SUMMARY: Written in exchange for Carmen Sandiego's generous donation to tsunami relief efforts. As requested, CJ-centric West Wingfic -- when you're campaigning for president, one small mistake can snowball out of control.
DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin. So there. ;)
THANKS: To Jo March for the major beta work despite her week of crazy. To Em and Meg for not killing me when I repeatedly sent drafts their way, heedless of their schedules. :)
***
CJ very nearly made it out of her cramped office and into the usually chaotic but currently deserted main room of the Bartlet for America campaign, but her phone rang before she could complete her escape. Shoulders slumped, CJ trudged back toward her desk, weighing the relative merits of picking it up or letting it go to the answering service. Reporters on the national beat had her cellphone number and her beeper, but the small-market papers just called her office. It was probably nothing.
Still. She should answer it. Even though she'd been in the office for about 16 hours already, and spent probably 10 of those on the phone. She should really answer it. Even though a nice, warm bubblebath awaited her at the hotel, and Leo and Toby and the others had left two hours ago. Really, she should answer it
"Damn it," she grumbled, tugging her oversized mitten off and reaching for the phone. "CJ Cregg."
"CJ, this is Randy Cashman from the Lawrence Eagle-Tribune," said an unfamiliar voice.
"Evening, Randy," CJ answered, flipping through her mental rolodex. Lawrence Eagle-Tribune. Lawrence, Massachusetts. Right. Okay. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm calling to see if the campaign has a comment," Cashman answered.
Stifling an impatient sigh, CJ prodded, "A comment on...?"
"We're running profiles on all the Democratic candidates this weekend, and we've got some conflicting information on the Governor."
CJ stilled, focusing entirely on the voice at the other end of the line. "Conflicting information?" Conflicting information was never good. Conflicting information, even on the smallest of issues, turned into a story about the ineptitude of the campaign or the inconsistency of the Governor's message. The press was never so happy as when they were writing a story about what was wrong with the campaign. It was much easier than covering the Governor's complicated Social Security proposal.
"The Governor attended Notre Dame and is allegedly a football fan," Cashman began, "but I have a quote from a source inside the campaign that the Governor doesn't really like football."
CJ hesitated, waiting for the real question. Surely this Cashman person hadn't called her at -- she glanced at her watch -- 9:47 p.m. on a Friday to ask about football. "Excuse me?"
"Does the campaign wish to comment on whether the Governor likes football?"
"This is a serious question?" CJ wondered aloud, relaxing. "You're calling me to ask me about the Governor's like or dislike for a sport?"
"It's an important question, CJ," Cashman declared. "The voters like to see themselves in the candidates, and not too many voters have the same elite educational background as the Governor."
His use of elite put CJ on notice that this was, in fact, a serious call. About sports. She quashed the urge to laugh and tried to formulate a response. Because Cashman sounded like he was planning to paint the Governor as a moneyed Northeastern liberal snob who'd attended elite schools and read books in Latin in his spare time. All of which was true, to some extent, but it obscured the truth about a man who, while still snappish with his campaign staff, exuded a very down-to-earth, folksy charm when he interacted with the people.
"CJ?"
"Yeah," she answered quickly. "Governor Bartlet is undoubtedly an accomplished individual, but that doesn't make him different from the voters. Like his fellow Americans, the Governor puts his family above all else and spends as much time with them as he can, given his schedule. As for football, the Governor and some of his staffers try to make the time to watch the occasional football game, especially when Notre Dame is playing."
Cashman was silent for a moment, then said, "That sounds like a canned answer."
"Excuse me?" CJ shot back, a little incredulous. "You think I have a canned answer on whether the Governor likes football?"
"I don't know, but you make it sound like the Governor walks through a room while some staffers are watching football, and that makes him a football fan."
CJ shifted, one hand landing on her hip. "The Governor's a little busy running a national campaign, Randy, so it's not surprising he doesn't have a lot of free time to sit around and watch a football game. From the indecipherable conversations he has with various staffers about yardage and quarterbacks, and from the number of times I've interrupted him while he's catching up on scores and highlights on Sports Night, I feel pretty comfortable assuring you that Governor Bartlet is a sports fan."
"Uh-huh," Cashman said slowly, and CJ could hear the scratch of his pen on paper. "Let me make sure I've got this: 'The Governor doesn't have a lot of free time to sit around and watch a football game,' correct?"
Wincing, CJ tried to walk it back. "Randy, the Governor watches when he can, but given his schedule--"
"He doesn't have a lot of free time," Cashman interrupted. "Okay. Thanks for the quote, CJ."
"Randy--"
He hung up.
CJ pulled the phone away from her ear and glared at it for a moment, then put it back in its cradle with a little bit more force than was strictly necessary. "Damn it," she muttered, pacing in a tight circle in her office.
After a long moment considering her options, she sighed and reached for the phone.
***
Toby answered the door to his cramped suite with a slight frown. "CJ."
"Toby," she greeted, brushing past him. "Thanks for--" She stopped short, her eyes narrowing as Josh and Sam stood and faced her. They were in the small seating area, watching her with identical wary expressions. CJ curbed the urge to turn around and glare at Toby. "Josh. Sam," she acknowledged with a slight tip of her head. "Am I interrupting a strategy session?"
Josh looked past her to Toby, then shook his head. "Nah. Toby asked us to come up for a few minutes."
"He did, did he?" CJ moved farther into the room, carefully peeling her gloves off of her hands and tucking them in her jacket, which she shrugged out of and laid on the back of a chair. Her movements were controlled and precise, and from the look on his face, Toby knew her well enough to know she was quietly seething.
"CJ," Toby began, his tone conciliatory. "I asked them to come up--"
"Because you don't trust me," CJ interrupted, turning to face him, arms crossed. She was surprised how much the truth stung. He'd come after her, he'd persuaded her she could do this, and now that she was starting to believe it, he was acting like he'd expected her to fail all along.
Toby rocked back on his heels, lifting his chin and staring her down. "That is not true."
Exasperated, CJ gestured at the men behind her. "Josh and Sam don't trust me."
"No, we do trust you, CJ," Sam countered immediately. CJ didn't even have to look at him to picture the earnest expression on his face. Sam, the peacemaker -- his need for accord and friendship made CJ wonder why he'd ever decided on politics as a career. Though on this campaign, with Josh's arrogance and Toby's gruffness, Sam was definitely an asset.
CJ didn't acknowledge him, keeping her gaze focused on Toby. "You brought me onto the campaign and you're afraid that Leo and Josh and Sam and the Governor are all going to blame you if I screw up. Is that what this is about?"
Toby stared at her. "No."
"It's not?"
"No." He didn't move, didn't break her gaze. "You called and said there may be an unfavorable story. I called the other strategists so that we could figure out a way to counter it."
CJ shook her head, annoyed. "I called and said I wanted to stop by and fill you in on my way to my room. I was keeping you in the loop, Toby, not asking for your help."
"Maybe you *should* be asking for our help, CJ," Josh interjected, argumentative as always. Josh, unlike Sam, was a competitor down to his toes. CJ sometimes thought he'd argue for 24 hours straight, just to win, even if he didn't really believe in what he was saying. All in all, a good quality to have for a modern politician, though it made Josh incredibly frustrating at times.
CJ turned on him, perfectly willing to use him as a target for her anger, since Toby was being so damn reasonable. "Excuse me?"
Josh was standing with his hands on his hips, arrogance personified. "Look, you're good, CJ. No one's denying that. But you're coming off of statewide campaigns, and the pressure here is different--"
"You think I don't know that?" CJ demanded. "You think I haven't noticed by now? I've been here almost four months."
Josh nodded emphatically. "Yes, CJ, and in that time, we've gone from an obscure former Governor who makes the Manchester news a couple times a week, to a legitimate challenger to the Democratic frontrunner. The pressure when you got here is nothing compared to the pressure now. We're building momentum, and the last thing we need is for you to screw it up."
Stung, CJ stared at him for a moment, then shifted her attention to Sam, who stared resolutely at the floor. If he didn't agree with Josh's sentiment, he would already be apologizing. CJ glanced over her shoulder at Toby, who stood with his hands in his pockets and his best unreadable face on. So they were all in agreement. She was a screw up just waiting to happen.
"I see," she said, her tone cold. She took two steps to the chair, reaching for her coat.
"Do you?" Sam asked. "We just want to make sure--"
"That you're here to fix my screw ups?" CJ interrupted, her tone vicious.
Wounded, Sam turned those big, mournful blue eyes on her. "That all four of us are here to fix anyone's screw ups, including the Governor's."
CJ shook her head, bitterly amused. "And yet this is the first I've heard of your brilliant screw-up-fixing plan." She turned her attention back to Toby. "I'm still not convinced this is going to be a *thing*, Toby, and--"
"It will be," he interrupted.
"And," CJ repeated, raising her voice, "even if it is, I have several ideas on how to counter it."
Pursing his lips, Toby simply studied her for several long seconds. Then he sighed and moved past her toward the couch. "Are you going to tell us what it is?"
Since Toby was technically her boss, CJ figured she'd better explain. As much as she'd like to sweep out of the room without spilling a word, she knew she couldn't fix it if she were fired. "I suppose," she answered.
Toby sat in one of the wingback chairs, with Josh and Sam following his lead after a bit of hesitation. Toby raised his eyebrows at her. "You can sit, CJ."
CJ lifted her chin and remained where she was, behind the empty chair. "I'd rather stand."
Toby grimaced. "CJ--"
"A reporter from the Lawrence Eagle-Tribune called just now. Regional paper for northern Massachusetts and southern New Hampshire, probably watched by the wires for local stories on the Governor. The reporter cited an anonymous campaign source saying the Governor doesn't like football. I reminded him that the Governor is a Notre Dame alumnus, and that he watched football whenever he could, given the limitations of his schedule."
Toby tapped his pen on the yellow legal pad he'd grabbed when he sat down. "And?"
CJ pursed her lips, then answered, "And the reporter chose to focus only on the part where I said the Governor was often too busy to sit around watching a football game."
"Oh, God," Josh grumbled, dropping his head back to lean against the couch. He stared up at the ceiling as he considered the implications.
"I know," CJ said.
"Is that the language you used?" Toby asked, his tone flat. "Too busy to sit around?"
CJ nodded. "Unfortunately."
"CJ," Sam began, "you suggested to a reporter that the Governor had better things to do than--?"
"Yes," CJ snapped. "I understand the nature of the problem. The paper will spin it into the Governor being too elitist to identify with typical Americans, many of whom are football fans."
"On the plus side," Toby noted acerbically, "we may gain some votes among women whose husbands spend their weekends drinking beer and staring at the TV."
"That's not all," Josh interjected. "Screw the Governor being too elitist. What we need to worry about is the..." Josh shrugged, his hands waving oddly about in the air as he searched for the word, "macho factor."
Toby groaned. "The what?"
Josh sat forward, his elbows on his knees. "This will end up being about the Governor preferring to sit around in his musty study reading Dante and Homer like some pasty, effeminate--"
"Hey," CJ protested, hands on her hips.
Josh plowed ahead, "--professor with elbow patches on his corduroy jacket. Meanwhile, John Hoynes is tall and broad and went to Southern Methodist on a football scholarship."
Toby dipped his chin slightly. "And there's that."
CJ ignored them both. "We need to wait and see if the national press picks up on the story."
"They will," Josh decided. "And then Hoynes will get a bump from football fans who are offended that the Governor considers himself too busy to join in America's pastime."
"I thought that was baseball," Sam commented, brow furrowed.
"It is," Toby said. "Though the average American these days is more likely to be a football fan than a baseball fan."
"Except in the northeast," Josh pointed out. "Which does us no good, since we're pretty sure our elitist northeastern liberal Governor will be able to carry the northeast no matter what sport he watches in his limited downtime."
Toby nodded slowly, his attention focused on his legal pad where he scratched out some of his thoughts. "If it goes national--"
"It will," Josh declared.
Toby shot him a frosty look. "If it goes national, we need a way to respond without making it look like we're responding."
CJ stood beside the empty armchair, watching them begin to toss ideas around. "Listen," she said after a few minutes. "I'm a little tired, and since you all seem to be able to handle this without my input, I'm going to go get a couple hours of sleep."
"CJ," Toby admonished.
She reached for her coat and slung it over one arm. "Not now, Toby."
CJ reached the door before he answered, his tone neutral, "Good night, CJ."
"Yeah," she shot back, pulling the door open. "Night."
CJ made good time to her room, two floors up and in the other wing, and when she got in, she changed into her pajamas and reached for her cell phone. "Yeah, Carol. Listen, I'm sorry it's so late, but I'm going to need your help first thing in the morning and I wanted to give you a heads up."
***
Around six a.m., CJ trudged into the campaign offices holding two oversized cups of coffee, and a folded up copy of the Lawrence Eagle-Tribune. She wasn't really a fan of Dunkin' Donuts coffee, but that seemed to be the minority opinion in New Hampshire, as she couldn't drive a mile in any direction without stumbling across the bright pink and orange signs. Plus, they sold the Tribune, so she only had to make one stop.
When CJ reached her office, she grinned tiredly at her assistant, who was slumped in her chair, watching her computer warm up. "Carol. You're here."
Nodding blearily, Carol agreed. "Yes, I am. What do you need?"
CJ placed Carol's coffee before her, "First, drink this."
"Bless you," Carol whispered, leaning forward to inhale the coffee scent.
"Second, are Toby or Josh or Sam in yet?"
Carol swallowed her first gulp of coffee and shook her head.
"Good. Now I need to see the Governor's schedule for this morning." CJ ducked into her office and settled in, tossing her coat in the general direction of the small loveseat tucked against the far wall of her office and letting her own aged laptop warm up. When Carol appeared in her doorway, coffee in one hand and a printout in the other, CJ smiled. "Great, thanks. Who's covering the Governor for the Globe? Is it Katie?"
Handing off the Governor's schedule to her boss, Carol closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. Katie Witt."
"Didn't Katie request an interview with Abbey Bartlet?" CJ asked.
Carol blinked. "Maybe. I can check the files."
"I'm almost positive she did."
Carol nodded slowly. "I think you're right."
"Can you pull her last few columns on the Bartlets?"
"Sure," Carol agreed.
"Good, good." CJ scanned the schedule before her, looking for the perfect opportunity.
"Anything else?"
"Give me five minutes, then get me Katie." She barely noticed Carol's departure, focusing instead on her plan. "Okay," she muttered, reaching for the phone. She punched in a familiar number, hoping like hell she wasn't waking anyone up. "Abbey, hi. It's CJ. Listen, I've got a small scheduling conflict, and I was wondering if you'd mind someone from the Globe tagging along today."
Fifteen minutes later, CJ exited her office, gave her assistant a triumphant smile, and headed for the door, tugging her mittens on as she went. "I've got my cellphone. If anyone needs me, I'm with the Bartlets today. Tell Toby, Josh, and Sam to hold off on any plans about football until I get back."
Carol looked perplexed, but she agreed. "Plans about football?" Carol wondered.
CJ grimaced, backtracking a couple steps to toss the Tribune on Carol's desk. "It's in there."
Carol scowled at the paper. "Great."
"Yeah." CJ grinned. "But it's under control."
Carol, who had perked up considerably since she finished her coffee, smiled at her boss. "Go get 'em."
"Thanks, Carol."
***
At the gate to the Bartlet's home, CJ collected Katie.
"Morning," Katie greeted, sliding into the passenger side with a shiver.
"Good morning, Katie. Sorry this is so last minute, but we realized you were slated to cover the events in Laconia today and figured you'd been waiting long enough for this interview with Abbey. Why not kill two birds with one stone?"
With a wry grin, Katie said, "I appreciate the opportunity. Hey, CJ, you didn't happen to read the Trib today, did you?"
With an elegant snort, CJ tapped the small digital clock in the dashboard with her mitten. "It's 7:15 in the morning, Katie. I've barely had time to scan the Times and the Post."
"Uh-huh," Katie answered noncommittally.
CJ parked the car behind Abbey's sensible sedan. "Let's go."
Katie balked. "We're going in their house? At 7:15?"
Laughing, CJ nodded and exited the car. "The Governor and Doctor Bartlet are both up. Believe me."
A little reluctantly, Katie followed CJ up the stairs, across the porch, and to the door. Not long after her brief knock, the door swung open to reveal Abbey Bartlet. "CJ. Ms. Witt. Good morning." She held the door open for them to enter.
"Good morning, ma'am," Katie answered. "Please, call me Katie."
CJ nodded. "Morning, Abbey."
"Would either of you like some more coffee before we go?" Abbey offered, ushering them toward the kitchen. "Laconia's about an hour away. And it will be colder."
"Oh, this isn't cold," boomed Jed Bartlet, grinning as he joined them in the spacious kitchen. "It's nice and brisk outside," he continued, "and it smells a little bit like snow. Perfect winter weather, I'd say." He turned to the newcomers. "Well, good morning, CJ. I see you've brought a guest along today."
"Good morning, Governor," CJ greeted. "This is Katie Witt from the Boston Globe."
"Hello, Katie," the Governor said. "Would you like some coffee?"
CJ relaxed a little. The charming Jed Bartlet had shown up this morning, which was a very big relief. Her plan hinged on the way he'd react to Katie, and CJ had taken a gamble that the surly, snappish Jed Bartlet would be MIA today.
"No, thank you, sir," Katie answered. She glanced at Abbey. "You have a lovely home."
"Thank you," Abbey answered, sipping her own cup of coffee from a sedate blue mug.
The Governor leaned back against the countertop, crossing his arms. "So we're off to Laconia today, am I correct?"
"You are indeed, sir," CJ answered. "There's a rally and then a meet and greet at the VFW. On the way back, we'll stop in Concord and visit the New Hampshire History Museum."
"And tomorrow we leave for Ohio, correct?" he asked, sounding weary at the very prospect.
"For two days, yes, sir," CJ confirmed. "Leo and Josh have the schedule."
Bartlet nodded thoughtfully. "Very well," he answered after a moment.
Katie glanced over at CJ and raised an eyebrow. Pleased that she no longer had to orchestrate anything, CJ nodded and turned to the Governor. "Sir, would it be okay if Katie asked you a couple questions? She's coming along with us today to interview Abbey for a piece in the Globe, but I'm sure she'd appreciate the opportunity to speak with you as well."
Abbey hid her smile behind her coffee cup as the Governor turned his eager gaze to Katie. "Fire away," he encouraged.
"Be careful," Abbey warned mildly. "He's feisty in the morning."
"I'll take that under advisement," Katie answered with a small smile. She pulled her tape recorder from her pocket. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all." The Governor headed for the coffeemaker. "Are you sure you wouldn't like some coffee?"
"I'm sure, thank you." Katie pressed record. "Sir, can you tell me a little bit about what you like to do in your spare time?"
CJ bit the inside of her mouth to keep from grinning. For his part, the Governor frowned a bit, looking somewhat perplexed by the question. "My spare time?" he echoed, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Usually, my spare time is either very early in the morning or very late at night. Sometimes in the middle of the day if we're traveling on a plane or a van, though we usually have reporters along for the ride," he added with a wink.
Katie nodded. "So very early in the morning or very late at night, what do you do?"
The Governor glanced over at his wife, giving her a broad grin.
"Jed," Abbey warned, but she was smirking, just a little.
"Fine, fine," he grumbled, turning his attention back to Katie. "Very early in the morning, I generally try to read as many newspapers as possible. The Times, the Post, the Globe, the Evening Standard, and, of course, our local paper, the Manchester Union-Leader. As many as I can get through before we head out to campaign. Very late at night, I like to take an hour or two for myself. Right now, I'm reading a biography of Samuel Adams. Do you know who that is?"
Katie gave a rueful smile. "I know he has a beer named after him."
"Very true," the Governor agreed. "He was also a successful propagandist and politician in Boston during the Revolution, though I suppose to be a successful politician you almost have to be a successful propagandist." Pausing to sip his coffee, the Governor returned to the original topic, "If there's a game of any kind on the west coast, I'll watch it. If not, I'll watch Dan and..." he paused, frowning. "What is that fellow's name? Curt?"
"Casey," CJ supplied. "It's Dan and Casey." Abbey, Katie, and the Governor turned identical looks of amazement her way. "What?" she demanded, feeling a slight flush along her cheeks.
"You don't watch sports," Abbey noted.
CJ shrugged. "They're... funny."
"And quite handsome," Abbey observed dryly.
Her husband glowered at her good-naturedly. "No more watching Sports Night with you."
"Sir?" Katie interjected. "Do you have a favorite team?"
The Governor practically rubbed his hands together in glee. "I have quite a few, yes. I grew up in New Hampshire and am, therefore, genetically predisposed to be a Red Sox fan. Incidentally, I really like this Pedro Martinez they signed. I think next year could be the year. Last year with the Montreal Expos--"
"Jed," Abbey interrupted. "I don't think Katie's interested in his batting average."
The Governor looked offended. "Pedro Martinez is a pitcher, Abigail."
"Whatever."
With a sniff, the Governor turned back to Katie. "The New England Patriots, of course, though they've had a tough couple of years. They haven't been back to the Super Bowl since 1986, when they were routed by the Chicago Bears. Did you know that almost everyone remembers that the Bears recorded a song, the Superbowl Shuffle, but no one ever seems to remember that the Patriots recorded a song as well?"
"Probably because it was an awful song," Abbey interjected, one eyebrow raised.
Bartlet gave her an amused look. "Oh, you don't remember the song."
"You bought it for Ellie," Abbey answered. "And then you taught her the words."
"True," the Governor conceded. "It was a catchy little ditty."
Abbey shook her head at Katie. "Don't believe him. It was awful."
Her husband ignored her and plowed ahead, "Of course, we can't talk football without talking about Notre Dame. No one plays college ball like the gold and the green--"
CJ's cellphone buzzed in her pocket. She reached for it and held up the phone. "Excuse me." Stepping into the hall, CJ checked the readout and sighed. "Yes, Toby?"
"Where are you?" he demanded in lieu of a greeting.
"At the Manchester house," CJ answered. "I'm doing the rounds with them, today. We're leaving as soon as Leo gets here."
Toby sounded impatient when he replied, "I would have preferred to have met with you before you left this morning, CJ. Have you seen it?"
"Yes," she answered. "Is it on Fox News yet?"
"Of course," Toby answered. "It's on Fox Sports, too."
CJ snorted. "Gotta love that corporate cross-pollination."
"Well, at least we know right away that it's going to be a thing. Listen," he continued, "Josh and Sam and I have a few ideas: release some old pictures of him playing shortstop in high school, send him out today with a Notre Dame cap on--"
"No way, Toby," CJ interrupted, lowering her voice and taking a few more steps away from the kitchen. "He's never worn a cap to an event before, and those pictures were all released months ago. Someone will dig them up and print them, but we can't be the ones to draw attention to the pictures. We can't be the ones to counter this story; it would look staged. If the press so much as suspects the Governor is faking it, the story will never die. He'll be the sports-hating elitist academic wimp from New Hampshire.'
"I know that, CJ," Toby shot back. "Why do you think we're trying to fix it?"
"I've got it under control," CJ answered. "I've got Katie Witt with me to do a profile on Abbey, and she's talking to the Governor right now."
Toby inhaled sharply. "CJ--"
"I'm asking you to trust me, Toby," CJ interrupted. She knew it was probably too much to ask, given the fact that she *was* pretty new to national politics and she had screwed up. But she didn't get good without learning how to fix her mistakes. "Just... trust me. It's working."
After a long moment, he sighed. "Fine. Update me later."
"Yeah, okay," she answered, and then hung up. Inhaling slowly, she steadied her nerves and turned back to the kitchen, where the Governor was still cheerfully holding forth on the merits of the Fighting Irish.
"--They've won 13 national championships, did you know that? And their all-time win percentage is .746, which is--"
"Jed," Abbey interrupted, rolling her eyes.
"Statistics are illustrative," he answered, sounded offended.
"Statistics," Abbey shot back, "are boring."
"So you like sports," Katie surmised, drawing the Governor's attention back to her.
Bartlet looked a little taken aback. "Of course. Competition is good for the soul, and for those of us not blessed with the athleticism to make it to the NFL or the Major League, we can come together to root for our team.
"Sports can bring out the best in all of us. They foster a team spirit and a sense of accomplishment, even among the fans, who simply stand on the sidelines and cheer. It's uplifting to attend a game and feel the electricity sweep through the thousands of people gathered there, building into a shared euphoria." He paused, grinning. "There's really nothing like it."
Katie nodded slowly, glancing at CJ for a moment. "One last question, sir. Did you happen to read the Lawrence Eagle-Tribune this morning?"
Frowning, Bartlet shook his head. "No, I try to read their Sunday edition, but I usually get my local news from the Union-Leader." A sharp knock at the door interrupted the Governor before he could inquire about Katie's odd questions. "That must be Leo."
Nodding, Abbey placed her coffee cup in the sink and followed her husband toward the door. Katie watched them walk away, then pressed stop on her tape recorder and turned to CJ. "You're pretty good at this," she said with a small smile.
CJ grinned back. "You're not so bad yourself."
Katie indicated the foyer, where Leo, Abbey, and the Governor stood talking. "Do you think I have time to step outside and call this in?"
"Be my guest," CJ invited, following Katie toward the door. "We'll be right out." CJ moved over to the others. "Good morning, Leo."
From the glower he sent her way, CJ knew he'd seen the Tribune piece. "Was that Katie Witt from the Globe?" he asked.
CJ nodded. "It's taken care of," she promised.
Leo studied her for a few moments, then relaxed a little bit. "Good, then."
A strange sense of pride came over CJ at his words. Leo trusted her to fix this. Toby trusted her to fix this. Maybe she could make this work after all.
The Governor frowned at both of them. "What in God's name are you talking about?"
"I'll fill you in on the ride up," Leo told him. "Let's go."
***
By the time CJ got back the campaign headquarters in Manchester, it was well past 4 p.m. and she felt like a Popsicle. The events had been successful, with good press coverage, video and print. Since there was no official Q&A session, the Governor didn't get the question about football.
Toby showed her a segment he'd taped off of Fox Sports, with the anchor talking to the Tribune's own Randy Cashman about the Governor, Senator Hoynes, and the incumbent, who, it turned out, had actually been a cheerleader at Yale.
"A cheerleader?" CJ repeated, turning wide eyes to Toby.
"Yes," he confirmed, the edge of his mouth tipped upward. "A cheerleader."
CJ blinked. "Wow. Is it me, or is this ridiculous story actually going to help us?"
Toby actually grinned. "In the general election, maybe."
As always, another crisis caught fire, and CJ spent hours putting it out. This time, she escaped the office without any late night sports phone calls. When she got to the hotel, Toby'd slid an advance of Katie's piece under the door with a note inviting CJ to join Toby and Sam and Josh for scores and highlights at eleven.
Laughing, CJ let herself into her room and scanned the piece. It was a decent story on Abbey Bartlet, putting her impressive achievements in the context of her life instead of reducing her to a collection of degrees and honors. And there was a sidebar on the Governor and his love of sports, using some of his better quotes. They'd even run the picture of Jed Bartlet playing shortstop.
"Wow," CJ muttered, tossing it onto her small, cluttered desk.
Her cell buzzed and CJ tugged it out and glanced at the readout. Toby. She sighed. "What is it now?" she answered.
"You saw it?" he asked.
"I saw it," she confirmed. "Katie's good."
"So are you," Toby answered. Before his rare compliment could register, he moved on, "Come down here. We've got a beer with your name on it."
"Tell her it's girly beer," Josh shouted in the background.
CJ rolled her eyes. "Toby..."
"We'll watch Sports Night," Toby promised, an undercurrent of amusement in his tone. "I hear you prefer Dan and Casey."
Groaning, CJ reached for her casual clothes. "Yeah, okay. Let me change and I'll be down there."
Ten minutes later, CJ, in jeans and a sweater, was seated between Toby and Sam on the small couch, with Josh sprawled in the nearby armchair. All four had beers in hand as they watched Sports Night. Casey and Dan rattled off a series of scores and statistics, and showed reel after reel of highlights until CJ's head hurt.
"Seriously," she said after a while. "I don't get sports."
Three baleful looks turned her way.
"What?" she asked, her tone defensive. "Don't you think reading a book is a better use of your free time?"
"It's not just *entertainment*, CJ," Sam insisted. "It's competition. It's--"
"Please, Sam," Toby interrupted. "Spare us a speech on the glories of athleticism."
Sam frowned. "Well, it is glorious," he muttered before taking a swig of his beer.
On TV, Casey McCall turned an amused grin to the camera and said, "The Boston Globe is reporting that Governor Bartlet, one of several candidates vying for the Democratic nomination, made the bold prediction that this year might finally be the year for long-suffering Red Sox fans."
"Oh, my God," CJ murmured, as the four staffers simultaneously sat up and leaned forward, attention glued to the screen.
Casey continued, "The Governor is right that the addition of undisputed ace, Pedro Martinez, to the pitching rotation will help the team, the Red Sox have a reputation to maintain. Although the patron saint of underdogs over here," Casey glanced over at Dan Rydell, "will pick Boston to win it all, I'm here to tell you that this year, the Red Sox will do exactly what they always do -- make it almost all the way."
Shaking his head, Dan grinned at his partner. "Casey, Casey, Casey. You're seriously underestimating what a player the caliber of Pedro Martinez can bring to an already solid baseball team. I'm with you, Governor Bartlet. It's been eight decades since the last time the Red Sox won it all, and Pedro Martinez is good enough to make the difference. That's all for us. I'm Dan Rydell, alongside Curt -- uh, Casey McCall, and you're watching Sports Night on CSC. Have a good night."
Casey laughed and straightened his script. "Good night, everybody."
The end credits kicked in, but CJ kept staring at the TV, as if she wasn't quite sure that had just happened.
Beside her, Sam leaned forward to look at Toby and asked, "Did they really just quote Governor Bartlet?"
"Yes," Toby answered.
"CSC, the number three sports-only network, just quoted Governor Bartlet about sports," Sam said, as if he needed to hear it aloud to believe it.
Josh popped out of his seat and raised his arms in triumph. "Yes!" he shouted.
Toby rolled his eyes. "Josh."
"We won this!" Josh reached for CJ and pulled her upright. He gave her a quick, almost violent hug and then grinned at her. "See? This feeling right here? That's why people play sports."
Laughing, CJ settled back into her seat. "You're incorrigible."
"Nah," he answered, dimples out in full force. "Victorious. We're victorious."
Toby snorted, but when CJ glanced over at him, she could tell he was fighting a smile even as he tried to glare at Josh. "A small battle in a very long war," he noted.
Josh gave a careless shrug. "There's a little thing we like to call momentum, my friend. And right now, it is ours."
Sam chuckled and stood, holding his nearly empty beer bottle aloft. "To CJ," he said.
Toby didn't stand, but he did lift his bottle, and Josh clanked his against Sam's with enthusiasm.
Blushing just a little, CJ lifted her bottle and said, "To Dan and Casey."
THE END
Author's note: Yes, I realize Katie works for the Post if you're being all canonically correct, but I prefer the Jo&Ryo Katie-works-for-the-Boston-Globe world. :)
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