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This is a piece I began back in October and that I put on the back burner until we saw what AS was going to do with the psychological ramifications of the shooting. There will be several of these, each dealing with a separate member of the staff. ---------------------------------- Carpe Diem Jane Harper RATING: PG-14 SUMMARY: Sarah gets thrown into the politics and personalities of the President's staff in order to help them heal from the assassination attempt. Begins about a month after the Rosslyn shootout. ARCHIVE: Help yerself. HTML version supplied upon request. DISCLAIMER: We didn't start the fire ..
After a meeting with her supervisor, Sarah Cooper, chaplain intern, ran into the Chief of Trauma Services in the hallway outside the cafeteria. He had already walked past her when he spun around, backtracked, and stopped in front of her wheelchair. "Hey Sarah, your year here is just about up, isn't it?" "Oh hi Mike. Yeah, it is. And I found out today that there's not going to be a new position for me to stay on in, so if you know anybody who wants to hire a chaplain, let me know." The tall bearded man laughed. "I can't say I'm surprised that we're not adding positions. You won't be unemployed, though. Things come up when you least expect them. And with your being a chaplain AND a nurse, something's bound to surface." "Well, I try to be optimistic, but it's not like I could go back to nursing. Still, I'll keep a positive outlook. And thanks for keeping your ear to the ground." She rolled off in search of lunch. Later in the afternoon, Sarah was working on her resume when her office phone rang. "Sarah Cooper." "Please hold for the First Lady." A few moments of hold music, then Abigail Bartlet's clear voice came over the line. "Sarah, this is Abbey Bartlet." "Yes Dr. Bartlet. How can I help you?" "I'm hoping _I_ can help _you_. I hear you're looking for a job." "Excuse me, ma'am? I mean, yes, I am, but how--" "This is the White House, Ms. Cooper. We know people who know people who..." Sarah could hear a smile in her voice. "Would you be willing to come by my office tonight? Say about six?" She cleared her throat. "This evening? Uh .. well .. I don't know .. I'm dependent on District Paratransit .." "Well, we won't let a little thing like that get in the way. I'm going to give you to one of my executive assistants, and she'll arrange whatever you need." Click! More hold music. **Sheesh. It's four-thirty. I don't have anything to wear - I don't have time to change anyway - oh well; I guess it's come-as-you-are.** Sarah spent the next half an hour spinning her wheels, caught between getting any work done and trying to prepare for the meeting. **What can Dr. Bartlet possibly have for me to do? They're Catholic, what do they need with a Jewish chaplain? Or a nurse in a wheelchair? This is crazy...** Finally she just gave up, realizing that she'd have to wait to see what the First Lady had in mind. Seeing the White House from a distance was breathtaking; seeing it up close was intimidating. The car brought Sarah in through the East Appointment Gate and to the entrance that led to the First Lady's offices. As she rolled up to the metal detector, she pasted on a silly smile and said to the guard, "I can pretty much guarantee that this thing's gonna go off." "No problem," the guard responded, checking Sarah's person with a wand, then opening an aluminum gate and waving her through. She was met by Dr. Bartlet's Assistant Chief of Staff, Millicent Green. A gracious lady fully ten years Abbey's senior, she steered Sarah smoothly through the corridors and up the elevator to her appointment. Dr. Bartlet was as Sarah had remembered her, an attractive woman whose auburn hair was never quite in place but whose smile was infectious. Today, though, the smile seemed a bit forced. Abbey came around her desk to shake Sarah's hand, and motioned her over to a cushy-looking sofa upholstered in a splashy print. "Can we get you anything, Sarah?" "No, thanks, Dr. Bartlet, I'm fine." "Thank you for coming over on such short notice," Abbey continued. "The President and I have wanted to see you again, to thank you for the kindness you showed us during that long night after the shootings." "Don't mention it, ma'am. I wish we had met under more comfortable circumstances, but I was happy to be able to be of service." "Well, we'd like to call upon that willingness again, if we might." "Anything I can do for you or the President, I'd be pleased to." "Well," Dr. Bartlet began, leaning forward toward Sarah's chair, "in the weeks since the shootings, there have been... well, problems. I know you're aware of the kind of changes people go through in these circumstances, because you've worked with critical incident stress teams. Unfortunately, when the critical incident involves the President's staff, or his family, we can't just call in the Federal Occupational Health people; there'd be a hue and cry from the Press Room to the halls of Congress. We have to be circumspect about whom we approach to help us with these issues, and since you've already been involved and already know most of the individuals, the President and I think you're a good candidate." Sarah wanted to pinch herself, but she just took a deep breath and waited. "We wanted to do something non-traditional, something that might slip by under the radar of the press so that we can heal without worrying about managing the spin of the situation. So we thought that bringing in a nurse, rather than a psychologist or a physician, would be appropriate." "With all due respect, Dr. Bartlet, I'm not sure you can completely avoid having to spin this, but I suspect a non-traditional approach might keep press queries to a minimum." "There's a more personal aspect, too," the First Lady continued. "There have been some... the person who seems to be showing the strain the worst is our daughter Zoey. Physically, she's fine; but her psyche and her spirit are showing signs of strain. The President and I felt a chaplain's help would be of great assistance to her." Abbey blinked rapidly, folded her hands in her lap, and continued. "Would you be willing to step in and help us? Zoey needs someone..." "Of course I'm willing, Dr. Bartlet, but wouldn't a Catholic chaplain be more appropriate?" Abbey smiled and bit her lip for a moment. "Sarah, there are two kinds of Catholic chaplains in the world: priests and sisters. Zoey's not really religious, especially not the way her father is - I suspect the _last_ person she'd feel comfortable confiding in would be a member of either of those groups. She has too many issues with the Church. I think someone of another religious perspective - someone like yourself, who's deeply spiritual but doesn't wear it on her sleeve - would be good for Zoey." "Dr. Bartlet, I'd consider it an honor to do what I can for your daughter, and for any of the other survivors of the incident who might need me." "Good. The President and his staff and I discussed it, and we feel it would be best for you to work out of my office rather than in the West Wing." "I think that's a good decision; having some physical distance often enables people to feel safer, less likely to be scrutinized. But being in the same building keeps me from seeming _too_ far away." "Besides," the First Lady added with a smile, "the women's room in this wing is accessible; I'm afraid the one on the other side of the building isn't." "I suspect that FDR had his own facilities," Sarah responded with a grin. "How long would it be before you could join us?" "Well, the folks at GWUH know I'd have to leave when my year is up, and that's in two weeks. Would it be all right to wait until then?" "You'll probably be glad you did. Your life will never be the same once you've pitched your tent in this madhouse." Abbey rose and extended her hand to Sarah once again. "Congratulations, Sarah - and welcome to the White House." The next two weeks alternately flew and crawled. There wasn't enough time for Sarah to put closure to her projects at the Hospital, but she couldn't wait to assume her new responsibilities. The hardest part of all was not telling anyone where she was going; the First Lady hadn't asked her to keep silent, but Sarah felt discretion was the better part of valor. If people knew where she was going, somebody might wonder why, and then the chase would be on. Late on her last evening at GWU she was packing the final few items from her office into her backpack when she heard a tap on the door. "Speak now or forever hold your peace," she called over her shoulder. "I'm outta here--" She spun around to see Sam Seaborn and Josh Lyman standing in her office doorway. "Hey," she greeted them, "it's the Hardy Boys!" Both of them bent to give her a hug. "You guys ready for me?" "I don't know," Sam responded. "I think maybe it's a good thing you'll be over on the other side of the building." "We came to bust you out of here," Josh offered. "This is your last chance to spend an evening unscathed by political shenanigans. Carpe diem!" Sam flung Sarah's backpack over his shoulder and grabbed the handles of her chair. "C'mon, lady, the drinks are on us." Josh and Sam took Sarah to an out-of-the-way bar and restaurant, where, after a couple of beers, they presented her with a calligraphed parchment in a brushed aluminum frame. At the top, it read: "Rules Of Public Service". She scanned it, saw that it was a series of sarcastic comments on life in the political soup, and decided to read it later. "No, no, Sarah, you've got to appreciate this NOW!" Josh insisted. Picking up the frame in his left hand, he read, "'Never tell anyone what you really think, for they might actually understand you.'" I think that's the most important one, don't you, Sam?" "Sure, buddy," Seaborn responded. "Maybe it's time for us to eat something." He flashed a look at Sarah, who frowned and subtly nodded. "Yeah, I'm hungry," she agreed. "Let's check the menu." "Whatever." Lyman replied. Several hours - and a lot of beer - later, the three were on their way to take Sarah home. Sam was staring out the window of the taxi, and Josh was alternately snoring and muttering to himself. "I'm worried about him," Seaborn said. "I mean, he used to know his limits, and this is getting to be a pretty frequent thing." "Well, that's how some people respond to something like the shooting." Sarah looked directly at Sam. "How are _you_ doing?" "Me? Oh, I'm fine." "When can Josh go back to work?" "Another couple of weeks, the doctor says. I hope it helps him." "It might. In any case, I'll be there when you need me." She didn't say if, she said when. * * * * * Monday morning early Sarah reported to the White House Personnel Office to fill out the dozen or so forms that accompanied entry into government service. It was late morning by the time she was finished and went up to the First Lady's suite of offices in the East Wing. Sally, Dr. Bartlet's secretary, met her at the elevator. "Hi Sarah. Let me show you to your office." It was a small room in the opposite corner of the East Wing from the First Lady's, but it was big enough for a comfortable chair and a desk and a bookcase with a little room to spare. And on the desk there were three separate bouquets of flowers. "Well," Sally said, "looks like you already have a fan club! This one--" she pointed at a bunch of carnations--"is from Lilly Mays, the First Lady's Chief of Staff, but I don't know about the other two." She stepped aside and let Sarah roll her chair through the door. "Just let us know if you need anything. The computer guy will be here this afternoon to get you connected to the network, and one of the pool secretaries will be by later to bring you a supply catalog so you can get the stuff you need for your office. Welcome to the White House." She walked quickly down the hallway. Sarah took the backpack off her chair and settled it on the desk, then pulled the two mystery bouquets toward her. One was a beautiful big vase full of multicolored blooms with a card that said, "Welcome from the President and First Lady," and the other was a much smaller bunch of daisies and daisy mums with a much bigger card that said, "Welcome to the zoo, from the inmates," and was signed by Josh, Toby, Sam and Donna, all of whom she had spent time with while Josh was in the hospital. She had begun unpacking her backpack when a rap came at the door. She looked over to see a tall thin redhead with a potted plant in her hand. "Hello," Sarah said. "Hello. You're Sarah Cooper?" "Yes." "Hi," the woman said, extending a hand. "I'm Margaret Williamson, Leo McGarry's secretary. He asked me to bring these by and tell you that he's glad you're here to work with the staff." "I'm sorry," Sarah said, accepting the proffered hand, then shaking her head. "Do I know Mr. McGarry?" "He's the President's Chief of Staff. I think you met at the hospital." She had to think for a minute. He must have been the rude one who was always barking orders at people, the one who looked at her when she first came in and yelled "Who the hell is _she_?" Maybe he meant for the gift to apologize. "I'm very glad to meet you, Margaret. Please thank Mr. McGarry for me." "I will. He'd like to meet with you at your earliest convenience. I think he has some time this afternoon, would that be too soon?" "Of course not, just call and let me know when." "What's your extension?" Sarah looked over at the phone. "Six four two three." Margaret wrote it on her hand, waved, and was off down the hall. Just as Sarah unpacked the last of the items in her backpack, the phone rang. "Sarah Cooper." "Hi Sarah, this is Sally. The First Lady wonders if you could have dinner in the Residence with the First Family this evening." "Of course! What time?" "Seven thirty?" "I'll be there." She supposed that this was her chance to get to spend some time with the First Daughter, to see if the chemistry between counselor and client would work. She devoutly hoped that it would.
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