Author's Note

Before we get down to business, I would like to point out that the inception of one or more character relationships in this story can be traced back to my Catalyst series. That being said, please know that this story has no affiliation whatsoever with any aspect of the Catalyst series; I simply enjoy certain pairings that were created as such.

This story, as you may have noticed already, adopts a completely different style of fanfiction. The technique is based upon the format of the television show 24. I don't know how many of you are familiar with 24 or its designs, so I'll take a second to briefly explain. On the show, each season is twenty-four episodes long, each episode representing one hour out of twenty-four. They are presented in real time. In that tradition, this story will be comprised of fifteen chapters, instead of 24, each chapter representing an hour. As on 24, there are many storylines occuring at once underneath a blanket plot that involves, directly and indirectly, each of the characters. The same goes for this story. Also in tradition with 24, some of the storylines are bit grotesque and melodramatic, as in slightly improbable though technically possible. On that note, please realize that this story is in NO WAY a 24 crossover fic, nor does it include more than two aspects of the aforementioned show, as followed: the involvement of CTU (Counter Terrorism Unit), which is a fictional subdivision of the CIA that specializes in exactly what the name describes and has actually been mentioned on The West Wing (I believe in "Debate Camp"), and the character of Ryan Chappelle, director of CTU Division Headquarters, whose personality as established on 24 plays no role in this story as he appears essentially in name only and does precisely what I tell him to.

With that said, I would like to let it be known that this story is something of an experiment. This is my first time writing anything remotely like this and while it has been and continues to be a rewarding experience for me as a writer, it is an experiment nonetheless and I am still working out the kinks. In addition, I realize that this story is not for everyone and I fully understand if you choose not to read it, though I ask that you give it a shot. However, if you do read and enjoy it, please let me know so I can take that into account for future endeavors.

One last miniscule detail to point out- I have taken the liberty of manipulating the canon timeline so that, despite the fact that it's January of 2002, Sam has already competed and lost his bid for congress. He is now working at a law firm in the DC area. And thanks to Gabby for her help on part of this chapter! J

Hour One

The following takes place between 7:00pm and 8:00pm on January 6th, 2002, in Washington, DC unless otherwise noted.

In the week following the faded holiday season, the White House had been bustling with harried people and convoluted problems to solve, just as it had been before. Repose seemed an impossibility, their lives a crowded path with no end in sight. All attempts to lessen the workload had been thwarted by some unnamed force of nature that reigned supreme above them. Higher, even, than the President of the United States. He had sailed through the past week, weightlessly floating from one crisis to another, resolving each with estimable ease and elegance. His gift for either concealing or avoiding (it's never been boldly clear) the kind of stress that, say, Josh Lyman exhibited was not reward enough for the separation he had endured from his wife during this time. In the midst of each calamity that was hurled in his direction, he had found himself more inadvertantly distant from her than ever. Not one night in the past week had he reached the Residence in time to see her lovely eyes open and wide awake, and not one night had he departed late enough to kiss her goodbye and taste the coffee on her lips. He'd had enough of that for one week.

Jed Bartlet stood behind his desk in the Oval Office as his personal aide loaded his briefcase with files and paperwork, none of which he planned to devote any time to for hours upon hours. Having completed his task, Charlie Young bid the President a good night and exited the office, only to be replaced by Leo McGarry.

"If it's an international crisis, shelve it till morning!" Jed exclaimed, grinning at his Chief of Staff slyly.

"Big plans this evening?" Leo questioned.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I am going to wine and dine my wife and what happens after that, I cannot say."

Leo smirked.

"Give her my best."

"Yours, old friend, will be the very last name I will be dropping, if any, on this particular evening."

"I have no doubt of that, sir."

"You should take it easy, Leo. Take the night the off. Really, I'm commanding you," Jed said.

Leo laughed and shook his head.

"I think I'll stick around a little while longer."

Briefcase clutched in hand, the President strolled toward the door to the portico jovially.

"Suit yourself. I'm gone. Have a good night."

"Do the same, sir."

Leo stood, alone and silent, in the empty office, watching attentively as Jed's figure moved farther and farther away from him. His own reluctance to leave the office stemmed from a deep-rooted fear of the notion that the night was far from over. In fact, Leo had an unshakeable gut feeling that it had just begun.

7:14 pm

Josh Lyman had been on the phone for over an hour. He had returned phone calls from the Energy Secretary's assistant, Congresswoman Platt, Senator Conroy's Chief of Staff, and his mother all within the hour and considered himself accomplished and productive after having successfully completed each call. A moment before, Donna had popped her head in and informed him that, as far as she could see, he was done for the night and as, she hoped, was she. Contrary to Donna's impression, Josh had one final call to make. He picked up the phone and dialed the number himself, separate from Donna's maneuvers. He waited five rings, then hung up in frustration. Two minutes later, he repeated the action to no avail. Three minutes after that, the repetition continued.

7:20 pm

CJ Cregg popped her head into the office upon noticing that he was inside. The phone was pressed against his ear and she noticed his expression turned from hopeful to irritated in record time before he slammed the phone down onto the receiver.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've been on hold for a cow for the last fifteen minutes," CJ stated.

Josh shrugged.

"That does make me feel better actually."

"Although there's a distinct possibility that it may, in all truthfulness, be a goat. I can't say for sure."

"Common misconception."

"So, who you been calling, Alexander Graham Bell?" CJ questioned.

"First off, I think we need to work on your sense of humor. You're getting a little rusty. Second, I find it unimaginably degrading to be ignored by one's own psychiatrist."

"You can't get a hold of Dr. Keyworth?"

"Busy guy, it seems."

CJ invaded the office fully and collapsed into the chair in front of Josh's desk.

"He's in town?"

"He's been living in Georgetown for awhile now. Apparently, there's more trauma in the District of Columbia than in the whole of California," Josh explained.

"It's funny, I don't find that hard to believe."

"You shouldn't."

He picked up the phone once more and dialed the number, which he had now memorized.

"Wrong number maybe?" CJ suggested.

Josh shook his head.

"Nah."

Seconds later, he slammed the phone down yet again.

"Why don't you go take a walk or something? I'm a little worried for your sanity, or lack thereof, at the moment."

Josh scoffed at her.

"Why the hell do you think I'm trying to get a hold of Stanley?"

7:26 P.M.

Dr. Millicent Griffith dropped her tray onto the table in the mess and watched it bounce one or twice before sitting down in front of it.

"You really know how to woo a girl, McGarry."

Leo placed his own tray across from hers and sat down at well.

"Hey, the mess is open late tonight. I figured we'd take advantage of this joyous occasion."

"How thoughtful of you. Abbey and Jed are dining in the swanky private dining room while we sit in the mess eating salads." Her eyes fell upon the contents of his tray. "Or burgers, as the case may be."

He looked up at her as he held the burger just centimeters from his mouth and lowered it quickly.

"What?"

"You really gonna sit in front of a doctor, the most prominent in the U.S., and eat a big, fat juicy cheeseburger?" Millie questioned.

"Yeah."

He took a bite from the big, fat, juicy cheeseburger and closed his eyes in ecstasy. Millie frowned, leaned back in her chair, and folded her arms across her chest. Leo rolled his eyes and surrendered, putting the burger back down onto the tray.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, okay," Leo muttered.

"How's it gonna look when the Surgeon General's boyfriend doesn't listen to the counsel she preaches? If he won't listen to my medical advice, why should anyone else?"

"Okay, are we done with this now?"

"Yeah," Millie answered nonchalantly. "How was your day?"

"Milder than the last seven days, that's for sure. How was yours?"

"Fine. I spoke at a Presidential Classroom seminar this morning. Half the kids fell asleep."

Leo laughed.

"They did, huh?"

"Well, it was eight in the morning, I can't say I blame them too much. I nearly fell asleep and I was the one talking."

"That's a surefire sign that you need a new speechwriter, kiddo."

"Thanks for the suggestion," Millie replied. "Here, take my salad."

She slid the plastic container across the table.

"You're not gonna eat?" Leo asked.

"Not hungry."

Just as Leo grabbed his fork and reluctantly began to dig in to his salad, Margaret came running into the nearly empty cafeteria in a frenzy. Millie nodded to Leo, whose back was to Margaret, and he whirled around.

"They need you in the Sit Room."

Leo paused for a moment, then nodded his head in assent.

"Thanks."

Margaret smiled tersely and exited the mess. Leo slumped back in his chair and gazed across at Millie apologetically.

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged, helplessly. This wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last.

"Go."

7:35 pm

After almost an hour on hold, CJ finally finished her conversation with Heffer International and promptly ended the phone call. Almost in sync with the moment she hung up the phone, it rang again. She groaned in discontent and unenthusiastically picked it up.

"CJ Cregg. Tommy, hi." It was her oldest brother. She had not heard from him in over a month, which wasn't all that long in the Cregg family. "What's going on? Yeah. Wait a second. What the hell do you mean, Hogan's gone missing? How could she go missing? She's almost eighteen. She has a car and a cell phone, and you're telling me she's missing. Yeah. She didn't…she didn't come home after Winter Ball last night? And you're just now realizing she might be missing. That's good parenting. I'm not lecturing you, Tommy, I'm just saying…yeah. Okay. I will let you know if I hear from her. Yes. Okay, bye."

CJ replaced the phone on the receiver and leaned back in her chair. She stared straight ahead, pensively weighing the options in her head.

7:44 pm

Abbey Bartlet swirled her melting vanilla ice cream around the bowl with her spoon absently. Her husband was all too focused on his tiramisu and she was all too determined to change his focus to something more worthwhile. She narrowed her eyes seductively in his direction, continuing to move her spoon around aimlessly, until he finally looked up. A sly smile spread across his face and he dropped his spoon onto the table.

"You know, I've hardly seen you once since we got back from New Hampshire last week," she pointed out demurely.

"I know that," Jed replied. "Wasn't exactly a conscious decision on my part though."

"I know that. I think now would be a good time to make up for that, don't you?"

Catching her drift, he grinned and pushed his plate away. She did the same. He pushed his chair back and stood, holding his hand out to her. She graciously accepted, and he pulled her out of her seat.

7:47 pm

When Leo McGarry entered the Situation Room, all harried conversation came to an immediate halt. He unbuttoned his jacket and sat down in his usual seat.

"All right, talk to me, Fitz. Nancy."

He leaned in and braced himself for what was about to come.

"Leo, about an hour ago, one of Nancy's deputies at the NSA came forward with some information regarding a plot against the United States."

"A plot? What kind of plot?" Leo questioned solemnly.

"This guy, his name is Paul Crawford, had been working in collusion with the IRA…"

"The International Reading Association?"

"The Irish Republican Army. Also known as the most violent terrorist organization in Ireland," Nancy responded unaffected by the humor. "Crawford requested immunity in exchange for his information. We gave it to him."

"According to Crawford," Admiral Fitzwallace explained. "The IRA, along with a significant portion of the Sinn Fein, developed this plot as an attempt to weaken England's primary ally and, in doing so, weaken the crown."

"Yeah," Leo said. "What kind of plot are we talking about here?"

"Some form of violent attack on our soil. Crawford seems to be alluding to a bomb of some sort. I don't think he knows the intimate details of the actual attack; he's just the IRA's puppet, their mole feeding them with the information they need."

"I'm gonna ask a question here. Feel free to negate me, in fact, I encourage it. The person orchestrating all of this, is it…"

"Brendan McGann?" Dr. McNally said. "Yes."

"Swell. Okay, let me get this straight. An Irish terrorist organization is plotting to bomb the United States to inadvertantly hit England."

"That's right," Fitz confirmed.

"The President's gonna love this," Leo mumbled. "What's going on with the mole now, Crawford is it?"

Fitz nodded.

"He's still being interrogated for further information. We suspect there's a lot he's not telling us yet. We're….motivating him."

"Who's doing the interrogating? The CIA?"

"CTU," Nancy answered.

"Okay."

"Leo." Nancy requested his attention. "We need to get the President down here."

Leo nodded.

"Yeah. I'm on my way."

7:51 pm

Jed's heart was racing, his chest pounding in anticipation. He gripped her by the swells of her hips, gently caressing the curves that defined her shapely figure.

"You're awfully friendly," she whispered just before their lips met in a collision she had been longing for since dinner.

"It's been a week since I've had you all to myself. I don't want to waste this time."

Without a word, Abbey untucked his shirt and slipped her palms under the fabric to feel the warmth of his chest. She fanned her hands then, ripping his buttons at the root and ignoring them as they fell carelessly to the floor. Jed ran his fingers up and down the silky material of her purple tunic. He could never get enough of the way that dress hugged her figure, emphasizing the arch of her back and the round globes of her rear.

Her arms were bare, just the way he liked them, and the slit that ran seductively from her knee up to her thigh seemed to go even higher tonight. If there was one complaint about this dress, it was the way it covered her chest, shielding her breasts from his loving touch.

He pulled her in again, his mouth invading hers as he coiled his fingers around the zipper in the back. With one tug, he pulled it, yanking the dress so hard that it tore at her shoulders and fell into a heap around her ankles.

They didn't care. The passion that raged between them ruled their actions. She pushed her body against his and as he stumbled backwards towards the bed, his hands found the top of her panties and his fingers curled around the satiny softness. He changed direction then, forcing her to recline just as her knees hit the mattress.

The front clasp of her bra was snapped open and her breasts roamed freely from behind the constraints of the sexy lace. She gasped when Jed's mouth touched her, lavishing the smooth slopes with a thousand kisses. He massaged the top of her right mound, then moved to the left, pausing in one particular area as he furrowed his brows and looked up at her.

"Abbey?"

"Don't stop," she moaned, still panting from his manipulations.

"Abbey. Honey..."

Abbey raised her head slightly. "What?"

Without a word, he took her hand and guided her to the area in question. Placing his palm on top of hers, he pushed down on her skin. "Right there."

She gasped involuntarily and quickly pulled her hand away, causing him to look up at her with a patent concern in his face. Her eyes had glazed over by this time, her lips parted slightly, emitting short, ragged breaths. He slid off from on top of her and rested against the headboard beside her. Both of them staring vacantly ahead, deeply lost in thought, the silence that surrounded them was impenetrable. When he reached over to grasp her hand, she drew in a sharp breath and nearly pulled away, startled. Her hand couldn't escape his, though, and soon her muscles began to relax. He turned his head to observe the full affects of her emotions and was surprised by the empty expression that still occupied her face. It appeared as if she felt nothing, but he knew better. Before he had the chance to inquire as to her castaway feelings, her hand slipped out of his and she climbed out of bed. He watched her silently as she picked her discarded dress off the floor and used it to cover her bare chest. Sufficiently sheathed, she scurried into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

Jed threw his legs off the bed and stood, slowly meandering toward the bathroom. He stood in front of the closed door and waited, for a sound, for a signal, for a movement. He could not possibly grasp the fear that was plaguing her at that moment, but he imagined it was something similar to the fear that threatened his own conscience. He pressed his palm against the door and divulged her name softly. He waited a moment and when she didn't react to his pleas, he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open unhurriedly. With his access granted, he leaned against the doorframe, afraid to disturb her rapid stream of consciousness. She stood before the mirror, having done away with the clothing that had haphazardly shielded her chest from no eyes but his own, and appeared to be visually examining herself. She did not turn her head to acknowledge his presence.

"Abbey."

Jed spoke her name compassionately but failed to capture her attention.

"It's probably nothing," he reassured her.

Without looking at him, she replied, "Doesn't feel like nothing."

"It could easily be benign," Jed insisted. "In fact, there's a substantial chance that it is. A cyst, nothing more."

"Yeah."

Suddenly breaking eye contact with her own reflected gaze in the mirror, she turned and exited the bathroom, brushing past him briskly as she did so. She advanced toward the closet, emerging with a bathrobe, which she promptly donned.

"Why don't you make an appointment?" He asked.

"It can wait."

She fell back onto the couch and lifted her feet onto the table. He moved closer, his hands dangling helplessly at his sides.

"No, Abbey, it can't."

She glared up at him defiantly. Placated by her heated glower, he changed his tone.

"Just have a test done. Make an appointment at Bethesda and have it done later tonight. The press has gone home so there'll be no one hounding you; you won't have to answer to anyone. Get it over with, and we'll have the results by the end of the day tomorrow. You'll feel better, I'll feel better."

Her rebellious air was then replaced by an intense vulnerability matched only by a paralyzing fear for her own life, one that was equaled by him as well. Moisture began to well up in her eyes, his heart shattering when the first tear trickled down her cheek. As he moved toward her, all traffic was halted by the sound of someone knocking on the door.

"Damnit."

Jed regarded her sympathetically before switching directions and heading to the door. She closed the gaps her robe left open and bowed her head to conceal potential tears. He reluctantly opened the door and was not surprised in the least to find his Chief of Staff standing rigid before him.

"Mr. President, you're needed in the Situation Room."

7:59:57 7:59:58 7:59:59 8:00:00