“An hour.”

“No.”

“Forty-five minutes.”

“No.”

Sam huffed in irritation and shook his head, venturing further into CJ’s office where she had still not glanced up from her laptop. “Why not?”

“I’ve told you why not fifteen times now.”

“I’m not asking to leave indefinitely. Willow wants me to drive her to the airport so she can pick up her friend.”

“Willow isn’t on the White House payroll, and since when has a trip to GW taken forty-five minutes, even on a good day?” CJ shook her head. “If I let you leave, all the kids will want to leave, and I’ll have a coup d’etat on my hands.”

“CJ—”

“And you know what they say…” The Press Secretary rose to her feet, snapping her laptop closed.

“CJ, I just need—”

“Once you’ve seen one coup d’etat, you’ve seen them all. I have a briefing.”

Sam turned on his heel and followed her out of her office. “Understand, I’m talking about a quick trip out and back. I’ve already gotten over that you’re making me miss my weekend getaway with Willow in the Hamptons.”

“Understand that you have explained this to me repeatedly for the past half hour and yet I am unmoved.” She paused briefly as Carol handed her something, then continued walking, unbothered by the Deputy Communications Director and his persistence at following her. “Look, Willow’s a big girl. She can make it to the airport and back all by herself. And you guys can still make your getaway.”

“CJ—”

“Furthermore, seeing as your girlfriend has the ability to flatten the airport by blinking, you’re not even going to sway me by quoting annual homicide statistics within the district.” Finally, as they wove through the bullpen, CJ turned to face him fully. “Hey, is it true you got spanked by a fourteen-year old intern?”

“She was nineteen, and no.”

“I heard differently.”

“You heard wrong.”

“And here I thought you liked nineteen-year old girls.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Go do your briefing.”

“Already gone.”

The Deputy Communications Director heaved a sigh and stormed back to his office, muttering a string of Shakespearean insults that would likely get him in trouble with the Press Secretary once the filibuster came to an end.

CJ didn’t get two feet inside the pressroom without Josh halting her progression.

“CJ…”

“I know!”

And she did know. It wasn’t as though the filibuster was planned, or the threat had been taken seriously. Howard Stackhouse, Democratic Senator from Minnesota, was filibustering the Senate’s approval of the Family Wellness Act because of the number of childhood diseases that committees were forced to omit.

She couldn’t let any of the staff go; after the filibuster came to an end and there was a vote, she needed Sam, Toby, and Josh to be her spin boys. Which meant the press couldn’t leave, either.

The staff, in turn, wasn’t happy with her.

“Who gave him the recipe book?”

CJ shook her head. “I really don't think we can blame this on the recipe book. Plus, I now know the secret to cold asparagus chantilly is a quarter cup whipped cream.”

Josh wasn’t impressed. “I'm going to Port Saint Lucie, which may not mean anything to you, but happens to be the spring training home of the…”

“New York Jets. Yes, you've told me. Josh, you can watch basketball on T.V.”

There was a pause. “Yes, except the New York Knicks are a basketball team, the New York Jets are a football team, and Port Saint Lucie is the spring training home of the New York—”

“Mets! Yes. Dammit, I'm inadequate.”

Josh followed on her heels all the way to the small hall that led to the Briefing Room. “A weekend at spring training. Mike Piazza is going to be standing in the batting cage.” He paused to strike a batting pose. “He's going to turn and see me. He's going to say, 'Dude.'”

CJ just stared at him for a minute. “Well, I wouldn’t want to miss a legitimate ‘dude’ sighting.”

“So I can take off?”

“No. I’m not letting Sam leave to drive Willow to whatever, I’ve already made Toby miss a flight, and I’m not with my father on his seventieth birthday. Do I look or seem happier than anyone else?”

“A little happier, yes.”

“Go away now.”

“Okay.”

Josh heaved a sigh and turned around, walking briskly back to his office. He should have expected as much, especially with the way the air tasted right now. The past few days simply hadn’t been going well. Since the State of the Union, the President had been on a warpath that never went outside the Oval Office. They had lost nine guys in Bogotá after a botched mission to rescue the five DEA agents that were being held hostage. He had threatened to evacuate Washington in light of Glory, whom had gone underground since her attack on Josh and the pollsters, and had shipped Buffy’s sister across the Atlantic Ocean within five hours of the catastrophe.

Now, at Buffy’s suggestion, he was implementing a military promotion for a man who had only been in the military for a few hours one Halloween three years earlier. No one in the building thought the move was Constitutional, but for objection to be made, the Initiative would have to out itself, and that was something no one was willing to do.

So Xander Harris would become the head of a Washington DC branch of the Initiative. Someone Buffy and Spike trusted and could work with. Someone that wouldn’t try to incarcerate the Slayer for dissection or stake her mate.

That last provision took a bit of convincing, but Spike was on surprisingly good terms with Harris. He’d helped the vampire move into their abandoned Sunnydale apartment, gone barhopping with him, and been a guest in his home more than once.

It was amazing how quickly things could change.

“Josh.”

The Deputy Chief of Staff snapped out of his reverie and whirled around. Donna was standing by her desk, Buffy and Spike behind her. When seeing their faces had become commonplace for the White House, he did not know. Only that with the President’s unlikely friendship with the vampire, Spike was more and more a frequent visitor. He had practically been promoted to Senior Demonic Counsel in the President’s Cabinet.

“Yeah.”

“They were going to take me to their place.”

He held her eyes for a minute. “No.”

“Josh!”

“Every bloody party has one of these,” Spike drawled.

“I’m not a pooper, I’m following orders.”

“Yeh, but I got you to say it.”

Josh smirked. “Around here, that’s not really an accomplishment.” He paused. “Listen, I’d let you go if I could, but I have the Press Gestapo breathing down my neck, and I need Donna here for the Senate vote.”

“Bloody likely.”

Buffy curled her fingers through her mate’s. “It’s okay,” she replied softly, “I have to meet the First Lady, anyway.”

“You’re meeting with Abbey?”

“She wanted to see me.”

Josh nodded, turning his eyes to the folder in his hands. “Okay. Well, feel free to stick around. There’s every chance that Stackhouse will pass out before too long and we’ll all be free to go home.” He turned to Spike. “You should go talk to Sam.”

“Why?”

“He needs someone to go to the airport with Willow to pick up your friend.”

The vampire rolled his eyes, turning to the Slayer. “Right. Let’s at it.”

Josh watched the couple as they navigated the now-memorized halls of the West Wing, turning back to Donna with an arched brow. “He’s being too calm,” he said. “Put an agent on him or something.”

“Seriously?”

“No, but make sure he doesn’t break anything.” He shook his head, turning to walk back into his office. “We don’t need any more to go wrong tonight.”

*~*~*

“He’s smacked down big oil.”

Sam glanced up from where he was lounged on Toby’s sofa. “I still don’t see why—”

“He put a poll in the field, too.” Toby heaved a deep breath and launched a bouncy ball toward the glass separating his office from his deputy’s. “About his ties to big oil. People were concerned about it, and then he smacked it down.”

“Are you saying it’s because of the polling results?”

Toby glanced up. “I’m saying I don’t know why. But something isn’t right.” A pause. “In the meantime, you should go to your thing.”

“Willow?”

“Yeah.”

“CJ said I couldn’t.”

A wry grin lit up the older man’s face; the one completely void of anything but sardonic humor. “CJ works for me.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate it, but…” Sam frowned. “You’ve become a strange advocate of my relationship with Willow, recently.”

Toby shrugged and launched the ball back at the window. “I’ve told you why before.”

“You’re worried.”

“She moved across the country for you, Sam. She’s young and impressionable, not to mention…scary…when she’s angry.”

“I’m just saying it’s not like you to show an interest in anything, much less my personal life.”

“That hasn’t changed.”

“But—”

“Let’s just say, seeing as your girlfriend has the power to alter time and space, I’m slightly interested in keeping her…happy.”

Sam frowned. “Willow wouldn’t—”

“I’m not saying she would.”

He wasn’t saying she wouldn’t, either, and that bothered him.

He had his leave, though, and that was all he needed.

For now.

*~*~*

Spike sat outside the Oval Office on Charlie’s empty desk. Buffy was gone—the President’s aide having escorted her into the Residence for her meeting with the First Lady. He’d wanted to go with her, but similarly recognized the strange bond that women forged with each other, and knew enough to respect Abbey Bartlet’s request for privacy.

It just worried him, especially with her mother in New York.

The past few days hadn’t been easy on her. She had acknowledged that she needed to embrace the powers her body could wield, but she was still terrified. He felt it when she was asleep; when the guards she put around her fears crashed and he was barraged with the raw intensity of her dread.

She really thought she was capable of losing control. Of becoming the worst form of herself. Of destroying everything around her with no qualms as to moral absolutes. But she was willing to try. She knew she had to; if she didn’t, Glory’s power would overwhelm her, and her instantaneous reaction to her mate when he was in danger could end up destroying her if she didn’t learn how to control it.

She kept her torment private, but similarly did nothing to guard him from her emotions. She knew he felt it. When she shuddered in her sleep, he would draw her close, and she would relax. When he pressed his lips to her skin, she cooed her comfort. There was nothing she could hide from him, and she was finally beginning to understand that she was not alone.

It was a hard transition for her, and he was the first to admit it. While the connection he wanted with her was there, while he felt everything that she felt, he similarly recognized that she was an independent spirit who was not used to such stability. Especially when it came to her relationships. He knew she loved him; he felt it every time she graced him with a glance or brushed her hand over his. Every time she smiled or kissed him, made love with him and held him close. He had something with her no one had ever had, or would ever have.

He had reached that part of her that no one else had ever touched. And every day with her, he loved her more.

“If you’re thinking about stealing a cookie, I’d advise you to forget it. Mrs. Landingham has an encyclopedic memory of the contents of that jar.”

Spike glanced up, grinning wryly. “Evenin’, Mr. President.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Waitin’. Your missus wanted to chat up the Slayer about somethin’. I wasn’ invited to join the party.”

“Well, I wouldn’t take it personally. Abbey barely invites me anywhere anymore.” The President smiled and stepped forward. “You could’ve waited inside, you know.”

“Din’t wanna bother you.”

“Well, now, you must be in a mood.” The President sighed and glanced to Charlie’s empty desk. “I suppose my wife is stealing my staff yet again. I’m going to have to explain the difference between a personal aide and a butler.”

“Did you need somethin’?”

Bartlet arched a skeptical brow. “Are you offering?”

“No. Jus’ thought I’d ask.”

“I was going to phone the Ambassador to Paraguay, but it’s nothing that can’t wait.”

“Well, don’ let me keep you.”

“Nah.” He waved a hand. “I’m just killing time.”

Spike’s gaze narrowed. “Killing time? By calling the Ambassador of Paraguay?”

“Yeah, he’s one of the guys that won’t hang up on me.” The President’s eyes lit up. “Actually, Pierre Boileau is cooking tonight. I was going to go invite Leo to dinner. You’re welcome to tag along if you want.”

“Who?”

“He’s a French chef who comes here two or three times a year. I’m assuming a man of your extensive experience can appreciate fine dining.”

“An’ you’re invitin’ Leo? Not that I don’ like the bloke, but—”

“Abbey’s pissed at me right now.”

“Ah.”

The President shook his head. “Which is why you should join us. Give her an idea on what she’s missing out on.”

“But Buffy—”

“Invite her, too. I’m fairly certain Pierre won’t mind showing off for four people. You know those French.”

A wry chuckle rumbled through his throat, and Spike shook his head. “Mr. President, I’d love to, but—”

“Excellent! I’ll go get Leo, and we’ll try to smuggle your better half away from my wife here in…oh, a half hour, what do you say?”

The vampire laughed again, this time apologetically. “I really don’t think I should be makin’ plans for us without Buffy—”

“Nonsense. She’s being invited by the President of the United States. I could have her deported for turning me down.”

“Uh huh?”

“Well, not actually, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?”

Spike snickered. “Like I’d let you deport my mate, anyway.”

The President’s eyes darkened teasingly. “Hey, watch it, buster.” He turned to walk back into the Oval. “I’m going to go get Leo. You sit there and wait for your wife to come back. Make any sudden moves, and the secret service knows what to do.”

The vampire chuckled appreciatively. “Yeh, thanks.”

Bartlet shrugged. “CJ swears Stackhouse is going to collapse here soon. I’ll let you go when he frees up the Senate floor for the vote so we can pass this damn thing.”

Spike huffed another chortle and shifted as the man disappeared into his office.

Perhaps this was better. The pressure swelling his insides was growing more intense, though it didn’t belong to him. Something had happened.

Buffy.

Then her scent overwhelmed him, and she was there.

“Hey, baby,” Spike said, rolling to his feet. “Red phoned Donna ‘bout twenty minutes ago. Harris an’ the demon bird have checked in to their hotel. An’ the President’s invited us to eat with…” No. That wasn’t going to work. Not even for a second, he couldn’t distract her from the overwhelming emotion polluting her eyes. “What happened?”

Buffy glanced up and wet her lips. “It’s Mom.”

“She okay?”

“Yeah…no. She had…something happened.” A pause. “She…she’s in critical condition. Dr. Matheson…” A hard shudder ran through her body. “I can’t…Abbey wanted me to know, but…she can’t…I can’t go. My mom’s in the hospital and I can’t go, because of this thing.”

“Glory?”

She nodded, tears spilling down her face. She was in his arms the next second, crying onto his shoulder as he held her.

“I feel so helpless.”

“You’re not helpless, sweetling.”

“I can’t be with my mom, and she’s…”

He brushed a kiss across her forehead, then cupped her face and turned his attention to her lips. “You couldn’t do anythin’ if you were with her,” he replied gently. “An’ if somethin’ happened here, an’ you were away, you’d never forgive yourself.”

Buffy shuddered a deep sigh and nodded against him, pressing her brow against his. “I know,” she replied. “I just need…I’m no good with this, Spike. And even if she doesn’t…if she’s fine, it’s going to happen someday.” She shook her head. “I’m just…I’ve been ignoring it and pretending that…”

He nodded. “I know.”

“I’m just so glad you’re here.”

“I’ll always be here. We’ll get through it.” He kissed her again and hugged her tighter. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

That was how the President found them minutes later. In each other’s arms on Charlie’s desk as Buffy wept on her mate’s shoulder. He calmly alerted them to his presence and invited them again to supper, muttering a good-natured, “At least I got the G version this time,” to make the Slayer smile, and relished his success when she did.

Spike was entirely grateful for him. In Giles’s absence, the President was becoming a second father.

To them both.

It was the most unlikely relationship in the world. The President of the United States who treated them both like his adopted children. Even with the hell that they had delivered to the front door of the White House, postmarked expressly from Sunnydale.

The same hell that had yet to take shape. Waiting in the still quiet before the storm.

Waiting for the walls to crash.


TBC