A/N: I felt like writing something angsty, and this is what I came up with. It takes place after Two Cathedrals. Enjoy!
President Announces He Has Multiple Sclerosis
The nation was left in shock last night when President Bartlet held a press conference to announce that he has been suffering from multiple sclerosis, a condition that targets the central nervous system. The main symptoms are fatigue, pain, vision loss, and lack of coordination, among others. The severity of the symptoms varies from person to person. According to the President, he was diagnosed in 1993, five years before he ran for president.
Josh was sitting at his desk, reading the draft of Sara's latest story from her laptop. The night before, President Bartlet had dropped the bombshell that he had relapsing/remitting multiple sclerosis. Everyone in the White House was still reeling.
"'Should the people of this country sympathize with the President because of his illness, or will they see him as weak, as the Roosevelts believed would happen when he was stricken with polio in 1921,'" he read. "'Most would likely say the latter; the president is supposed to be a pillar of strength, and he cannot run the country if he is ill.
Many in Washington now see him as 'just another lying politician' because he did not disclose his illness during his campaign for the presidency three years ago. What kind of example is this for the people of this country, when their leader got to where he is by lying to them?'"
She watched his face as he read, set in concentration. Suddenly, his brow furrowed.
"You can't publish this," he told her sternly.
"Why not?" she asked, sitting up from her position on his couch.
"'An insider in the White House said that the First Lady, who is a licensed doctor of medicine, has been giving the President medication to lessen the frequency and severity of his symptoms.'"
He shoved the laptop away from him, causing files on his desk to go flying and almost causing his coffee cup to fall off his desk.
"I told you that in confidence," he said, betrayal evident in his voice. "As a boyfriend talking to his girlfriend, and you... you put it in your damn article." He shook his head in disbelief. "They can't publish this."
"I was planning on giving it to Paul before I left," she informed him.
His eyes widened. "You're kidding me." She shook her head. "I... I can't believe you would do this."
"Do what?" she asked sharply.
"You ripped the president apart! You're making it seem like he lied out of malice, not because he had to!" His voice was rising steadily. He ran a hand through his hair; she could tell that his mind was racing.
"He didn't have to lie," she countered, standing up. "He should have disclosed it when it happened, not eight years later."
"You know as well as I do that he wouldn't have won the election if he did!"
"Exactly!" she exclaimed. "Winning the election was more important to him than being honest!"
"Jesus Christ," he threw his hands up in exasperation. "When did you become so ruthless?"
She didn't say anything, they just stared at each other.
"You know them personally, you've been to their house in Manchester for God's sake! They're both going to be so hurt by this."
"I'm just doing my job, Josh. I write about the news, and this is news."
"You threw the First Lady under the bus, too!" He came out from behind his desk. "Do you know how illegal it is for her to be giving him that kind of medication without a prescription?! She could lose her medical license!"
Her stomach turned. She felt like she was going to throw up right onto Josh's carpet. Sitting down on the couch again, she put her hand on her forehead.
"I didn't think about that," she said sadly. "I was just thinking about writing a good story."
"You'd do anything for a good story, obviously," he said coldly. "Everyone around here knows we're dating, they're bound to know the 'insider at the White House' is me. It's only a matter of time before I start getting questions about what other things I've told you..."
"Now you're just being paranoid," she told him. "No one knows it was you, not even Paul."
"Am I Sara?" he raised his voice again. "Our being together is a huge conflict of interest, do you realize that? You're a journalist, and I tell you things that really should stay within the Senior Staff."
"That's your own fault, Josh," she gaffed. "You didn't have to tell me about Abbey, or anything you've told me, for that matter. You probably weren't supposed to tell me half the things you've told me."
"So you're saying I shouldn't trust my girlfriend?" he asked incredulously. "No, you're right, maybe I shouldn't trust you; tomorrow our sex life will be on the front page of the fucking New York Times!"
"It's not like I write down every piece of classified information you tell me and save it for when it's relevant to a story. You're acting like I'm some sleaze ball!"
"Because that was a sleaze ball move!" He sighed deeply.
She opened her mouth to speak and then snapped it shut, staring at him in disbelief. Everything he had said was right, but she was so stubborn she couldn't give him the satisfaction just yet. Without another word she walked over to his desk, took her laptop, and walked out.
An hour later she was in Toby's office. Josh had told him and Sam about the story and they had wanted to see her immediately. She explained to them that she didn't think Paul would approve the story because it was too accusatory and painted the president in a bad light. They were explaining the reprecussions the administration could face if the Times decided to publish it. Not only was she slamming the president, they said, but she was also exposing Abbey as a key part of the President's lie.
"You realize Josh could also be under hot water for this," Toby told her, leaning against his desk. Sara took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "If it gets out that he was the one who told you about the First Lady giving the President medication without a prescription, he could be questioned by the Department of Internal Affairs. His job could be in jeopardy, too."
"I know, I know!" she cried. She sighed. "It was a bad idea including that, even thinking about submitting it for publication was a bad idea, you don't have to keep patronizing me."
"You can't submit this to your boss," Toby began. "If you do and it gets published, the President's chances at reelection are basically gone."
"He said he wasn't going to run for reelection," Sara said. "What are you talking about?"
Toby and Sam looked at one another warily.
"He changed his mind," Sam told her.
"The New York Times has readers all over the country, all over the world," Toby said. "It's not just some small town paper. Your story could change a lot of people's minds about the President."
"The press conference already changed a lot of people's minds," Sara said flatly, looking up at the Communications Director. He shrugged. "But you're completely right; I'm not going to give the draft to my boss."
"That may be true, but you have two options," Sam told her, uncrossing his arms.
"Which are?" she asked.
"Rewrite the story, or scrap it all together."
She raised her eyebrows.
"It's," she looked at her watch. "Eight-thirty. My deadline is at ten o'clock." She sighed. "I have an hour and a half to rewrite this thing."
She got up from Toby's couch, gathering her things.
"I'm sorry if you guys think I'm an asshole," she told the two men. "I was just as shocked as the rest of the country when I heard about the president. When I wrote that draft, my emotions were all over the place, and I shouldn't have let my emotions get in the way of my writing."
"Hey, it's okay," Sam said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It was just as big of a shock to us when we found out."
"President Bartlet is a good man," she said. "Now that I've had time to process everything I understand why he didn't tell anyone about his MS. He wanted to help this country so badly that he didn't want anything to ruin his chances of being able to become president. In all honesty, if I was in his position I would have done the same thing."
"Let us know what you decide to do," Toby said.
She nodded and turned to walk out the door. She walked past Josh's door and gazed at it sadly. She was dying to go in and talk to him but decided against it, instead heading straight back to her office on the other side of the West Wing. It had been their first big, serious argument. She had said things out of anger and frustration, things she didn't really mean, but she knew it was still too soon to apologize. She knew it would be better in the end if she left Josh alone for a while.
Once she got back to her office, Sara immediately began writing. Hammering away at her computer, she wrote a paragraph and then deleted the whole thing. She started over, and again got rid of what she wrote. Running a hand through her hair and groaning, she looked at the time. It was already nine o'clock. There was no way in hell she would be able to write and edit one thousand words in one hour. She knew what she had to do.
Getting up from her desk, she walked through the now empty Press Corps offices. Once she was standing outside Paul's office, she took a deep breath and then knocked on the door.
"Come in," she heard her boss say.
Tentatively opening the door, she said, "Hey Paul."
"Sara, you're here late," he said. He moved his glasses, which had been propped on top of his head, back onto his face. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, uh," she started, nerves beginning to rumble in her stomach. "I've got nothing for the MS story."
"That's not like you," he said, sounding concerned. "What happened?"
Over the almost two years Sara had worked with the Press Corps, Paul had become somewhat of a father figure and a mentor to her. She was a people pleaser, and felt extremely guilty for not having anything to give him for tomorrow's paper. He had high expectations of his staff, but was willing to help them in any way he could, and encouraged his staff to reach their fullest potential with their writing. It was very hard work, but Sara loved every minute of it. Now she felt like she was letting him down.
"I'm having a bad case of writer's block," she lied. "I know I'm cutting it close."
Paul's eyes met hers. "Close the door." He removed his glasses. "Something's up with you, you never miss deadlines."
She swallowed hard. "I don't feel comfortable writing about the President's MS. You know I'm with Josh, and I've gotten an up close and personal view to the Senior Staff's reaction. I don't think it would be right for me to be the one who writes this story."
Paul was silent for a long time. "I've been dreading this moment, Sara. If you can't separate your personal relationships with the President and his Senior Staff from your writing and your work, I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go."
"You can't be serious," she breathed out. "It's not like you don't have anything to put out about it, Andy covered the press conference!" She wrung her hands together, going out on a limb. "I'll break up with him!"
Her stomach dropped. Josh had been right, it was a conflict of interest for them to be together, but not in the way he thought. She couldn't believe that Paul was doing this to her. He had been such a big help to her in the last two years, she thought they had developed a close relationship, and now he was getting rid of her.
Paul shook his head. "You don't have to do that. I've been thinking this over for a long time, and believe me when I say it pains me to have to do it. Once you and Josh became serious I couldn't put it off any more."
"I understand," she said sadly. "You've been a great mentor to me, Paul. Thank you for everything."
He stood up from his desk and walked over to her.
"You're a very talented writer, Sara," he told her. "Anyone would be lucky to have you on their staff." He hugged her awkwardly.
"Thank you," she said. "I really appreciate it."
He nodded solemnly. "You can come back and collect your things tomorrow morning."
She turned around and left Paul's office, holding back tears. Working for the New York Times had been a dream of hers since she decided to go into journalism in high school. She had worked her way up within her school's paper, from a staff writer in her sophomore year to becoming the head editor as a senior. She worked her ass off to get into NYU. Her parents didn't have the money to send her there, so she had to rely on her grades, extracurriculars, and scholarships. During her time at NYU she was a staff writer on the student-run newspaper, The Washington Square News. Her interest in politics didn't come about until the 1987 presidential election, which also happened to be her freshman year of college. That was when she decided to concentrate on political journalism, also contributing to NYU's Journal of Politics and International Affairs all of her four years there. She worked her way up as an intern at the New York Times straight out of college and worked her way up to a staff writer, and now it was all over. All because she had decided to become involved with Josh.
Before she knew it, the tears were falling freely down her cheeks, and she was standing in front of Josh's office.
"I scrapped the story," she was standing in his doorway. He looked up from his work. "And Paul fired me."
He put down the file he had been looking through.
"What?" he stood up. "All because you decided not to do the story?"
"No, not entirely," she told him, letting out a small sob. "It was mostly because I'm with you."
He walked closer to her. "I hate to say I told you so, but... I told you so."
She glared up at him and he took a half-step back. Right or not, that look could have killed him.
"I guess it was only a matter of time," she said. "He said he's been wanting to do it since we got together but was waiting for the right time to do it."
She sat down on Josh's couch, putting her head in her hands, and began to cry again.
Josh wasn't very good with crying women, even if the crying woman happened to be his girlfriend. Cautiously he sat down next to her.
"What the hell am I going to do?" she cried. "I'm probably gonna be blacklisted by every single newspaper and media outlet in Washington!"
"Woah, woah, woah," he said. "That's not going to happen, honey. Everything's going to be fine." He put his arm around her and looked at her as if to say "Is this okay?" When she nodded, he relaxed. "You're going to be okay."
"How can you say that, Josh?! I just got fired from the New York Times!"
"I know plenty of people that will interview you," he told her. "So do Toby and Sam. Besides, being a member of the White House Press Corps is a pretty good thing to have on your resume."
She let out a sob again. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have gotten mad at you like that."
"I didn't react in the best way either, you know," he said. "It's over and done with though."
"Are you sure?" she asked, taking her glasses off and wiping her eyes.
"Yes, my love," he told her earnestly. "I've had some time to cool off, and I'm over it. I knew you would make the right decision."
"You have that much faith in me?" she smiled.
"Sometimes I probably shouldn't, but yes I do." He laughed. "It took me some time to learn, but that's what you do when you love someone."
A grin broke out over her face. Maybe things hadn't gone right, but as long as she had Josh by her side, she knew things really would always be alright.