"Slipped The Surly Bonds Of Earth" by CretKid aka Cal

Title: "Slipped The Surly Bonds Of Earth"

Author: CretKid aka Cal

Category: General

Rating: G

Summary: There's something to be said of the twinkling lights of a night time cityscape, don't you think?

Disclaimer: Don't own them. If we didn't care about them so much, we wouldn't be doing this in the first place. And I stole a poem from William Blake called "The Night". Luna helped me with the title. Lida Rose and Adrienne were my beta readers. Thanks to all.

Spoilers: None

The cabin aboard Air Force One was quiet and dark, a subdued atmosphere conducive to contemplation of nothing and everything. Jed Bartlet reclined back in the captain-style chair, arms crossed over his chest and hands tucked under his arms. His feet were propped and crossed at the ankle against the seat of another chair. From his seat, he had a bird's eye view, literally, of the world below him.

The air in the cabin was crisp. He liked the cold. Always had, and he supposed he always would. It had been a deep appreciation for the great outdoors, time spent in brisk, cold November air before school, that had always been his downfall. Many a morning he had been late for school because he had taken too long walking through the stiff grass, the frost-covered leaves and the bright, clean air. None of his children appreciated the cold like he did, though his granddaughter was as much as a cold-lover as he had always been.

The stars always seemed that much brighter when it was cold.

The air always seemed that much sweeter.

The skies that much darker at night.

He remembered taking long car trips with his family as a child, driving through the hills and valleys of long owned family farms through the backwoods of New Hampshire. He always loved when his father would drive at night, the dark landscape was punctuated with isolated splotches of whitish yellow light nestled in the valleys whenever they crested a hill. It was almost magical.

Abbey had once told him that the only time she could ever get him to shut up was to take a drive through the countryside at night. He scoffed at the notion, but knew it was true.

It was that same euphoric feeling he wanted to relive whenever he scheduled a night-time flight for Air Force One. The staff moaned and groaned at first. He suspected that Abbey had informed them of the ability of a clear night sky to keep him quiet, and now they prayed for a cloudless night. He had always been a night owl, the darkened skies like a beacon for free thought. There was nothing like watching patchy swarms of light emerging across the dark plains.

There was a knock at the cabin door. Without bothering to turn away from his view through the window, he called for the visitor to come.

He watched as Toby's reflection filled the plastic portal, his face backlit from the lighting in the hall. He was holding a manila folder in his hand, no doubt a copy of the speech he was supposed to give. He didn't want to think about speeches; he just wanted to look out the window.

"Mr. President?" Toby stepped into the conference room and closed the door quietly.

"There's something to be said of the twinkling lights of a night time cityscape, don't you think?"

When Toby did not reply, Bartlet scanned the reflection in the window to see, on the off chance the light was just right, he could watch the man's eyes roll to the top of his head. No such luck; Toby had long ago learned how to deal with him when he was in a fanciful mood, like dealing with a rabid mosquito. Ignore it and it will go away. Without looking from the window, Bartlet recited, " 'The sun descending in the west, /The evening star does shine; /The birds are silent in their nest, /And I must seek for mine.' "

Given the Communication Director's mercurial mood swings, it was never a sure bet how Toby would react to anything. There had been no loud complaining when Bartlet suggested Toby accompany him, Josh and CJ on this trip, so he assumed he had caught the man on an upswing.

" 'The moon, like a flower, / In heaven's high bower, / With silent delight / Sits and smiles on the night.' "

Bartlet nodded, letting his feet fall to the floor as he turned in his seat. "A William Blake fan, are we?"

"Not really."

"Funny. You strike me as a 'Songs of Experience' kind of guy."

"I am a 'forced to recite poetry in high school English and haven't forgotten it' kind of guy."

"Sam can recall all fifty states and their capitals in alphabetical order."

"Sam is sort of freakish that way, sir."

"What, you don't think the girls go for the smart, geeky ones?"

"Not in my high school, they didn't."

"Not in mine, either. What can I do you for, Toby?"

"Tomorrow's speech."

Bartlet took the folder from Toby's outstretched hand and placed it on the table, not bothering to look at it just yet. Before Toby could escape, he asked, "Which is your favorite season?"

"Baseball, sir."

"I was thinking more along the lines of winter, spring, summer or fall."

"Those do not exist in my world, sir."

"Baseball is only played April through October. What do you call the other 5 months?"

"College basketball season."

"Spoken like a true sports fanatic. I was never a fan of baseball myself. Could never see the fascination with it, and the fact that it is so damn boring to watch."

"Bite your tongue, sir."

"Football is much more involved."

"Football is a sport played by Neanderthals. There is no thought, chance or strategy involved."

"Watch it, or you can join CJ in chanting the Notre Dame fight song."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but there is no way in hell you could get me to sing that for you, to you, or by you without first beating me senseless."

"That's pretty much what CJ told me after the last time I tried that on her. I think Abbey put her up to it, though."

Toby was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, but he didn't have that look about him, as if he wanted to gnaw his arm off at the shoulder to get out of a session of 'the President is in a contemplative mood'. At least not yet. He knew the effect he had on his staff; he was not immune to the looks of abject horror whenever he started to lecture them on the national park system or the history of the Thanksgiving holiday. If any of them had actually protested being held prisoner, he probably would have let them leave.

Probably.

He couldn't force his children to listen to him wax poetic. His staff, however...

It was good to be the President.

Bartlet motioned towards the chair he had his feet propped on earlier. Toby accepted the unspoken invitation and took a seat. Turning back to the window he watched entranced as the plane passed over yet another patch of city light. He pointed to the spot out the window.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Toby nodded in appreciation, though Bartlet didn't think his Communications Director found the sight nearly as awe-inspiring as he did.

"You're a night owl, too, aren't you, Toby?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Necessity."

"How so?"

"Inability to sleep usually begets a night owl life style."

"Insomnia?"

"Hmm. Okay."

By this time Bartlet had grown more than accustomed to Toby's noncommittal answers. He decided not to push his luck. "I used to wake the girls up and bring them out on to the back porch to look at the stars late at night. Abbey was always ready to kill me whenever I did that. There's just something peaceful about a clear night sky."

"I tend to agree with you, sir."

"You're only agreeing with me so that I don't keep you trapped in this room with me for the entire flight."

"There is that, sir."

"You can't tell me you never once stared up at the night sky and wondered about anything magical."

"No, I think there was a time once when I wished upon a shooting star. Then I realized it was the 9 PM shuttle out of JFK."

"I could have been an astronomer, but I couldn't get past the science. No, that's a lie. I couldn't get past the professor. He was a stodgy old man that wouldn't know a joke if it bit him on the ass."

"I could have been a monk, but I couldn't get past the religion."

Bartlet smiled and waved a hand at the door. "You can go if you want."

Toby leaned back in his chair and stared out the window.

Leaning over to open a cabinet door, Bartlet pulled out a chess set. "Care for a game?"

END