Work Text:
Nate unlocked his office door and flicked on the lights. The florescent bulbs lit up, not only his expected furnishings, but the myriad of red, white and blue decorations that now adorned his walls. They hung from the ceiling and covered the few available surfaces left.
Along the back wall behind his desk chair, hung a banner that boldly proclaimed, “Happy Veteran’s Day, Nate!”
He’d left work at eleven the night before and it was six a.m. now. Nate wondered whom the poor soul was that had put in the grueling hours necessary to pull this off without his being here for it.
Nate set down his briefcase and slid into his chair. He propped his elbows on his desktop and took a moment to admire the glittering display of patriotism that surrounded him. He’d have to make a point of spreading the word through the staffers that he appreciated both the planning and the execution.
His eyes landed on the framed photograph he kept on his desk. It was the famous one from Evan’s book of the entirety of Bravo Company posing on a statue. They had all come home but not all of them were without scars. Some scars were physical but others were marks of disappointment and disillusionment. In any case, they were all Veterans and had all made a sacrifice of some sort. Nate paused to give a moment of thought to those he’d known who had made it back and those who had not.
He sensed movement in the doorway and glanced up.
Leaning against the doorframe in just his shirtsleeves was Jed Bartlett.
Nate started to get to his feet. “Mr. President,” he said, startled.
President Bartlett motioned for Nate to stay seated as he stepped into the office and sat down on the small couch by the door.
“Good morning, Nate,” he said cheerfully, “and Happy Veteran’s Day.”
“Thank you, sir,” Nate replied nervously.
“You were here so late, last night, Margaret and Donna were ready to recruit people to try to convince you to go home.”
Nate chuckled. “Next time I speak with the Pakistani government I’ll tell them to stop being so difficult, they’re inconveniencing our administrative staff and the consequences could be great.”
“If any of them have ever met Donna or Margaret, that threat might carry some weight,” the President said, conspiratorially.
“Maybe we should host a summit,” Nate suggested, “and let those two boss certain world leaders into getting along.”
They shared a quiet laugh before the President spoke again. “They’ve always appreciated our Armed Services and our Veterans.” he gestured vaguely at the decorations. “You just give them someone on whom to focus their admiration.” He paused, as if considering his next words. “Your being here makes it all real for us, and not just an abstract concept.”
“Understood, Mr. President,” Nate replied. “I had already intended to publicly communicate my appreciation.”
“I expected no less,” President Bartlett said, smiling. “You know, you should join us for lunch today. The Cabinet and the Joint Chiefs and I always share lunch on Veteran’s Day, just to try to pay a small tribute.”
Nate wanted to refuse, thinking of all of his unfinished work that had dragged him in at oh-six-hundred in the first place. One didn’t turn down a lunch invitation from the President of the United States. “I’d be honored, sir.”
“The Library of Congress is sending over some letters and other documents regarding Bellawood. We usually have a quick roundtable reading.”
Now that interested Nate. “I look forward to it, Mr. President.”
“How’s your Marine, these days?”
The President’s question startled Nate. He smiled weakly in response. “I think you might know that better than I would, Mr. President.”
“Deployed, is he?”
“He is, sir.”
“Well, Nate; I tend to only know where the troops are, not who the troops are.”
“Of course, sir,” Nate paused, considering. “I suppose my security clearance would allow me access to the mission details.”
“It would,” President Bartlett confirmed.
“I thought it might but I’ve already decided not to abuse that privilege.”
“I doubt anyone would consider that an abuse. There’s every reason to believe his mission directly relates to your own work.”
Another reason Nate didn’t want mission details. “I’ve had individuals from DOD call and hint that my clearance would allow them to speak freely with me if I wanted.”
“What was your answer?”
“I’ve asked for an early heads up if the shit hits the fan,” Nate realized what he’d just said. “I beg your pardon, Mr. President.”
“An appropriate turn of phrase, Nate,” President Bartlett said with the wave of a hand. “Think nothing of it.”
“I’m just afraid that getting mired down in the details of his mission will do more harm than good,” Nate explained. “But knowing right away if the worst happens will allow me to make … phone calls.” Nate had almost said ‘arrangements’.
President Bartlett stood to leave, again motioning for Nate to stay seated. “If ever you need anything in that regard, you be sure to reach out to us.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Nate said humbly.
The President paused in the hall just outside of Nate’s office door and looked at his watch. “Oh, by the way; just about an hour ago, a CH-46E Sea Knight helicopter lifted off from a location in Afghanistan. It successfully loaded its entire scheduled cargo without incident. No casualties reported.”
Nate felt as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. His relief was so great he couldn’t form a reply.
“Happy Veteran’s Day, Nate,” President Bartlett said as he strolled off down the corridor.