A/N: THANK YOU for your reviews! (I was feeling rather bitter because I put up a story that got no reviews in a week—I took it down because it was an embarrassment). I corrected the first chapter—Numair's at Princeton, not Harvard. That was just a taste, to see how everyone would respond. Here's a more substantial chapter.

Rated: R for language and sexual references.

            "Mr. Speaker! Mr. Speaker!" A crowd of reporters had followed Roger Conté from place to place ever since he had been voted Speaker of the House. Ignoring the bloodthirsty pack, he walked with dignity into his large Washington apartment.

            "The Speaker will not be taking questions," his secretary, Alexander Tirragen, told the press before ducking less imperiously into the apartment and shutting the door. Roger Conté was already reclining in a maroon velvet chair, sipping a drink.

            "I think you should hold a press conference, to let them get it all out of their system," Tirragen said, pouring himself a drink and taking the seat across from the Speaker.

            "Let them wonder," Roger Conté said, picking up a stack of papers that had been left on his coffee table by one of his minions earlier that day. "It's better that they don't get used to knowing too much about me. It might hamper my plans later on."

            Looking at the papers held by the Speaker, Tirragen raised his eyebrow. Conté gave him a condescending smile. "You ought to watch The West Wing, if you plan on working there someday," he said "I got this particular idea from the season finale."

            Tirragen shrugged, picked up The Washington Post and scanned the articles. Stem cell research, a fire in Georgetown that demolished three blocks, a toxic by-product of chocolate, a disputed vote count, and more. He highlighted several articles of importance and placed the paper back on the coffee table, for his employer to read—all but the business section, which he took into his bedroom with him to call his broker.

            This might be the last time we're together like this, Numair realized as he stroked the blonde head resting on his chest. He and his fiancé, Varice Kingsford, had agreed to break up so that she could remain at Princeton without a scandal, but there were no hard feelings on either side. Quite the opposite, in fact.

            "Numair, honey?" Varice's voice had that sleepy quality that it always did after she made love.

            "Mmm?"

            "What are you going to do now? Are you going to go home, or try and transfer, or what?"

            He had been thinking about this for days. "I thought maybe I'd give up on school and try my luck as a political reporter. That's where I'm going, anyway, down to Washington."

            Varice nodded; it was a logical choice on Numair's part. He had been the editor of the school paper since his sophomore year and ghostwrote for his teachers' submissions to physics journals. "I know you'll be successful. I know you."

            Numair smiled wryly. "I know you do. I just hope you're right."

            "What do you mean, it's gone!?" Goldenlake shouted at an unfortunate member of the Secret Service administration. "Did it just…walk away?!"

            The young man cringed at his voice. "N-no sir," he stuttered.

            "Then I suppose it got on its bicycle and went for some exercise?!"

            "N-no, sir."

            "Then what the fuck happened?!?!"

            The man gulped. "I—I lost it, sir."

            Goldenlake was famous for not losing his temper, no matter how dire the situation. The unfortunate young man, a recent college graduate and new to the government, thought to himself that whatever he had heard about his commander, bulging veins and a mottled purple complexion were not included.

            "You did NOT…LOSE…the PRESIDENT'S…MEDICAL history!!!!!!!!!" Goldenlake exploded. The man whimpered and scurried several steps back, only to press up against the wall. The commander turned around, pressed his hands to his desk, and got himself under control. When he faced his subordinate again, he was much calmer. The man relaxed visibly.

            "Please find that document," he said in a reasonable tone. "It's got to be around here somewhere. And it is vital that you find it—if that got into the wrong hands…"

            "Yes sir," the underling said, his poise recovered. "I'll search the office again, and then see if anyone has taken it."

            Shit, Goldenlake thought, sinking into his chair once the young man was gone. This is not good.

            The interviewer raised an eyebrow. "Physics major?" he said condescendingly. Numair nodded. "But you were the editor of the paper for a year and a half…I've read a few issues during recruitment, and I like what you've done with it."

            "Thank you, sir," Numair said. This was his first job interview, and he had no idea how it was going. The interviewer looked at his transcript, and nodded.

            "Well, Mr. Salmalín," he said, "this is very impressive. I only have one issue to discuss with you—your expulsion. What do you have to say about that?"

            "There's not much I can say, really," Numair said. "I was wrongfully accused by an extremely determined party, but I don't expect you to believe that anymore than the Board did."

            The interviewer nodded. "I see…Mr. Salmalín, if you will, I'd like you to give me an interesting headline for a three-inch snowfall."

            Numair didn't pause. "Storm Buries Northeast, Thousands Affected. Or, if you'd prefer, Harmful Effects of Global Warming Locally Evident. Depending on your point of view."

            "Three thousand a month. You start tomorrow."

            "Dinner on me."

            "No way."

            "Dinner on me and I let you be Press Secretary and make Gary be Chief of Staff."

            "Done."

            "Well, who is it?"

            Trebond looked surreptitiously over her shoulder, but the metal partition between the driver and the back seat of the limo was closed firmly. Still, she leaned over close to Conté and whispered, "George Cooper."

            "George!" the newly inaugurated President shouted gleefully, slapping his thigh with laughter. "You're joking!"

            "Shh!" she protested. "Yes, I'm moving in, and we're going to be monogamous. It's nothing else official yet, but…"

            "'Nothing official' my ass, Alanna. You'll be married before the next congressional election." The limo pulled to a stop, and a secret service agent opened President Conté's door for him.

            "Grizzly and Fox are confirmed on the ground," the agent muttered into his communication device. Had Conté not flashed her a warning look, Trebond surely would have attacked the man upon hearing her code name for the first time (she did not enjoy being known to everyone as a firey-tempered little redhead).

            "Jo-on," she whined instead. The President, who had suggested the name in the first place, gave her a grin, then stepped out of the limo and waved presidentially. Trebond was left to scramble out on her own, and followed Conté up the stairs and into the White House. It was time to move in.

A/N: Well? I was so happy with the reviews that I got this up super-fast! What do you think? Any ideas? Reviews! I'd rather have flames than nothing! *throws tantrum* Review me!!!!