The rich tone curved her mouth into a smile. And the seductive flavor of it quickened her pulse. "Depends on who you want it to be," he murmured in low tones for her ears only.
"I want it to be the sexiest man in the room," she decided quietly.
"Oh. Well, I'll see if I can find Toby, then."
She laughed, knowing he wouldn't say such a thing to anyone but her, and caught his hand, pulling him close and letting her lips touch his. A camera bulb flashed at that instant and she drew away, sorry she had allowed herself that liberty. But Jed didn't seem to mind at all. Grinning, he squeezed her hand, letting her know the public display was all right.
When she got a good look at his eyes, however, disappointment fell heavily on the shoulders he had just caressed. "Look," he began, hand waving in a vain attempt to make his statement casual. "I've got to go do this - thing, and - "
"Okay." Might as well make it easy for him. It wouldn't stop him even if she didn't.
"I'm sorry. I'll be back - "
"Okay." She tried not to be too abrupt, knowing in her mind that he had to go. It was probably Korea again. Whatever was going on in that damned country had monopolized his time for the past week.
He raised his chin in a gesture she had come to realize indicated he was bracing himself for some unpleasantness. "Donna, I'm sorry. You know I have to - "
"I said okay," she repeated, trying too late to soften the way it sounded. "I understand."
And even though he smiled again tentatively, she could see the doubt in his eyes.
"Okay," he echoed. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
As he left, she felt suddenly alone, even though the room fairly buzzed with music and dancing and eating and drinking and talking. Even though C.J. and Toby were chatting next to the band. Even though Josh had cornered Amy again, trying either to talk her into or out of something. Even though she knew Jed was still in the building.
A slow scream built up in her chest and one of those odd moments pushed at her. A moment when you feel as if you have to get up and leave or let loose in a tornado of a fit like the Tasmanian Devil. Wisely choosing the first option, she moved as calmly as possible toward the doors leading to the South Lawn. Immediately, she felt the ubiquitous presence of her secret service agent.
"Jonah," she said quietly, hoping her eyes relayed the intensity of her request. "I need a moment or two alone."
His gaze never wavered. His stance never faltered.
Damn. "Okay, maybe not alone-alone, but - well, you know what I mean." Please.
He nodded, reluctantly, but stepped away toward the door, leaving her blissfully by herself at the edge of the lawn.
The cooling Washington air brought chill bumps to her arms, but she didn't care. It was sacrifice enough to get out of there, away from the blatant stares, frank assessments. She felt a sudden surge of guilt for making Jed feel guilty himself about leaving. He was the President of the United States, for Pete's sake. This was something that happened all the time and she had better just get used to it, but it wouldn't be easy. Letting out a heavy breath, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders and peered into the haze of lights over the capital city.
"Taking a break?"
The voice snapped her head around, brought her from her thoughts back to the present, the real. Its owner was familiar, the same blonde man who had caught her gaze in the hall, who had fixed her with knowing eyes. She wasn't sure how to respond, so she answered honestly.
"Just needed a little air." Where was Jonah? Okay, she saw him, but he was giving her space, as she had requested.
"Yeah, I bet," he snickered, swirling the liquid in his glass. By the slight sway of his body, she assumed this was not his first drink of the evening. "Tough job, huh?"
What was he talking about? "I suppose."
"Someone's gotta do it, though. Might as well be you." The sly curve of his lips disturbed her, threw up red flags. She tried to remain silent, to ignore him.
"I don't blame you, you know. I say more power to you. A beautiful girl like you. Bartlet's a lucky son of a bitch, if you ask me."
Son of a bitch? Did this idiot just call the President of the United States a son of a bitch?
Well, I didn't ask you, jerk. "I beg your pardon?"
His smile now became slick, revolting. "Pretty smart."
"What?" Hell, why did I ask that? She glanced around at Jonah, still posted obediently by the doors. A simple yell would draw him, but she didn't want a scene, didn't want to cause an incident. So she decided just to remove herself from the problem, to step slowly and casually toward the building.
But before she could move, he continued, easing around so that he stood between her and her planned escape path. Hello? Jonah? Nevermind what I said earlier.
"The set up. Smart. He's pretty rich, I understand. And of course the power's helpful." Now he leaned in close, uncomfortably close. "And I know what he gets in return. An occasional roll in the hay with a hot, frisky thing like you."
A red flash of fury passed across her vision, so intense that she felt dizzy from its power. How did this fool get invited in the first place? Baring her teeth in a deceptive smile, she verbalized her question.
He ignored her, continuing his previous line. "Or does he even make you pay that? Maybe all he needs, or maybe all he can handle," he leered, "is a bauble to hang on his arm at parties like this."
Now the red burned even hotter, scorched her face with its heat. With supreme effort, she restrained the hand that had instinctively risen to brand his cheek like a hot poker.
"I think," she growled between gritted teeth, "that you had better leave."
His brow rose. He lifted his glass in salute, a sloppy grin on his face. "Well, you give Jed Bartlet a run for his money, sweetheart. I'm sure you'll get most of it anyway. But before you get stuck with your sugar daddy, I know somebody who can show you a real good time."
"What?!" This was about to get out of hand, she realized, slightly panicked.
He was deceptively fast for a drunk man, slipping a hand to her waist and pulling her to him hard. With a gasp, she threw her own hands instinctively up between them, pushing at his chest, recoiling from the alcohol on his breath. Where the hell was Jonah? Okay, now was time to make some noise.
But before she could even let her jaw fall to yelp out for help, she saw a hand tap him on the shoulder. Instantly, relief and fear crashed through her. The man stopped and turned slightly, his eyes narrowing until he saw the face that belonged to that hand. And then, Donna figured, he saw very little, because two seconds later he was out cold on the ground.
In the coming years, she would reflect on that incredible moment, a moment she had never imagined seeing, a moment no one would have ever predicted, a moment whose memory still never failed to bring a guilty smile to her lips. In that moment, a fist whipped with unsuspected speed and power to throw a hard punch into the jaw of her assailant. She heard a grunt, wasn't sure if it was from the attacker or the victim. Then, her irritant's head snapped back and he crumpled in a liquid heap at her feet.
Her stunned eyes moved from his prone figure to slowly scan the person standing before her. She started with his shoes, polished and gleaming, continued up his pressed trousers, lingered just a moment at his hips before tracing upward across his chest. Finally, she rested her vision on the face, his face, hard and furious, and a little stunned.
"Dear God," she thought. "What did he do?"
But she knew what he had done. With a textbook right uppercut, Josiah Bartlet, President of the United States, had just dropped her obnoxious harasser on the South Lawn of the White House. Who would have thought?
Jed stared at her, unconsciously flexing the fingers of his hand and wincing. He seemed rather calm, considering.
"You all right?" he asked, true concern bleeding through.
She nodded, suddenly unable to speak. Did what she think just happened really happen?
Footsteps pounded the ground behind them and they both turned in time to see Ron Butterfield and Jonah skid to a halt, followed closely by at least four other dark suits, eyes wide at the sight laid out before them. The President's Head of Security took in the figure on the ground, blood dribbling from the unconscious man's mouth, then raised his astonished gaze to his protectee. Their eyes met. Finally, Jed shrugged, as if that gesture said enough.
"Are you all right, Mister President?" the agent asked when he found his voice.
"Well," Jed breathed, "my hand hurts like hell, but, yeah, I'm fine." He tossed a nod toward his victim. "Get him out of here, would you?"
"Yes, sir." Was that a new gleam in Ron's eye? A flicker of amusement mixed with no small amount of admiration? Donna was pretty sure she read him right.
Almost alone again, except for the agents Ron had stubbornly left in place a few yards away, Jed turned to her again, his eyes demanding the truth this time. "You sure you're okay?"
Who would have thought, indeed? "Yeah. He was just - drunk. Jonah was right there. If you hadn't - " Now she stopped, remembering his grimace that followed the punch. "Let me see your hand."
He looked startled, and his face paled for just a moment. Then he recovered and thrust it out toward her. Oh, God, she realized, I sounded like Abbey. But she didn't say anything, and he didn't comment to let her know if she had gotten that right or not.
The flesh was red around his knuckles and slightly swollen. A sharp hiss accompanied her gentle probing, prompting her to ease up. He chuckled. "You're never going to see if it's broken that way," he noted, gritting his teeth and flexing the fingers on his own.
"Just bruised," he diagnosed, dropping his hand and raising the good one to her chin. "Donna, are you sure -"
"Jed, I'm okay." And she was.
What worried her now was the result of the incident. Surely it would get out. Surely CNN would carry a sensational story about how the President slugged an innocent citizen at a party for the Ambassador from the Netherlands. Nevermind that the citizen was drunk, that he was propositioning the President's future bride, that he was following all the textbook moves toward sexual harassment.
She still wasn't sure how Jed had gotten there and acted before the secret service stopped him. And she wasn't sure she minded that he had. It had been startling, and unexpected, and exciting - and sweet - and sexy.
He had defended her, protected her honor, but at what price?
"Mister President?" Ron had returned, holding a small black case in his hand.
"Yeah?"
"Found this on the attacker, Sir." He held out the case and Jed lifted it with his undamaged hand.
"Damn."
Damn was not a good response. He looked inside for another few seconds, then extended it to her. Inside rested the credentials of a member of the press. Well, sort of.
Tyson G. Travinsky Field Reporter
The Star
Damn.
How the hell was C.J. going to spin this?