From: Sabine Date: Fri, 28 Jul 2000 02:53:07 -0700 Subject: NEW: Thanks of a Grateful Nation by Sabine TITLE: Thanks of a Grateful Nation AUTHOR: Sabine CATEGORY: V, Other POV RATING: PG SPOILERS: En Ami SUMMARY: I serve at the pleasure of the President of the United States. DISCLAIMER: The moderately clever CC made M&S, and the unfathomably brilliant Aaron Sorkin made the inhabitants of the West Wing. I put them in the same pot and stirred with a wooden spoon. Please don't pay me. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: This is for the Virginians for being staunch constituents on the POTUS/Leo campaign. Thanks to Alicia, Jood, Jodi and Magdeleine, and especially cofax and Punk Maneuverability for beta, liberty and the American way. NOTE: Though this is a crossover, I've been informed by my betas that you don't need to know West Wing to follow this story. I've just borrowed Sorkin's characters to see what they'd do with Mulder and Scully. And...go figure. Thanks of a Grateful Nation "Did you know that there are almost two hundred and seventy five million people in this country?" She's trying not to walk ahead of me but she's not succeeding and every time I stop I can practically hear her skid in her tracks. Deference to my position. I respect it. The effort, anyway. "In 1950 there were only a hundred and fifty million people. That's an increase of fifty percent," I go on. "No it isn't, sir," she says. "It isn't what? Check the statistical records. You do read the statistical records, don't you, CJ?" "I read the statistical records," she says. "In fact, I can tell you that as of May first of this year the current population statistic for the United States was two hundred seventy four million, nine hundred forty two thousand. Including armed forces currently stationed overseas." "Very good," I say, impressed. "Still," she says. "It's not an increase of fifty percent. It's actually eighty-three percent. Really eighty-three point three three three ad infinitum, but I think for the purposes of this conversation, and really, any conversation where this particular academic subject were to come up, eighty-three percent would be a valid estimation." "Eighty-three percent," I repeat. "How about that. I always had a hard time with fractions, anyway." "Yes sir," she says, but she's humoring me. "Was there a reason for this particular trip through the census results, or are we just killing time?" "You mean you don't find this fascinating?" I stop in my tracks and she backpedals a bit, turns, and looks at me. "Eighty-three percent in fifty years. We keep going at this rate and pretty soon we won't have any place left to bury our dead. You know that there are more people alive right now than have ever died, total, in history?" "I did know that, sir. And I do find that fascinating. Utterly fascinating. I should remind you, though..." she looks off down the hall toward the Oval Office and I cluck my tongue. "Not only that, but in fifty years time, you just TRY to rent an apartment in a major metropolitan area." "With any luck, sir, in fifty years, I'll be retired in a minor rural area with some great big dogs." "Bully for you," I say, and we start walking again. "The truth is," she says, "nature always has a way of controlling overpopulation. The world will take care of itself." "Well, whether that's true or not, one of mother nature's favorite attempts at controlling overpopulation has just been foiled, CJ, and I get to go out there today and tell those two hundred and seventy five million Americans that they've got one less thing to worry about." She smiles. "It's a great day, Mr. President." "It's my favorite kind of day," I say. + + + + + + + The FBI agents are waiting for us in the foyer and they stand up when we approach. "Welcome to the West Wing," I say to the agents, extending a hand. "Thank you, sir," the female agent says. "I'm Dana Scully; this is my partner, Fox Mulder. We want you to know that we really appreciate this." It sounds rehearsed and she looks not bored, but maybe a bit distracted, unnerved. I smile at the male agent, Mulder, and he smiles back. Nice genuine smile. Good firm handshake, too. CJ coughs quietly and Agent Mulder, as if on cue, extends a hand to her. "And this is, of course, my press secretary, CJ Cregg. No doubt you've seen her beautiful face before." "Only on television," Agent Mulder says. "Even lovelier in person." CJ doesn't blush, but I think that's a genetic thing. Everybody falls in behind me again and we make our way into the Oval Office and sit down. "So," I say, looking from one agent to the other. "Tell me how you managed to find this miraculous thing." I'm in the armchair; the rest of them are lined up like ducks on the hideous candy-striped couch, the two agents huddled together at one end and CJ sitting perched beside them with enough space between her and Agent Scully to play a serious game of cards. The agents look addled and I smile at them again. "You wanna take it, Scully?" Agent Mulder asks his partner, who looks up at me instead. "Well, there isn't much of a story," she begins and I can tell she's lying already. "One of our cases -- well, several of our cases, really, for several years now -- led us to a man who claimed to have this information. We didn't believe it blindly, of course, but in the end the evidence was solid and we had a moral obligation to make it public." "You're a doctor, isn't that right, Agent Scully?" "Yes, I am," she says, and then, like it's an afterthought, "Mr. President." CJ scribbles something in her notebook and I want to know what it says. "Yes, sir," Agent Scully says simply. "I'd like to know a little bit more about this man who brought you the information," I try again. "How about his name?" Agent Scully hesitates, and Agent Mulder speaks up. "We're not really at liberty to divulge that," he says. "I'm the President of the United States!" I say with a laugh. "I knew your assistant director back when he was lobbying to get this special unit of yours recognized. I think it's safe to say there's not much you're 'not at liberty' to tell me." Agent Scully's eyes flit toward CJ just for an instant before she turns and looks back at me. "CJ, you want to excuse us for just a minute?" I ask. She looks at me with arguing eyes. "Mr. President, I really think I should..." I tip my head at her. "CJ. You want to excuse us for a minute. You do. I promise." She gets up reluctantly and heads for the door. "You know I'll be listening from outside, of course," she says over her shoulder. "And you know that door is so thick you won't be able to hear a thing," I say. She shakes her head. "I am vividly aware of that fact," she says, letting the thick door swing shut behind her. With a glance at my watch -- it's 5:17, only thirteen minutes before the address is scheduled to begin -- I turn back to the agents. "Better?" I ask. "Thank you," Agent Scully says. "I'm sorry, it's just that..." I wave a hand at her. "Listen, Agent Scully," I say. "I don't know what kind of people you're used to dealing with, but I make the rules around here. That's my job. You people elected me to do it, in case you've forgotten. Now, I've gotten rid of CJ to humor you, but if you don't start talking really soon I'm going to get bored." "Yes, sir," Agent Scully says, and I remember reading somewhere that she was raised in a military family. She pauses for a moment, takes a breath. Agent Mulder slips a hand over hers and she squeezes his fingers, drawing strength. I opt not to remind him he's in the Oval Office and instead allow them their little bonding moment. Based on the way she's been acting, I'd guess she needs it. Agent Scully continues. "We haven't even told Assistant Director Skinner about this, and if you don't mind, I'd like to break the news to him myself." "Of course," I say. "Are you going to break the news to me?" "I'm quitting the bureau," she says abruptly. "As a result of this last investigation." I shift in my chair and raise an eyebrow at her. "I see," I say. "And why is that?" "This technology we've brought you came with a price," she begins. "Along with the guarantee that it would be made public, I had to agree to go work with the man who developed it." "Sounds like an exciting career opportunity," I say, but I'm suspicious because she's still not smiling and Agent Mulder has moved even closer to her. She nods. "It could be," she says. "This man --" "I still don't get his name, do I?" I smile. "His name is CGB Spender," Agent Mulder says. "He works for what we believe is a Pentagon office --" I let out a laugh. "Mmm, that's right. I remember now. Those mysterious Pentagon offices all the conspiracy theory buffs are convinced control the country with their dark powers." Agent Mulder smiles. "Those exact ones, sir," he says. "Well, I don't recognize the name, but then, there are a lot of people who work in the Pentagon whose names I don't know. Did you know that there are over twenty thousand people who work there, and that even though there are over 17 miles of corridor it only takes seven minutes to walk across it, and it's considered one of the most efficient building spaces in the country?" "Not to mention the six hundred and ninety one water fountains," Agent Mulder says. "We took the tour." "A well-educated man," I say to him. "I like that." Then I turn back to Agent Scully who is staring holes into the seal on my carpet. "You were saying, Agent Scully?" "That's all, sir," she says. "Once the speech is made, I'll be leaving the bureau." "So that was part of the deal?" I ask. "We make this thing public and you have to quit your job?" "Yes, sir." "And," I tip my head towards her, like I'm trying to scoop out more information with it. "If I weren't to make this public? Hypothetically?" "The choice is made," she says, simply. "Don't worry, sir," Agent Mulder says. "I'm not worried," I say. "But thank you very much for your solemn reassurance." Mulder smiles, letting go of Scully's back, as if he thinks that will enable him to speak more clearly. From what I've seen, he might be right. "We've discussed this. We know this is the only possible course of action." "And how did you come to this decision?" I ask. "Well," Agent Mulder says, "we didn't have much choice once we got your message." "My message?" "Yes, sir," Agent Scully says. "And, again, we appreciate it. I appreciate it." I look at the door. "Mrs. Landingham!" I shout for my secretary, who comes in seconds later, tripping over CJ in the doorway. I furrow my brow at both of them. "Mrs. Landingham, did I send a message to the FBI?" I ask her. "When?" She asks, and I turn to Agent Scully. "Yesterday," the agent says. Mrs. Landingham shakes her head. "No, sir. You did not." And then, as if she's offended, or maybe suspicious, adds, "At least, not through me." "I didn't think so," I agree. "You can go." "Thank you sir," she says, and trots out the door. "You didn't send a message through me either," CJ says hopefully. "Well, now," I say, ignoring her. "Let's figure this thing out. Agent Scully, you got a message from me, yesterday." "Saying you wanted to give me a commendation for uncovering this technology," Scully says. "How kind of me." "Yes," she says. "Thank you." "Any time," I say, furrowing my brow. "So we figured the information had been leaked to you," Agent Mulder says. "We had no choice but to go public. And Scully had no choice but to cut the deal." "If you don't mind, sir," Agent Scully says, "what did you think this meeting was about?" I look at CJ. "CJ said...it was on the slate. I read it last night. I figured Toby or Sam or someone had...CJ? You told me about this. I remember it clearly. I was eating an orange." "You were," she says. "I read it off the slate. I figured Josh or Leo or someone had told..." CJ squints. "How the hell DID we find out about this thing?" "Go," I tell her. "Talk to Leo and Toby. Find out how this thing got on the slate. You've got..." I look at my watch and it's 5:25. "Four minutes," I tell her. She throws the agents a look, and I sigh. "GO, CJ. Scram." She scrams, and the door shuts behind her. Four minutes later we're all outside the briefing room and CJ's shaking her head. "Nobody?" I ask. Leo's there, Toby, Josh, Sam, all looking to me, wondering what to do. "We go ahead with the thing," I say decisively. "Even though we're not sure...?" CJ is looking at Sam who is looking at his watch. "Even though we're not sure," I say. "Someone in the press leaked it; that's our best guess, anyway, and it's the line we'll use if we're ever asked. Which we won't be. It's too big a thing, CJ." Leo, my Chief of Staff, is shaking his head and his eyes are wide. "Are you sure, sir? If we've got a security problem, we don't want to be out there flaunting stolen information." "Is this false information, Agent Scully?" I ask. "No, sir," she says. "This is the real thing." "Then we've got a responsibility to the American people, Leo," I say. "We do it." "Understood, sir," Leo says. + + + + + + + There are flashbulbs and CJ enters onto the podium, leaving me in the wings. She addresses the press, introducing me, giving background on Agent Scully. I look down the corridor where the agents are silhouetted in the dark; her head tips against his chest and he wraps his arms around her. She falls in toward him and even in the shadows I can see her trembling, and him trembling too. It occurs to me that that must be what it is; it's not the job that's a problem, but it's leaving him, her partner, that she can't take. And I begin to wonder if perhaps there's something I'm not seeing, if perhaps this sacrifice she's making is greater than she's let on. She pulls away from Agent Mulder and steps into the light beside me, and to the rhythmic din of applause we swap places with CJ and stand at the podium looking out on cameras and microphones and hundreds of eager faces ready to scoop, to expose, to tell and thrill the world with the greatest news story of the last decade. She's great up here, poised, and with a smile she places her palms on the podium and fields questions. The first one, the obvious one, comes from a woman named Margot at some midwestern paper, and the crowd shushes to listen. "Agent Scully," Margot says, "how did you discover the cure for cancer?" Ten minutes later the papers have their story and I'm looking at the teleprompter for my closing address. Out of the corner of my eye I see Agent Scully escorted from the wings, down the corridor, away from her partner. One of my secret service men is with her and the last words I hear as he leads her into the shadows are, "excuse me, sir, but there's no smoking in here." I blink at the crowd and then stare past them at the blue words scrolling on black under the glass mezzanine. Sam wrote these words earlier today, but in the four minutes before coming up here I had him change them. "There's a word," I begin, "that comes from Arabic. We still use it. 'Fedayee:' means 'commando.' More specifically, it's used to describe someone who goes on a suicide mission, someone who sacrifices him or herself for his country. The root word, in Arabic, is 'fida.' Which means 'sacrifice,' too, but it also has a second meaning. 'Ransom.' "With that in mind, I'd like to take a moment to pay tribute to Agent Dana Scully of the FBI, whose hard work has made this incredible breakthrough possible. Thousands who are sick now have hope. Thousands more will never get sick because of this technology. This did not come about without cost. Without trade. Without something given up, so much sacrificed for so long by so many so this ransom could be paid." I look into the wings where Agent Mulder is watching me with shiny eyes. His fingers are steepled, pressed against his lips, and CJ's standing a respectful distance away, watching him. "Still," I say, turning away from the teleprompter. "This is a great day. For America, and for the world. And for Agent Dana Scully, on behalf of the office of the President of the United States, I offer our sincere congratulations. To her I offer my own unyielding respect, for the ransom she's paid and the sacrifices she's made, for all of us. To her I offer the only recompense it's my authority to bestow: the thanks of a grateful nation." THE END drop me a line at emilyss@mindspring.com _ Poor, poor Gibson Praise Left to live out the rest of his days Alone in the reactor core Since we put an end to the alien war. And that flaking, scaling, molting grey thing Will be poor Gibson's only plaything Since Fox and Dana just don't care That Mr. Carter's left him there. http://emilyss.home.mindspring.com/xfiles.htm (Writing on the X-Files)