Aug 29: Salus Populi Suprema Lex Esto
Title: Salus Populi Suprema Lex Esto
Author: Electra310 (Etraytin on TTH)
Crossover: The West Wing
Summary: A terrorist attack changes the state of play at the White House.
Rating: FR15
Word Count: 1158
Timeline: Season 7 Buffy, Season 4 The West Wing, twenty-ninth in the "Dulce et Decorum" series beginning with Ipsos Custodes.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I am just doing this for fun. All rights remain with their owners.
The Situation Room always seemed to be the second-darkest room in the White House, and Jed was never quite sure why. (The first one was of course the White House movie theater, which at least made sense.) If he'd been in charge of arranging the lighting, it would've been much brighter, with maybe some chalkboards and maps on the walls instead of the always-tetchy computerized displays. Of course, when he was actually summoned to the Sit room, he hardly ever had any time to think about the decorations. “What do we know?” he asked briskly as he walked in and moved to the head of the table.
“It's a terrorist bombing in London,” Admiral Fitzwallace reported, pointing to satellite imagery already up on one of the screens. “A multistory office building in the center of the city was blown to bits about ninety minutes ago, right in the middle of the work day there. Rescue efforts are currently centered on finding and treating people in the surrounded area who were hit with flying debris or falling masonry. The building itself was so comprehensively destroyed that they're focusing on recovery of bodies rather than rescue. They don't expect to find any survivors.”
“My god,” Jed murmured, looking at the grainy footage, then over at Leo. “Has anyone taken credit for it?”
“A couple of fringe groups,” Fitzwallace said dismissively, “but this wasn't political. Sir, the building that was destroyed was the headquarters of the Watcher's Council.”
A brief but pregnant silence settled over the room as these high-ranking military officers absorbed the possible significance of such a strike. It was interrupted only when Leo asked “What the hell is the Watcher's Council?”
***
It took a little while to give Leo even the Reader's Digest version of a supernatural education, and by the end he was looking more than a little shell-shocked. He was nothing if not professional, though, and quickly turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “So if something was able to take out the headquarters of the oldest and most organized force against evil... things... in the world, we can assume it's probably something even worse than they'd seen before,” he summarized.
“Worse, or at least different,” Jed agreed. “Most supernatural wars aren't waged with conventional weaponry, including explosives. It's a very long story, but it has to do with the balance between good and evil, and nobody wanting a demonic arms race. It looks like whoever did this is ignoring that rule, and managed to breach the wards while doing it.” He took a deep breath. “I'm going to step outside a minute. I need to make a phone call.”
“Sir?” Leo asked quizzically.
“It'll only be a minute, I promise. Have Fitz tell you some war stories about vampires,” he encouraged, then headed for the door. It wasn't that cell phones didn't work in the Sit Room, but for some reason he just didn't want to try this call around other people. Jed walked down the secured hall a little ways, buying at least the illusion of privacy from his secret service agents, and called Quentin's number. He got the familiar chirps for an international call, then a polite automatic voice telling him the number was not in service.
Jed immediately cursed himself for a fool. Quentin's work phone was under god only knew how many tons of rubble right now. He cleared the number and dialed the cell phone number instead, unconsciously holding his breath. It rang and rang, unanswered, until the mechanical voicemail machine picked up. He left a terse message for Quentin to call him, but even as he spoke he knew it was useless. Quentin was a workaholic and a homebody; he didn't travel unless it was absolutely necessary, and he spent most of his life in his office. If he'd been alive and conscious, he'd have answered the phone immediately, or he'd have called Jed himself first.
Flipping the phone shut, Jed leaned against the wall a moment and stared out into nothing. He couldn't comprehend the idea of the Watcher's Council being gone, much less his oldest friend being dead. Both had been the sort of institutions that seemed entirely likely to endure forever. What would this mean for the world? What would this mean for the training and education of future Slayers?
A door down the hallway opened and footsteps echoed in the hallway. Jed looked up to see Leo coming towards him. “Mr. President, they need you in the room,” he reminded Jed quietly.
“Yeah,” Jed muttered. “This is a wretched job, Leo. Why did I want to get reelected in the first place?”
“Because you wouldn't want anybody else making the big decisions about this kind of thing,” Leo reminded him as they walked through the heavy doors and back into the Situation Room.
“Do we know anything about the Slayers?” was Jed's first question upon reentering the room. “What kind of shape are they in? Are they both still alive?”
“Very little, sir,” Admiral Fitzwallace answered, “but we were able to ascertain that Faith Lehane is alive and still in the custody of the California Women's Correctional Facility. Our current intel suggests that Miss Summers is still alive as well, but we have no real intelligence assets in the town at the moment. With Agent Finn and Dr. Finn both on urgent assignment in South America, we can't even access that one point of contact.”
“All right, we need to do better than that,” Jed decided. “Maintaining a respectful distance is one thing, but I'm tired of being caught with our pants down. I want a source of continuing, reliable intelligence from Sunnydale as soon as can be safely arranged. If we can establish a relationship with Miss Summers all the better, but at the very least I want to know what's happening out there.”
“Yes sir,” said several of the officers, though the looks they shot each other across the table said they weren't much looking forward to the effort. Fitzwallace picked up the thread again. “We do still need a response to the bombing itself.”
“Right,” Jed agreed belatedly, his eyes drawn once again to the photos. “I'll call with my condolences and offers of assistance. In the meantime, raise the terrorism threat assessment and increase security at airports and government buildings, the usual. Even if it's not normal terrorism, it can't hurt. Let me know if you learn anything else about the bombing or about Sunnydale.” He rose, the rest of the room coming up with him, and headed out with Leo at his heels.
“So vampires?” Leo murmured, sotto voce, as they walked. “All this time, and I've never known anything about it? How did you find out?”
“That's a very long story,” Jed told him ruefully. “I'll tell you some other time.”
Author: Electra310 (Etraytin on TTH)
Crossover: The West Wing
Summary: A terrorist attack changes the state of play at the White House.
Rating: FR15
Word Count: 1158
Timeline: Season 7 Buffy, Season 4 The West Wing, twenty-ninth in the "Dulce et Decorum" series beginning with Ipsos Custodes.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I am just doing this for fun. All rights remain with their owners.
The Situation Room always seemed to be the second-darkest room in the White House, and Jed was never quite sure why. (The first one was of course the White House movie theater, which at least made sense.) If he'd been in charge of arranging the lighting, it would've been much brighter, with maybe some chalkboards and maps on the walls instead of the always-tetchy computerized displays. Of course, when he was actually summoned to the Sit room, he hardly ever had any time to think about the decorations. “What do we know?” he asked briskly as he walked in and moved to the head of the table.
“It's a terrorist bombing in London,” Admiral Fitzwallace reported, pointing to satellite imagery already up on one of the screens. “A multistory office building in the center of the city was blown to bits about ninety minutes ago, right in the middle of the work day there. Rescue efforts are currently centered on finding and treating people in the surrounded area who were hit with flying debris or falling masonry. The building itself was so comprehensively destroyed that they're focusing on recovery of bodies rather than rescue. They don't expect to find any survivors.”
“My god,” Jed murmured, looking at the grainy footage, then over at Leo. “Has anyone taken credit for it?”
“A couple of fringe groups,” Fitzwallace said dismissively, “but this wasn't political. Sir, the building that was destroyed was the headquarters of the Watcher's Council.”
A brief but pregnant silence settled over the room as these high-ranking military officers absorbed the possible significance of such a strike. It was interrupted only when Leo asked “What the hell is the Watcher's Council?”
***
It took a little while to give Leo even the Reader's Digest version of a supernatural education, and by the end he was looking more than a little shell-shocked. He was nothing if not professional, though, and quickly turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “So if something was able to take out the headquarters of the oldest and most organized force against evil... things... in the world, we can assume it's probably something even worse than they'd seen before,” he summarized.
“Worse, or at least different,” Jed agreed. “Most supernatural wars aren't waged with conventional weaponry, including explosives. It's a very long story, but it has to do with the balance between good and evil, and nobody wanting a demonic arms race. It looks like whoever did this is ignoring that rule, and managed to breach the wards while doing it.” He took a deep breath. “I'm going to step outside a minute. I need to make a phone call.”
“Sir?” Leo asked quizzically.
“It'll only be a minute, I promise. Have Fitz tell you some war stories about vampires,” he encouraged, then headed for the door. It wasn't that cell phones didn't work in the Sit Room, but for some reason he just didn't want to try this call around other people. Jed walked down the secured hall a little ways, buying at least the illusion of privacy from his secret service agents, and called Quentin's number. He got the familiar chirps for an international call, then a polite automatic voice telling him the number was not in service.
Jed immediately cursed himself for a fool. Quentin's work phone was under god only knew how many tons of rubble right now. He cleared the number and dialed the cell phone number instead, unconsciously holding his breath. It rang and rang, unanswered, until the mechanical voicemail machine picked up. He left a terse message for Quentin to call him, but even as he spoke he knew it was useless. Quentin was a workaholic and a homebody; he didn't travel unless it was absolutely necessary, and he spent most of his life in his office. If he'd been alive and conscious, he'd have answered the phone immediately, or he'd have called Jed himself first.
Flipping the phone shut, Jed leaned against the wall a moment and stared out into nothing. He couldn't comprehend the idea of the Watcher's Council being gone, much less his oldest friend being dead. Both had been the sort of institutions that seemed entirely likely to endure forever. What would this mean for the world? What would this mean for the training and education of future Slayers?
A door down the hallway opened and footsteps echoed in the hallway. Jed looked up to see Leo coming towards him. “Mr. President, they need you in the room,” he reminded Jed quietly.
“Yeah,” Jed muttered. “This is a wretched job, Leo. Why did I want to get reelected in the first place?”
“Because you wouldn't want anybody else making the big decisions about this kind of thing,” Leo reminded him as they walked through the heavy doors and back into the Situation Room.
“Do we know anything about the Slayers?” was Jed's first question upon reentering the room. “What kind of shape are they in? Are they both still alive?”
“Very little, sir,” Admiral Fitzwallace answered, “but we were able to ascertain that Faith Lehane is alive and still in the custody of the California Women's Correctional Facility. Our current intel suggests that Miss Summers is still alive as well, but we have no real intelligence assets in the town at the moment. With Agent Finn and Dr. Finn both on urgent assignment in South America, we can't even access that one point of contact.”
“All right, we need to do better than that,” Jed decided. “Maintaining a respectful distance is one thing, but I'm tired of being caught with our pants down. I want a source of continuing, reliable intelligence from Sunnydale as soon as can be safely arranged. If we can establish a relationship with Miss Summers all the better, but at the very least I want to know what's happening out there.”
“Yes sir,” said several of the officers, though the looks they shot each other across the table said they weren't much looking forward to the effort. Fitzwallace picked up the thread again. “We do still need a response to the bombing itself.”
“Right,” Jed agreed belatedly, his eyes drawn once again to the photos. “I'll call with my condolences and offers of assistance. In the meantime, raise the terrorism threat assessment and increase security at airports and government buildings, the usual. Even if it's not normal terrorism, it can't hurt. Let me know if you learn anything else about the bombing or about Sunnydale.” He rose, the rest of the room coming up with him, and headed out with Leo at his heels.
“So vampires?” Leo murmured, sotto voce, as they walked. “All this time, and I've never known anything about it? How did you find out?”
“That's a very long story,” Jed told him ruefully. “I'll tell you some other time.”