A NOTE ABOUT CONTIUITY: While a fan of The West Wing, it is a show I have
discovered on DVD and so, am only intimately familiar with events occuring
in seasons 1 and 2. Otherwise, I have relied on Bravo's erratic airing
schedule as well as episode summaries and character biographies courtesy of
www.bartlet4america.org to fill in the gaps in my knowlege. However, the
"universe" of this story takes place in what can only be described as an
"alternate season 5", in which everything relating to the kidnapping of the
First Daughter happened, and, due to my extreme unfamiliarity with events
after that, did not. I apologize if this bit of artistic licence offends
any fan, if it does, well, then, you don't have to keep reading.
As for Angel, all events described throughout in regards to not only Angel, Wolfram & Hart, and that series, as well as the events of Buffy The Vampire Slayer (including the bits and pieces of information we recieved regarding BtVS characters during Angel's fifth season), are accurate and are to be assumed as having happened at roughly the same time as the corresponding seasons of The West Wing. If you want to know why we never heard anything about the town of Sunnydale imploding on WW, one need only look at what was happening at that time across the continent. (Sarcasm is indeed the grumpy man's wit.)
Oh yeah, and I don't own these characters, I never did, they are the property, intellectual or otherwise, of the television geniuses Joss Whedon and Aaron Sorkin, and I only hope that one day I can create something as good as what they gave us for seven miraculous years.
We now return you to our regulary scheduled programming already in progress:
"If we were wide awake, we would be instantly struck by the horrors which surround us...We would drop our tools, quit our jobs, deny our obligations, pay no taxes, deny our obligations, observe no laws, and so on. Could the man or woman who is thoroughly awakend possibly do the crazy things which are now expected of him or her at the end of the day?"
--Henry Miller
"As I walk through this wicked world
Searching for light in the darkness of insanity
I ask myself, is all hope lost?
Is there only pain and hatred and misery
And each time I feel like this inside, there's one thing I wanna know:
What's so funny about peace, love, and understanding?"
--Elvis Costello
5:15 AM
Leo McGarry's Office
True to his word, Leo (or Sam, acting on behalf of Leo) woke 'em all up. Now, six of the most powerful people in Washington watched the man who led them through fire and brimstone, through hell, high water, and the occasional hilarity, describe to them how the state of California was being attacked by an army of darkness none of them could have possibly imagined.
After Leo finished telling his senior staff that what the Joint Chiefs were describing as an "army of hostiles" had begun to move out from the city to the surrounding suburbs of Los Angeles with ferocious speed, silence descended like a blanket of quiet madness. Had anyone of them realized what this man, who had never lied to them, was going to tell them when Sam woke them and pulled them away from their loved ones, they would have stayed in bed and let the darkness engulf them. Or they would have gathered their sons and daughters, their wives and lovers close to their chest and tried to outrun it. And yet, looking at the graveness growing on Leo's face by the second, they knew that outrunning this "army of hostiles" was something they could never do.
Josh spoke first. "So, the tropical storm...It's not moving?"
Leo almost smiled. "Nah. Whatever's behind...this...it's almost as if it doesn't want it to move. 'Cause whatever it is, it's smarter than us, and they know we can't hit it through a tropical storm. Not with our troops, not with our tankers, and certainly not our planes."
Toby. "What can we hit it with?"
Sam, shocked that his mentor would even dare to bring it up, said, "You're not seriously thinking-"
"Sam, the city of Los Angeles is occupied by demons. Demons, Sam, which, although I was raised to believe in evil, I heard about it from my grandfather, I saw it in Vietnam, is something that they don't exactly teach you about in law school. It's not something they prep you for in security briefings. So you'll excuse me, if, at this moment, when these 'demons' seem to be growing by the second, I can consider options that one would consider less than conventional!"
Another silence, then. They knew that the Joint Chiefs, that Nancy, that someone must have reccomended to the President the possiblity that a nuclear strike may provide a solution. And they all knew that a nuclear strike would be like plugging up a bullet wound with a Band-Aid.
Finally, the curly haired spin doctor from New York who'd left the West Wing shortly after a very human evil rained bullets like a plague of fire at Rosslyn spoke. "Leo, I hate to seem like a self-centered egomaniac at a time like this, but-"
Josh interrupted. "You are a self-centered egomaniac, and you'll always be a self-centered egomaniac." He cracked jokes, it's what he did when things got like this.
And it was always Leo who calmed him by saying quietly, "Josh."
The younger man shut up. Leo nodded to Madeline Hampton, who continued asking, "Why am I here?"
"You're one of us, and you were with us when we won this place, and you'll be here when the armies of Hell burn it to the ground." Looking around the room like the Colonel he once was, Leo finished, "But we're not going to let them get that far. We will torch this symbol of righteousness, of freedom from the very things that plague California tonight that just so happens to have manifested itself in a very corporeal form, we will send the White House into the night sky as a pyre against the darkness our own selves before we let any of those sonsofabitches lay a hand on the front door. And I can assure you, it will never get that far to begin with."
He was a motivating speaker, he always had been. And with that, Mandy said, "C.J.'s going to need some help figuring out how to spin this with the press."
Leo nodded. "Josh, you help them out."
More jokes from the man. "Why not Toby or Sam or Will? They're speechwriters, they have that affinity with the written word that we lowly deputy Chiefs of Staff so often do not."
"You have a great affinity with the written word, and you're doing it now. Go."
The three disappeared into the quiet corridors of the West Wing.
First Lieutenant Bailey spoke. Of the four men remaining in the room, he hid his fear least effectively. He stammered, "Why aren't we-"
"Because," Leo said, "You're going to see the President."
They walked the ten feet into the Oval Office, where they found the President of the United States praying the rosary on his knees in the middle of the seal representing the country he'd sworn, twice over, to protect. It was only after a moment that the man noticed them with his peripheral vision. He rose quickly.
Bartlet had aged fifty years in the hour since Leo'd woken him up. The man shuffled over to his desk, where he leaned against it.
"They've been informed?" he asked.
Leo nodded. "Yes, sir."
"How are they taking it?"
"Well, sir, considering what this administration's been through...I'd say they're handling it pretty well."
"Good." Bartlet turned his attention to Will. "Will, I want you and Toby to wake the British ambassador."
"Lord John Marbury?" Will had nothing but respect for the eccentric who helped Bartlet and company out of a number of scrapes.
"He's still the British ambassador, correct?"
"Unless there was a firing no one told us about," Toby said.
"Then that's who I want you to wake. I want you to wake him. I want you to tell him to call a man named Ripper Giles. I believe he knows him. I want you to sit with him while he makes the call, Toby, I want you to speak to this Giles personally. I want you to tell him that we have chartered the Concorde out of London for him. If he's not in London, I want John to arrange to get him there. You get him to London, you get him on the Concorde, and then, I want you to bring Lord Marbury here and wait for Giles to arrive. When he does, I want to meet him. I want this all to happen before the end of the day. Understood?"
Will nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Toby?"
"Who's Ripper Giles?"
"Ripper Giles, Toby, is the man who can help us save the world. You'll like him. He's old, he's cranky, and I've heard he smokes too much."
"Well, then, sir, it'll be an interesting evening."
"Morning, Toby."
"Yes, sir."
"Go."
Toby shuffled off after Will, who darted out of the room at the president's order. Leo and the President exchanged another one of their glances, then turned their attention to the Special Advisor, who'd been standing while the other men recieved their orders.
"You're awfully quiet, Sam," Bartlet said.
"I'm from California, Mr. President."
"I know."
"Everything I know is there."
"Yes."
"All of my family is there."
"No, Sam," said Leo, quiet. "Not all of them. You've got some pretty good family right here."
And that seemed to cheer the man up for a fraction of a second, and then his thoughts turned to what they always turned to. Buisness.
Bartlet saw the seriousness, and said, "Sam, you and I and Leo are going back down to the situation room. Nancy and Fitz are going to give us another briefing, and then we're going to look at possible options. Of the people in this White House, nobody knows that state better than you. You came here to bail California out of an economic crisis. It looks like you're going to be doing more than that. What do you say, you want to come help us out?"
Sam uttered a phrase he thought he never would again, and that gave him more joy than any of the empty promises he'd been telling himself all night. "I serve at the pleasure of the President."
Bartlet walked over to him, hugged one of his many sons, and looked at him. "I'm proud of you. Never forget that."
"Yes, sir."
Bartlet clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's go."
The three men exited the Oval Office in silence. Not one of them noticed the figure prowling across the patio toward the Rose Garden.
5:32 AM
Bethesda, Maryland
Ron Butterfield's home
Ron Butterfield finished swallowing the medication doctors had prescribed for the reccuring pain in his hand as result of the Rosslyn incident when he heard the knock at the door.
He opened the door. It was one of the field agents, a man named Jeff Baker.
He invited him in.
Before Ron could ask what was going on, he felt a sharp pain at his throat as Baker knocked him to the floor. He felt a taste of copper in his mouth.
A taste he knew as blood.
The pain in his neck throbbed dully. There was a white light, then darkness.
And the man who'd protected three presidents and saved the daughter of a trusted friend knew no more.
As for Angel, all events described throughout in regards to not only Angel, Wolfram & Hart, and that series, as well as the events of Buffy The Vampire Slayer (including the bits and pieces of information we recieved regarding BtVS characters during Angel's fifth season), are accurate and are to be assumed as having happened at roughly the same time as the corresponding seasons of The West Wing. If you want to know why we never heard anything about the town of Sunnydale imploding on WW, one need only look at what was happening at that time across the continent. (Sarcasm is indeed the grumpy man's wit.)
Oh yeah, and I don't own these characters, I never did, they are the property, intellectual or otherwise, of the television geniuses Joss Whedon and Aaron Sorkin, and I only hope that one day I can create something as good as what they gave us for seven miraculous years.
We now return you to our regulary scheduled programming already in progress:
"If we were wide awake, we would be instantly struck by the horrors which surround us...We would drop our tools, quit our jobs, deny our obligations, pay no taxes, deny our obligations, observe no laws, and so on. Could the man or woman who is thoroughly awakend possibly do the crazy things which are now expected of him or her at the end of the day?"
--Henry Miller
"As I walk through this wicked world
Searching for light in the darkness of insanity
I ask myself, is all hope lost?
Is there only pain and hatred and misery
And each time I feel like this inside, there's one thing I wanna know:
What's so funny about peace, love, and understanding?"
--Elvis Costello
5:15 AM
Leo McGarry's Office
True to his word, Leo (or Sam, acting on behalf of Leo) woke 'em all up. Now, six of the most powerful people in Washington watched the man who led them through fire and brimstone, through hell, high water, and the occasional hilarity, describe to them how the state of California was being attacked by an army of darkness none of them could have possibly imagined.
After Leo finished telling his senior staff that what the Joint Chiefs were describing as an "army of hostiles" had begun to move out from the city to the surrounding suburbs of Los Angeles with ferocious speed, silence descended like a blanket of quiet madness. Had anyone of them realized what this man, who had never lied to them, was going to tell them when Sam woke them and pulled them away from their loved ones, they would have stayed in bed and let the darkness engulf them. Or they would have gathered their sons and daughters, their wives and lovers close to their chest and tried to outrun it. And yet, looking at the graveness growing on Leo's face by the second, they knew that outrunning this "army of hostiles" was something they could never do.
Josh spoke first. "So, the tropical storm...It's not moving?"
Leo almost smiled. "Nah. Whatever's behind...this...it's almost as if it doesn't want it to move. 'Cause whatever it is, it's smarter than us, and they know we can't hit it through a tropical storm. Not with our troops, not with our tankers, and certainly not our planes."
Toby. "What can we hit it with?"
Sam, shocked that his mentor would even dare to bring it up, said, "You're not seriously thinking-"
"Sam, the city of Los Angeles is occupied by demons. Demons, Sam, which, although I was raised to believe in evil, I heard about it from my grandfather, I saw it in Vietnam, is something that they don't exactly teach you about in law school. It's not something they prep you for in security briefings. So you'll excuse me, if, at this moment, when these 'demons' seem to be growing by the second, I can consider options that one would consider less than conventional!"
Another silence, then. They knew that the Joint Chiefs, that Nancy, that someone must have reccomended to the President the possiblity that a nuclear strike may provide a solution. And they all knew that a nuclear strike would be like plugging up a bullet wound with a Band-Aid.
Finally, the curly haired spin doctor from New York who'd left the West Wing shortly after a very human evil rained bullets like a plague of fire at Rosslyn spoke. "Leo, I hate to seem like a self-centered egomaniac at a time like this, but-"
Josh interrupted. "You are a self-centered egomaniac, and you'll always be a self-centered egomaniac." He cracked jokes, it's what he did when things got like this.
And it was always Leo who calmed him by saying quietly, "Josh."
The younger man shut up. Leo nodded to Madeline Hampton, who continued asking, "Why am I here?"
"You're one of us, and you were with us when we won this place, and you'll be here when the armies of Hell burn it to the ground." Looking around the room like the Colonel he once was, Leo finished, "But we're not going to let them get that far. We will torch this symbol of righteousness, of freedom from the very things that plague California tonight that just so happens to have manifested itself in a very corporeal form, we will send the White House into the night sky as a pyre against the darkness our own selves before we let any of those sonsofabitches lay a hand on the front door. And I can assure you, it will never get that far to begin with."
He was a motivating speaker, he always had been. And with that, Mandy said, "C.J.'s going to need some help figuring out how to spin this with the press."
Leo nodded. "Josh, you help them out."
More jokes from the man. "Why not Toby or Sam or Will? They're speechwriters, they have that affinity with the written word that we lowly deputy Chiefs of Staff so often do not."
"You have a great affinity with the written word, and you're doing it now. Go."
The three disappeared into the quiet corridors of the West Wing.
First Lieutenant Bailey spoke. Of the four men remaining in the room, he hid his fear least effectively. He stammered, "Why aren't we-"
"Because," Leo said, "You're going to see the President."
They walked the ten feet into the Oval Office, where they found the President of the United States praying the rosary on his knees in the middle of the seal representing the country he'd sworn, twice over, to protect. It was only after a moment that the man noticed them with his peripheral vision. He rose quickly.
Bartlet had aged fifty years in the hour since Leo'd woken him up. The man shuffled over to his desk, where he leaned against it.
"They've been informed?" he asked.
Leo nodded. "Yes, sir."
"How are they taking it?"
"Well, sir, considering what this administration's been through...I'd say they're handling it pretty well."
"Good." Bartlet turned his attention to Will. "Will, I want you and Toby to wake the British ambassador."
"Lord John Marbury?" Will had nothing but respect for the eccentric who helped Bartlet and company out of a number of scrapes.
"He's still the British ambassador, correct?"
"Unless there was a firing no one told us about," Toby said.
"Then that's who I want you to wake. I want you to wake him. I want you to tell him to call a man named Ripper Giles. I believe he knows him. I want you to sit with him while he makes the call, Toby, I want you to speak to this Giles personally. I want you to tell him that we have chartered the Concorde out of London for him. If he's not in London, I want John to arrange to get him there. You get him to London, you get him on the Concorde, and then, I want you to bring Lord Marbury here and wait for Giles to arrive. When he does, I want to meet him. I want this all to happen before the end of the day. Understood?"
Will nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Toby?"
"Who's Ripper Giles?"
"Ripper Giles, Toby, is the man who can help us save the world. You'll like him. He's old, he's cranky, and I've heard he smokes too much."
"Well, then, sir, it'll be an interesting evening."
"Morning, Toby."
"Yes, sir."
"Go."
Toby shuffled off after Will, who darted out of the room at the president's order. Leo and the President exchanged another one of their glances, then turned their attention to the Special Advisor, who'd been standing while the other men recieved their orders.
"You're awfully quiet, Sam," Bartlet said.
"I'm from California, Mr. President."
"I know."
"Everything I know is there."
"Yes."
"All of my family is there."
"No, Sam," said Leo, quiet. "Not all of them. You've got some pretty good family right here."
And that seemed to cheer the man up for a fraction of a second, and then his thoughts turned to what they always turned to. Buisness.
Bartlet saw the seriousness, and said, "Sam, you and I and Leo are going back down to the situation room. Nancy and Fitz are going to give us another briefing, and then we're going to look at possible options. Of the people in this White House, nobody knows that state better than you. You came here to bail California out of an economic crisis. It looks like you're going to be doing more than that. What do you say, you want to come help us out?"
Sam uttered a phrase he thought he never would again, and that gave him more joy than any of the empty promises he'd been telling himself all night. "I serve at the pleasure of the President."
Bartlet walked over to him, hugged one of his many sons, and looked at him. "I'm proud of you. Never forget that."
"Yes, sir."
Bartlet clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's go."
The three men exited the Oval Office in silence. Not one of them noticed the figure prowling across the patio toward the Rose Garden.
5:32 AM
Bethesda, Maryland
Ron Butterfield's home
Ron Butterfield finished swallowing the medication doctors had prescribed for the reccuring pain in his hand as result of the Rosslyn incident when he heard the knock at the door.
He opened the door. It was one of the field agents, a man named Jeff Baker.
He invited him in.
Before Ron could ask what was going on, he felt a sharp pain at his throat as Baker knocked him to the floor. He felt a taste of copper in his mouth.
A taste he knew as blood.
The pain in his neck throbbed dully. There was a white light, then darkness.
And the man who'd protected three presidents and saved the daughter of a trusted friend knew no more.