"Hi. Changing jobs?" CJ asked sardonically as she spotted Josh and approached him. He blinked, and gave her an absent smile in return.
"No, just scenery." He ran a hand through his hair, and looked back down at the document he'd been reading.
"Well, what brings you to the wonderful world of communications on this fine and sunny day?" she asked him.
"Was that sarcasm?" he asked her, after a moment.
"Swear to God, some days I can't tell anymore." She nodded at the papers in his hands. "What are you reading?"
"The new language Sam wrote for the State of the Union. Have you seen this?"
"Well, given that I was under the impression the final draft was delivered to the president several days ago-"
"Sam listened to Toby," he explained, turning pages.
"Hoo, boy. I thought we cured him of that." Toby's frequent bouts of - she supposed you'd call it 'conscience', except that seemed to imply something rather too quiet to adequately cover a Ziegler tirade - were usually better defused or diverted than pandered to. It caused less heartache for everybody, in the long run.
"He has relapses sometimes. Listen to this. A time to unify... stand up and take ownership of our mistakes... nothing is fixable until it is faceable... we should be saying this."
"I don't think Toby would take well to the suggestion we should be saying 'faceable'." Sam, when left to write unchecked, had a tendency towards flights of poetic language that left his boss tearing out the hair he didn't have.
"We should do this, CJ," Josh said earnestly. "We can't keep going out there and pretending we fixed everything, because nobody believes us."
"It's the State of the Union, Josh, it's what we say. Last year, we fixed half of the country's problems, next year we're coming back for the rest." She shrugged slightly, acknowledging the faint ridiculousness of it. "It's what we say."
"Well, why can't we say it differently this year? Why can't we stand up there and be proud of the fact that we're not stupid enough to think we've got the answers to everything?"
"Because if we stand up there and say we haven't done very much, people might realise we're right. Then we're screwed."
"Yeah," he accepted, calmly enough. "I know." He rifled through the pages. "It's just that some days... you see something so bold and optimistic, and you just think... yes."
She tilted her head to one side to regard him. "You don't think we've been bold enough already to be getting on with?"
Josh shrugged. "Where does 'enough' start?"
Then he smiled, rolling his eyes at his own words, and shook himself out of it. "Come on, Claudia Jean. Let's get to work."
He sensed as they stood up that the interview had gone well. Bartlet was sharp, and quick to pounce on the slightest thread of hesitancy or uncertainty, but he was also good humoured and, well... just plain easy to talk to. The formalities of their meeting had wandered in and out of what would have passed well enough for a perfectly pleasant - if somewhat intellectually intimidating - conversation.
"One last question," the president said as Ash made ready to leave.
"Yes, sir?" he asked, turning back.
He flashed that twinkly-eyed grin again. "You think you're going to like working here?"
Despite his prior confidence, a wave of tension-relieving delight washed through him. "Yes, sir!" he agreed emphatically.
"Excellent. Come with me." This impulsive directive appeared to be tossed over his shoulder as an afterthought, but if nothing else Ash had quickly absorbed the prime directive of the White House: play along with the boss. He followed the president out, caught off guard by the pace he set. Seated in the Oval he'd shifted and grimaced as if feeling his age a little more keenly than he'd like, but he walked like a man who had places to go.
"Charlie! You can come too."
"Yes, sir." The aide calmly fell into step, without bothering to ask why or where. Ash was extremely aware of some rather more intimidating suited figures also flanking them. Security was everywhere and obvious in this place, but around the president the Secret Service were swarming.
Charlie seemed to know the route, but Ash was still too easily disoriented, and it took until they were face to face with Mr. Seaborn and Mr. Ziegler to realise they must have come to communications.
He had to admit, there was kind of a power trip in seeing people rocket out of their chairs, even if you knew you were only trailing after the guy they were doing it for.
"Sam, Toby. This is Ashley Bowers," the president introduced.
"Hi." Sam grinned brightly. Toby only gave him a surly nod, but he'd heard enough of Toby Ziegler's reputation to consider that getting off lightly.
The president immediately shifted gears and got down to business. "I hear you wrote me some stronger language," he said.
Ash didn't know the context of that, but the speechwriters both looked surprised. "Mr. President, that was just-" Sam began.
The president forestalled that with an outstretched hand. "I know. Let me read it."
They exchanged sideways glances, but there was obviously no possibility of a refusal. Sam produced a sheaf of papers, and hesitantly handed it over. "Sir-" The president waved his concerns away with a nod, and he fell silent.
The president turned pages, reading silently to himself. After a moment, he said "This isn't all Sam's work- Toby, you edited this?"
"I may have," he allowed. Bartlet nodded, slowly, and put on his glasses. He turned back towards Ash and Charlie.
"Listen to this. This is not a time for empty promises." He shifted into oratory so smoothly it made goosebumps rise on Ash's skin. "This is not a time to take credit for all the things we've done, when the things we've done are nowhere near completed. This is a time to stand up and say: 'We can do better'. We will do better. Our time here is not done, and we will spend every last minute of it fighting to make things better for our fellow Americans. All Americans. Every life we improve is a victory; every one that we fail is a human tragedy. I come here before you to deliver the State of the Union, and I tell you this: the State of the Union is a work in progress."
He seemed to have grown inches taller, but perhaps it was just that he was wrapping the world around him like a cloak, wearing it as if it belonged to him. "Our country has problems. We're proud to say so. We're proud to have the freedom to say so. We know we have problems, and we're facing them head on. We're going to face up to each and every struggle, and we're not going to falter, and we're not going to hesitate, and we're not going to sacrifice one tiny fraction of who we are and what we represent to fight them. We will not break down our ideals and our freedoms and give them away piecemeal for the sake of false security and temporary fixes. We will fight our battles, and we will do it on our terms, and we will do it side by side, as equals. As Americans."
He stopped, and smiled - a different smile, now, a fierce one edged with visionary determination. "What do you think, Charlie?" he asked.
Charlie nodded slowly, smiling to himself. "It's good, Mr. President."
"Ashley?"
"Yes, sir. It's- very good," he almost stammered, still too caught up in the spell of the president's speaking voice to expect it to come his way.
"I think so too." The president nodded to himself, and turned to face his speechwriters again. "Let's do this version."
Sam's face split into an incredulous grin. "Mr. President-"
"I don't want you to rewrite the whole speech, just change the flavour. We can do this. We should do this. Let's do this version."
"Mr. President, you are completely clear that you have to read this speech in less than twelve hours?" Toby wondered.
"Read, Toby," the president echoed. "Call me overconfident, but I'm reasonably sure you won't put any words in there that I won't recognise. I'm not asking you to write me a whole new speech. This is the speech you wrote - this is it, with the gloves off, and the teeth bared, and all the fire that was carefully smothered in diplomatic language. You don't need to rewrite it, because it's already in there - we just need to step right up to the plate from the very first word, and take ownership of it. Let's not pussyfoot around the things we want to say like we're ashamed of them; let's get out there and say them, right up front."
They both straightened up. "Yes, sir," said Sam earnestly.
Ash sidled over towards Charlie. "Does this sort of thing happen a lot?" he asked tentatively.
"Maybe not as often as you'd like to think, but yeah - more often than you'd suppose," Charlie agreed.
"They're really going to write a whole new beginning to the speech with only twelve hours to go?" he wondered. "And the president's going to learn it?"
"Well, 'learn' might be too strong a word."
"Watch your step there, Charlie, I've got a replacement ready and waiting now," the president warned, but smilingly. "I've had some experience thinking on my feet," he told Ash confidently. "And besides... these guys won't let me down."
Ash looked over at Sam and Toby, who had huddled together over the papers the president had been reading from. Having apparently completely forgotten the presence of the leader of the free world, they were already absorbed in babbling back and forth at high speed.
"Toby, if we're actually going to use this, we need a total-"
"-Complete rewrite, from the first paragraph to the-"
"Yeah."
"It's been a-"
"-Long, hard... battle?" Sam tried hesitantly.
"Struggle," Toby supplied.
"It's been a long, hard struggle, and it's not over yet."
"It's a long way from over yet."
"It's a long way from over yet. America is standing on the precipice-"
"Get off the damn precipice."
Sam looked wounded. "I like the-"
"We already ditched the precipice."
Ash had to grin. The president and his Secret Service entourage were already leaving, but Charlie no doubt had that covered, so it was probably safe to linger and listen just for a moment...
"America is on... the borderlands between the chaos of indecision and the dawning of a new age of equality and democracy."
"Stands on."
"Stands on the borderlands between the chaos of indecision and the dawning of a new age of equality and democracy."
"If we are to-" Toby raised a hand over his head and snapped the fingers without looking up. "-Pie, Bonnie, now. If we are to move forward from this... perilous juncture, we must... pull together? Drive together?"
"Unite. Enjoin. Unify."
"Unify. If we are to move forward from this perilous juncture, we must move in unity. In this dark age of- terrorism?"
"Terror tactics."
"-Underground warfare and terror tactics, the greatest dangers come not from without, but from every compromise we make in the name of fear and hesitancy. We will not let outside forces divide us. We will not give away ourselves to try and buy an easy solution. America... is not for sale. It's not an ideal to be set aside when times are rough and picked up again when we want it. To protect this nation we must be this nation, and in our darkest hours we all must stand together. And so I come before you today-"
"-To deliver the State of the Union."