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remix_reduxTitle: Temperance (Three Ring Circus)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
clannadlvr (at clannadlvr_fic
Summary:intl_princess let us into Toby’s head that fateful day in Nashua, New Hampshire, but what was going on in Cal Mathis’ mind? Why was he so sure that Toby was getting the boot, not him?
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The West Wing
Warnings: A little coarse language.
Spoilers: Through “In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, Part I”
Original Story: Temperance byintl_princess
***
At this moment, Cal Mathis figures that he pretty much has this thing in the bag. His candidate isn’t about to win the Democratic primary- Cal knows that’s a political impossibility. Still, that doesn’t mean that he won’t collect a paycheck while shepherding a liberal, leftwing, economic scholar through the paces of trying to win the bid.
It makes solid political sense, after all.
No, in this VFW hall in Nashua, New Hampshire, Cal Mathis- not Governor/Presidential hopeful Jed Bartlet, not Jerry, Max or Steve, not even the washed up Mr. Secretary himself, Leo McGarry- has it made.
And Toby Ziegler? He won’t even last the night.
Cal knows the rules of the game, even at this rubber-chicken-dinner level. And Toby, dear, sad sack, bourbon laden, his ass halfway out the door, Toby Ziegler has broken every single one of them.
Number one: Don’t piss off your constituents, first by making it cost more for them to run their businesses, then by admitting to screwing them, hosing them, or some other oh-so-appropriate-in-a-bar-but-not-at-a-political-event version of the term, to prove a point about starving children. Joe Farmer doesn’t care about anonymous kids somewhere; he cares about his kids, in his family, under his roof. Toby should have reminded the good Governor of that nugget rather than giving him some lofty advice about telling the truth. It doesn’t matter that Bartlet is right in a larger sense- even Cal knows that. He’s not that much of a bastard, no matter the rumors to the contrary. But at least he knows the difference between an honest answer and a political one.
Number two: You don’t repeat your opponent’s name every time an issue at debate is brought forward. It’s free advertising for the other guy every time the Governor opens up his mouth. Bartlet may say the words, McGarry might direct them to his lips, but Toby, the wordsmith, is the one who writes them. The buck stops.
Number three: Don’t drink on the job. Washington’s a tough town, whether you’re on Avenue K, at the Shriner’s Club in Poughkeepsie, or even in lowly old Nashua, and Cal would be lying if he said that no one in the political game used some alcohol as a form of lubrication. But Toby Ziegler is not without a drink in his hand, even at meetings. It’s as if he knows the curtain is going to fall, so he’s numbing himself to the inevitable crush of darkness obscurity brings.
As this post-stump meeting starts, Cal has no illusions of what it’s truly about.
Sure, Bartlet might not always listen to Cal- it’s one of the pitfalls of having an unbelievably smart candidate who's not just smarter than you, but also every other guy in the room- but he knows that Cal is good at what he does. Not just good, but one of the best. And this campaign will only help to secure Cal that position in the eyes of other candidates down the line. While Bartlet won’t add to Cal’s rather impressive winning streak- five of his last six candidates for local and national offices have been elected, and not by slim margins- it will show the more unconventional candidates that do have a chance that Cal Mathis isn’t afraid of a challenge.
Even though he knows he’ll bow out of this particular one as soon as the experience doesn’t play to his favor.
So for now he waits. He’ll ride out the small city stumping, the appeals to the Social Security set who put away their teeth at night, until Bartlet recognizes the inevitable outcome of this parody of a political campaign, and quits while he's behind.
Having your guy bow out gracefully can sometimes be almost as good as having him win.
And with Toby Ziegler out of the way, the big boys can play politics as they’re meant- till the end. Ziegler can take his lofty truths back to the city councilman’s office and get some low ranking pencil pusher elected to an unchallenged post. At least there, Cal knows, they won’t do any damage.
***
It’s almost comical how low the curtain hangs as they settle down in folding chairs around chipped formica tabletops. Cal knows he holds the position of power, and casually seats himself in front of his supporters. With Max, Jerry, and Steve at his back, he doesn’t even bother to face Bartlet and McGarry head on. Toby sits off to the side, apart from the team, nursing his umpteenth drink over a dusty silk flower centerpiece.
All Cal has to do is set the stage- show Toby’s weaknesses compared to his own strengths. It’s almost laughable how easy it is. Still, Cal knows he should be at least a little cautious. So when the issue of the opponent’s name comes up, Cal sets it up, then lets Steve do the rest of the talking:
“Not to put my head in the lion’s mouth,” Cal says, but he puts it in anyway, knowing that the teeth won’t snap down. He’s too valuable, too accomplished. Being a political operative is a lot like being a lion tamer, though the suits are a lot better and you rarely have to get close enough to your candidate to smell what, or whom, he ate for lunch.
And for all of his academic ponderings that make detractors doubt Bartlet’s political savvy, Cal isn’t unaware that in many ways, Jed Bartlet is a lion. What he lacks in political acumen he almost makes up for with intelligence, above average rhetoric, and his ace in the hole, Leo McGarry. It won’t be enough to win an election, but it is enough to win an argument, so Cal is careful to let his deputy debate the point about free press and nomenclature. Why get close to a pissed off lion if you can just send your junior keeper to prod him back toward his cage?
And where does Toby fit into this menagerie? He’s just the guy who sweeps up the peanut shells and elephant dung at night after the crowds have gone home, and hangs out in the center ring, pretending to be ring master to three vacant circles and a tent full of empty bleachers.
It’s a vivid image, or at least an appropriate one to Cal’s mind, and he lets himself imagine the dust floating in the dimmed lights of the big top, and the smell of stale sweat and over boiled hotdogs wafting through the air, before he tunes back in to the conversation.
Just in time to watch the curtain fall.
And none too soon, as Leo makes a snide comment about Cal’s inability to fill the VFW. Cal holds back a rejoinder about pulling constituents from the grave to attend since the ones that did make the dinner seemed to have one foot in already, but he doesn’t think that Leo will appreciate his wit. Instead, all it takes is an easy deflection to remind them that Toby is the reason that they’ve gathered.
Cal wouldn’t be human if he didn’t ride on the anticipation a bit. He especially enjoys the fact that Toby won’t look at him as he starts to wind up his speech about how they need to discuss "the problem," so does he really want to be in the room when they do? He knows that Toby’s probably keeping his eyes averted as a last ditch power play, robbing Cal of the “satisfaction” of seeing him sweat. But you don’t become good in this game if you can’t read your opponent’s moves, so it’s enough for Cal that Toby needs to cover up his expressions in the first place.
It’s enough that Toby realizes that he wasn’t ready to step into the center ring, that he wasn’t trained to face the lion, and even more so, that he’s not ready to deal with his tamer.
“If a change has to be made, it has to be made,” Leo says, and Cal can’t agree with him more. He reflects, as he watches Toby take another pull on his bourbon, that knowing you’re advancing can take some of the sting out of seeing another man get eaten alive. Even if there is the rubbernecking thrill of witnessing the gore ringside.
"Jerry, Cal, Mack, Steve, you're fired."
“What?”
As his stomach seems to sink sharply to the vicinity of his ankles, Cal wishes he could trade his front row seats for some of Toby’s bourbon.
***
Author:
clannadlvr (at clannadlvr_ficSummary:
intl_princess let us into Toby’s head that fateful day in Nashua, New Hampshire, but what was going on in Cal Mathis’ mind? Why was he so sure that Toby was getting the boot, not him?Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The West Wing
Warnings: A little coarse language.
Spoilers: Through “In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, Part I”
Original Story: Temperance by
intl_princess***
At this moment, Cal Mathis figures that he pretty much has this thing in the bag. His candidate isn’t about to win the Democratic primary- Cal knows that’s a political impossibility. Still, that doesn’t mean that he won’t collect a paycheck while shepherding a liberal, leftwing, economic scholar through the paces of trying to win the bid.
It makes solid political sense, after all.
No, in this VFW hall in Nashua, New Hampshire, Cal Mathis- not Governor/Presidential hopeful Jed Bartlet, not Jerry, Max or Steve, not even the washed up Mr. Secretary himself, Leo McGarry- has it made.
And Toby Ziegler? He won’t even last the night.
Cal knows the rules of the game, even at this rubber-chicken-dinner level. And Toby, dear, sad sack, bourbon laden, his ass halfway out the door, Toby Ziegler has broken every single one of them.
Number one: Don’t piss off your constituents, first by making it cost more for them to run their businesses, then by admitting to screwing them, hosing them, or some other oh-so-appropriate-in-a-bar-but-not-at-a-political-event version of the term, to prove a point about starving children. Joe Farmer doesn’t care about anonymous kids somewhere; he cares about his kids, in his family, under his roof. Toby should have reminded the good Governor of that nugget rather than giving him some lofty advice about telling the truth. It doesn’t matter that Bartlet is right in a larger sense- even Cal knows that. He’s not that much of a bastard, no matter the rumors to the contrary. But at least he knows the difference between an honest answer and a political one.
Number two: You don’t repeat your opponent’s name every time an issue at debate is brought forward. It’s free advertising for the other guy every time the Governor opens up his mouth. Bartlet may say the words, McGarry might direct them to his lips, but Toby, the wordsmith, is the one who writes them. The buck stops.
Number three: Don’t drink on the job. Washington’s a tough town, whether you’re on Avenue K, at the Shriner’s Club in Poughkeepsie, or even in lowly old Nashua, and Cal would be lying if he said that no one in the political game used some alcohol as a form of lubrication. But Toby Ziegler is not without a drink in his hand, even at meetings. It’s as if he knows the curtain is going to fall, so he’s numbing himself to the inevitable crush of darkness obscurity brings.
As this post-stump meeting starts, Cal has no illusions of what it’s truly about.
Sure, Bartlet might not always listen to Cal- it’s one of the pitfalls of having an unbelievably smart candidate who's not just smarter than you, but also every other guy in the room- but he knows that Cal is good at what he does. Not just good, but one of the best. And this campaign will only help to secure Cal that position in the eyes of other candidates down the line. While Bartlet won’t add to Cal’s rather impressive winning streak- five of his last six candidates for local and national offices have been elected, and not by slim margins- it will show the more unconventional candidates that do have a chance that Cal Mathis isn’t afraid of a challenge.
Even though he knows he’ll bow out of this particular one as soon as the experience doesn’t play to his favor.
So for now he waits. He’ll ride out the small city stumping, the appeals to the Social Security set who put away their teeth at night, until Bartlet recognizes the inevitable outcome of this parody of a political campaign, and quits while he's behind.
Having your guy bow out gracefully can sometimes be almost as good as having him win.
And with Toby Ziegler out of the way, the big boys can play politics as they’re meant- till the end. Ziegler can take his lofty truths back to the city councilman’s office and get some low ranking pencil pusher elected to an unchallenged post. At least there, Cal knows, they won’t do any damage.
***
It’s almost comical how low the curtain hangs as they settle down in folding chairs around chipped formica tabletops. Cal knows he holds the position of power, and casually seats himself in front of his supporters. With Max, Jerry, and Steve at his back, he doesn’t even bother to face Bartlet and McGarry head on. Toby sits off to the side, apart from the team, nursing his umpteenth drink over a dusty silk flower centerpiece.
All Cal has to do is set the stage- show Toby’s weaknesses compared to his own strengths. It’s almost laughable how easy it is. Still, Cal knows he should be at least a little cautious. So when the issue of the opponent’s name comes up, Cal sets it up, then lets Steve do the rest of the talking:
“Not to put my head in the lion’s mouth,” Cal says, but he puts it in anyway, knowing that the teeth won’t snap down. He’s too valuable, too accomplished. Being a political operative is a lot like being a lion tamer, though the suits are a lot better and you rarely have to get close enough to your candidate to smell what, or whom, he ate for lunch.
And for all of his academic ponderings that make detractors doubt Bartlet’s political savvy, Cal isn’t unaware that in many ways, Jed Bartlet is a lion. What he lacks in political acumen he almost makes up for with intelligence, above average rhetoric, and his ace in the hole, Leo McGarry. It won’t be enough to win an election, but it is enough to win an argument, so Cal is careful to let his deputy debate the point about free press and nomenclature. Why get close to a pissed off lion if you can just send your junior keeper to prod him back toward his cage?
And where does Toby fit into this menagerie? He’s just the guy who sweeps up the peanut shells and elephant dung at night after the crowds have gone home, and hangs out in the center ring, pretending to be ring master to three vacant circles and a tent full of empty bleachers.
It’s a vivid image, or at least an appropriate one to Cal’s mind, and he lets himself imagine the dust floating in the dimmed lights of the big top, and the smell of stale sweat and over boiled hotdogs wafting through the air, before he tunes back in to the conversation.
Just in time to watch the curtain fall.
And none too soon, as Leo makes a snide comment about Cal’s inability to fill the VFW. Cal holds back a rejoinder about pulling constituents from the grave to attend since the ones that did make the dinner seemed to have one foot in already, but he doesn’t think that Leo will appreciate his wit. Instead, all it takes is an easy deflection to remind them that Toby is the reason that they’ve gathered.
Cal wouldn’t be human if he didn’t ride on the anticipation a bit. He especially enjoys the fact that Toby won’t look at him as he starts to wind up his speech about how they need to discuss "the problem," so does he really want to be in the room when they do? He knows that Toby’s probably keeping his eyes averted as a last ditch power play, robbing Cal of the “satisfaction” of seeing him sweat. But you don’t become good in this game if you can’t read your opponent’s moves, so it’s enough for Cal that Toby needs to cover up his expressions in the first place.
It’s enough that Toby realizes that he wasn’t ready to step into the center ring, that he wasn’t trained to face the lion, and even more so, that he’s not ready to deal with his tamer.
“If a change has to be made, it has to be made,” Leo says, and Cal can’t agree with him more. He reflects, as he watches Toby take another pull on his bourbon, that knowing you’re advancing can take some of the sting out of seeing another man get eaten alive. Even if there is the rubbernecking thrill of witnessing the gore ringside.
"Jerry, Cal, Mack, Steve, you're fired."
“What?”
As his stomach seems to sink sharply to the vicinity of his ankles, Cal wishes he could trade his front row seats for some of Toby’s bourbon.
***
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-22 08:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-01 02:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-22 10:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-01 02:40 am (UTC)Thanks for letting me remix your wonderful story and for giving "poor" *sniggers* Cal his time in the spotlight!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-30 02:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-01 02:41 am (UTC)