Chapter Thirty-Seven
Washington DC. 8:03AM, EST
Leo McGarry was not looking forward to the conversation he was about to have.
Gauging the mood of the President on any given day was nothing that he would ever call simple. Theirs was friendship that stretched years before that fateful afternoon where he had scribbled Bartlet For America on a napkin and delivered it to the governor’s mansion in New Hampshire. A friendship that would undoubtedly outlast this presidency and every other until they were in the ground. He knew the President better than anyone outside the First Family. He knew him well enough to trust him with his life. To trust him with the fate of the nation.
And thus, he knew him well enough to know there was no way to predict how he would react to what he had to tell him now. What he had dreaded telling him since the day he was taken aside and briefed by Nancy McNally. Since he realized it was true—saw the documentation, read the reports of respected men throughout history, and realized that they were dealing with much more than anyone on the outside could have imagined.
When he received that first phone call from Josh, he knew, despite thankless hope, that it was only time before he had to go to Fitz and McNally and explain that the President had to be told.
The first Commander in Chief to be in the know since the Initiative was formed in the years following World War I.
The President was with the Joint Chiefs when Leo entered the Oval, which was timely as he needed at least Fitz or someone that Bartlet would trust not to jerk him around. The Chief of Staff nodded in confirmation and the meeting quickly broke up, all but the Chairman vacating within seconds.
“They don’t believe me when I say I’m going to recommend they be paid in bananas,” the President said, moving around the desk, removing his glasses once he caught a glance of the seriousness on Leo’s face. “What’s going on?”
Leo took a long moment himself, mentally recalculating what he needed to convey. Never in his wildest had he thought that he would be standing in the Oval Office, preparing to tell the Commander in Chief what he was about to say. This promised to be the most awkward conversation of their acquaintance. “Mr. President,” he began. “We have a situation that requires your immediate attention.”
The President didn’t say anything, just waited. That was fine. It was how he gave the go-ahead in grave circumstances.
Leo expelled a deep breath and nodded at Fitzwallace, who moved forward automatically.
“Mr. President,” the other man began. “About seventy years ago, the United States government began a program that specialized in investigations of paranormal activity after numerous reports and independent field studies at locations around the country. Namely Cleveland, Ohio, and a small town in California called Sunnydale. While there have been other noted sites, these are the two we have been most focused on.” He paused to glance cautiously at the Chief of Staff. “It began as a research committee and in the years since has become a more involved branch of military operations. Particularly in World War II, when the government wanted to utilize its findings against the Germans in a number of war-time scenarios.”
The President nodded, his expression unreadable. “What exactly were these findings, and why are they relevant now?”
Fitz turned to Leo again as though offering him a last-out before they opened Pandora’s box. “Mr. President, what I’m about to tell you is classified information. Understand that it is an admitted position of liability, and the reason this is the first you’re hearing of it should be rather self-explanatory. A branch of the military called the Initiative respectfully investigates and detains otherworldly beings known as hostiles. Hostiles typically refer to…vampires, were-creatures, and assorted demons. Recently, experimentation on hostiles has extended to harnessing them with advanced computer chips to submit neurological shocks in hopes of downsizing the number of violent attacks perpetrated each year against humans.” The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. The President just stared at him. “The unusual amount of activity in Cleveland and Sunnydale, California is typically thought to be accredited with a heightened focus of demonic activity. The reason you’re learning about this now is that we believe something involving your staff might occur within the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours. In the case of Josh Lyman, Toby Ziegler, Sam Seaborn, and the assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff, it is the Initiative’s decree that the town of Natchez, Mississippi has been sealed off for such purpose because something in their territory is about to go down. Approximately forty-five minutes ago, Leo received a phone call from Josh that—”
The President held up a hand and Fitz immediately broke off. He waited a minute, then turned to Leo, a frown on his face. “I’m sorry. You must have lost me at the part about vampires.”
“Believe me, Mr. President,” the Chief of Staff replied, “it might be better if you sit down. In a minute, Fitz is going to hand you a file that details the major projects the Initiative has undergone over the past seven decades. Most recently, an underground facility in California. As we understand it, our guys are staying in close proximity with some residents of Sunnydale, which we think might have something to do with what is going on.”
There was another pause.
“We’re using American tax dollars to fund the research of vampires,” the President said, expelling a long, disbelieving breath. “Well, I’m glad this is coming out now. I was just about to announce that the FBI has a lead on that absurdly large fellow who flies around in a reindeer-guided sleigh one night a year and very suspiciously leaves toys for children worldwide. They’re planning on making the arrest right after completing the capture of the Easter Bunny.”
Leo inhaled deeply. Only one of the many reasons why he had been dreading the conversation was the note of incredulity, beyond the shock that came with realism. “Mr. President—”
“Did I mention aliens have invaded Zimbabwe?”
This was not going well. “Mr. President—”
“Leo, I have a meeting with the British Prime Minister five minutes ago, and you’re holding me back to talk about vampires?”
“Josh has met one.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t talking about Republicans? You know how he likes to be funny.”
“Sam and Toby concur. They’re currently living within close proximity of a century old vampire known as William the Bloody. William the Bloody being renowned through history in a number of texts that I have on reserve for your perusal, not to mention a former hostile of the Initiative.” The Chief of Staff took a minute. “Also with them is a young woman who claims to be what was thought a myth until recently—”
“And here I thought you covered ‘myth’ by the mention of vampires.”
“—a vampire slayer. In a series of events that we believe might have been caused by Sam reading out of a book, it appears the situation in Natchez has grown to catastrophic proportions, and…well…” He sighed and shook his head, turning to Fitz with a shrug. “There’s just no good way to say this without sounding crazy, is there?”
The other man grinned slightly. “No, sir.”
The President chuckled and shook his head. “If your objective was to not sound crazy until now, my friend, you have remarkably underdone yourself.”
That much was to be expected. Leo smiled in spite of himself, but continued. “From what Josh has told me, the vampire slayer has been possessed by the spirit of an ancient god and will commence the ending of the world if they cannot perform a rite to banish the deity.”
“Leo, is it possible that you have fallen down recently?”
“Mr. President.” Fitz again, nudging forward with the thick file compiled with the evidence needed to believe such an extraordinary claim. “We understand your hesitation. Hell, you should’ve seen Leo when the news was broken to him.” He smiled gently. “We would not be burdening you with this information if we did not have reason to believe that the situation has grown dismal. Our experts have spoken with two of the guardians of the Slayer, and we are prepared to patch a call into the Watcher’s Council in England if need be. Josh contacted us recently because there has been a dispute over the text that, as we understand it, might be what the world is resting on right now. Aside it being a personal issue now, it turns out they need a Latin expert to settle the disagreement.”
The Oval Office had known its share of unearthly silences. This one easily surpassed all that Leo had seen since Jed Bartlet took office. And honestly, if it had been anything but, he would have rethought the entire process by which the man before him was elected.
“Did Mrs. Landingham put you two up to this? She has this tendency to think she’s funny, too.”
“Not in the Oval Office,” Leo said with a slight grin. “Charlie can tell you that.”
“I’m just saying, if she offered you cookies, I’d understand. She doesn’t give out cookies for just anything.”
Fitz just shook his head and forfeited the aforementioned file. “That will have everything you need to know in it,” he said. “And all due respect, Mr. President, Josh’s description of the situation in Natchez sounds dire. I am here at his and Leo’s urging. Things are looking to get pretty severe.”
“This is real.” He said it in a manner that clearly defined his current opinion on reality. “You’re telling me that the apocalypse is about to happen, well-equipped with fire and brimstone.” The President took a minute to glance from one man to the other. “You’re standing in the most prestigious office in the world, telling me that Sam opened the book of Revelations in Mississippi and that they need my help to stop it?”
Leo shrugged. “Well, on the upside, you wouldn’t be the first President to save the world.”
“I think those were of the less literal nature, and usually less directly reliant on the sitting Commander in Chief.” There was another pause. The President sighed and glanced down, the formality in his tenor dropping at last to the pretense he took among friends. “All right. I’m going to go through this now before I decide to have you two committed. Leo?”
“I’ll be in my office.”
He nodded. “That’s all.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.” And that was that. Leo turned at the heel and traveled the small distance back through his private entrance to the Oval Office, finding it strange that he should act so normal when this thing had happened. As if it was a routine conversation. As if it was one of the hundred times he had left the President after a Senior Staff meeting and now was the time to go back to work.
Inside the Oval, Bartlet had situated himself behind the Resolute Desk, adjusting his glasses before flipping the file open.
Then, a pause.
“Charlie!”
The door at his right opened almost immediately. “Mrs. Landingham wants me to remind you that it’s not necessary to bellow, Mr. President.”
“Mrs. Landingham can kiss my foot. I need you to give my apologies to the Prime Minister and have that old curmudgeon rearrange our meeting.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“And somebody get me a banana.”
“Yes, sir.”
Charlie was gone the next minute. Then it was just him.
Him and a file on vampires. And the weight of the world that usually rested on his shoulders grew heavier than he had ever imagined.
Not with belief; with the promise of belief.
The promise that Leo would not lie to him about this.
There were some gateways that people took while knowing the other side would change their lives completely. He kept that in mind as he flipped the file open, drew in a deep breath, and began to read.
*~*~*
Natchez, Mississippi. 5:17AM, CST
Willow knew what to do.
That was really all anyone needed to hear. Willow had woken up from her comatose state with a gasp and her eyes blazing with realization, and just like that, she knew what to do. Some form of recognition that one only achieved when she got up close and personal with a god.
Which was why everyone was up now. Researching.
Buffy’s body was being tested. Her insides twisting, her bone structure shifting, her mortality altering itself in preparation for a god. Her muscles would soon bear the strength of one not born of an earthly helix, and though the shades of what Quirinias meant to the dimension flashed across her face and persona every now and then, they had yet to meet the god behind the myth.
He could not take her body until her body could take him. And that was it. Buffy’s body was becoming fit for a god. Suffering. Breaking. It was the reason for the fits and the screaming—the violent outbursts and wails in languages she had no former knowledge of in a reflection of what was to come. Her body a violent haven, the screams tearing at her throat, hers and hers alone.
Spike did not leave her. The Scoobies were gathered in the den of the townhouse, and though he heard every word that was shared, every secret uncovered and answer unveiled, he refused to leave her side. He knew what was asked of him. He had known it somehow from the beginning.
“The thing is,” Willow was saying. “I think I’ve found a way to banish Quirinias before he even takes her. The passages of the Rite of Thrieve are focused more on the power involved than the wording. It says we need a warlock and a sorcerer aside the witch. I think I can harness enough power to avoid having to use more. More would kill her…her body in the condition that it’s in. The ritual itself…I think I can do it. I think I can…” She sighed deeply. “I can do it.”
“Willow,” Giles began after a lengthy pause. “We need—”
“This is all we have,” she said shortly. “It’s gamble this or lose the world. We’re out of options. I can do this. There’s just a few things…I need someone to ground her physically. Be in the circle when I perform the ceremony, tied to her so Quirinias can’t take her during the process. Be—”
And that last was the only thing that could persuade Spike away from the Slayer. Slowly, he untangled himself from her arms and slid off the bed, creeping into the room but only slightly. He wanted to be near if she awoke in tears again.
“I’ll do it,” he told them softly, but with full conviction. “’m not leavin’ her side.”
There was a certain air of acceptance in that. As though even as the Witch had said it, they knew who would be selected. Even Xander had nothing to offer in opposition.
“Spike,” Giles greeted, nodding with respect the vampire had never before received. “Nice of you to join us.”
“’m not stayin’,” he said, tossing a cautious glance into the bedroom. “I jus’ wanted that clarified before anythin’ else is decided. With whatever else, I’m not leavin’ her side. Kill me first. She very well might.”
The Watcher nodded his understanding. “There is something else.”
“Already somethin’ else?”
“If you’re going to do this, I want you to claim her.” It was amazing how easily those words left his lips. From where they had been only days ago to Giles suggesting so candidly, so without reserve, that a vampire claim his Slayer in a bond more sacred—more powerful—than any other the world in all its age had ever forged. “Don’t give me that look. It would just be another way to guarantee our hold on her. Is that something you’re prepared to do?”
Spike blinked at him dumbly. “I’m prepared to walk through Hell for her,” he said lowly. “I’ve wanted to claim her forever. Jus’ never thought it’d be like this.”
“If something goes wrong—”
His eyes flashed. “You don’ think I know exactly what I’m signin’ up for? I know the drill, Watcher. Better than you ever will. I claim her, an’ it’s the both of us. I share everythin’. We share everythin’. What she suffers, I suffer. I breathe her pain without needin’ to breathe at all. Yeh. I enter the circle, I’ll claim her. When ‘s over, she can accept or denounce. ‘S all right with me. She stays alive. That’s all that bloody matters.”
The room was effectively silenced. Everyone stared at him blankly.
Donna licked her lips, not wanting to be the one to ask, yet unable to stop herself. “And if she dies?”
Spike glared at her a minute before his eyes softened. “’m tyin’ myself to her, pet,” he said gently. “Dunno what happens ‘f the claim’s not accepted. ‘ve never done it before…’s a gamble. All of it. But ‘f she dies…” It was just a flash, but emptiness that filled the chamber with cold filled his expression with such extended agony that everyone felt its impression. “’F she dies, it won’t be the soddin’ claim that kills me.”
“She’s not going to die,” Willow said determinately. “I can do this. I know I can. I just…” She glanced downward and shifted in discomfort. “It requires reading from Latin, and I can’t read Latin. Well, I can…but the wrong word, the wrong pronunciation could mess up the entire thing. Could ruin…whatever chance we have. I need it translated…quickly.”
That was all well and good when she said it. Giles, Wesley, and Spike took the passages from the Rite of Thrieve and set about the translation—deciding inexorably that three minds in this matter would solidify the odds of being correct in their assessment. They had no wiggle room for mistakes.
Which was why, when they arrived at their dispute, Spike refused to cave in to the explanations behind the Watcher’s reasoning.
“Look,” the vampire spat. “This is s’posed to be against the bloke, right? Your soddin’ translation doesn’ make any bleedin’ sense. These witches who brewed up the hocus pocus, ‘specially in the day an’ age, were before they broke from Church an’ into their own creed. Of a more orthodox bend—seein’ as dispatchin’ Quiriny would make him prime meat for the more prominent an’ avengin’ gods. ‘Days of wrath beginnin’ doesn’ exactly strike me as somethin’ that would suggest the god was defeated.”
“Spike—”
“Look at the context, ‘f you don’ believe me. ‘The journey is over, the days of wrath begin’ don’t make any bloody sense!”
“I have been researching this passage for days,” Giles argued. “More over, I am quite well schooled in Latin.”
“I took it when it was still popular,” Spike snarled. “I know what I’m doing, too, you arrogant wanker. Look here: the entire spell begins with in nomine patris et filii et spiritus santi. It mighta been performed by pagans, but there is a heavy Christian influence in the text. ‘S a part of why it took you so long to translate, I’d wager. So, is it so off the bloody map to think they might invoke somethin’ called Judgment Day later in the ritual? They’ve mentioned the Judeo-Christian god three times already.”
“There is no room for mistakes.”
“Yeh. So stop bloody well makin’ ‘em!”
No solution could be found. No resolution maintained. Therefore, when Willow inquired as to their progress and discovered the problem they had stumbled over, it was decided they needed someone with a more extensive knowledge of Latin to weigh in a final opinion.
Sam was no help. Josh could barely translate a single line, despite their similar familiarity with the dead language.
Donna waited patiently as they debated their options, her hand raised.
In the middle of a screaming match, Spike’s eyes landed on the blonde and he quickly vamped to startle everyone into silence. “Yes, pet?” he asked once she had the room’s attention.
“Um,” she began, turning to Josh. “I know this might be a very bad idea, but we all know someone who knows Latin to the point where he speaks it fluently in the middle of State Dinners.”
“No,” Josh barked. “We’re not bringing the President into this.”
“Why not?”
“Leo was very clear when he first explained the Initiative and vampires to me. Besides…” His eyes widened and he shook his head soundly. “You know the President. He’s never going to believe this. His liking of history aside, he’s a rational person.”
“Yeah, and this happens to be an apocalypse.”
“I like it how you’ve opted to their annoying tendency of speaking of the apocalypse in the plural sense. ‘Cause that’s, you know, smart.”
Spike’s yellow gaze flickered menacingly over the Deputy Chief of Staff. “The President can help Buffy?” he asked. “Why the bleedin’ hell are we arguin’ at all? Get the bloke on the phone. Now.”
“It’s not that easy—”
“Actually, it’s exactly that easy.”
“You can’t call the President and tell him the world’s ending because of an ancient god! You can’t tell him about vampires. Not if you’re Senior Staff and not, oh say, psychotic. Do you not understand this?”
A look overwhelmed the vampire’s eyes at that, and the other man immediately yelped and sealed his mouth shut in the dreary acknowledgment that perhaps it was just as foolish to piss off an emotionally unbalanced demon.
“No,” Spike replied lowly, stalking forward. “Here’s what I do understand. You’re gonna get on the phone, talk to whoever it is you talk to, an’ explain what’s happenin’. ‘F the President doesn’ understand that, you can tell him to try if he values the life of his Deputy Chief of Staff. ‘Cause if Buffy doesn’ kill you once the god is steerin’, I sure as hell will. An’ I won’ be as nice about it. You get me?”
There was something so raw, so honest in the vampire’s delivery that everyone in room, regardless of their standing on his previously empty threats, trusted that Josh Lyman was a dead man if he stood in the way of healing Buffy. The chip be damned; the healing marks on Spike’s body attested that when pressed, he suffered no qualm to enduring pain. None whatsoever.
Josh expelled a deep breath and turned to Donna. “Get me Leo,” he said.
*~*~*
Washington, DC. 8:39 AM, EST
Leo held his breath as he followed the President back into the Oval Office.
There were no pleasantries in delivery. As soon as the Chief of Staff’s office door was shut, Bartlet whirled around and gave him one of the gravest looks he had ever granted. And in as many years of friendship as they enjoyed, there were many in the running to select from.
“This is for real,” he said without preamble. “These aren’t documents forged—”
“Mr. President, it took me three full days to comprehend when McNally told me. Even longer to believe the file. Evidently, it’s the government’s best kept secret, since you’re the first man to hold this office and know what you know.” The Chief of Staff shrugged. “I’m just saying, it’s natural to feel whatever you’re feeling.”
“What I’m feeling?” The President sighed deeply and shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m feeling. Acknowledging what I’ve just read while I have a Cabinet meeting in less than an hour. There’s you’re thing. We’ve been telling Danny for the past week to stop sniffing around the Natchez story and now there’s a story to tell. And Charlie just told me…this thing with this kid. Have you heard about that?”
“Lowell Lydell?” Leo nodded. “Yeah. CJ’s losing her head over it.”
“And all my guys are down in some southern town that’s bricked itself in, sans the bricks.” The President sighed again, turning to approach his desk again, his entire body quivering with acceptance. “And Sam’s the reason this thing has happened?”
“Josh didn’t wanna say, but that’s the theory they’re working with.”
The President didn’t say anything. Just nodded.
“There’s been a disagreement over a translation of something,” Leo continued. “A new friend of Sam’s believes she can help stop whatever’s happening down there, but they need a section of Latin translated as true to form as possible. Three of the Sunnydale guys can read Latin. Two think it’s one thing, the other’s refusing to agree. Donna suggested that Josh call you.” He licked his lips. “And here we are.”
“And here we are.” Bartlet nodded again, placing the file on Leo’s desk. “Do we have what needs to be translated?”
“Josh emailed it to me. Margaret’s printing it off.”
“Does she know what it is?”
“No, sir.”
“We want to keep this quiet.”
“Absolutely.”
The President hesitated, and nodded. “Get me whatever it is that I need to translate. Is Josh’s phone still—”
“He told me he smashed it in one of his fits.”
There was a small grin at that. “And Donna’s?”
“Should be fine.” Leo nodded grimly. “Fitz and McNally are waiting for you in the Sit Room.”
“All right, then. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
That was it. And in doing so, accept everything radical that the past hour had provided.
Accept a whole new world of unknowns while manning the most powerful office in the world.
It was always something; it simply had never been this.
*~*~*
Natchez, Mississippi. 8:04AM, CST
The President’s call came within two seconds of another hysterical fit in the townhouse bedroom. Josh jumped to his feet and answered with a frenzy that he usually reserved for bullying Senators and lobbyists, pressing his free hand to his open ear in the hopes of blocking out the screams in the background.
Fortunately, the population of the townhouse itself had dwindled to only a few. Spike, Willow, and Giles were in the bedroom; the vampire on the bed, struggling with the writhing Slayer and replying to her in calm measure when she screamed something in a foreign tongue. The Watcher, ever mindful, guiding Willow in what would hopefully be another successful dose of the paranormal sedative she had delivered just the night before.
“Yes, sir!” he practically screamed into the phone. “Good to hear your voice, too! Yeah, we got a bit of a situation down here. Has Leo filled you in?”
The atmosphere remained rather distracting. Buffy was cackling in that voice that seemed to get deeper and further away from her at every turn. “Homo nudus cum nuda iacebat!” she hissed, and Josh heard the vampire snarl in turn.
“Shut up!” Spike snapped. “You know nothin’ about that!”
In his ear, the President was asking him if the god had a tendency to be pornographic.
“I…uhhh…well, she yells a lot.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the possessed Slayer making a leap in the direction of Giles; the Watcher moving away even if the perimeter’s of her grounding spell prevented her from inflicting any damage. Spike, being the ever-present-minded vampire that he was, leaping atop the blonde to wrestle her down into the mattress.
“Caeci caecos ducentes,” came the next wave of insult, this time seemingly aimed at the Watcher. “Antiquis temporibus, nati tibi similes in rupibus ventosissimis exponebantur ad necem.”
“Well,” the President mused, “that’s just not polite.”
“Sir?”
“Yes. The translation reads Judgment Day, and it should be perfectly obvious. I don’t know how those so-called Latin scholars could even look at it and think differently.”
“Yeah.” Should make Spike happy. “I gotta convince them that you’re right. It’s two against two, now.”
“Tell them they have an executive order to perform whatever it is they perform using that translation. I have zero-tolerance when it comes to false Latin.”
“Can you do that?”
“No, but it sounds impressive.” He could practically hear the President smiling warmly. “Josh…when this over, I want you to call me first.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“When I say first, that means before Leo.”
“I understand.”
“Mrs. Landingham has direct orders to patch you through. If Israel and Palestine are seconds away from a peace treaty, she’ll interrupt negotiations for your call. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
He chuckled a bit at that. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting.”
As was customary in the West Wing, there were no formal goodbyes. Josh waited until he knew the President was no longer on the line and clasped the cell phone shut, his mind mentally answering for him, What’s next? though the answer was more than obvious.
They had their translation.
It was time to banish a god.
TBC