God of War: Time Out


Lynn Jepsen


Closing her eyes, the young woman lifted a pen and brushed a strand of
auburn hair from her face. Once the strand was safely tucked behind her
ear, she wrote in a bold hand--

Mom,

You were right, working here took me so far from home, and so far from
what I thought I needed that my head still spins when I think about it. I
need you here though. I don't want you to come, because I have a job to
do, and a crutch would cripple me, but I need you, and I love you, and I
want you to know.

Pray for him, Mom, if not for Uncle Sam, then for me. He's my friend,
too.

Love always,
Rae.

*

She lay back, letting her head rest against his thigh, giving silent
thanks that both his arms and the couch were there to catch her. Closing
her eyes, she let a memory fight to the surface. It was 1997. The
restaurant was boisterous. It was Nebraska, or maybe Arkansas. They had
only been together for a few months--

//"What's it doin' Claudia Jean?"

"Wipe that smirk off your face!"

"Hate to admit I was right, don't ya."//

She smiles then, and Toby reaches down to smooth her hair. She's busy
remembering his dimples, and his quick shrug when she'd laughed at him.
Remembering the arrogance, the pride, the quick retorts, the gaffs - it
was easy. It was the image he cultivated. Forgetting the charm, and the
quiet consideration, that would be even tougher.

//"Feelin' okay?"

"I'm fine, Josh. Go away."

"Carol said you were sick."

"Go away."

"Go home, CJ."

"I have a briefing."

"I'm doing it."

"Josh--"

"And there will be no secret plan to fight inflation, I swear. Go home,
Claudia Jean. Sleep soundly, dream well. Donna and Leo will keep me out
of trouble."//

Her tears slip wordlessly from her eyes as she remembers his face,
telling her about the NSA card. Self-conscious, she brushes the tears
away, but Toby's mingle with her own, and they simply sit.

Quiet.

Remembering.

*

Two days with Dreifort. He had been indignant on her behalf after the
Justice finished his tirade, and when he fired her.... She had thought
about returning to the Bureau. That thought lasted all of thirty seconds.
He offered her a job then, working beside him for the Minority Whip. He'd
introduced her to Leo McGarry a few months later, and when she moved to
Labor to serve as Leo's Chief of Staff, he called around to determine the
best kind of wine to serve with Chinese takeout.

Her eyes are dry remembering his toast. They had clinked glasses over
fried rice, crab rangoon, and sweet and sour chicken. She'd laughed as
she read her fortune: "Your friends are your strength." Laughter tugs at
her eyes. She remembers his fortune. Not word for word, but the good
natured ribbing and the long jokes it prompted.

Unsure what forced her to recall that meal, she fights for control. He
brought Sam home. He made them dinner reservations. He was shot at
Rosslyn. He lived. He made her hisband President of the United States.
Wondering where each of them would be today had he never overheard her
argument with Justice Dreifort in the muted halls of the Supreme Court,
she is struck by the irony.

She and Sam would never have met, but Josh Lyman would definitely not be
a hostage in Egypt.

*

For the first time in days, his hands are steady. The Chairman of the
Joint Chiefs has confirmed his lack of options. The Secretary of State
has outlined their plan of action. He affixed his signature to both
documents - one commanding troops to enforce the treaty by any and all
means necessary, one casting aside his best friend.

His hands are steady now, and when he turns from the window, his face is
calm. The decisions are made. His heart and soul have reconciled his
actions. He sits behind his desk, and studies the Presidential Seal woven
into the carpeting before jotting down his thoughts. Morning will again
come in only hours, and he will address the public. He will explain the
importance of guaranteeing freedom and land to those without. He will wax
poetic about an unspoken mandate to protect the weak. He will stress the
significance of putting down terrorism in all forms. He will call for
their support.

They will give it freely, of that, he has no doubt.

He will need that support, for his staunchest ally is gone.

His own signature authorizing military intervention has sealed a death
warrant.

For the first time in days, his hands are steady. He marvels at them. How
can they remain calm when his decision still rocks him to the core.


God of War: Part 25

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