Author: Meghan Reilly (squirreilly@hotmail.com)

Archive: Go right ahead.

Summary: We saw a little bit of a relationship between Mark Gottfried and CJ
in BTSOTU. Here's a peek into part of the scene we didn't get to see.

Author's Notes: God, I hate Henry Shallick. Corbin Bernsen gets on my
nerves, too. :) This story might end up being the first of a series from the
POV of Gottfried, if you guys like it enough. Usual props to Kate and
Sheila- I missed you guys! I'm back now, Sheila, so sign on to ICQ, dammit.
:)

--
Up Against, 1/1
--

It's been one hell of a night. So far.

As of now, I'm sitting at a desk on a makeshift television set. We're
getting ready to go with a live broadcast of "Capitol Beat", and various
people, everyone from technicians to makeup people, hover around me. The
network has spared no expense in making this night, this program, perfect;
it doesn't get much better than broadcasting live from the West Wing of the
White House.

The desk I'm at looks much more expensive than it is, and for the first
time, I think, in my entire career, I'm waiting on the crew to get us
started, instead of the other way around. Usually it's me rushing onto the
set five seconds before we go on the air. Sitting here at the desk,
perfectly ready, just watching everyone else rushing around, is weird.

A little too weird. "Chris, who've we got first?" I ask my assistant as he
walks past me. It's a silly question; obviously, I know who I'll be talking
with when the show begins. I only asked it to hear my own voice-- to
contribute to the preparations, because as it is, I feel like a lump on a
log.

Chris Matthews, a young guy who's far more mature and much smarter than he
should be, raises his eyebrow and stops darting around for a moment. "I
thought they'd told you in the car- we've got Shallick now, instead of Ann
Stark-"

"Yeah."

"And the Press Secretary on your right, or, actually, left, maybe, I don't
know--"

"CJ."

"Yeah. They told you this, right?"

"Yeah. I was just-"

He smiles and waves his hand. He understands. I'll never get how this guy
can be so smart and perceptive sometimes. He knows what's going on in
politics before almost anyone else does, simply because he predicts things
before they happen. I swear, the Bartlet administration could lose Sam
Seaborn and bring in Chris without missing a beat.

Chris gets that I'm nervous, an amazing thing because I don't even get it.
I've done the show literally hundreds of times, with all sorts of people
from differing levels of power throughout Washington. This is, however, the
first time I've been in the West Wing with a specific purpose. One I was
given permission for, anyway.

A tall, imposing man suddenly strides up to the desk and extends his hand. I
rise and shake it, inwardly reluctant. Henry Shallick. I'm glad that we lost
Ann Stark at the last second, because there would have been a hell of a mess
to clean up once CJ got through with her; still, I wish that we hadn't
replaced her with Shallick. The network bigwigs are convinced that we got
lucky, and I guess we did, but honestly, the guy is the physical
manifestation of everything that can go wrong in an elected official.

"Congressman Shallick," I say with a fake smile that I hope he takes as
genuine. "We're so glad you could be here tonight-"

"Well, yes, I guess you are," he says gruffly, retracting his hand and
sitting down at the desk. Some rabbit comes over and attaches a mike to his
lapel. We sit in terse, uncomfortable silence. I pray to God that CJ will
show up soon.

She doesn't. We wait.

"Who will I be going up against?" the Congressman asks suddenly, startling
me.

"Ah-" A wardrobe person starts fiddling with me, giving me time to form a
response. "Actually, Congressman, I don't want you to get the wrong idea.
Tonight's show doesn't use our normal theme. You're not "going up against"
anyone. We're simply going to discuss the President's-"

"Mr. Gottfried, I hope you don't find me rude, but I'm going to tell you
that I will most definitely be against whomever you'll have seated on your
other side."

Fine. You want to be hostile? I can be hostile, bub.

I choose not to respond to his thinly veiled threat. "Our other guest during
the time you're slated for will be the White House Press Secretary."

He looks at me and smirks. "CJ Cregg? You sent me a girl?"

It sure as hell is a good thing we're about to go on camera, because the
only thing stopping me from ripping this guy a new one is that I don't think
it would be too good for ratings to have him unconscious and bleeding all
over the fake desk.

CJ arrives then, a veritable ray of sunshine. She's walking oddly, but she
shakes Shallick's hand with a plastered-on smile and then mine with what I
hope is a real one. She leans close to me over the desk and whispers in my
ear, "Ann Stark chickened out when she saw my name, didn't she?"

I grin at her as she pulls away, winking. I remember now why I've always
liked working with her so much.

"Guys," she calls to the crew scattered about, "How much time have we got?"

A couple rabbits look at their watches. "Forty-five seconds," one announces.

CJ whirls around to face them, and it's then that I notice the streaks of
shining white paint on the back of her pants.

"Well, we have a bit of a problem-"

"You sat in paint?" I say, biting back laughter.

She faces me once more and scowls. "Yes, I did. In the sculpture garden. I-"

"Thirty seconds," someone calls.

"Crap," CJ says, mortified.

"Take 'em off," Shallick says.

Dead silence.

CJ opens her mouth incredulously at him. "I'm sorry, Congressman, but what-"

"Listen, Miss Cregg. You haven't got time to stand here and fuss about it.
We're on live TV in thirty-"

"Twenty-five," I correct, eliciting a glare from CJ. Ouch. I'm going to pay
for that.

"Twenty-five seconds, thank you. You haven't got much of a choice."

CJ tightens her jaw, obviously disliking the prospect of stripping at the
behest of the Deputy House Majority Whip. She seems to realize, however,
that her options are limited. With as much dignity as she can muster, she
walks around to her side of the desk, quickly removes the ruined garment,
and takes her seat gingerly. A techie attaches a mike to her lapel and
scoots out of the way just as the five-second countdown begins.

Just before the lights go up, CJ leans over, covers her mike, and whispers,
"Shallick wants me."

The broadcast begins, and CJ turns away from me, smiling brilliantly.

This night's just getting started.

--
end 1/1