AUTHORS: Luna (lunavudu@aol.com) and Jess (bolander3.aol.com)

ARCHIVE: Grab it from our site: http://geocities.com/spark_fanfic

SUMMARY: "We're going to write this speech."

NOTES: If you believe they're our characters, who are we to take away your
illusions? Props to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells, Neil Gaiman, Modern Humorist,
Bill Clinton and his speechwriters, and Maurice Boscarelli. Extra-propitious
props to Richard Schiff and the Rob Lowe. We welcome feedback of any stripe.


When It Works


A miss.

Another miss.

Direct hit.

Toby tore yet another piece of paper off his notepad, glaring at his own
writing. He crumpled it mercilessly in his fist, and hurled it across the
deserted, darkened bullpen. It ricocheted off the edge of Ginger's desk and
into the wastebasket. With grim satisfaction, he ripped out the next sheet.

Sam came around the corner. "Hey, how's it--" He stopped abruptly as the
wad of paper bounced off his head. "Ah. Not going well, then."

"Just bring me last year's speech and a goddamn Sharpie," Toby muttered.

Sam looked at him reproachfully. "Toby."

"Do you seriously think anyone besides you and I will actually know the
difference?"

"Yeah, I do. I think the President will notice. I think everyone in the
White House will notice. I think a hundred Senators and 435 members of the
House will notice. To say nothing of all their employees, which I'd estimate
number in the--"

"Shut up." Toby growled.

"Okay."

"I meant outside the Beltway, in the real world. Do you think any real
people are paying attention?"

"It's televised nationally in prime time."

"And there are fifty cable channels." Toby marched back into his office.
"If I wasn't writing the damn thing I'd be watching HBO."

"Look, maybe I can contribute something here." Sam followed him. "I can
bring something new to the table."

Toby shot a doubtful glance at Sam and sat down at his desk. "You have
nothing, huh?"

"No," Sam admitted cheerfully, "but neither do you."

"Maybe if I wasn't being interrupted--"

Sam pulled up a chair. "You were standing around and throwing things.
That's not exactly the height of productivity."

He frowned and shoved some paper and a pencil in Sam's direction. "I'm
playing around with the opening."

Sam spoke aloud as he jotted down notes. "Mr. Speaker, Mr. Vice President,
members of Congress, distinguished guests, and my fellow Americans...."

"Obviously, I already have that part."

"Yeah. Okay. Distinguished guests, and my fellow Americans... wassup?"

"Was that supposed to be funny?"

Sam shrugged apologetically. "I'm thinking of the people outside the
Beltway."

"I'm thinking of ways to kill you with my pen."

"So it wasn't funny."

"It wasn't in the same borough as funny." Toby frowned. "Honored guests or
distinguished guests?"

"I like distinguished."

"So do I, which means the President will probably hate it."

"Still. Distinguished guests and my fellow Americans... tonight, I have the
honor of reporting to you on the State of the Union." Sam looked up and
smiled. "See, we have a whole sentence already."

"Very good," Toby replied dryly. "Want to try working on something that will
take some actual effort?"

"Bring it on." Sam leaned back in his seat.

"Obviously, we have to address the economy, foreign policy, the military, and
education, among other things--"

"Along with a smattering of illustrative anecdotes and patriotic,
spirit-lifting stuff."

Toby stared at Sam. "I keep asking myself what I did to deserve you."

"Is that a compliment?" Sam grinned mischievously.

"What do you think?"

Sam stood and began pacing the room. "I think we need to start strong, to
hook the attention of the home viewers."

"You might be on to something there." Toby tapped a pen against his pad. "A
bold statement and a hint of things to come."

"Maybe... as I stand here tonight, in this room that is so filled with people
committed to making this country the best in the world, I am delighted to
announce that the State of the Union has never been stronger." Sam looked at
Toby. "Yeah?"

"Not bad... in this room that is so filled with people?"

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Too much?"

"Full of people." Toby jotted it down. "In this room full of people... that's
good, Sam."

"So now what?"

"We talk about what we've done and then we lay into Congress."

"I like that part," Sam mused. "So, the past year has seen a restoration of
the American spirit."

"A restoration?"

"Maybe a resurrection."

"A revolution?

"A rebirth."

"A resurgence."

"A resurgence. I like that."

"Now we only need to do that with nine thousand more words." Toby flipped
through a pile of index-carded notes, laying them out on his desk like pieces
of a jigsaw puzzle. "Should we move crime in front of health care?"

Sam walked over and studied the array. "I don't know."

"Do we want to wind up with technology, or campaign finance reform?"

"I don't know."

"Are we emphasizing debt relief over non-proliferation?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know anything?" Toby demanded, frustrated.

"I know my first name is Sam." He picked up one of the cards. "Partners in
peace and prosperity?"

"What about it?"

"Nice alliteration. Is that describing government and the private sector, or
America and developing nations?"

Toby pondered this and grumbled, "I don't remember."

"That's not a good sign," Sam said.

"No. Look, would you do something with this stuff about global development
and American leadership, put it in some kind of semblance of order?"

Sam looked at the scrawled, near-illegible notes. "Is it too late to start
looking for a Sharpie?"

The hours rolled on, and the rough pages piled up gradually. Their progress
was slow and difficult, but at least they were pressing on. Then Sam started
to struggle with the transition between technology and foreign relations, and
Toby found himself mired in a search for the right phrase on environmental
policy.

"I'm stuck," Sam confessed, after several minutes of stillness.

"Yeah." Toby rubbed his eyes.

"Are you tired?"

"No more than I usually am at four in the morning. What do we have so far?"

"We have the economy, prosperity, et cetera, opportunity and responsibility
in education, making college affordable, new teachers, blah bling blah--"

"Bling?" Toby interrupted.

"Heard it on TV, thought I'd try it out, won't do it again," Sam said
quickly. "After education, we have the stuff about tax breaks for
middle-class families, and then crime."

"There's nothing between taxes and health care?"

"A musical montage?" Sam suggested.

"We need to say something about making new efforts at providing health care
to children below the poverty line."

"Hmm." He sat down on the couch, tapping his fingers on his knee. "Congress
must take a fresh look. Make a fresh start. Take a fresh step?"

"A fresh step? No. That's a brand of cat litter."

"So we probably don't want to use it in reference to the Health Insurance
Coverage Initiative."

"As appropriate as it may seem." Toby shook his head.

"Fair point." Sam sat in silence for a moment, then looked triumphantly at
Toby. "Congress has been spinning their wheels for far too long. It's time
for them to shift into high gear and focus on the health care issues that are
facing low-income Americans."

"If we could stop with the driving metaphors...."

Sam sighed. "Other than that?"

"I like it." Toby made a note of it and then quickly scanned their work.
"Yeah, we can use that."

"Okay." Sam stood and stretched. "What's left?"

"Many, many things."

"I'm heading down to the vending machines. Do you want anything?"

Without looking up from his notes, Toby grunted and shook his head.

"Try to make some progress while I'm gone." Sam fiddled with his wallet and
started out the door. "If you can't, we can always just go back to 'the era
of big government is over'."

"You're dead to me, Seaborn."

Toby loosened his tie and slipped off his shoes. With a weary sigh, he
stepped out from behind his desk and began walking in slow circles around his
office, sinking his toes into the carpet. Suddenly, inspiration struck and
he raced back to his chair.

"Are you writing?"

He looked up and saw Sam standing in the doorway. "Yes, I am. I've decided
to abandon the speech, however, and instead start writing a coming of age
novel."

"That's fascinating." Sam held up his purchases. "I got you some Cheetos.
And a... thing of juice."

"Your vocabulary continues to amaze me."

"Okay, here's the deal." Sam sat down. "We are going to write this speech. We
are going to write the best speech we've ever written, and we are going to do
it now."

"Sam?"

He took a breath. "We have to do this right now, and we can do it because we
are a part of one of the strongest administrations this country has ever
seen, an administration that has done great things. And you know what? We
aren't even warmed up yet. America needs to hear that, Toby. We're going to
write this speech."

Toby paused for a moment. "We can use that."

"Yeah?" Sam smiled.

"Yeah." Toby swiveled in his chair and began typing. "Yeah."

"Good. Can I have a Cheeto?"

"No."

Toby was suddenly in his element, finding the words and feeling a sense of
where they belonged. Sam hurried to read over his shoulder, his face
lighting up as ideas took shape. Policy and poetry fell into place, and both
men forgot to be tired as the sun came up, and daylight replaced darkness.


* * *

End.