![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eloriekamAnd no, I'm so, so entirely not done with this yet. My thanks to everyone and anyone who's read the whole thing thus far.
"I need a copy of the Jackson Hole schedule!"
"I thought we were going to Casper?"
"We don't have to coordinate around the same things there," came the retort.
"Oh. Right."
"Where's the fifty-year plan for mining? I know I put it somewhere around here."
"It's probably right under the fifty-year plan for waste disposal."
Al growled under her breath at the offending speaker, and Carol jerked her head up from where she was debating the Wyoming schedule with a volunteer.
"Do you have a problem?" she inquired.
Anne Westin came into the room, phone to one ear and gesturing with her free hand. "I can understand if you don't want to give us that venue, but the Senator would very much like to visit your area."
"Mining's always going to be around," the other answered Carol.
"I can understand that, sir, but from what I understand, there were multiple scheduling conflicts during his other campaigns." Anne suddenly looked around and Carol spun her hand in the air briefly, pointing toward the door.
"It's been a large part of this country's history, and it's a large part of our current economy and our pollution," she replied evenly, as Anne turned and tried to finish persuading a California mayor to set aside some time for Sam.
"So?"
"How is it related to where the plan for waste disposal is? And why is it that whatever Al's been looking for this whole week is also related to waste disposal?"
A quick, furious glance at the teenager gave no new material for a possible insult. "All of it's trash. What's the difference?"
Anne finished up and shut the phone off, giving Carol a quick thumbs-up as she casually stepped into the room. The other nodded minutely in relief before responding. "Really? What's trash, exactly?"
He glared at Al, then at Samantha, seated at a desk on the far side of the room and typing rapidly. "Doesn't make a difference. You're all too liberal to get anywhere. You can't do things by being nice and explaining everything."
"So I see," Carol answered evenly. "And I think it does make a difference."
"You have kids working for you."
"They know what they're doing."
"Oh, yeah? Sets them apart, doesn't it?"
"You're fired," she replied with apparently perfect calm.
"Who said you can fire me?"
"Get out," Anne answered fiercely, stepping forward. "Right now, maybe we can tell the Senator you were fired because of philosophical differences with the campaign. But only if you walk out that door right now."
Swift, angry fingers pulled off the staff badge and swung it down.
Al jerked back and down.
Will Bailey came in from the next room.
The edge of the badge whistled just above the papers on Al's desk, and defiant, furious eyes full of more intense resentment than they'd ever seen met Carol and Anne's angered gaze.
Swiftly, Will stepped forward. "I think the ladies were inviting you to leave."
"Oh, you."
"Yeah, me. And get out. The door's over there," Will answered calmly, gesturing as though he was simply pointing out an object of interest.
"Huh."
Will waited half a minute, as the other refused to move, then rolled his eyes, stepped up, and punched the other in the jaw.
"Like I said, get out."
"That's assault," came the mumble.
"Go right ahead and press charges. We'll come right back with your little display a minute ago," Carol advised.
The door swung open and shut, and Carol's arms went protectively around Al.
"I'm all right," she murmured, glancing over at her sister.
"Got it," Sam told them smugly. "I think," she added, turning to Anne.
Anne nodded. "I think I'll let this recharge a little bit," she said, pulling her phone out again.
"Is everyone really all right?" Sam inquired over the line.
Will snorted with laughter. "Can you do that?"
"I forgot to turn the speakerphone off," Anne replied indignantly.
"Yeah, for about a week, every time that guy started in again," came the sarcastic reply from the phone.
"I'm okay, Uncle Sam," Al said, turning toward Anne. "At least, nothing a little sugar and memo reading won't fix."
"Ha, ha. Samantha?"
"I was, like, twenty feet away and I was working with Anne, Uncle Sam; I'm all right."
There was a relieved sigh. "Any other trouble?"
"No, I think we got all of them," Carol answered, lifting an eyebrow at the volunteers in the room. There were some nervous swallows as they found something to do. "I still can't believe people have gone to this kind of effort so early on," she added, rubbing her forehead tiredly.
"Yeah, well..." Sam sighed. "They did, and they didn't bring us down, and now I've got Josh yelling at me on the other line wanting to know what's going on."
"It's too bad," Anne noted thoughtfully. "All of them were pretty smart; they would have done us some good."
"Talk to you guys later, and take care. Thanks for hitting him, Will."
"You're welcome," came the calm reply.
"Bye, Senator."
"Decisions get made by the people who show up," Carol told Anne, eyes crinkling a little, mischievously. "They showed up, and they made the wrong decision. They're going to miss a great show, and some incredible decisions."
"Like mining," Al said triumphantly, discovering the file and waving it around.
Sam's phone rang, and she stuck her tongue out at it and the computer before picking up, the other hand toying with her staff badge. "Seaborn for America National Headquarters. How can I help you?"
"Can I help you?" Margaret asked the young man who had just entered her office.
"I'm here for an interview," he answered, just a little nervously.
"With?" she prompted, one eyebrow raised. His face twitched a little bit, eyes growing anxious. Margaret sighed internally, but if they couldn't handle her, they couldn't handle the interview.
"Toby Ziegler and Josh Lyman?"
"Please have a seat; I'll be right back," she responded courteously, standing and stepping to the inner door. He sat nervously, just on the edge of the chair, as Margaret knocked. "Your next interview is here," she told them.
"How's he look?"
"Pretty freaked out."
Toby sighed, just a little. "How many more?"
"You have two more before Ms. Hudson comes in."
"Send him in," Josh sighed, propping his chin on one hand and pulling his notebook over with the other.
"Right." She withdrew and beckoned to the young man. "They're ready for you. Right through here."
"Um, thank you," he answered, standing and straightening his suit a little bit as he stepped to the door.
"You forgot your portfolio," she noted calmly, sitting back down.
"Oh. Right. Thanks." He grabbed it, blushing, and vanished inside.
"Can you get the door, please?" Toby asked as soon as the newcomer cleared the threshold.
"Um, sure."
"Thanks," Josh told him. "Have a seat."
Toby flipped casually through a resume. "Name?"
"Marcus Lowder Trent."
"Where'd you graduate from?"
"University of California at Berkeley." He tried to smooth his tie down again, not seeing the two older men glance at each other.
"Good grades, motivated, tutored your first year..." Josh read off. "Why'd you stop tutoring?"
"I joined the honor society and moved into an apartment. I tutored the kids in that complex."
"Why?"
"I... they couldn't learn in school, I guess."
"How'd you like the atmosphere there?" Josh asked, mouth quirking up a little.
"It was different, pretty freewheeling in some regards."
"What's your position on education?"
"I'm not sure I have the data or the time to fairly answer your question."
"Give us an abstract."
"I have no idea how to make sure everyone actually benefits from it."
"Do you believe global warming is occurring?"
"No."
"So you think we should be able to do whatever we want and to hell with the consequences?"
"I didn't say that," Marcus protested. "I said I don't think that particular consequence is actually occurring."
"Okay..." Toby sighed.
"Anglicized?" Josh suddenly said, eyebrows raised.
"I'm sorry?"
"Your last name. It's Anglicized?"
He sighed a little. "They were trying to fit in a little better."
Josh smiled back, just a bit. "Yeah. So, is there any particular reason you should work for us?"
Marcus' face faded into nervousness again, and he looked down, trying to think of something that might make him unique.
"I didn't hide," he said at last.
"Could you explain that one a little bit?" Toby requested.
"I've always done my best to participate, whether it was in the honor society or my apartment complex or the millage that determined whether we got a new playground. I don't back off."
"We're going to hold you to that," Josh advised softly, and moved on.
"You just graduated cum laude from one of the toughest schools in the country with a double major in public relations and political science, and a double minor in sociology and communication. You're already halfway done with your first master's degree. Why do you want to work for the Senator?"
Leandra's hands were folded neatly in front of her as Josh posed the question. Toby, whom she had first met almost ten years before, studied her intently, dark eyes inscrutable and yet not.
No deep breath portrayed her hesitation, though she was hesitant, suddenly afraid of answering in a manner that would make it look like she wanted to work for Sam Seaborn's campaign purely because of his association with the Galileo Foundation that had caused her to come onto Toby's radar and virtually guaranteed her an interview opportunity. "There are several reasons, just as there are several reasons I shouldn't work for this campaign," she began, raising one eyebrow just a little bit. Josh cupped his chin and one hand and regarded her with a deceptively soft look; she knew his highly political mind and quick intellect were analyzing every word, gesture, and expression. "However, I think the most important reason is the level to which I believe people can accomplish great things when determined and principled."
"And you think that we're such a group of people?"
"Yes, I do."
"Why?"
"Briefly, all of you associated with the campaign have demonstrated a strong interest in the issues at all levels of government and have been acting on that interest for several years."
"We're not doing it for convenience?" Josh inquired with a slight smile. Leandra's mouth quirked upwards a little bit.
"No, I don't think you are."
"But that interest has affected almost all of your goals in life for nearly ten years," he continued. "How do we know you're not just wanting to work for us because we did something for you, and how do you think that would look to the public?"
"This is not the only campaign I've applied to or interviewed for; some would have hired me if I felt comfortable working for the exact opposite of that which brought me to this point, and some declined to take my application seriously. I'm here because it's widely known you're looking for younger staff and because I could work for this campaign without compromising my principles."
The two men leaned back and looked at her for a few minutes, thoughtfully.
"Thank you for coming in, Ms. Hudson," Toby finally said, quite formally. "You gave an interview that was most... enlightening." He stood to shake her hand, as did Josh, and then she went out past Margaret, not seeing Toby turning a pen between his fingers as he looked down at her college application essay, or Josh's hand running distractedly through his hair.
"Well..." the younger man sighed at last. "That was interesting."
"Huh," Toby noted after a few minutes. Josh looked over at him, eyes twinkling with the hint of a smile.
"You don't like her?"
"Of course I like her," Toby retorted.
"What's your problem, then?"
"I don't have a problem." Josh just leaned back and looked at him. "Okay, a little bit."
"Toby, that's like saying Amy has a little problem with Sudan." The older man lifted one eyebrow sardonically. "Okay, bad example."
"Yeah!"
"So what's your problem, then?" Josh wanted to know, raising his eyebrows in queried puzzlement.
"We can only take the youthful theme so far," Toby replied, tapping his pen on the table. "The average age of our candidates is 25, perhaps 28 at the most. That's no way to run a Presidential campaign. We're running the risk of getting our asses handed to us not only by more experienced players on the Republican side, but also by our own party. The reputations we have, Josh: me, you, Andi, Amy, Donna, Sam, Mal, Zoey, even Neil and Mareen, those will only take us so far when we're filling positions with people that have never helped run a campaign before, let alone actually run one." He paused in his rant and took a deep breath. "We need someone big."
"No," came the decisive response.
"Yes."
"No way. Toby! We can't use Jed for this."
"I wasn't suggesting we should," Toby returned quietly.
"You want Leo for this?"
"Yes."
"You want the candidate's father-in-law on the campaign?"
"Yeah."
Josh snorted and leaned back in his chair, one hand over his face. "Toby..."
"It doesn't have to be an official position. He can come in and help out unofficially for a few months."
"Mal's gonna kill you," Josh tried to point out.
"Yeah."
"And we still haven't solved our mystery, Toby."
"What mystery is that, Josh?"
"What's your problem with Leena?"
"I don't have a problem with her."
"Okay." Josh paused and ran a hand through his hair. "So... what position are we offering her?"
"I haven't decided yet."
"What about the other people?"
"I haven't thought about them yet, either."
"So this whole thing has basically been a waste of time?"
"Not at all; we decided to bring Leo on board."
"No, you decided that. You're on your own on this one, Toby."
"Fine." He stood and gathered his files together. Josh just sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"Absolutely not, Josh."
Josh rubbed one side of his face and looked over at Leo, then tossed a glance at Toby.
"We're going to miss things; things that are important, that could cost us this election." Toby spoke quietly, with that extraordinary force underneath, the force capable of moving a nation, which had indeed moved it.
"You're not gonna miss things," Leo returned with confidence. "You're not. And if you do, that's the way it is. It's only going to cost you if you let it bother you so much that you miss a bunch of other things. Come on, you guys. You know better than this. Jed and I are the old guys; you're the minds of the party now, if they'll let you, if you let you. You don't need us. You need you."
Sam looked away from his father-in-law. "We do need you."
"Not like this, you don't."
"Gentlemen," Jed started, "you've always known, I thought, that by the time Sam started his campaign, Leo and I would be past the point of being a major factor in the campaign. We'll do everything we can for you when it gets closer, but the strategy must be yours. It cannot be ours; you can't ride in on our coattails."
"It's still not ours," Sam retorted, hand over his face.
"It is," Leo said with ancient force. "It is, Sam. It doesn't matter who wrote it. The four of you understood each other, worked with each other, and you became a team before we ever set foot in the White House. That strategy belongs to all of you. Don't try to pretend it doesn't."
Josh swallowed and looked down, and Noah and Joy continued from where they had stopped to watch a bit of that conversation, the old argument that wasn't even an argument but a symbol of the pain they all carried.
The low murmur of Toby's voice followed them a ways, then wavered into silence before their destination.
"Hi, Anne," Noah greeted, closing the door after Joy.
"Hi, Noah and Joy. How're the two of you doing?"
"They're talking about the thing again."
Now Anne swung around from the desk where she was outlining a series of campaign stops, fixing her eyes on the two children. "They still want Leo with this?"
Joy nodded, her face downcast.
Noah's distant gray eyes seemed to look through her. "I think they're arguing about CJ, actually," he added apologetically. "Sorry, Sam, Al."
"Don't apologize," Al tried. "But we're trying to watch this," she told them, turning from the TV and gesturing at it before adding, "I know why Grandpa Leo won't come and help."
"Leo's approaching eighty," Anne said mildly. "He doesn't need a reason..." Joy rolled her eyes and turned around, dark hair twirling. "Joy, honey, I didn't mean it like that. But I think that maybe sometime we should talk, or you and your mother should, about why Toby and Josh and your father are suddenly uncertain."
"What're you doing?" Noah inquired abruptly of his siblings, in a corner with Toby and Andi's twins.
"Sorting stickers," Josiah answered.
"Huck said they're for the issues calendars," Joanie clarified, as Noah wrinkled his forehead in puzzlement.
"Ah, I see. Good idea."
"Crap," Claudia muttered, reaching for a paper towel suddenly. "I have to redo this whole thing."
"Language," Noah and Anne said in concert. The girl grinned sheepishly, still wiping off the board.
"Shh!" Sam and Al practically shouted. "Let's run it over," Sam continued.
"Right."
"What are you-"
"Mom's press briefings."
"I thought you already watched those."
Sam ran it back some more and then paused just as the camera angle switched back to the podium. The two turned to the rest of the room. "We're looking for some ideas for press."
Joy stared for a moment, then turned and walked over to the little group working on calendars.
Anne froze, pencil poised over the paper, caught up in a disconcerting feeling that she was staring at a little bubble of time.
"You know," Noah noted finally through the chills running down his back, "you're all looking at us." Huck looked up suddenly, lips parting a little bit, for an instant looking very much like his father. "Which briefing is that?" he continued, brushing one hand casually across his shirt.
"Uh..." Sam turned, breaking the moment, and lifted the case. "August 2001." She hit play, and her mother's stilled glare came alive again.
"This is an issue too important to be governed by an attempt to score points."
"So the White House doesn't have a position on this?" the reporter continued.
"That's not what I meant, Mark, and you know it," CJ returned sharply, nodding to another reporter. "Steve?"
"CJ, what's your position?" the other inquired, paper and pencil held ready.
"My position is that I serve at the pleasure of the President, Steve." Her voice was lower, less cutting, but was possessed of a force everyone in the room recognized, whether from CJ herself or from her daughters. Al caught the subtle way she straightened as she spoke, and sat up a little more herself.
"Regarding punishment for rape," Steve clarified. Anne flinched, and heard her grandfather's loud weeping again, from months after this briefing, when he could hardly look at her without shedding tears he didn't dare show in front of his staff, who had suffered so greatly. Noah and Huck shifted uneasily, the latter hugging Joy gently.
On the screen, CJ lifted her eyebrows and angled them almost dangerously. "I get the same level of justice as any other woman, Steve. Whether that's any justice at all is up to application of the current laws, which includes catching the attackers." They could see Carol, standing off to the side, stop writing and stare at her boss, astounded. "While it'd be nice to have a conviction for 100 percent of assaults, we all know that's not going to happen, because we have an imperfect system." The screen froze as Sam's finger jabbed out, and Al scribbled something down. Before she could start it again, Claudia got up awkwardly from under her pile of calendar boards and walked over, touching one hand to the screen lightly, where the elder CJ was frozen in a quick moment of running her fingers down her abdomen; just the change in the angle of her arm was visible, and would not have been at any other moment. The twins shivered and brushed their hair back in a nervous, identical gesture, and then the screen came to life again. "All we can do is go on, and try to ensure that the violent individuals don't win by changing our lives drastically. That's just as true for me as it is for the hypothetical Jane Doe; working for the President doesn't automatically mean things will change. That's all; I'll be back around dinnertime. Thank you, everybody." She turned and descended from the podium, Carol opening the door for her as a few reporters returned her thanks.
"What is it?" Anne inquired after a minute.
"We have an imperfect system," Al answered.
"Look what happened," Sam added.
"We've got it," Al continued. "We've got it. Just because it's an imperfect system is no reason to not try to make it the best we can; it's no reason to let it continue to be as or more imperfect. It's no reason to let the worst and shallowest part of ourselves win. It's a reason to challenge ourselves."
"I believe that, and so do your parents," Anne told her. "How are you going to make everyone else believe that?"
"Margaret Mead," Sam put in.
"The old staff's promise," Claudia said softly.
"Never doubt..." Noah started.
There was a quick knock, and the door swung open, revealing Josh, Toby, and Sam.
"...that a small and dedicated group of people can change the world," his father continued.
"Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has," Sam finished, gazing around the room. "I see you've all been quite productive while we've been busy downstairs."
Anne stood and turned to face him. "What's the word?"
Sam smiled gently as Josh grinned. "The word... the word is that we go forward, as our mentors and fathers taught us. They have given us the gift of years of advice, and now they give us the gift of confidence." He nodded at her expression of astonishment. "Decisions are made by those who show up, Josh, Toby, Anne, Sam, Al, Huck, Claudia, Joy, Noah, Joanie, Josiah. And so we will find those who will show up."
"And what about the rest?" Al asked.
"What do you think?" Josh responded.
"We'll invite them anyway."
"Exactly. It's their country too; it's past time everyone got invited to show up." Anne turned and looked down at the schedule, then picked up the rough issues calendar spreadsheet and held it up, suddenly grinning.
