…Exactly 63 feet from the Oval Office. If you don't think we measure, you're out of your mind…
Toby Ziegler, The U.S. Poet Laureate
It was the third day of the administration when you ended up measuring it. You didn't have any work to do (it was the beginning, it was night time and you were supposed to be settling it) so you were sitting with Sam and Toby in somebody's office. You made a throwaway comment, that you should be doing something vitally important to national security like measuring the distance between your office and the big oval one. You meant it as a joke, but Sam was already rummaging through one of the drawers in his desk, and what did you know – there was a tape measure there, rolled up in a ball.
So you went outside, rolled it out and began at Toby's office (because you used Rock Paper Scissors to decide and he always won) and you laughed when Sam dropped the end he had in his hand as he peered round the corner to see the distance, so inciting the wrath of Toby, because he had forgotten he couldn't let it go or it wouldn't work. You sniggered a little at the look on Toby's face (one of mock annoyance and amusement and a hundred variations of the two combined) when he realised your office was a mere fifty feet compared to his sixty three. But Toby grinned too, as Sam pouted (and smiled alternately) when he realised his office was furthest, and demanded a recount, but by foot.
So the three of you walked together side by side in a rhythm, counting the paces step by step. You and Sam tallied aloud on the way; Toby made wisecracks about your lack of numeracy skills and gave the full Ziegler laugh you heard so rarely. And then – you met Leo. When he asked you what you were doing, you replied unanimously, "Nothing Leo!" and cracked up a little under his suspicious gaze. He walked on – it was nearly night time, after all, but you'd lost count at this point.
You remember now the feeling of excitement in you, in your bones and in every fibre of your being, that you had every day for seven years – the feeling you had every time you approached the Oval Office. A mixture of respect and awe and simple wonder that you'd ever made it there in the first place. You all paused, standing still together; you'd lost count but it didn't matter that your office was naturally closer as you'd all known subconsciously from the beginning, because you were together, in the hallowed building you'd been looking towards for so long. You thought that with CJ, Leo, and the President at the helm, you were all invincible.
Now, it's the third day of your administration, and you look around the office – Leo's first, then CJ's, and sigh, aimlessly unpacking boxes, although you have so much work to do and you shouldn't be reminiscing any more. You really don't understand how Leo survived – you choke up when you remember that he didn't. You give up on your task, and slump in your chair. One of the photographs on your shelf catches your eye – a snapshot of you, and Sam, and Toby celebrating a primary win during the first, exhilarating campaign. You're all smiling in the photo, arms around each other, and you wonder if being fifty feet closer is a high enough price for losing your brothers.