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eloriekamWithout further ado, I bring you code names, promises, and something impossible.
"This is damned unusual, you know."
"I know."
"Some might say there's a conflict of interest."
"They're welcome to think that."
"It could put them in an awkward position at some point."
"We did this as a team. A team got me elected, got Andrea elected."
"Yeah. I'm just saying..."
"Josh."
"Yes, sir?"
"Don't call me that."
"You're going to be sworn in as President in the next few weeks; what else would I call you?"
The President-Elect muttered something under his breath, then continued. "I need your okay on this."
"Staff?"
"Yes."
"They're crazy enough to do it."
"Josh..."
"My only question is whether they serve at the pleasure of the President, or at the pleasure of the Vice-President."
"Me, of course."
Josh snorted. "The Vice President-Elect would say it's her."
"Could we be serious here?"
"We made it back!" his friend exclaimed.
"We did, and I'd like to stay here, so..."
Josh stood. "The staff is good. I'll finish up the other appointments."
"Thank you, Josh."
"Thank you, sir."
"I wish that didn't have to change," Sam sighed after the door had closed behind his friend.
"Toby? I'd like for you to come write for me."
He turned to face the speaker, who met his gaze steadily, standing erect and elegant, eyes undimmed and indeed anticipatory. Almost absently, he leaned on the arm of a nearby chair and crossed one ankle over the other, considering.
One hand brushed over nearly wholly silvered hair before he replied. "Former White House Communications Directors don't become speechwriters for the First Lady."
"Are you afraid of writing about flowers and fashion all the time?" she challenged.
"It just doesn't happen," he persisted, only half looking at her.
"It's happening now." Mallory stepped up to him, tilting her head and fixing determined eyes on his. "Toby, I know you wrote Sam's first two speeches a long time ago, almost ten years ago. We had to change the words to fit the year, but there... I know you don't want to work for him, I know you can't work for Andrea. My issues are going to be drowned out by my husband taking a walk, Toby; Abbey's told me that a thousand times. But I think you can help me make sure that the people who are actually there, listening to me speak, will be listening and when I'm done, they'll believe it."
"And maybe your biggest event of the year won't be completely drowned out if he sneezes?" he asked, almost teasing.
"I have high hopes in that regard, Mr. Ziegler."
"I'm not sure," he admitted slowly, fingers linking and unlinking, rubbing gently, "that I can... that I can tone myself down."
"I don't want you to tone yourself down, Toby. I need the undiluted Toby Ziegler, because otherwise this isn't going to work."
"Well..." He laughed a little. "What do you need written first?"
"Nothing about flowers or fashion, I can assure you. Well, maybe a little fashion."
"Mallory."
"Hey," she objected, eyebrows going up.
"Ma'am," he sighed. "A little fashion?"
"Maybe just a little," she admitted, holding thumb and forefinger up.
"I suppose I could do that. So what is it?"
She told him.
He was up for two nights writing it. A First Lady's First One Hundred Days demanded no less.
"So I lied." He said this lightly, then surveyed the room. Less than half the occupants were comfortable enough to smile, let alone chuckle. "Not the best start to my term, I realize."
"Yes, sir," some chorused, mostly the unsmiling ones. The President-Elect sighed a little.
"We're all here together because this is the time Andrea and Mallory and I have chosen to appoint our staffs, and I must tell you there is some overlap." A few people nodded in understanding; most of them just looked confused. He forgot, sometimes, how young some of them were, that they had never worked nationally, that some had lost hope, and this was still sinking in.
They were going to work in the White House; some in the West Wing, some in the East Wing, some near the Oval, some on the second floor, some in a closet in the basement.
"Joshua Lyman." Automatically, Josh buttoned his suit jacket as he stepped forward, meeting the eyes of his best friend with a brilliant and restrained smile that was in his eyes more than anywhere else. "You know why you're here?"
The dimples suddenly broke out, and Josh nearly threw back his head and laughed. "Because I know what's impossible, and I do it anyway."
"I'll have to take you up on that sometime." He regarded the other man with deep affection, suddenly thinking of Josh's bad poker face in New York, right before they hopped onto Jed's campaign. "Joshua Lyman, I designate you to the post of White House Chief of Staff, with all the power, rights, and privileges therein. Do you accept?"
Josh stood utterly still, lips a little parted, eyes almost unreadable. He started to lift one hand to run it through his hair, then stopped, and gazed at Sam for a timeless moment, as though taking his measure, or realizing what had truly been accomplished. Sam simply surveyed him, expression understanding, remembering that winning the election had made this man weep. Finally, Josh straightened fully. "I serve at the pleasure of the President of the United States."
"Then it is done on this day and in this place." They stepped forward at the same time, and the handshake turned into a hug.
"Thank you, Mr. President," Josh said as he stepped back again. A simple nod answered him, and the President-Elect smiled in real pleasure and no little mischief as he picked up the next leather folder and gave it to his wife.
Oh, the country was in for an unimaginable four years, full of beauty and possibility, that of hearts and minds.
"Amelia Gardner," the First Lady-to-be's voice rang across the room. "I place now confidence in your ability, integrity, and good sense, and I appoint you Chief of Staff to the First Lady of the United States. I do affirm it on this day, at this place."
"Yes, ma'am." Amy stepped forward, no little surprise on her features.
"Unlike my husband, I'm not going to give you a chance to say no," Mallory advised. Amy just smiled, that expression which was twinkling and competitive at the same time.
"I serve at the pleasure of the First Lady, ma'am." Her departure from the WLC could be organized later. They'd had her a long time; they'd understand.
The handshake cemented something real, as though they'd vowed together that something important would change in the next four years; it was an almost invisible promise as they locked gazes for a moment, but utterly real.
"Good luck," the President-Elect told Amy.
"Thank you, sir," she replied, and might have winked. He almost shook his head, and gave a folder to his running mate. She opened it briefly, as though to verify that she was actually doing this, and snapped it shut, nodding. Wyatt's gaze swept around the room sharply, coming to rest on the individual who would be her Chief of Staff in a few moments.
"Donnatella Moss, with your consent I hereby appoint you as Chief of Staff to the Vice President of the United States." She shivered, and saw it reflected in Donna's eyes; it was the first time she'd said her new title aloud.
The younger woman stepped forward, her hand brushing her husband's arm. "Ma'am."
"I authorize you to execute and fulfill the duties of that office, and take on the rights, responsibilities, power, and privileges therein. I do so on this day, having confidence in your ability and integrity to execute said duties."
"Madam Vice President," Donna acknowledged, stepping forward again to take the heavy folder, fingers trembling a little. "Thank you. I will serve at the pleasure of the Vice President." Unless and until my actions, spouse, or history become a liability to you, she added to herself, wondering if the other woman heard it from the slight lilt at the end of the sentence.
"My turn again," he interceded, and the two stepped away from each other, Donna bobbing her head a little and looking oddly shocked, as though the years between the Bartlet administration and this one had never passed and she was still Josh's assistant. "Anne Katherine Westin, what promise do you bring?"
Anne straightened, though her face was a little paler that it had been a minute ago. "An imperfect system is no reason to not challenge ourselves, sir."
"And what do you promise?"
"To rise to the challenge."
"There you go." He opened the folder and smiled at her. "Having trust in your integrity, prudence, and ability, I designate you White House Deputy Chief of Staff..."
Had it been less solemn an occasion, Anne might have elbowed Josh at this. Instead, she stared in amazement, almost unable to move, even when the President came right up to her and almost poked her in the shoulder with the folder that was now hers.
"Carol Fitzpatrick, White House Director of Communications and Special Counsel to the President..." He smiled gently, as Carol tried to hide that she was the first one to cry, if only a little.
"Toby Ziegler, Communications Director and Counsel to the First Lady." Andrea Wyatt rotated at this, lifting one eyebrow; of all those present, Toby's appointment had been settled last, and none of them had expected he would work in an administration again.
"Elsie Snuffin, Vice Presidential Communications Director." Elsie glowed, shooting Will a look that might have been gratitude.
"Rich Merriweather, I appoint you Public Relations Counsel to the office of the President-"
"-and the First Lady of the United States," his wife finished swiftly. After they both affirmed it, she gave it to Rich, who slid his fingers into the folder and then straightened even more in astonishment. There was one certificate to hang in his office--an office in the White House??--and there was one in Braille, the Seal raised so his fingers could trace over it.
"I serve at the pleasure of the President and the First Lady," he affirmed, smiling. She kissed him gently on the cheek, and the President shook his hand.
"Michaela Lakestar... Deputy Director of Communications for the President and Vice President..." His smile was warm, his eyes proud.
"Justin Dugnan... special trust... Deputy Director of Communications for the President and Vice President..." Her gaze was direct, affirming that trust, that they could both write for two people.
"Lisa Pumakin, I do designate you White House Press Secretary, with all the powers and privileges..." She hardly heard the rest of it, stepping forwardly almost numbly.
"Thank you, sir. I... I serve at the pleasure of the President of the United States." And tomorrow, I'll wake up and this will be a mistake and he'll realize how crazy this is, and get someone else to do this job that isn't slightly ridiculous and crazy.
Justin laid a reassuring hand on Marcus' shoulder, although the younger man's expression indicated he felt fortunate and proud to still be standing here, to know these people and to have worked with them, even for so short a time. "Remember, everyone with the campaign will be taken care of," he reminded, as the First Lady held the last folder and looked around the room.
"Leandra Hudson," and the younger woman gasped and held her hands to her mouth, hardly daring to believe. Eleven years ago, she had met Toby Ziegler and Sam Cregg through Galileo Foundation, and now... Press Secretary to the First Lady, could she possibly have heard right?
They wisely waited a few moments, but not too long, for their staffs, now official, to gaze at the certificates and gape in astonishment and start teasing each other. The President-Elect cleared his throat a bit and nodded at Josh.
"All right, everybody. Go do a thing," came the direction.
"Go," Donna confirmed.
Amy actually waved her hands a bit. "Go, do a job..."
"How long do you think the adrenaline high will last them?" Andrea murmured to Sam after the staffs had left.
"I don't know, but I hope it's gone before Inauguration Day."
"That should be enough time."
"You'd think so, but with this group, it's hard to tell. But," he conceded, "they'll need that later."
"Why do I have to do this?" Justin demanded of Josh.
"Because you're the only member of the senior staff who can be objective and is qualified to do the interviews."
"For the President's body man?"
"Or two of them. Or a young woman. Or two young women. Or a man and a woman."
"How many qualified applicants are there?"
"A lot," the older man admitted.
"How do I--"
"Gut instinct. Get the right person, or people, for the job. Take it to me or the President."
"Right."
Only now, during the interviews, did Justin understand Josh's previously cryptic statement.
"You've got good grades," he admitted, glancing through paperwork.
"Thank you, sir."
"Why weren't you in school full time last semester?"
"We were helping with Seaborn for America, Mr. Dugnan."
"A worthy endeavor, to be sure," he agreed, looking up from the papers. "Are you applying together, or-"
"We come as a team," Abigail asserted.
"It's really too much for one person," Samantha noted. "In our opinion, that is."
"And how did you form this opinion?" he asked, mouth quirking.
"We saw Charles Young when he was President Bartlet's body man; he was often here later than the senior staff. He also told us about it later, so we have an extensive knowledge of the position."
"I see."
"We're aware this is rather unusual, but we're both of the opinion that at the least this will help President Seaborn in the transition period."
"Also a valid reason for applying." He studied them closely, noting the seriousness in their eyes. Most of the other applicants were doing it for their resume or because it was the President or just because they could; these two were doing it to help. They'd made that abundantly clear.
Hell, though, he wasn't sure there was anyone working for the President right now who had adequate objectivity for this. These were, after all, the Cregg twins, celebrities enough in their own right to be eligible for a protection detail.
What was it about them that made them go to politics, try achieve something in the same backstabbing, complex field that had strained their mother past humanity? Why did they want to work in the building where she'd died... yet also plotted out an arc of strategy and possibility that had led to this?
"You understand there are certain complexities in working under 18," he advised.
"Yes, sir," Al replied, mouth twitching a little. He could read the meaning of it all too clearly, that they knew and probably already had most of the paperwork filled out.
"There was no one else that stood out enough," he told Josh later.
"And made a good argument for having the job?"
"That too."
"Okay. I'll take this to the President, but I'm pretty sure we've got ourselves two personal aides. Thanks for doing this, Justin."
"I wasn't objective enough."
"Out of a field of a dozen subjective perspectives, you were the most objective."
"Is that good enough?"
"It'd better be, because I don't want to have to deal with a thing because you couldn't say no to the Cregg twins."
"It's good enough, then." Watching Josh go out, Justin wonders if that was what this was supposed to be; that he needed to not be objective, but reach a good conclusion anyway.
"My favorite meeting!"
"No..."
"It's really his favorite meeting."
"We get to find out our code names."
"I don't want to know."
"Well, are you going to say no to the Secret Service?"
"I understand why they're there, but this is still so weird."
"Wait until we're actually in the White House."
"Go outside, turn around three times..."
"It's okay to say it now. We actually won."
"Damn. I was hoping..."
A laugh. "You never got to tell anyone to do that during the campaign, did you?"
"Nope," wistfully. "Someone else always got there first."
"I can see how that would be frustrating."
"All right." The man who entered looked quite ordinary, except for the way the air about him seemed to change. "Mr. President, with your permission?"
"I don't think you need it, Bill, but of course."
They'd all been cleared three different ways before coming to this meeting, and undergone an additional check at the door by two agents, so there was no hesitation in William Niell's voice. Not that there ever was, really, so far as any of them could tell.
"President Seaborn: Liberty. First Lady Seaborn: Equality."
Smiles chased around the room, and the President took his wife's hand, linking their fingers together. A small laugh bubbled up, and she shot Niell a look of apology.
"Vice President Wyatt: Freedom." She wasn't there, but they could all hear her protest that the only possible code name was 'Maryland', which was, of course, why it hadn't been chosen.
"Mr. Lyman: Kingmaker. Ms. Moss: Prudence." The couple elbowed each other, missing a couple of names in the chief's recital.
"Ms. Fitzpatrick: Recourse. Ms. Lakestar: Tucson. Mr. Dugnan: Albany."
"Are you all right?" Mike questioned Justin. He coughed again, then laughed sharply.
"Yeah. I just think that's funny."
"Hello," the President-Elect interrupted.
"Ms. Pumakin: Honor. Mr. Merriweather: Hawkeye." Rich guffawed, then burst into full gales of laughter.
"Does the name suit, Mr. Merriweather?" Niell asked after Rich had calmed down to chuckles.
"Yes, sir; it's fine. I didn't think it was going to get picked, that's all."
"Very well." He glanced at his list, then back up. "The code names for the First Children will be announced just prior to inauguration; they'll continue to use their current code names until then. That leaves the Cregg and Wyatt twins, sir."
"Please," came the consent.
"Mr. Wyatt is Costello, and Ms. Wyatt is Abbott." Claudia covered her mouth with one hand, while Huck squeezed his eyes shut, trying to suppress a smile.
"Mr. Niell?"
"Mr. Ziegler?"
"Please tell me those names will never be accessible to the public."
"Not for at least fifteen years, sir, possibly longer."
"Fifty years would be better, but thank you."
"Our pleasure, sir." He settled his eyes on the Creggs, and Seaborn tightened his hand into a fist momentarily, out of sight, then relaxed it again, his own gaze focused on them.
"Ms. Samantha Cregg, you are Egret. Ms. Abigail Cregg, you are Flamingo. That will be all for now." Nodding, the Secret Service man picked up his few materials and exited.
"We're birds?"
"You're your mom," Josh said softly. "You knew about this, sir?"
"Yeah." He leaned forward. "If you absolutely don't want those code names, Sam and Al, we can probably get them changed."
Al looked over at him with a brilliant, unexpected smile. "Thank you, sir. I don't mind being a ridiculous-looking bird."
"I don't mind being the other ridiculous-looking bird," Sam agreed.
"Very well."
"What are you?" Josh asked Anne.
"You shouldn't have been talking with Donna," she retorted.
"Yeah, whatever."
"I'm Holyoke."
"I thought you went to the other place."
"The unpronounceable one. Yeah, I don't know why the Secret Service didn't want to name me Bryn Mawr, Josh. Half the people that go there can't say it."
"I still can't believe you went to a girls-only school."
"I got my undergraduate from there, Josh, I didn't take all my credits there."
"All right, all right."
"We would have gladly found a spot for you. You know that, right?"
Will looked up from his desk, which was almost empty, to meet Carol's eyes. "I know," he replied, moving to pick up his scarf and gloves. "I had two reasons, well, sort of three reasons..."
"Elsie can still drive you crazy?" she asked slyly.
"That was the sort of reason," he admitted. "The insurance bill runs out later this year, Carol. I may not have enough time to gear up for the fight to keep those provisions as it is."
"You'll have help from the White House this time," she reminded him. "And by the time it comes to a vote... well."
"Don't jinx it," he cautioned with a faint smile. She grinned back at him. "That's the other reason; I don't want the White House any more linked with the health care lobby than it already is. You're already walking the fine line between it being an advantage and becoming a liability. And I would not create a liability for the President."
"We know," she told him. "Galileo, Will. Best of luck."
"Good luck to you, too," he answered. She smiled, an intense and anticipatory expression.
"You'll still be watching, right?"
"I've seen enough of the First One Hundred Days for the President to know that I wouldn't miss it for anything."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
"Don't miss the State of the Union."
"What's the Inaugural, an after-dinner speech?"
"I'm just going to have Toby stab you with a fork now," she laughed. "Don't miss that, either."
"Is anything still going to be in the same place in four years?"
"All the right things."
"You hope."
"Did I tell you about the old lady?"
"What old lady?"
"She came in... oh, right after we moved to the transition offices. She was a volunteer, actually. She stepped in and asked where the President was. Anne told her he wasn't there."
"I don't think they ever are."
"Yeah. Anyway, she looked about 75, 80 years old, and she looked right at Anne, and you could... you could just see that she was remembering something. Finally, she straightened up and said to Anne, 'They only make the minds of politicians like that once every fifty years, my girl. Fifty years. I saw the last one. He didn't get to do anything, and we lost. We lost. You tell him to do what Bobby didn't get a chance to do. You tell him to change it.' And then she turned around and left, but she looked like she'd said something she needed to say."
"She must have been in college or just graduated when he was assassinated," Will mused.
"Yeah." Carol linked her hands together. "Anyway... I don't know why I told you that."
"It's probably because I asked about moving everything."
"I wonder if she's right about the fifty-year thing?" she mused.
"She was right about those fifty years, unfortunately. Hopefully there will always be someone like that, the kind of person who's willing to speak from their heart."
"You don't think Jed was that kind of person?"
"No. Was he the best at it at that time? Absolutely; there's no question about that. But he was already a grandfather when he entered office; he just didn't look young enough."
"Yeah." Carol looked thoughtful. "I'll probably see you sometime this year, Will."
"You too. Good luck keeping everyone in line."
"Don't remind me!" she exclaimed with a slight roll of the eyes.
"Oh, wow." Justin entered the lobby and stopped short in awe, speechless.
"God, it's..." Lisa couldn't manage a sentence, either, though she tried. "Too beautiful."
"Rich?" Carol inquired.
"It feels... big."
"There's a high ceiling, and somehow or another, they've kept most of the lobby space that was here twenty years ago. If you move a little to your left, you can stand on the Seal that's there." He shuffled over, extending his feet gently to tap the design.
"I wish I could see the looks on your faces right now."
"Well, mine probably isn't so amazing, but everyone else? Yeah, I wish you could too."
"Excuse me--whoa." Anne stopped and almost set her briefcase down. "I think it got bigger since the last time I was here. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"
"Usually. Let's get out of the way before the security guards tell us we're a hazard, okay?"
"I think we're a hazard by default..."
"Shh! Justin!"
"Sorry."
"You are not."
"I'm on the Inauguration high."
"He hasn't been inaugurated yet."
"It's the pre-high. Or something."
"Where's Josh?"
"Getting a security briefing, I think. Here we go..."
"Hell, some places this would be a closet!"
"It's the White House!"
"You look good in there."
"Thanks." Justin smirked at the speaker.
"I'm not having an office next to yours. Am I?" Lisa tried to confirm, turning to Carol.
"We'll do our best," the other woman returned, heading out of the bullpen. "They turned this place upside down when they remodeled it!" they could hear her exclaim a few seconds later.
"What?"
"Didn't the bullpen used to be, you know..."
"Twenty feet that way? Yeah. It's amazing how much that throws me off." Carol strode off down the hallway. "Nobody steal my office."
"Which one?"
"The bigger one!"
"Are you finding my office?" Lisa shouted after her.
"You just shouted in the White House," Mike noted, eyes uncharacteristically huge and voice just as oddly hushed.
"She's not the first one," Anne noted dryly.
"That's true, I suppose, but couldn't she have waited until after Inauguration?"
"I guess not." The Deputy Chief of Staff shifted her briefcase from one hand to the other. "I'm going to go find an office. I'll meet up with you later. Try not to get lost!"
"Is this far enough away?" Carol asked Lisa, opening a door. The Press Secretary stuck her head inside.
"Sure. It looks nice."
"It's a West Wing office. They all look nice the first few weeks, before reality sets in," the Communications Director advised. Lisa laughed.
"Yeah, I suppose, but right now..." she almost clasped her hands together. "Can I put stuff on the desk and all of that?"
"Sure." Carol surveyed her for a moment, considering. "Lisa."
"Yes?" Responding to the tone, the younger woman looked up from her inventory of the desk and its drawers.
"You know you're going to get asked if you have CJ Cregg's old office, and, uh, and so forth, right?"
"I... hadn't thought about it." Lisa's fingers skated over the smooth wood.
"You're not in the old office." Carol swallowed. "It's... I haven't checked yet, but I think it's actually the office Anne's taking; it's in the right part of the building, and... it just looks like it."
"You want me to dodge the question, or say Anne has it?"
"If she really does, absolutely you can say that. Aside from that... staffers choose offices more or less at random." A smile might have twitched at Carol's mouth then, but she wasn't sure. "Also, has Josh talked to you?"
"About what?"
"No, then." She sighed. "The President?"
"No. What's going on?"
"Men." Carol lifted her hands in not entirely mock despair. "Forgetful, all of them... well, mostly. I think you're good on any briefing questions relating to you having CJ's job; you've been getting some for about a month now. We can go over a few things if you want, though. But the real thing is this. Don't be CJ."
"How do you mean?"
"Don't lose yourself in the job, and ask... for the love of God, Lisa, ask for help if you need it, or if something's wrong. Don't take on the burdens of the first line of defense alone."
"That's my job."
"Doing it alone isn't." Carol's eyes sharpened. "I was hoping one of them would remember to say this to you, but I wanted it covered before Inauguration. If you get threats, say something. Certain mail goes to the Secret Service. You can bring Dani in if it's nasty. You do have to stand up behind that podium by yourself, but that is the only time you're alone. You can't be CJ, because we can't shatter like that again."
Lisa's voice was muted, almost teary. "I understand."
"Now go find that legendary flak jacket." Carol's voice was brisk now. "I'll be... oh, probably doing damage control already, if anyone needs me."
"Carol, I, uh, I know that sometimes the Press Secretary has to jump in front of a story."
"Yeah."
"Can I do that?"
"Don't do it without telling us. If you try to do this alone, we'll bother you about it endlessly."
"All right..."
"Just... don't be CJ," Carol said again.
"I serve at the pleasure of the President," Lisa noted softly.
"Yeah." Carol took a deep breath. "Keep his welfare and yours straight. I've got to go do a thing."
"Right." After she left, Lisa sat down in the chair, feeling oddly overwhelmed. How could she ever, possibly, step into the shoes of a woman whose ghost still hovered over every former Bartlet staffer, even if the specter of failing her no longer haunted them?
"He said if you didn't like it, you could wear the other one." Donna tapped on the door.
"Sorry, Aunt Donna. We're fine. Just give us a minute." Sam's voice was laden with a myriad of emotions.
"Are they almost ready?" Josh appeared, fiddling with one cuff.
"I think so," Donna responded doubtfully, turning away from the door to face her husband. "You look good."
"Aren't I supposed to be saying that to you?" he returned lightly, dimpling. She laughed, the delicate sound ringing down the hallway of the Residence.
"Flatterer. After all these years, you should know I don't care how I look..."
"I'd never guess it today," he told her, eyes resting on her dress and recalling the suit she'd worn earlier, for the Inaugural ceremony.
Inauguration. CoS to POTUS. CoS to VPOTUS. He shivered and felt himself start to grin again.
"Uh-oh," Donna noted. "You're thinking about someone's job title again, aren't you?"
"Chief of Staff," he replied, feeling almost dazed again. "This is... going to be the real thing, Donna, I swear."
"I know," she replied, smiling back.
'... I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and I will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.'
'... I took an oath just a few minutes ago to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution. I now give you another oath, though my hand is not now on the Bible or any other good book: I will, to the best of my ability, with full measure, to the limits of my capacity, preserve, protect, and defend the people of the United States, for the Constitution is nothing without the people and the people are nothing without the Constitution...'
"Are we ready?" the President asked, coming around the corner with the First Lady on his arm.
"Almost, sir," Josh answered, turning to face him. In the rush of this January day, it had simply been easier for them to skip the step of going home, changing for the Inaugural Balls, and then coming back to the White House. "Nice dress, ma'am."
"Good man," Seaborn approved. "Your priorities are in order, Josh."
"I just reminded him," Donna interjected.
"And I hadn't forgotten yet!"
"And I was going to say you looked so good in your tux, Joshua. Stop now, while you're only a little behind."
"I do look good in my tux."
"Yes..."
"What are they wearing?" the First Lady inquired, glancing toward the door.
"Toby brought it over, ma'am. He wouldn't let anyone else see it." The First Couple raised thoughtful eyebrows at this.
"Donna, you don't have to call me ma'am all the time."
"Yes, ma'am."
"That's exactly what I mean. What say you to calling me Mallory when we're in the Residence?"
"Sounds good, ma--Mal."
"You both look wonderful, Joy and Zach," Josh complimented after a moment.
"Thank you, Uncle Josh," Joy answered, wiggling her toes a little bit.
"Thanks," Zach replied, glancing up at Josh from under dark brows as he tugged at his own tuxedo.
"Remember, Zach," his father advised the nine-year-old gently, "you don't have to come to all of the balls. And make sure you can always see one of your agents, okay?"
"I understand."
"Joy," her mother admonished, "will you-"
"I'll be good, Mom. I promise not to climb up any pillars or slide down the balustrades. Well," she added with a smile that looked familiar to all of them, "unless the other kids are already doing it."
"Please don't give our kids any ideas," Josh groaned. "Joann's already come close to breaking half the things in my office, feeling them."
"That's funny," Donna noted. "I don't have that problem with Josiah."
"That's because Josiah knows the meaning of 'serious work place'."
"Are you insulting your own daughter, Mr. Lyman?"
"Careful," the President recommended.
"I concede," Josh declared, holding his hands up. "I'm conceding whatever it is I'm supposed to be conceding."
"Just not the important things, right?" his best friend of over two decades inquired. Blue met brown and lit up.
'... there is no courage more valuable than asking the question. There is no quality more precious to humanity than curiosity ... The cornerstone of my campaign, of my Presidency, has been the acknowledgment that we have an imperfect system, and the promise that having an imperfect system is no reason not to try, and try harder.... I cannot promise happiness to all of you, or to any of you; I can promise you shall have the best chance to choose your own, to see the possibilities of others' happiness.... I declare this, ladies and gentlemen: 'I am a free American.' I tell this to you: 'You are a free American.' If you believe in freedom in your heart, you are American, and no one has the right to tell you you're unpatriotic or unAmerican. The freedom of diversity is what makes this country precious, and I will defend that...'
"Never the important things," Josh answered softly.
"Sorry," Sam said, opening the door. "These dresses are a bit... Uncle Toby didn't tell us about the style."
"Is the thing zipped?" Al asked her sister, who lifted her eyes up and squeezed them shut in mock annoyance.
"I told you it's fine." The twins took each other by the hand and stepped out.
For Josh, Donna, and the President, time hung suspended, soft breath and utterly motionless.
"Oh, Al, you're pretty!" Zach exclaimed. She smiled at him, just a little shyly for her.
"Where did Toby find those dresses?" the First Lady asked, when it became clear her husband and his best friend and his wife were still bereft of speech.
Sam lifted one hand to her curled hair, nudging a lock back over her shoulder. "Uncle Toby had them in his apartment, I think." An eyebrow went up in response.
"I never thought of Toby Ziegler as a..." words failed her. So like.
"Keeper of dresses?" her husband murmured.
"That, too."
"Uncle Sam?" they inquired, almost together.
"You look wonderful, girls."
"Josh," Donna hissed.
"Yeah?"
"We're ready now."
"Are those really-"
"Yes."
Josh surveyed the two. "If it wouldn't create a news cycle we couldn't get out of, I'd be escorting you into the ballroom," he told them.
"You'd have to wait behind me," the President advised softly.
"With pleasure, sir."
"Aunt Donna..." Al half-begged, turning her slim shoulders a bit.
"I fixed it," her sister protested.
"I'll look," Donna promised, stepping up and circling Al. "Everything looks fine. On both of you."
"Thanks." They clasped hands again. Sam's eyes looked almost gray now, reflecting the long column of silk. Untwining the wrap, she pulled out a pair of long gloves and slipped them on, wriggling her fingers. Uncle Toby had said he wouldn't mind if she didn't wear those, since the dress for Al didn't have a pair and gloves were usually worn by women a little bit older, if they were worn at all these days. Al's dress was cut low, the top embroidered and the skirt and wrap a perfect royal blue.
"I hope Uncle Toby knows what he's doing," Al muttered.
"Me too," Sam whispered back. "He said he'd been holding onto them for a long time."
"Seventeen years, from everyone's expressions."
"I hope this doesn't cause a news cycle."
"It won't."
"We're the President's personal aides."
"Yes, and we're also in a weird legal arrangement with the President, the First Lady, the White House Chief of Staff, the Vice President's Chief of Staff, and the First Lady's Communications Director known as 'technically our parents', so we've got the right to be here about twelve different ways." A mischievous pause. "Besides, I think Lisa would appreciate having to answer a personal question that isn't about her."
"The White House does not comment on the personal lives of its staff, oh, and while you're at it, shove your question up your ass." They giggled a bit. Donna turned her head, still striding forward on Josh's arm.
"Samantha!"
"Sorry."
"I don't believe you."
"It's the mental image, Aunt Donna. I know not to say anything like that where I'm heard."
"Yeah, all right, it was funny. But don't do it again."
"Thanks. And I won't."
"I won't either," Al said as soon as Donna's gaze shifted to her.
"You're riding with us," she said with a smile before she turned forward again.
"Okay."
As they reached the entrance to the ballroom, the President sighed and stopped, turning his gaze into the distance, for something none of them could see.
"Sam?" Mallory asked.
"Yeah."
"We're waiting for you."
"Yeah."
"Are you all right, sir?" Josh wanted to know. Seaborn drew his gaze back from wherever it was and turned around, eyes going to the young women following him: daughters, nieces, personal aides.
"I feel compelled to warn the two of you that Carol is likely to be quite shocked. Try to keep her from killing Toby, will you? And if Danny's here, Sam, he's going to want a dance with you."
"Yes, sir," came the response.
"I'd be happy to oblige him," Sam followed up.
"All right. Let's go." He turned and straightened, stepping forward into the crowd that was already present, a glittering mass of human movement.
Josh hesitated briefly, touching his wife's arm. "Look at that..."
"I'm looking. And I want to dance with you." Donna's voice was a little tart, but her eyes held a depth of admiration and loyalty.
"We serve at the pleasure of the President..." he murmured, setting one foot forward steadily.
"Or the Vice President," she retorted gently, but that phrase had caught them both in the same fresh memory.
'Each member of my staff has declared they serve at the pleasure of the President. That's an old promise, a true vow given by a President's most trusted advisors. There is another promise, one that has not been made as often as it should have been, which I make now. I am your advisor, and you, all of you, are mine. And so, I declare this, on this day and in this place: I serve at the pleasure of the People of the United States of America.'
