It was nearly half past one o’clock in the morning, and there was no rest at the White House.

“He talked to her on the phone?”

“He talked to her at the airport,” Leo replied.

That didn’t seem to relax the President whatsoever. “Yeah, but I'm saying, did she hang up the phone, turn to her friends and say, 'You're never gonna believe why I'm getting on a plane?'”

“He told her she was coming out to do some polling on subsurface agriculture.”

“What the hell is that?”

They walked into the Oval Office; the President set down some papers.

“It's vegetables that grow underground. He told her she was coming out here to find out if Americans were eating more beets.”

The President sent his Chief of Staff a look that clearly defined what he thought of that, searching his pockets for a pen. “Is this a joke?”

Leo wasn’t amused. “It was Josh, Mr. President. It was a job done well. You want to start not trusting Josh?” There was a beat. “Let's go.”

“Where are we going?”

“The basement.”

“Why?”

“'Cause I don't like the way it looks the seven of us meeting in the middle of the night.”

The President shot him another look. “You like the way it looks if we're meeting in the basement?”

Leo didn’t reply, and the President didn’t expect him to. Instead, he shook his head and gestured at one of the room’s doors. “Let’s go.”

They walked side-by-side in tense silence. “Spike phoned Abbey earlier tonight.”

“Abbey’s talking to you?”

Bartlet grunted. “Not voluntarily. She made sure that Buffy wouldn’t have to talk to a White House operator first if she tried to call.”

“What’d Spike have to say?”

“They’re coming home today.”

“They staying?”

The President was quiet. “I’m not sure.” He released a deep breath. “This isn’t their home, Leo. I know I said ‘home,’ but it’s not home for them.”

“You really think Abbey’s gonna let Buffy move back to Sunnydale with all her friends here? Abbey’s gotten attached, and so have you.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, the powers of the office don’t quite go as far as commanding law-abiding citizens that they can’t go where they want based on Reagan’s Law of ‘Because I Said So.’”

“You’re calling Spike law-abiding?”

Bartlet chuckled humorlessly. His mood was too strained tonight to take any genuine mirth in anything. “He’s not alive. I don’t think Congress has passed any laws that apply to post-mortem offenders.”

“Who knows? It’s a Republican Congress.”

There was nothing else at that. The President’s mind was troubled with too many factors, and Leo didn’t want to harp any points home.

Moreover, the President didn’t need to be thinking about Spike and the god in mourning.

Not tonight. Tonight, he had more than enough on his plate.

*~*~*

“I don’t think she’s going anywhere.”

“You know, your girlfriend can’t just camp out in your office whenever she feels a little tired.”

“Her finals were over last week. And she helped take down a god over the weekend. I don’t think this is the time to be picky.” Sam didn’t look at Toby as a muted ding announced their arrival on the target floor, and the elevator doors glided open. “These numbers are going to be meaningless.”

“Yeah.”

“The governor from an industrial state. It's posed as a hypothetical before people have any education on…”

Toby slid on his jacket. “Yeah.”

“Plus there is no way to factor existing approval numbers, particularly when it comes to matters of trust.”

Toby nodded but didn’t reply, only to tell the agent at the door, “Sagittarius,” as it was the chosen password among senior staffers partaking in this meeting.

CJ, Josh, Joey Lucas, and Joey’s interpreter, Kenny, were inside already.

“Are they on their way?” Toby asked to no one in particular.

“Yeah,” Josh replied.

“They're on their way?” he said again.

“Yeah,” CJ confirmed.

The Communications Director sighed heavily and took his seat. “Joey, your flight was okay?”

Joey wasn’t looking at him, therefore didn’t see his lips move. He tapped her on the shoulder.

“Your flight was okay?”

She nodded.

Sam shifted and leaned forward. “These numbers aren't going to mean anything, right? With the hypothetical and the lack of context? Plus the preexisting level of trust.”

“Yeah,” CJ agreed.

“I'm saying he's got numbers like Walter Cronkite,” the young man added.

Joey nodded. “Yeah.”

Josh heaved out a breath. “Is there anything in there that we're gonna like?”

The pollster smiled and signed as Kenny translated, “We are, in fact, eating more beets.”

That did little to ease the worry lining Josh’s face. “Okay.”

The door opened and the President entered with the Chief of Staff on his heels. Everyone in the room rose.

“Good evening,” the President said.

“Mr. President, you remember Joey Lucas?” Josh asked, indicating the attractive brunette.

“Yeah.”

“And her interpreter, Kenny?”

Leo nodded. “Joey, did you make photocopies of that?”

“No, sir,” Joey said, her eyes grave.

“Good. Let's get started.”

Everyone took their seats once more, and Joey got started, Kenny’s voice filling the room as he translated her signs. “Mr. President, I polled one thousand, one hundred and seventy registered voters in Michigan, giving their governor a hypothetical concealed—”

“Excuse me,” the President said, holding up a hand. “How many people in this room know Kenny's last name?”

A series of confused looks were exchanged.

“It's fine,” Leo said.

Bartlet shook his head, clearly displeased. “I believe this operation is no longer covert.”

“Mr. President,” Joey, through her interpreter, said, “Kenny's been with me for eleven years. To trust me is to trust him.”

The President seemed to consider this. “Josh?”

“Yeah,” the Deputy Chief of Staff said without hesitation.

That was, evidently, all Bartlet needed. He nodded at Joey and Kenny. “Go ahead.”

The pollster resumed her report, Kenny speaking for her. “One thousand, one hundred and seventy registered voters in Michigan were polled, giving their governor a hypothetical concealed degenerative illness. These are the results. ‘Do you agree that it's okay for the governor to lie about his health?’ 17% agree, 83% disagree. ‘Would you be as likely or less likely to vote for the governor now that you know he has a degenerative illness?’ 71% say less likely. The largest block of likely voters are women over fifty-five. 78% of those women say they wouldn't vote for a candidate with MS.”

CJ sighed. “We just lost Florida.”

Joey resumed her signing. “This may be the worst stat, sir. 74% believe MS to be fatal.”

The President chuckled humorlessly, a strange look in his eyes. “They may be right.”

“62% of Democrats aren't gonna vote for you. 65% of those describing themselves as liberal aren't gonna vote for you because you lied.”

The President sighed, turning his eyes to the ground for a second before looking up once more. “Joey, is there any good news in there at all?” he asked.

For this, Joey Lucas didn’t need her interpreter.

“No, sir,” she said.

*~*~*

Donna wasn’t surprised when she saw Willow curled on the sofa in Sam’s office. The girl had practically lived there for the past week; unwilling to leave in case of an unprecedented Glory backlash. While it was the last thing anyone expected, the Witch simply didn’t have enough faith in the universe to trust that a god could be put down with such ease. Ever since Buffy and Spike had left for Sunnydale, the redhead had done nothing but shadow her boyfriend’s every move.

The President’s temperament was difficult to gauge nowadays. He joked with the Witch when he saw her, noting that she might as well join his cabinet while steadily keeping the bulk of his meetings with his senior staff and the chief justices.

In the first few days following Glory’s demise, the majority of the discussions revolved around the first few permanent steps the President had made toward coming clean with his MS to the American public. Josh, Toby, and CJ felt that it was too soon following the shady events of a near national catastrophe. Sam and Leo, however, thought it better to move ahead with their plans, and Joey Lucas, had agreed. If anything, it would take attention off what had occurred in the Oval Office. Attention that would aptly fall under opposition scrutiny during the election, but couldn’t be avoided any way they tried to spin it.

Thus, with Buffy and Spike a continent away, burying a woman he’d only met once on top of the calamity that had literally occurred at his feet, the President of the United States was under the added stress of disclosing an illness that many people felt was life threatening, and explain that he did not conceal said illness to win an election.

Donna sighed and tossed her bag to the floor beside Sam’s sofa.

The President would be better once Spike returned. Regardless of however much he didn’t want to admit it, Bartlet considered the vampire an inside mind on the functions of world politics. Moreover, it would do a little to alleviate the harshness surrounding the events coming into light.

Donna thought of Dawn, and hoped the girl was doing all right. She had sat with Buffy and Spike at JFK International, waiting for the younger Summers to arrive. Led by a grave-faced Giles, the girl had leapt into her sister’s arms, sobbing as the vampire and the Watcher exchanged uncomfortable, morose glances. Donna merely stood to the side, wishing she could offer more than she had in consolation, and ashamed that her mind was with Josh and the President when her friends were in mourning.

They had left that day just an hour or so after Dawn arrived and were due back anytime now, though Donna had absolutely no idea how long they intended to stay. Glory was gone, and there was a life they had abandoned in Sunnydale waiting to be resumed. At the same time, all of Buffy’s friends were DC residents now. Xander and Anya had moved to a predominantly military neighborhood, situated in the center of the special operations unit, where the Initiative thrived the strongest. Willow had moved in with Sam, and Giles expressed no intention of staying in the United States.

Faith, he said, was in the midst of a crucial time in her evolution from psychotic slayer to reasonably logical god. Donna hadn’t noticed any reaction on Buffy’s face at the mention of the other slayer, but she imagined warm, fuzzy feelings for the woman that had nearly destroyed them all the year before were few and far between. The blonde assistant hadn’t forgotten what Faith had done to Sam, and she wasn’t about to forgive, either.

Donna’s eyes fell on the sleeping witch. “Willow,” she said softly. “Willow, you need to wake up now.”

There was nothing.

A sigh. “Willow, you’re fifteen minutes late to your economics final.”

That did the trick. The redhead jerked to consciousness, looked around the room wildly, then fell into a comfortable scowl as she remembered that finals had ended the week before. “Not funny,” she complained, stifling a yawn and tossing the suit jacket that Sam had placed over her aside. “What time is it?”

“A quarter till five.”

“In the morning?”

Donna smiled weakly. “One of those days. Listen, Will, you gotta get home. Really, as much as we love having you here, you need to actually rest. And, you know, Sam needs to get some work done.”

She blinked. “Where is Sam?”

“Likely having a hell of a time sleeping without you.”

“Why didn’t he wake me up before he left?”

The blonde grinned. “Believe me, he tried. You were out, and after three attempts, he simply didn’t have the heart. It was also really late…he had a senior staff meeting that went pretty far into the night, and just went home a couple hours ago as it is.”

“So you…”

“Got three hours of sleep? Oh no.” Donna smiled wearily. “Today’s gonna be one of those days. You’re just lucky you’re not dating Josh. Unlike Sam, he doesn’t believe in sleep.”

Willow smiled and stretched. “Sam’s sweet.”

“Yes, and worried about you.”

“Well, I’m worried about him, so I guess we’re even.” She yawned again. “He really tried to wake me up?”

“Of course he did.” The blonde paused. “He says you haven’t been sleeping well…even worse than when you were in the middle of exams.”

A still beat shuddered through her. “I keep having nightmares,” she said. “About the day in the Oval…about something I could have done. I know I could’ve taken her, Donna. I was so close. And then Buffy wouldn’t have…and Spike wouldn’t have…and I could have. I could’ve killed her. I could’ve been the one who…” She flushed brightly as though she just realized what she was saying, then glanced down. “Never mind.”

“Willow?”

“Giles was talking to me about you,” she said randomly, though hurriedly. As though the weight of what she had to disclose bothered her immensely. “Apparently, there’s a coven in London.”

Donna didn’t know what surprised her more; that Giles dedicated thoughts to her, or that it involved something in the realm of witchcraft. “A coven?”

She nodded. “You…you’re on their radar.”

“Meaning…?”

“They want you to become my Jedi Padawan.” Willow smiled uneasily. “You’re…Giles called me here, and he told me. That was another thing…I was in here, thinking about it while Sam did his meetings. You’re officially a W.I.T.”

“I don’t have a say in this?”

“You remember last year? Quirinias?”

“You say that like I have the option of forgetting.”

“He came after you, Donna. After you specifically. He took something out of you. Giles never forgot that. He wouldn’t. And…basically, you’re strong enough that if we don’t do something about it, people like Glory and good ole’ Quirinias could come by and drain you of all that untouched power.” Willow sighed. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to tell you…”

“And you chose this? Now? With the President slowly undergoing a nervous breakdown, a god buried, and your best friend…Willow!”

She shrugged. “Couldn’t help it.”

There was something else, though. Something that Donna didn’t like.

“I’m a witch?”

“A W.I.T,” she said. “I…I don’t know how to explain it…only that you evidently have enough power that they’ve sensed you for a long time. They just didn’t know it was you they were sensing until Giles came along and shared his concerns. They did the math and, presto!”

Donna shook her head. “It’s not even five in the morning, and I’m already regretting showing up for work today.”

“Look—”

“Willow, I need you to go home. Sleep, have breakfast with Sam, but go home. We have a busy, hard day ahead of us…and…” She sighed. “This was really the wrong time to dump this on me.”

“I’m sorry—”

Though it seemed very clear that the redhead was more confused than sorry. There was no want of understanding in her eyes. As though she didn’t comprehend that words like, “Oh, by the way, you’re a witch,” didn’t have severe repercussions in the world Donna lived in.

The world she was seeing, more and more, was too small to accommodate someone of Willow’s aspirations.

For now, though, she would hold her tongue.

Leo would be in soon. After all, having a late night didn’t mean the country didn’t open until its leaders were awake. The Chief of Staff would be in, as would Josh and Toby and everyone to discuss what had to be done.

Everything else would simply be placed on hold.

*~*~*

It was midday, and Josh had not seen the sun.

Welcome to Spike’s world, he thought miserably, nodding to the agent guarding the basement meeting room. “Sagittarius,” he said.

He walked inside and took a seat with Toby and CJ, not even bothering to question why Sam was pacing. Sam was the only one to truly vent his anger into this, and rightly so. After all, he’d been the last of the senior staff that the President brought on the inside.

Josh also knew that Spike had known before him—thus the vampire’s reasoning for being in the Oval the day that Glory nearly wiped them all out. He thought it best if that much remained unsaid.

“Why not a Presidential address?” Sam asked. “Ten—fifteen minutes. ‘I have this illness, I concealed it, I apologize. Let me tell you about it. Let me reduce your fear.’”

“It’s too cold,” CJ said, shaking her head.

“It’s not too cold!”

“He needs to be with the First Lady.”

“In some decorative room?” Sam retorted incredulously. “Sitting with his wife weakens him. Let's put him behind the Kennedy desk. Let's put him in the East Room. Let's put him in the Briefing Room.”

The Press Secretary shot him an irritated glance. “Sam, he's gonna go on T.V. and say he lied, I don't want him doing it behind the Seal of the President.”

“You think without the Seal, people are gonna forget he's the President?”

She decided not to answer him, and said instead, “We'll do a 30-minute live special from one of the news magazines.”

Josh arched a brow. “Live, live to tape or tape?”

“Live,” CJ said. “I don't want a producer editing what he says.”

He paused. “What if we want to edit what he says?”

“That's our tough luck.”

A sigh coursed through the Deputy Chief of Staff’s body. “When?”

“How about Thursday night?” Sam offered.

“Wednesday night,” CJ said.

That earned a frown. “Why?”

CJ seemed to be growing more irritated by the minute. “’Cause Thursday night is when they pay their bills, and it's going to be tough enough getting thirty minutes and not telling them why we're not cutting into their bread and butter during May sweeps.”

As it was, her mood was infectious. “Oh, who gives a damn about May sweeps?” the Deputy Communications Director all but growled.

“They do, Sam!”

The two glared at each other for a few uneasy seconds, but said nothing else.

“All right,” Toby said, breaking his silence. “Thirty minutes, Dateline special Wednesday night, night after tomorrow, the President and the First Lady in the Mural Room.”

The Press Secretary nodded. “And we follow that with a press conference.”

“Why?” Josh asked.

“To control the story as long as possible,” she explained. “Once he gets started with Russert or Diane or Stone Phillips or whoever the hell does this, I'm gonna need every reporter in the Western Hemisphere in the room where I can see him.”

“We put a team of medical experts up there,” Toby added.

“We have forty-eight hours to find them.”

“Hang on,” Sam said, holding up a hand. “If we take him from the Mural Room to the press conference, isn't a smart reporter going to ask, ‘Mr. President, are you planning on seeking reelection?’”

CJ sighed again. “A smart reporter…Sam, Ted Baxter is gonna ask, ‘Mr. President, are you planning on seeking reelection?’”

“So, we're gonna need an answer to that too.”

*~*~*

Charlie and Mrs. Landingham were walking through the lobby of the White House, the former escorting a man under a coat and trying to evade attention from passersby by engaging in his normal banter with the President’s senior secretary. It was easier said than done; Spike’s muddled curses did little to aid his plight.

Charlie was, if nothing else, a professional. Thus he ignored the vampire as best he could, even when the coat whipped off his smoking back the second they were in a secluded hallway.

“Are you getting an eight-speaker stereo?” he asked Mrs. Landingham.

“No,” the woman replied.

“Six speakers?”

“No.”

“How many speakers?”

“I have two ears, how many speakers do I need?”

Charlie grinned inwardly. Mrs. Landingham was about as stubborn and shrewd as the President, which is what made her the ideal senior secretary. The woman had been with Bartlet for years, stretching back to the days when he wasn’t the President; rather the governor, and in the House before that. She was practically the President’s older sister, and had Charlie not known better, he would’ve assumed that connection was as biological as it was in word alone.

“At least six and a subwoofer,” he told her.

“I’m not getting a subwoofer.”

“Bloody waste,” Spike noted.

Charlie nodded his agreement. “How about the tow package?”

“The tow package?”

“To tow your boat,” he explained reasonably.

“I don't have a boat.”

“Not missin’ anythin’,” the vampire noted wistfully. “Usually, when ‘m on a boat, I’m bein’ shipped somewhere.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Landingham agreed. “There’s a mode of transportation I think may be too good for you, Spike.”

“Crotchety old bird.”

“What was that?”

Spike merely smirked and shook his head. “Come on, you’d run off with me in a bleedin’ heartbeat.”

“In my day, men exhibited a little known talent that we called charm.” Mrs. Landingham turned away, though there was a strange twinkle in her eyes. “Try again.”

Charlie grinned. “What about a camper?” he asked.

“No.”

“What do you tow?”

“Groceries,” she replied stubbornly.

“You can probably put those in the trunk,” he conceded.

“Yeah.”

“The chit’s bein’ coy with you,” Spike observed. “She has to hide the bodies somewhere.”

“I like my backyard just fine, thank you.”

The three reached the outer Oval Office; Josh was there waiting.

“Tinted windows?” Charlie asked.

“Hello, Josh,” the secretary said, ignoring him completely.

“Didn’t know you were back,” Josh said, nodding to the vampire.

“Jus’ now. Chuck was kind enough to pick the lot of us up. Buffy an’ the Nibblet are back at the house.” He paused. “The President wanted to see me as soon as we got in.”

Josh paused, frowning. “When’d you talk to him last?”

“Buffy phoned the Firs’ Lady last night.”

“We’re doing some stuff now, so you might have to come back later.”

Spike shrugged. “’m fine buggin’ you pulsers till he can pencil me in.”

Josh appeared irritated at that, but for whatever reason, decided not to call him on it. “How’s Buffy doing?” he asked instead.

“She jus’ lost her mum; how do you think she’s doin’?” The vampire glanced down and sighed. “She’ll be all right, I think. ‘S jus’…it all happened at once. She woke up an’…then it was over.”

“Buffy’s a sweet girl,” Mrs. Landingham said, moving around her desk. “Feel free to take her a cookie, Spike.”

He smiled weakly. “Well, knowin’ how hard it is to smuggle those away from you, pet, she’ll be thankful.”

“Please don’t call me ‘pet’ in the White House.”

“I think if you found out what all he’s done in the White House, you’d get real friendly with a stake right quick,” Josh noted, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Mrs. Landingham’s picking up her new car today,” Charlie told the Deputy Chief of Staff.

“An’ Chuck’s tryin’ to talk her into a bunch of luxury rot,” Spike agreed.

“Hey man, I thought you were on my side.”

“’m evil. I don’ have a side.”

“Really?” Josh said, glancing to Mrs. Landingham as the other two bickered good-naturedly.

“Yes, and I wish I hadn't told anyone,” she replied. “Why do men think women can't buy a car without a man?”

The Deputy Chief of Staff smiled understandingly. “It's an old stereotype, Mrs. L. Did you get the extended service warranty?”

“No.”

He bristled. “Women.”

She shot him a severe look. “What do you want?”

Josh grinned and shook it off. “I got a message Leo wanted to see me.”

“He’s in his office.”

The Deputy nodded and began to backtrack. “Did you get the tow package?” he asked.

Charlie shot her a pointed glance. “See?”

Mrs. Landingham took it all in stride. “He's in his office,” she said again, then turned to Spike. “And if you’re going to loiter about here uselessly, could you do outside a twenty-foot diameter of the Oval Office?”

The vampire arched a brow. “The President’s gonna let you have it ‘f you treat his favorite person like that.”

“Spike, I think I’ve known the President a little longer than you, and we both know that’s not true.” She smiled pleasantly. “The President is the President, and he has better things to do today, hard as it may be to believe, than entertain a vampire.”

“Yeh…how is it that the ‘vampire’ part doesn’ send you screamin’?”

Mrs. Landingham glanced to her desk and began sorting through work. “When you get to be my age, it takes something rather extraordinary to send you screaming.”

Charlie shot the vampire an appraising look, grinning as he stalked off in an exaggerated huff.

The air surrounding them recently had been so thick, so tense, that it was a nice break to have a lighthearted vampire to up his spirits—as ironic as that was.

The President would think so as well. It might just be, Charlie suspected, the highlight of his day.

*~*~*

Aside from the day’s briefings, CJ had not moved from the debate table in the meeting room. Josh, understandably, had to poke in and out as the day progressed, but as far as the high authorities on the communications staff, Toby, Sam, and herself had remained more or less in the basement.

“Do we put Hoynes up there?” Toby asked.

Sam glanced up. “At the press conference?”

“Do we put Hoynes up there?”

“There's never been a more important time to emphasize the Vice Presidency,” the Deputy agreed.

CJ and Sam had been at each other’s throats all day. Thus it wasn’t surprising when she said, “The Vice President's presence underlines the health risks to the President.”

Sam was a reasonable man. He knew the Press Secretary wasn’t disagreeing with him to be difficult. However, seeing as each bullet point had turned into an all out debate, he was getting rather exasperated at this useless battling over details. There wasn’t any way to know who was right and who was not; it wasn’t as though anything like this had ever happened before.

“And it's good to underscore that the President anticipated this problem with the selection of the Vice President,” he retorted.

“But it'll also serve to underscore that he anticipated the problem and didn't tell anybody about it,” she pointed out.

“Hoynes was one of the first people to know,” Sam argued. “If he's there it's a breathing demonstration that he signed off on the president's health and joined the ticket.”

“And he'll get bombarded with questions about what he did or didn't know, and the press corps will impanel themselves as a grand jury,” she replied heatedly.

“Then let them, CJ! We did something wrong or we didn't!”

“Well fantastic, Sam, I didn't realize it was that simple!”

It would have been a fitting moment for one of them to lunge had a knock not come at the door. There was a note for CJ.

A very well-timed note.

“There's a situation developing in Port-Au-Prince, I have to get ready to brief.”

Then, without another word, she sprang to her feet and stormed out.

“Sam,” Toby said carefully, “can Josiah Bartlet function as President?”

“I'm not a medical expert,” he replied.

“Right.”

The Communications Director expelled a deep breath and rose to his feet.

“Toby, there is a responsibility and the future and an obligation to the party, and if he is not gonna run, then he's gotta point to Hoynes and say, ‘This is our guy.’”

“And what if they ask Hoynes, ‘In the meantime, can Bartlet function as President?’”

“He'll say yes.”

Toby paused and deadpanned, “What if he says, ‘I'm not a medical expert’?”

And Sam, predictably, didn’t have an answer.

*~*~*

It had to be the longest day the administration had ever known. With everything weighing in on them, placing memories of a public relations disaster on hold, even with Spike walking around as a reminder, it was quite safe to say that they had never been as close as they were right now to a political disaster.

It was crazy. The entire thing was crazy. Coming now, coming the way it was, coming so soon after Glory…stepping back into the shoes of men who ruled the world. Toby had done his best to keep it in all day. They all had. But as night fell over the city, with hours of conversation that ran in circles, he felt his will snapping, and he needed to talk to Leo.

“Leo,” he said as the Chief of Staff entered his office, walking directly to his desk. “This is insane, plain and simple.”

“What’s insane? Oh, never mind. What isn’t?” He turned around. “I thought you were talking about the vampire who just stopped me on the way to my office to ask if we’d started keeping pints of blood handy for when he visits. Pints of bagged blood in the White House, kept in little compartments, and the President has MS. We might as well hand them the election.”

“You don’t think it’s crazy?” Toby demanded, evidently having not heard him.

“Well, I think the scenario I just described is crazy. I don't even know what you’re talking about.”

The Communications Director gestured emphatically. “We're firming up strategy on what will define the future of this presidency and we don't know if this President is interested in the future. We have to have a discussion and we have to have it tonight.”

“We’re having a discussion,” Leo said simply, turning back to his desk.

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Okay then.”

Leo’s office door opened then, and Josh came in. “Good evening,” he said, looking weary.

The Chief of Staff turned around, then walked behind his desk. “Good evening, Josh.”

“Leo, would you excuse us for a second?” A pause. “Toby, can I talk to you outside?”

Toby followed Josh without a word, anticipating the source of his new agitation. However, he was surprised that it had taken as long as it had for the Deputy Chief of Staff to confront him.

“You told Donna,” Josh growled in a harsh whisper.

“Yeah.” A pause. “A while back.”

“Why didn’t you let me?”

“You hadn't yet.”

Josh heaved a sigh and bowed his head. “How’d she take it?”

Toby paused, smiling gently. “If everybody out there takes it the way she did, we may be okay. If a few more people in here took it the way she did, that'd be all right, too.” He turned and started back for Leo’s door.

Josh blinked. “Was that for me?”

Toby shook his head. “That was for me.”

They walked back into the Chief of Staff’s office, finding him in his desk, looking over papers.

“Tobacco,” Leo said.

“Kalmbach's not gonna let it come to a vote in the subcommittee,” Josh said, taking a seat on the sofa. “Which at the moment is fine, 'cause if he did, it'd be 8-7 against.”

“Party lines?”

“No... We have Stacy and Miner but Warren and Rossitter are voting against. They have ideological problems with the case…what do you wanna do now?”

Leo grinned wryly. “Stick some dynamite up Warren and Rossitter's ass.”

“Yeah, the problem is, Rossitter sits on the Judiciary Committee and I don't know how many enemies on Judiciary we wanna make right now.”

Leo hardened at that and lowered his glasses from his face. “Both of you listen. We're not gonna stop, soften, detour, postpone, circumvent, obfuscate, or trade a single one of our goals to allow for whatever extracurricular nonsense is coming our way in the next few days, weeks, and months.”

CJ walked in at that, only catching the tag.

Toby was, unsurprisingly, growing annoyed. “When did we decide this?”

Leo paused. “Just now.” He turned to Josh. “Light ‘em up.” Then he glanced to CJ. “You got a recommendation for me?”

“Thirty minutes Wednesday night. Live,” she said without hesitation.

“Live to tape?”

“Live.”

Josh sighed. “The Mural Room?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “They pick the interviewer, it's carried on all the networks and CNN. I give it to them ten hours before.”

“And that's followed by a press conference,” Toby said.

CJ shook her head. “There isn't another step we can take until we know what the President's intentions are. We need a discussion, and I hate to sound shrill, but it can't wait another night.”

“We're having a discussion,” the Communications Director told her.

“When?”

“Tonight,” Josh replied.

“Really?”

Leo nodded. “Yeah.”

“That's great.”

The door opened once more and Sam walked in. He didn’t bother to take a seat. “Good evening,” he said politely.

The Chief of Staff looked up. “Sam, what do you know?”

“I know that fluid accumulating in the semicircular canals of the vestibulo-cochlear nerve is usually what'll account for dizziness.” He paused. “Oh, and that Willow went home a few hours ago after sleeping all night on my sofa.”

Everyone in the room rolled their eyes with both mild exasperation and empathy.

He ignored them. “Leo, I want to state right here, right now, in terms so plain and clear as to command their assent—”

“We're having a meeting tonight,” the Chief of Staff interrupted wearily.

Sam continued, “The whole country's gonna assume he's not running when he announces the thing.”

“We're having a meeting,” Leo repeated, louder.

“The press is gonna assume—”

“We're having a meeting!”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah.” Leo tossed a glance at his watch. “Why doesn't everybody grab something to eat, be back at nine o’clock, and you'll get called to come over to the Residence.”

They mumbled something together in agreement, stood and piled out of the room.

“Josh,” the Chief of Staff said, halting him as his Deputy moved for the door. “Walk out with me.”

Josh lingered obediently.

“I mean it—set one off under these guys,” Leo said, collecting papers off his desk.

“How about I have C.J. make a statement at her briefing?”

The Chief of Staff looked up. “A strong statement.”

“‘The President calls on Congress to fund the Justice Department's tobacco lawsuit at the levels necessary to continue this litigation,’” Josh said as they started out into the hallway.

“‘The American people deserve their day in court,’” Leo added.

“‘And this Administration won't sit on the bench while well-fed members of the Appropriations Committee choke off funding for a lawsuit aimed at the perpetrators of hundreds of thousands of negligent homicides while filling their campaign war chests.’”

“Light ‘em up!”

They parted as Josh turned in the direction of his office; the Chief of Staff continued toward the Oval. The long, roundabout way. He usually entered the room through the connecting door in his office.

Charlie was standing behind his desk, his face expressionless, staring at the phone receiver in his hand.

A hard clamor fell within Leo’s chest.

Something’s wrong.

“Charlie?”

There was a pause, then he began speaking. “Leo, there was an accident at 18th and Potomac. Mrs. Landingham was driving her car back here.”

“What happened?”

He paused again. “There was a drunk driver and they ran the light at 18th and Potomac. They ran it at a high speed.”

Oh God. Not tonight.

“Charlie…is she all right?”

“No…” Charlie met his eyes. “She's dead.”

Leo stared at him for several minutes, entirely stunned. The words were too permanent to absorb. Too final to grasp. The world around them had been surrounded in death so recently; with the fall of something great, it was almost as though the rest of society no longer mattered. The god was gone, the threat had vanished; people weren’t supposed to die now.

Mrs. Landingham wasn’t supposed to die now.

Jed.

Oh God.

“Is he alone?”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah.”

Leo turned, walking past Mrs. Landingham’s empty desk, and disappeared onto the portico.

Charlie watched him for a long minute, then hung up the phone.

TBC