#hey anybody watched the west wing MS storyline in this house or what

[pelorsdyke]

ronancetober - day nine: free day [west wing au]

“What the hell was that?”

When she enters Nancy’s office, the woman in question is scribbling furiously on a yellow legal pad, books and highlighters surrounding her on the desk.

“Good morning, Nancy, it’s nice to see you, Nancy, oh, thank you so much, Robin, it’s nice to see you too.” Nancy replies, not looking up from her task. Robin rolls her eyes.

“Good morning, Nancy. What the hell was that?”

Nancy’s pen runs out of ink and she switches for a replacement, tossing the old one into the wastebasket at her feet. Still, she doesn’t lift her gaze, though whether it’s purposeful or just a symptom of Nancy being deep in her work, Robin doesn’t know.

“I did my job,” Nancy replies, and her voice is sincere, if a little ticked, “you know, the thing where they pay me human money to make sure the President doesn’t get torpedoed by a bunch of idiots?”

“Yeah, well, you also directly undermined me to the press corps,” Robin reminds her, still thinking about the way Vickie Stewart pulled her aside after the briefing not ten minutes ago. “You know,” she mocks, “the thing where they pay me human money to make sure the White House has consistent and accurate messaging?”

At this, Nancy looks up.

“I didn’t undermine you,” she says, instant, and her gaze remains locked on Robin’s. Robin scoffs and Nancy shakes her head, repeats herself. “I didn’t undermine you, Robin.”

“Then what the hell is the Post doing asking me about the Speaker of the House?” Robin replies, and Nancy frowns, considering for a moment. It’s one of the woman’s best qualities, especially given her job description, but sometimes it really pisses Robin off. Sometimes, like right now.

“Speaker’s not elected yet, Nance,” Robin reminds her, and Nancy shoots her a look, I know that, idiot clear across her face.

“What’s Stewart claiming to know?” Nancy asks, and if Robin didn’t know better, she’d think the tone in Nancy’s voice on Vickie’s name is jealousy.

“You don’t know it’s Stewart,” Robin says, just to be difficult.

“Nobody else at the Post would tell you,” Nancy fires back, “they’d just print the story and make it your problem at the next briefing.”

Robin bristles. She feels, honestly, a little protective over the journalists in the press room. She knows there’s staff that think she’s too friendly with them, but it’s important to her job to not be antagonistic as much as it’s important to her personally. There’s a non-zero number of people in the White House who consider the press and politicians to be permanently at each other’s throats, and Robin believes that’s a terrible way to run a country. Journalists are, as much as they’re occasionally pains in her ass, an extension of the American people.

“What’s she saying?” Nancy repeats, and Robin shoves her hands in her pockets, desperate for something to fiddle with.

“That Byers is trying to prop up a Democratic candidate to lessen the pressure during the impending investigation,” Robin says, quoting Vickie directly. “Special prosecutor not withstanding.”

Nancy rolls her eyes. “The President is supporting a candidate from her own party for a position in government. The horror.”

“That’s not the problem and you know it,” Robin replies. “We’re staring down the barrel of an investigation that could make or break the presidency— based on accusations of something she did in fact do, in case you’ve forgotten— and people are starting to suggest it could shift toward impeachment.”

“It’s not gonna shift toward impeachment.”

“It will if you’re an idiot about this!”

Nancy’s eyes narrow. “Choose your next words very carefully.” It’s times like this that Robin remembers she’s the least powerful senior staff member, that Nancy is leagues beyond her.

“There’s discussion of attempts on behalf of the presidency to defraud the American people,” Robin holds up a hand when Nancy begins to cut in, “whether you agree with the assessment is not the point, the point is that it’s the conversation being had. Now this kind of thing, maybe she gets a censure, has a black mark on her presidency. Fine. Not great, but not the end of the world. But there’s been talk for a while now about conspiracy.”

“Conspiracy toward what end?” Nancy sputters.

“Conspiracy to win a presidential election,” Robin replies. It’s another thing she’s quoting verbatim, though this time not from Vickie. “Lying to the American people, it’s tantamount to manipulation in some people’s eyes.”

Nancy sighs, drops her head into her hands.

“So tell me, Nance,” Robin says, gentling her voice, “what the hell you were thinking supporting Byers’ move here.”

“The same thing she was thinking,” Nancy replies, lifting her head to meet Robin’s gaze again, “that the investigation is primarily politically-motivated bullshit from a Republican Party that hates her guts. That they’re trying to tank her chances of re-election. That the special prosecutor is a good guy, but we’d rather have someone on our side in his ear.”

Robin considers her answer for a moment. It’s times like these when she really wants to smack everyone in the cabinet over the head with something heavy. Their instinct to not include her in these discussions is typically built on a not so terrible foundation, she supposes, with the idea that if she doesn’t know something, she can’t tell the press, but it’s also unbearably stupid. She’s the president’s first line of defense, the person who’ll get the questions about it, and it’s not a good way to build trust with the public to have your press secretary be an idiot who doesn’t have a clue what the administration is planning to do. Case in point, Vickie Stewart from the Washington Post suggesting that at the next briefing, she intended to ask Robin a question about the president’s push to elect a Democratic congressperson to be Speaker of the House. Robin had laughed, actually, at first, when the reporter had said it.

It also removes her ability to tell them the actually useful thing to do, media-wise, in times like this.

“Okay,” Robin says, sliding into the seat on the other side of Nancy’s desk, “imagine this. There’s three ways this goes, one of which is a Democratic-led investigation against a Democratic President, which ultimately leads— regardless of if they find her guilty or not— to questions of if we put our finger on the scale.”

Nancy wilts, a little. “You can’t be telling me you want to put Republicans in charge of an investigation into the sanctity of Byers’ election process.”

“I’m not telling you what I want, I’m telling you what we have to do. I’ll tell you, I’ll tell Hopper, I’ll tell Byers, I don’t give a damn. It’s not about what I think, it’s about what the American people think.” Robin pushes on. This is one of the reasons she’s gotten to where she has in her career: not only is she smart, people listen to her when she talks. And she talks a lot.

Nancy quirks an eyebrow, permission to continue.

“Number two,” Robin ticks off on her fingers, “is that the special prosecutor, who, by the way, is well-respected across party lines, runs this case independently. Here, you’re just tossing the coin up in the air. You know that, it’s why none of you were backing off on Speaker candidates. I’m not saying it’s pretty, but it’s politics. You know as well as I do that if he runs a clean investigation with nobody’s help, Byers is looking at a loss.”

Nancy sighs. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell anybody.”

“She told Hopper,” Robin says, though she knows it’s futile, and Nancy scoffs.

“And he did bullshit with it, so that’s not exactly helpful here.” Nancy replies, and Robin has to concede that point. “So then, the third way is…”

“Republicans, yeah.” Robin cuts in. “Don’t look so thrilled.”

“Just seems like we’re asking to get our ass handed to us,” Nancy says, and Robin can’t help chuckling a little.

“We are,” she replies, smirking when Nancy’s brow furrows with confusion. “We’re absolutely asking for them to fuck us over, Wheeler. Keep up. I’m a member of the American public, watching the proceedings, thinking about who I’m gonna vote for, and I see a bunch of Republicans taking a break between their trips to Fox to sit on a panel for forty-five minutes and talk shit about Byers to run a politically-motivated trashing against her from Congress, during an election year?”

Nancy’s jaw drops open a little in surprise, but she quickly swallows down the emotion, the corners of her lips twisting up into a smile instead. “Christ, Buckley,” she says, after a second, “you’re fucking terrifying.”

“Oh, stop,” Robin replies, pleased as punch, “you’re gonna make me blush.”