Authors: Rogue

Title: A Mentor for Joanie

Rating: PG

Summary: The daughter of a former Bartlet staffer gets a mentor in her father's old boss.

Note: I wrote this after watching Tuesdays with Moorie and crying for thirty minutes. It's cute, but still in progress.

Disclaimer: I don't own The West Wing or Tuesdays with Moorie. Joanie is a made up character and if she in anyway resembles other characters in other fan fics it's purely accidental.

Note: Here we go people.

A Mentor for Joanie

What am I doing here?

I ask myself this as I walk down the echoing halls of Notre Dame College. My boots clunk on the tiles and I look like I could be a college student, with a small tee shirt, leather jacket and bootleg cut black pants. My dark brown hair, that matches my eyes, is long and strait and brushes my shoulders. I have a backpack slung over my shoulder, I swear I've had it since high school.

I gaze around the halls looking for the room number I got at the desk.

Number 223... 224... 225... ah ha, 226! I take a deep breath before slowly turning the doorknob and entering the lecture hall. I slide into the closest seat and gaze down at the Professor.

He's talking about the economy crisis in poor African countries and I listen intently to the soft voice of reason I always heard my father talk about. I haven't seen this man in years, but I feel like I've never been away. He looks like a grandfather, with white strands in his deep brown hair and sitting on a stool wearing a large Notre Dame sweatshirt and a pair of loose jeans. Not at up to dress code at all. I decided I liked that right then and there.

He cracked jokes in the middle of talking about a serious subject, and what was even more was that he made it interesting. I've been through many years of school. Right now I'm attending law school, and teachers who make the material interesting are few and far between. They're rare, and to be treasured. For no one is more important in life. I will never have anyone who affects me more then the educators I've meet through my life. My father was one of them, and so was my mother, I love them both, and will never forget the things they taught me. I guess it's part of that, that brings me here, to the large lecture hall in Notre Dame. For years I heard stories form my father and mother, about what the White House was like. It was what motivated me to go into politics. It's what made me get a degree in Political Science and get accepted into Harvard law school.

One thing that remained constant in all their telling of the events that went on in that one administration, was the man they worked for. My father said men like him came along once in a million years. My mother would always counter this, saying there were a whole slew of men like that, and they all worked for that one. My parents often argue like this, like a damn debate team. But I guess that's part of what I love about them.

My twin brother Noah said once that he could never go into politics because he got enough of that at home. He's now a zoologist and works at the National Zoo in DC. The opposite happened to me. I was like a political spongeóexcuse the poor metaphorówhatever I could get; I soaked up and kept with me.

I still remember all the stories my parents told me when I was little, about what it was like working where they did. I heard their triumphs and their tragedies, and wanted to feel the same. My biggest dream is to work in that white house on Pennsylvania Avenue, so I can feel what my parents felt. So I can know what it's like to wake up every morning looking forward to your day, and go to sleep each night knowing I made a difference.

Life bored me as a child, and I used to dream about traveling to foreign places and getting caught in some grand adventure. I didn't realize I could find it so close to home. After indulging in thousands of White House tales, I got it stuck in my head at an early age, that it would happen to me one day. I figured I would never be bored, and to tell the truth remaining dormant for very long is not one of my best qualities.

My mom says I get that from my father.

I love my father; he's wonderful and I know I'm lucky to have him. His father died before he settled down with my mom and had three kids: me, my twin brother Noah and my little brother Jed. Jed's a junior in High School and he looks like he may end up like me, and go into some political arena. My father wouldn't care any which way, he's got me to fulfill his ideals of having a child to pass on the legacy of being in law and politics. My grandfather was in law, and my dad went to law school, but concentrated on the political aspects of it all, which is what I intend to do. My dad told me once that if there were two men who filled his father's shoes after he died; it would have to be Leo McGarry and Josiah Bartlet.

Which brings me back to the lecture hall in Notre Dame. I'm looking down at the man my father adores. The man who overcame so much. He still has MS, but he loves to teach. After he left office, he came back to Notre Dameóis alma materóto pass on his ideas.

I'm transfixed on this man and don't even realize when the lecture is over. Until I see the people in front of me get up and leave. Some go down and have small talk with him. I hang to the side, wondering if it's okay to approach him.

I wait until the last student leaves before slowly walking up.

"Mr. Bartlet?" I ask timidly. I'm nervous as all hell, meeting my father's hero; it's like a dream.

"Yes?" he asks. He doesn't recognize me.

"I'm Joan Lyman," I say, gulping. "My fatheró

"You're Joanie Lyman?" he asks, straitening and grinning at me. I falter; no one calls me Joanie except my parents and brothers.

"Yes," I say slowly.

"Wow, you got big," Bartlet says, looking me up and down. "How old are you now?"

"Twenty three," I say, shifting my feet nervously.

"Oh, you're out of school?"

"Actually I'm going to Harvard for law."

"Oh, like JoshÖI mean, your Dad," Bartlet grins. "How is your dad?"

"Oh, good," I say quickly. "He and Mom are busy on the campaign. I'ms ure they would love to hear fomr you."

"I just may call them," He says, grinning again. "So how is Donna Moss-Lyman putting up with the campaign life?"

"Well," I say, smiling. "She took to the whole thing really fast."

"She's good at it, always kept your father in line," Bartlet grins. "So what are you doing here, Notre Dame is a while away from Harvard."

"UmmÖyeahÖactually I wanted to know if you could help me," I say softly.

"With what?"

"WellÖI'm writing a book," I explain quickly. "And I just wanted to know if I could interview you or something, for it."

He pauses for a second and seems to mull it over. I'm praying that he'll say yes.

"When do you want to meet?"

My heart beats a mile a minute.

"How about next Tuesday at three?"

"Sure."