This story has 15 chapters, alternating POVs as the plot moves along. Hopefully, I have included a little something for everyone. Ratings vary with chapters, but at least one chapter is R.

Bounds of Freedom

A West Wing Story

by MAHC

"And statesmen at her council met

Who knew the seasons, when to take

Occasion by the hand, and make

The bounds of freedom wider yet."

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

To the Queen

Chapter One – Tempting Fate

POV: C.J.

Spoilers: "Arctic Radar;" "The U.S. Poet Laureate"

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Not mine, but I'd like to get hold of them.

The White House

Wednesday 11:45 a.m. EDT

Despite being an intellectual giant, and certainly a moral one, Jed Bartlet, at 5' 8" had never towered over anyone physically, not even Abbey. But he came pretty close in that land of diminutive people, standing a half foot to a foot taller than almost every single person he met. C.J. Cregg, Press Secretary, watched the day-old replay of the American leader's heralded arrival to this last real bastion of communism and thought self-consciously that maybe it had been wise to leave her behind. She would have looked like some bizarre Amazon woman to these petite humans.

The news channels jostled for footage of the well-tailored American President and his striking First Lady as they graciously accepted the generosity of their hosts. Indeed, the First Couple looked rather like royalty, a rich and colorful splash of personality amid a dreary sea of monotonously gray suits.

A good look, she decided, ignoring the ethnocentrism of her thoughts. Physical stature and appearance certainly didn't guarantee power, but an amazingly large number of people in the world connected them. If Jed Bartlet looked stronger and more interesting than his Far Eastern counterparts, America looked stronger and more interesting. Besides, she couldn't have very well told him to put a lid on his charisma – even if she had wanted to. And they all carried the deep hope that that very charisma that had won him the presidency of the most powerful nation in the world, could influence the leaders of the largest nation in the world to move toward the opportunities of freedom for their people. Not since Nixon's trip in '72 had both countries brought such optimism and possibilities to each other. This could be a world-changing event.

But for the moment, kicked back in her office 36 hours into what was shaping up to be a PR boon, if nothing else, she was satisfied merely with the excellent publicity that a smiling and handsome First Couple presented as they strode down the traditional red carpet rolled out for them on the airport tarmac. She grinned at the television, unable to suppress a swell of pride at the center of her chest for her President and her country.

"Hey!"

With only a slight turn of her head, she noted that Josh Lyman stood braced in her doorway, the Red Skelton grin on his face, lanky body angled against the wood.

"Hey," she answered, clicking the sound on her TV to mute. "What's up?"

He sighed and gestured vaguely toward the screen. "Well, you know, with the President and Leo both gone, I'm having to deal with the intricacies and complications of the American government. It all falls on me. That's right – Joshua Lyman is in charge."

Turning back to the television, she observed, "Nothing, huh?"

Chest and shoulders slumping, he tossed himself into the chair by her door. "Notta. China's the news. No one's interested in anything else." He sounded almost disappointed that things were calm.

For a few minutes they watched the screen flip from anchor to recorded shot back to anchor, and then to more recent footage from earlier in the day of Abigail Bartlet sitting on the bed of a young patient in a Beijing hospital. The versatile First Lady, despite her crisp suit and trademark heels, had curled up next to the child and dedicated her attention to the book their both held. C.J. wondered how they had gotten so lucky. Usually Abbey went out of her way to avoid such staged publicity. But then again, maybe it wasn't staged.

Josh sighed heavily. "Why were we the ones who had to stay home?"

"Someone had to."

He draped a leg over the chair arm. "Yeah, well, why not Toby?"

"You written any speeches for the President lately?"

"What about Charlie? Charlie got to go. Charlie got to go and I didn't." It was a patented Josh Lyman whine.

She leveled her eyes at him. "Now you want to go and lay out his suits for him?"

"Leo's there."

She shook her head. "Face it, a China trip is for the Big Dogs, my friend."

The Deputy Chief of Staff raised his palms plaintively. "I'm a Big Dog."

"Yap."

Now he dropped the mostly-feigned hurt. "Yeah, well, you're an Irish Setter and you're still here."

But that was one thing she didn't mind. "Look at it this way, Huckleberry, the President and Leo are half a world away. If anything happens in the western hemisphere, you're the pooch."

He nodded confidently. "Damn woofin' right."

"Unless, of course, you want to count the Vice-President, Speaker of the House, President Pro-tempore of the Senate, Secretary of State – "

"All right. Now you're bringing me down."

She dropped her feet from their propped position on her desk. "You want something to happen?"

The flush betrayed his chagrin. "Nah. Of course not. Well, maybe just a little something. You know, miners' strike, or maybe two-thirds of the Republicans in the Senate suddenly decide to retire early. Somethin' like that."

"You know if Toby were here he would make you run around the Washington Monument three times and throw salt over your left shoulder or something."

"At least I'd be doing something."

"Be careful what you wish for – "

"Is that from Peter Pan?"

"Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan."

"C.J.," he exclaimed, "you're a closet Trekkie!"

"You'll never get me to admit it."

"Maybe I'll hook you up with Yeoman Rand over in the Bullpen."

C.J. had the feeling she was going to regret that impromptu comment. She knew he was. "Let me know next time the girls in the Lemon-Lyman chat room get going."

"Shutting up now."

"Thank you."

They sat quietly for another few seconds, the muted screen continuing with the pomp and ceremony practiced for centuries in the ancient country. To be perfectly honest, C.J. was content to remain behind. As far as she knew there were no fiords in China – and maybe the First Lady would bear the brunt of the President's infamous trivia lectures – but you never could tell. With a twelve hour time difference, it was already late in Beijing. The only plan for the night was to fly to Xian for more visits and diplomacy the next day. After her afternoon briefing, she might even get to go home before dark. Well, perhaps that was expecting too much, but at least the possibility existed.

"They look great," Josh observed as the camera shot a close-up of the First Couple, now hand-in-hand as they climbed the majestic steps of the Imperial Palace.

"Yeah."

"Think he can do it?"

Freedom? For the last remaining communist country of any size? It was certainly a noble and ambitious effort, and she figured if anyone could come close it would be Jed Bartlet. "Yeah."

"Me, too," Josh agreed. "They going to Xian tonight?"

C.J. nodded. The trip included two visits to what the Chinese proclaimed to be the state of the art in medical facilities. The First Lady was particularly anxious to test the veracity of that observation. Their hosts had arranged for one of the top Chinese doctors to escort her. He had appeared in the background in several feeds from the day. C.J. wondered if the two colleagues in health could make more headway than the heads of state. Stranger things had happened.

She glanced down at her watch. Two hours until the last briefing. Her stomach rumbled. "How about some Puppy Chow, Clifford?"

Josh straightened in the chair, eyes brightening at the prospect of food. "Sure. I'll send that irritant of an intern out. Maybe he can find his way back without leaving bread crumbs. Sandwich?"

"And a salad. There's a place across from the OEB – "

If she had been thinking in that moment, she would have noted that the phrase "calm before the storm" would have certainly applied in their situation. As it was, her brain couldn't even finish her sentence as the sudden eruption of beepers, telephones, and scattering feet in the hallway tore her from her propped position and propelled her to her feet. She stared at Josh for a half-second before Carol's face popped into the doorway. It took only a glimpse to see the raw panic flushing her usually composed features.

"Something's happened!" she managed, but didn't seem to be able to go further.

Something's happened? Not good. Not very damned good.

Josh had scrambled to his feet by this time. "What?" he demanded. "What's happened?"

"Something's happened to the plane."

Despite the dire possibilities of that pronouncement, C.J. relaxed a little. Okay, something happened to a plane. She could handle that. It wasn't as if they hadn't dealt with plane crashes before. Certainly not a pleasant duty, but not a unique one, either. Get the details, send for a spokesman from the NSTB. Follow procedure.

"What plane?" she asked, taking a calming breath and getting her thoughts in order from the abrupt confusion. It was really only her job to report the reaction of the White House anyway. The FAA and NTSB would address the harsher aspects of survivors, causes and such. Unless – and she didn't know why this had not occurred to her before – unless it was a terrorist attack. Then they were in another ballgame entirely. Please don't be a terrorist attack, she threw in a mental plea toward Heaven.

Then she noted that Carol hadn't answered yet and an uneasy twinge of nausea tickled the bottom of her throat. That must be it. Damn it. Well, okay, she would deal with it. Do what she had to do.

Damn Fate. And damn Josh for tempting it.

"Carol," she asked carefully, a little concerned by how shaken her assistant was, even if it was a terrorist attack. "What plane?"

With a hard swallow, the other woman breathed, then swallowed again.

Trying not to be too impatient, C.J. grasped Carol's shoulders. Hoping that some of her own strength would transfer, she repeated, "What plane was it?"

The answer shredded her carefully layered calm. Suddenly C.J. understood.

"Air Force One."