Election night crept up on them before they knew what to do with themselves. The past few weeks had been a roller coaster of different emotions. Toby was doing everything possible to find a way to investigate the organization that the shooters were affiliated with by comfortably bypassing the Bill of Rights. The President was losing his head in trying to defeat Elliot Roush—a man that he had once campaigned against and won for a Congressional seat—in a local election for the school board in the district all three of the Bartlet daughters had graduated from. Charlie was withdrawn from Zoey, assuming the full weight of the shooting on his shoulders; torn with guilt at the fact that he had nearly gotten his surrogate father killed because he was dating the President’s daughter. Sam’s star candidate, Tom Jordan—whom he had personally brought into running—was at a loss for White House support because of a scandal involving him and his possible racist agenda when it came to prosecuting against black defendants. And ever since the issue was brought up to her, CJ had been privately investigating the very real possibility of psychological effects in the aftermath of what had happened at Rosslyn.
In the time between, Willow had settled into a comfortable routine at Georgetown and was enjoying her classes immensely. Her relationship with Sam was as wonderful as ever—even though his nights were often compromised for work, and they still had to be careful on when and where it was appropriate to be together. Especially now when the House could be taken back by Democrats and the President was seconds away from losing himself over a school board election.
That didn’t take away the other aspects of their move; the redhead had just gotten off the phone with Buffy who told her that she had just met the actual Count Dracula and that the Initiative was still well and kicking in Sunnydale. And she wondered when her life stopped being surreal and became real. She was standing in the communications department of the White House just outside Sam’s office; suddenly, fighting vampires and saving the world seemed so far away from where she was that it was hard to remember anything else.
Missing Sunnydale was something she had never foreseen. She had expected the second thoughts in leaving her friends. There were nights when she thought she would go mad without having Buffy there with her. Without having Xander just a few miles from her dorm. Hell, she even missed Anya.
She missed them terribly. With as much as she loved Washington, there was very tangibly no place like home.
“All twelve are still too close to call,” Sam told her as he raced into his office. Then louder, to everyone else in the room, “I want to see everyone on telephones.”
The redhead froze and glanced up, grinning in spite of herself. Though her call was personal, everyone in the room, herself included, had a phone in hand.
Sam paused. “Okay. Good. Just like that.”
Her grin broadened. It was the midterm elections and he was running around with such urgency that one would think the Bartlet administration’s entire legacy depended on taking back the House. He was cute and endearingly rushed, his own agenda notwithstanding. The past few weeks had been hell on him. His guilt at withdrawing support from Tom Jordan’s campaign after talking the man into running was something that the man himself would never know. Something that remained only within the perimeters of the White House and in late night discussions with his girlfriend.
“You should get to the reception,” he told her swiftly, pecking an affection kiss on her cheek. “The crab puffs are going fast.”
“Do I like crab puffs?”
“You’ll love these.” He disappeared into his office the next second, and Willow’s attention was immediately reclaimed by the persistent voice at the other end of the line. Her veins resurged with that homesick feeling that she resented more than she could have fathomed.
“So, you’re doing well?” Buffy asked. “You’re liking DC? Sam’s not being a mook and holding you hostage or anything?”
She laughed. “No. Not hostage. I’ve actually just settled down. Donna’s been making me keep guard of Josh whenever she’s not there. I think she actually thinks Toby and CJ are planning a secret infiltration of his house to talk to him in person on this policy stuff.”
“Policy stuff?”
“I’d start explaining, but you’d get bored very quickly.”
Her friend offered a mock scoff. “Willow! Already sounding condescending.”
The redhead rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it. It bores me sometimes. Besides…US policy or hellmouthy demons? Really, you’re up to your ears in things that are of interest.”
“Don’t forget world famous vamps hitting on me in front of my very protective boyfriend.” There was some indiscernible Cockney yelling in the background. “I know, sweetie!” A pause as she heard Buffy redirect her attention once more. “Spike was just reminding me that Dracula’s a self-satisfied wanker who places too much confidence in his nonexistence sex appeal.”
“Someone sounds threatened,” Willow jested.
“Oh, no. He’s right. Drac seemed very surprised that I wasn’t falling to my knees in reverence. Besides…” The Witch could almost see the smile on her friend’s face. “Spike’s incredibly sexy when he’s possessive and jealous.” More shouting and something that sounded suspiciously like a collision followed by a thud. “No, honey, I—ahhh!” There was giggling and some guttural sounds that the redhead did not want to place, and she hurried out a quick goodbye before hanging up.
Buffy was happy. Honestly, Willow couldn’t remember a time when her friend had been genuinely happy. Not with Angel and certainly not anytime thereafter. While she would not pretend to understand how a soulless vampire could make the Slayer as blissfully content and loved as her friend was, she decided it was none of her business and as long as Buffy was happy, all the better for her.
Her eyes rose to Sam’s office and a frown settled across her face. She hadn’t even noticed Tom and his wife inside, so watching them leave in a huff was not exactly encouraging. Especially considering that tonight was election night and they were supposed to win.
Sam was desolate, standing in his dark office, a helpless look clouding his eyes.
“Sam?”
“They’re not happy.”
“I’m sorry. If I’d known they were in there—”
He shook his head. “I knew they were coming over. It’s okay. I just…I got them into this. I was told to get them into this.”
“You did what you were told,” she agreed, hooking an arm around his waist. “Want some crab puffs?”
A slow grin spread across his lips and he nodded, brushing a kiss across her temple. “You know how to make everything better,” he said. “Let’s stop in there, then I need to…” He trailed off with a frown, a strange emotion creeping into his eyes.
“What?”
“I got this thing.”
“Okay…”
“Let me grab something and then we’ll swing by the thing to make sure CJ’s not losing her head.”
“And grab some crab puffs?”
His grin returned brilliantly. “Yes indeed.”
They made the stop in the foyer where CJ offhandedly told them that Jenna Jacobs was in attendance among the other radio personalities that had been invited to the reception. Sam smuggled a small paper plate with two crab puffs and watched his girlfriend with barely concealed delight as she took her first bite. They disposed of the plate within a minute or so before he clasped Willow’s hand and led her down a foreign hallway that soon adjoined to the part of the White House she was familiar with.
“Who’s Jenna Jacobs?”
Sam tossed her a pointed glance. “You’ve heard of Dr. Laura? Rush Limbaugh?”
“Yes.”
“Well, she’s not as well known as those two, but she is a rough combination of their personalities.”
Willow winced. “Ouch.”
“Yeah.” He brought her to a stop in a small office area that was shut off by a closed door that she imagined led to more of the workplace. What he was looking for, she didn’t know. Only that Mrs. Landingham was sitting at one of the desks, a woman Willow had seen perhaps twice since the endless night spent in the hospital. Sam greeted her appropriately.
“Hello Sam,” the old woman replied.
“Does he have a minute?”
Willow was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
“He’s in with Toby. You can go in if you like.”
“Sam,” the redhead said warningly.
He flashed her a completely innocent glance. “I just have to drop off this thing,” he said. “We’ll go back to the party in a second.”
“Sam, I swear—”
He wasn’t listening to her. He had knocked on the door and was tugging her through into the most notorious room in the United States, where Toby’s familiar eyes caught her just seconds before the presence of a man she had only seen through the television. A man whose legacy was in the process of being formed. A man she had been dying to meet for weeks. A man she was terrified of disappointing without the luxury of knowing him.
Sam Seaborn had just joined the ranks of the walking dead. She was going to kill him.
“Excuse me, Mr. President,” her boyfriend said. “Good evening.”
“Hey Sam,” the President replied, eying her warily. “Who’s that quivering behind you? Surely not the notorious Ms. Rosenberg to whom I owe the entirety of my continued tyrannical reign?”
The Deputy Communications Director smiled brilliantly. “Yes sir.”
Willow’s face flamed. Yeah, Sam was pretty much dead.
“She seems afraid of me.” The President frowned at that. “I trust you told her all those rumors about the dungeon were completely fictitious.”
Sam and Toby glanced at her expectantly, and she realized belatedly that she was the new focal point of whatever conversation had been going on before they interrupted. There was a dry sensation in the back of her throat. She was standing in the Oval Office of the White House, and the President of the United States was prompting her to speak.
“I…ummm…I…” She tossed a glare in Sam’s direction. “I…it’s an honor to…meet you, Mr. President.”
The President exchanged an amused glance with Toby. “Yes,” he replied in good jest. “I imagine it would be. Really, Ms. Rosenberg, there’s no need to be so jittery. Rather, I have been trying to get Sam to trick you in here ever since I felt well enough to receive visitors. Or, should I say, since Leo got off my back about overextending myself. Evidently, a person recovering from surgery shouldn’t do anything strenuous, but he thought I was up to running the country.”
Willow smiled weakly. “Yes sir.”
Then something unexpected happened. The President neared and took her hand as a father would, smiling warmly into her eyes, giving her both a sense of familiarity and further nervousness. “A much belated thank you,” he said sincerely, “for everything you did in Natchez.”
“Oh…I…ummm. It was nothing, Mr. President.”
“Not the way Sam tells it, but I hear he likes to embellish.” The President winked like a little boy and turned to the man at her side. “Did you have a reason for seeing me, Sam, or were you just determined to terrify your soon-to-be ex-girlfriend?”
He shook his head. “That was just a good opportunity,” he replied. “Actually, I wasn’t sure whether you'd be stopping by the Talk Radio reception. I scratched out a few remarks for you.”
The President nodded and took the notes. “Let me look at them while we walk.” He turned to the Communications Director. “Toby, go with us to this radio thing.”
The man looked appalled. “Oh God, really sir?”
“There’ll be crab puffs,” the President said. Willow was beginning to wonder if there was some unheard of crab puff fetish among those who worked in the West Wing. “New England crab puffs, by the way. Made in New England.”
“Actually, it’s Alaskan crab,” her boyfriend corrected.
Toby all but groaned aloud at that. “Sam.”
The President’s face fell, void of all merriment. “There’s Alaskan crab in this White House?”
“He wouldn’t have known the difference,” the Communications Director protested after the event.
The President wasn’t moved. “Have you tried them?”
Sam fumbled adorably and Willow had to glance down before she betrayed him with a grin. “I…yes, reluctantly. I think it was clear the way I ate the crab puffs that it was a gesture of protest.”
“Were they good?”
A long sigh escaped her boyfriend’s throat. “Extraordinarily good and going very fast.”
The President nodded, convinced. “Let’s get there.” He started past them and paused to pat Willow very deliberately on the shoulder. “That’s you, too, Ms. Rosenberg. Follow me, if you will.”
She found herself in a dream, being led through the White House at the request and direction of the President of the United States. That title running through her mind every few seconds as though she expected herself to jolt back to reality. The President of the United States. President Bartlet. Sam walking beside her, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“You’re a jerk,” she muttered as they stepped into the foyer, following CJ’s introduction.
“Yes, but you’re happy to have met him without knowing you were going to meet him, right?”
“Still. Jerk.”
He shot her a devious look that was both natural and foreign to his usually soft features. “I’ll make it up to you later,” he promised, and promptly turned her attention back to where the President was starting to address the radio personalities as the modest round of applause died down.
“Thank you. Thank you, very much. Thanks a lot. I wish I could spend more than a few minutes with you but the polls don't close in the east for another hour and there are plenty of election results left to falsify.”
That earned some chuckles. Willow found herself beaming. She was standing in the White House next to the Deputy Communications Director, whom she happened to be sleeping with, and the President was addressing a small company of guests. CJ hadn’t yet hurried up to bustle her away, so she felt safe that the press wouldn’t catch her and point her out specifically as a companion to anyone in the room. It was one of the few times that she had felt completely at ease with her surroundings while standing so close to the click of cameras.
For whatever reason, she doubted anyone would pay much attention to her while the President was in the room.
“You know,” the President continued, “with so many people participating in the political and social debate through call in shows, it's a good idea to be reminded…” A lengthy pause. He frowned and glanced at something that Willow could not see. “…it's a good idea to be reminded of the awesome impact…the awesome impact…”
He shifted and moved away, giving up trying to follow through on his thought. Willow was able to see what had distracted him; there was a woman sitting in the room, holding a small paper plate and watching him with interest.
“I’m sorry,” the President said, “um, you’re Dr. Jenna Jacobs, right?”
Willow and Sam exchanged a glance.
The woman smiled proudly. “Yes, sir.”
The President nodded. “It’s good to have you here.” It was obvious from the tone of his voice, however, that either he was not entirely convinced of that, or his reason for verifying her identity was buried for some other purpose.
“Thank you,” she replied.
And that appeared to be the end of that. The President seemed to remember that he was the focus of attention and glanced back to the room, picking up where he had left off. “The awesome impact of the airwaves and how that translates into the furthering of our national discussions but obviously also how it can…how it can…”
The President glanced back to Jenna Jacobs and sighed. There would not be any address to the radio correspondents until he got past the fact that she was in attendance. Why, Willow had no idea. But her interest was definitely piqued.
“Forgive me, Dr. Jacobs,” the President said. “Are you an MD?”
“PhD,” the woman replied eagerly.
“A PhD?”
“Yes, sir.”
That seemed to interest the President immensely. “In Psychology?”
“No, sir.”
“Theology?”
“No.”
“Social work?”
Dr. Jacobs shifted, evidently growing uncomfortable. “I have a PhD in English Literature.”
The President nodded. “I'm asking, 'cause on your show, people call in for advice and you go by the name of Dr. Jacobs on your show. And I didn't know if maybe your listeners were confused by that, and assumed you had advanced training in Psychology, Theology, or health care.”
A barely discernible look of indignation crossed the woman’s face. “I don’t believe they are confused, no sir.”
“Good.” A pause. “I like your show. I like how you call homosexuality an abomination.”
Willow’s eyes about popped out of her head.
Dr. Jacobs wasn’t even trying to mask her incense anymore. She shifted again. “I don't say homosexuality is an abomination, Mr. President. The Bible does.”
“Yes it does,” the President agreed. “Leviticus.”
“18:22.”
“Chapter and verse.” He seemed proud. “I wanted to ask you a couple of questions while I had you here. I'm interested in selling my youngest daughter into slavery as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7".
TBC