Disclaimer: Not mine, Sorkin's. Well, except for Barbara Walters, but I
refuse to take credit for her, either.
Notes: I took a few, small creative liberties with the time line. I don't
feel I rubbed too heavily against the grain of continuity. I have long
since believed that our friends on the West Wing are the single most
emotionally repressed group of characters on television. It is from that
perspective that I wrote this story. The title comes from Sting's "Be Still
My Beating Heart".
Thanks to my newly found (and much appreciated) beta reader, Peggie, for
seeing that which I didn't. This story has been updated and beta read
through the first chapter.
-PRELUDE- (February 2003) -
"Hey, Josh." CJ Cregg stood in the doorway to the office of the Deputy Chief of Staff. "Do have a second?"
Josh Lyman was hanging up his overcoat after having just returned to his office. "Yeah, only a second, though. That meeting went about an hour longer than it should have." Josh was a flurry of motion as he situated himself behind his desk. With a loud "thud", he heaved his overstuffed backpack from the floor to his desk.
"You've only been gone," she said, looking at her watch, "an hour and fifteen minutes," she commented, quizzically.
"Yeah, you see my point?" There was an undercurrent of annoyance to his voice, but that didn't overshadow his buoyant mood.
CJ had always been fascinated by how, at any given time, Josh could radiate a spectrum of moods all at the same time. He was one of the least single- minded people she had ever known and, considering that he always had eight or nine issues demanding his immediate attention at any point during the day, his talent for mental divergence was an important contributing factor to his success.
"So, the meeting was a waste of time?" asked CJ.
"Totally. Stackhouse is off on a tangent."
"Oh, great," commented CJ, sarcastically. Howard Stackhouse was no political force and garnered little respect from his fellow members of the Senate, but the White House staff liked the old curmudgeon. It seemed, from time to time, he went out of his way to cause trouble for President Bartlet.
"He wants to re-establish the draft," explained Josh.
"Why?" asked CJ, amazed.
"Because there is only one member of the Senate who has a child in the military. There are only 18 senators and 43 congressmen who have ever served in the military," Josh rattled off the statistics he had, no doubt, just received from Stackhouse, "and only one member of the White House staff who has ever served in the military, and that doesn't count the commander-in-chief." As he spoke, he was rifling through his backpack, pulling out an improbable amount of material from it's interior.
"This is about the inaugural speech, isn't it?" Said CJ, rolling her eyes.
"No doubt. He's got a bug up his ass about our shift in foreign policy. If we're going to be sending kids off to war, he want rich kids going, too." Josh sighed as he continued to rummage through his bag. Out came several files, a notebook and a battered-beyond-recognition day planner.
CJ was becoming amused at Josh's rummaging, "You know," she teased, "I could give you pointers on organizing your purse there..."
Josh chuckled, "That wouldn't be manly, would it?" he asked. "Anyway, it's not a purse and to underline that point, purses are made of calf skin whereas this," he held up his backpack, "is made of masculine rip stop nylon and see," he pointed to the tag on the front, "it's made by a manly, outdoorsy sounding company named High Sierra, not Gucci."
"Does it come with matching pumps?" snickered CJ. She returned to the subject of Stackhouse, "So, he's just trying to make a point?" asked CJ.
"Yeah. He wants to make a point about how it would be easier for us to use the military if it's only poor kids and minorities going to fight and not a bunch of rich kids of senators," explained Josh, "He tried to tell me the draft levels the playing field."
"But he doesn't really want the draft to come back," stated CJ.
"No. He is being ironical," Josh sneered.
"But he has a point," countered CJ
"What is it?" asked Josh, "To make my life miserable? A-ha!" he exclaimed. Deep in his bag, he had found the object of his search. He pulled out his impossibly overstuffed and often misplaced wallet.
"Well, there's that and the fact that the US military is 28% black but the population of the United States is only 12% black and most people enlist in the Army and because for a lot of kids below the poverty line it's better than working at McDonalds for the rest of their lives."
"I know, I know, but still..." Josh knew Stackhouse was making an excellent point but he wished he wouldn't use the United States congress to do it. He was one of very few members of congress that Josh had ever encountered who did his job with nothing but altruistic intent and Josh respected him immensely for that. "He's still a pain in the ass and," he added, "this is going to get at least some media attention."
"Which is exactly what he wants," CJ observed, rolling her eyes.
"What did you need?" asked Josh.
"Hmm?"
"You came in here for something or was it just to harass me about my purse?" asked Josh.
Having been brought back to the topic of her visit to his office, CJ's posture changed slightly to one of slight apprehension. She came fully into his office and sat in the chair in front of his desk.
"Josh..." she hesitated.
"Oh, God, what did I do?" asked Josh, as he noticed the change in CJ's expression.
"No...no...nothing," she was stammering for words, which was always a warning sign that the usually acutely articulate press secretary had weighty (and often somber) information to deliver.
Josh's attention was now fully on CJ. His face was apprehensive. CJ hated that look. Having worked with Josh for five years, she had become adept at reading his expression. When he looked at her like this, she always thought he appeared more a kid than a hard nosed political strategist.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"I talked to David West this morning." She said.
"I have absolutely no idea who that is."
She told him, "He's the executive producer for '20/20'."
"And?" clearly, she didn't want to deliver this news. It made Josh nervous.
There was a long pause. CJ finally sighed deeply and said, "Carl Leroy is granting them an interview."
There was dead silence in the room. Josh's expression didn't change. The name CJ had spoken hung in the air almost tangibly. Josh blinked a few times but didn't move - didn't change expression.
"Okay," he finally said without inflection. He bowed his head for the briefest of instances than looked back at CJ. There was no flash of anger or fear in his expression. "Anything else? 'Cause I've got this pile of briefing memos I have to dig into before.you know." He waved his hand over the pile of folders he had removed from his back pack. "I've got, like, four meetings this afternoon." He flashed her a brief, dismissive smile.
She sat for a short interval until her observation of him became conspicuous. Josh looked up "Really, CJ. It's okay."
"It is?" she asked him, tipping her head slightly, betraying her skepticism. Josh knew she was anticipating more.
"Yeah," he said, betraying nothing. He started paging through a memo.
"Okay." She stood up. "I'll be around." she told him, reassuringly. She meant it in a way that would indicate that she would be there if he needed to talk. She wondered if he understood the nuance. She also knew better than to belabor the point with Josh. She walked out the door but not before glancing over the shoulder at the deputy chief-of-staff. He was deeply immersed in his reading.
As she left, she found herself taken aback by how calmly Josh had dismissed this news. After she had initially talked to the executive producer and he informed her of the interview, she was immediately apprehensive about how Josh would take it. She didn't think he'd take it as he had, but what did she expect? Did she expect him to get angry? Did she expect him to start throwing things? Did she expect him to break down? In retrospect, she didn't know. This nonchalant, unemotional response was not what she had expected at all. But, then again, often times, trying to predict Josh's reaction to various bits of information was like trying to predict the path of a drop of water dancing across a red-hot griddle. This calm, controlled reaction was chilling.
--Am I being over protective?-- she thought. A few years earlier, she had had the same thought. Everyone had seen Josh struggle. They had all seen signs, but kept quiet for too long.
-PRELUDE- (February 2003) -
"Hey, Josh." CJ Cregg stood in the doorway to the office of the Deputy Chief of Staff. "Do have a second?"
Josh Lyman was hanging up his overcoat after having just returned to his office. "Yeah, only a second, though. That meeting went about an hour longer than it should have." Josh was a flurry of motion as he situated himself behind his desk. With a loud "thud", he heaved his overstuffed backpack from the floor to his desk.
"You've only been gone," she said, looking at her watch, "an hour and fifteen minutes," she commented, quizzically.
"Yeah, you see my point?" There was an undercurrent of annoyance to his voice, but that didn't overshadow his buoyant mood.
CJ had always been fascinated by how, at any given time, Josh could radiate a spectrum of moods all at the same time. He was one of the least single- minded people she had ever known and, considering that he always had eight or nine issues demanding his immediate attention at any point during the day, his talent for mental divergence was an important contributing factor to his success.
"So, the meeting was a waste of time?" asked CJ.
"Totally. Stackhouse is off on a tangent."
"Oh, great," commented CJ, sarcastically. Howard Stackhouse was no political force and garnered little respect from his fellow members of the Senate, but the White House staff liked the old curmudgeon. It seemed, from time to time, he went out of his way to cause trouble for President Bartlet.
"He wants to re-establish the draft," explained Josh.
"Why?" asked CJ, amazed.
"Because there is only one member of the Senate who has a child in the military. There are only 18 senators and 43 congressmen who have ever served in the military," Josh rattled off the statistics he had, no doubt, just received from Stackhouse, "and only one member of the White House staff who has ever served in the military, and that doesn't count the commander-in-chief." As he spoke, he was rifling through his backpack, pulling out an improbable amount of material from it's interior.
"This is about the inaugural speech, isn't it?" Said CJ, rolling her eyes.
"No doubt. He's got a bug up his ass about our shift in foreign policy. If we're going to be sending kids off to war, he want rich kids going, too." Josh sighed as he continued to rummage through his bag. Out came several files, a notebook and a battered-beyond-recognition day planner.
CJ was becoming amused at Josh's rummaging, "You know," she teased, "I could give you pointers on organizing your purse there..."
Josh chuckled, "That wouldn't be manly, would it?" he asked. "Anyway, it's not a purse and to underline that point, purses are made of calf skin whereas this," he held up his backpack, "is made of masculine rip stop nylon and see," he pointed to the tag on the front, "it's made by a manly, outdoorsy sounding company named High Sierra, not Gucci."
"Does it come with matching pumps?" snickered CJ. She returned to the subject of Stackhouse, "So, he's just trying to make a point?" asked CJ.
"Yeah. He wants to make a point about how it would be easier for us to use the military if it's only poor kids and minorities going to fight and not a bunch of rich kids of senators," explained Josh, "He tried to tell me the draft levels the playing field."
"But he doesn't really want the draft to come back," stated CJ.
"No. He is being ironical," Josh sneered.
"But he has a point," countered CJ
"What is it?" asked Josh, "To make my life miserable? A-ha!" he exclaimed. Deep in his bag, he had found the object of his search. He pulled out his impossibly overstuffed and often misplaced wallet.
"Well, there's that and the fact that the US military is 28% black but the population of the United States is only 12% black and most people enlist in the Army and because for a lot of kids below the poverty line it's better than working at McDonalds for the rest of their lives."
"I know, I know, but still..." Josh knew Stackhouse was making an excellent point but he wished he wouldn't use the United States congress to do it. He was one of very few members of congress that Josh had ever encountered who did his job with nothing but altruistic intent and Josh respected him immensely for that. "He's still a pain in the ass and," he added, "this is going to get at least some media attention."
"Which is exactly what he wants," CJ observed, rolling her eyes.
"What did you need?" asked Josh.
"Hmm?"
"You came in here for something or was it just to harass me about my purse?" asked Josh.
Having been brought back to the topic of her visit to his office, CJ's posture changed slightly to one of slight apprehension. She came fully into his office and sat in the chair in front of his desk.
"Josh..." she hesitated.
"Oh, God, what did I do?" asked Josh, as he noticed the change in CJ's expression.
"No...no...nothing," she was stammering for words, which was always a warning sign that the usually acutely articulate press secretary had weighty (and often somber) information to deliver.
Josh's attention was now fully on CJ. His face was apprehensive. CJ hated that look. Having worked with Josh for five years, she had become adept at reading his expression. When he looked at her like this, she always thought he appeared more a kid than a hard nosed political strategist.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"I talked to David West this morning." She said.
"I have absolutely no idea who that is."
She told him, "He's the executive producer for '20/20'."
"And?" clearly, she didn't want to deliver this news. It made Josh nervous.
There was a long pause. CJ finally sighed deeply and said, "Carl Leroy is granting them an interview."
There was dead silence in the room. Josh's expression didn't change. The name CJ had spoken hung in the air almost tangibly. Josh blinked a few times but didn't move - didn't change expression.
"Okay," he finally said without inflection. He bowed his head for the briefest of instances than looked back at CJ. There was no flash of anger or fear in his expression. "Anything else? 'Cause I've got this pile of briefing memos I have to dig into before.you know." He waved his hand over the pile of folders he had removed from his back pack. "I've got, like, four meetings this afternoon." He flashed her a brief, dismissive smile.
She sat for a short interval until her observation of him became conspicuous. Josh looked up "Really, CJ. It's okay."
"It is?" she asked him, tipping her head slightly, betraying her skepticism. Josh knew she was anticipating more.
"Yeah," he said, betraying nothing. He started paging through a memo.
"Okay." She stood up. "I'll be around." she told him, reassuringly. She meant it in a way that would indicate that she would be there if he needed to talk. She wondered if he understood the nuance. She also knew better than to belabor the point with Josh. She walked out the door but not before glancing over the shoulder at the deputy chief-of-staff. He was deeply immersed in his reading.
As she left, she found herself taken aback by how calmly Josh had dismissed this news. After she had initially talked to the executive producer and he informed her of the interview, she was immediately apprehensive about how Josh would take it. She didn't think he'd take it as he had, but what did she expect? Did she expect him to get angry? Did she expect him to start throwing things? Did she expect him to break down? In retrospect, she didn't know. This nonchalant, unemotional response was not what she had expected at all. But, then again, often times, trying to predict Josh's reaction to various bits of information was like trying to predict the path of a drop of water dancing across a red-hot griddle. This calm, controlled reaction was chilling.
--Am I being over protective?-- she thought. A few years earlier, she had had the same thought. Everyone had seen Josh struggle. They had all seen signs, but kept quiet for too long.