Title: A Day in The Life of Ron Butterfield
Author: Baked Goldfish
Rated: Uhh, PG?
Disclaimer: They're not mine. But, be kind and let them play for a little, huh? Pwease?
Pairings: L/POTUS, implied L/POTUS/A/H, J/S, T/R (I think that's a first), and various and sundry fem pairings. And implied L/LJM.
Note: This was inspired by a line in Reen's "A Friendly Game Of Poker". You know the line, the one about Ron catching Leo and Jed having at it in the Oval Office? Anyway, that was the inspiration. And, yes, it is spoofy-like. It's an attempt to be funny at 3 am (but really, what *isn't* funny at 3 am?)
Summary: Agent Ron has a bizarre day.

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A Day in The Life of Ron Butterfield by Baked Goldfish

This has been a very bad day, so far.

About ten minutes ago, I started hearing odd noises inside the Oval Office. Now, I'm stationed right outside the office, so that I can, you know, keep people out. There are only two other doors that lead into the office: Mr. McGarry's, and Mrs. Landingham's. I just saw Mrs. Landingham walk by with a smirk on her face, so I'm figuring that the noises I'm hearing inside the office are the product of the President and Mr. McGarry having a discussion, or something.

Now, see, here's the thing. Those noises didn't sound normal. By normal, I mean they didn't sound as if the two of them were talking. What I'm saying is, there were grunts, and gasps, and other bizarre sounds. Well, about three or so minutes after the noises began, I hear this. . . this crash. Being the Secret Service agent that I am, I burst into the Oval Office, gun drawn, ready to face any agressor.

I nearly fainted at the sight before me. The President was bent over the desk, and Mr. McGarry was. . . well, he was. . . you know. *You* know. They were. . . gah. I never thought I'd ever see that. I mean, I'd heard of past Presidents, and what they'd do with the female members of their staff, but President Bartlet and Mr. McGarry? And the President's married--to a *woman*, I might add.

Well, Mr. McGarry just kinda looked annoyed at my entrance, and the President waved, smiled, and told me to close the door as I left. God, am I ever glad I wear these shades indoors, too.

So, that's my bad day so far. They're still. . . making noises in there. I only hope to be that energetic when I'm in my mid-fifties.

Christ, here comes the First Lady. . . "Ma'am, you can't go in there," I say, hoping to save her from the sight that awaits her within the office.

She looks at me oddly. "What on earth are you talking about?" A yelp comes from within, and she smiles a bit. Holy. . .

"Uh, ma'am, you really don't-" I try to warn her, but she just rolls her eyes and waves away my concerns.

"Scooch over, Ron," she states, and I step aside as she walks inside the Oval Office. I hear the President and Mr. McGarry greet her happily, and she says something about hoping they hadn't tired themselves out too much because John's coming over. . . John, she must mean Vice President Hoynes. Oh, Lord, this day is just getting worse and worse. . .

After a short quiet moment, Mr. McGarry comes out and tells me I can take the rest of the day off. He looks sympathetic. I thank him quickly, and walk away quicker. It doesn't take me long to get to the Communications bullpen. There's Toby's office, he's hard at work as usual. And there's Sam's-

-and, boy, oh, boy. I didn't think my day could get any worse, but damn. I mean, jeez, at least the President and Mr. McGarry and the First Lady--I can't believe that's happening right down the hall--had the decency to close the door!

"Hey, Ron," Josh manages to croak out. Sam turns his eyes to me and waves distractedly. He doesn't say anything. He can't. His mouth's full.

If we change code-names anytime soon, Seaborn's gonna be Hoover.

Someone's pulling me away from this sight. It ain't Seaborn or Lyman, they're kinda busy. Ah, Toby. My savior. . .

"A little confused?" he asks me once we're in his office.

"Just a little," I answer. "The President and Mr. McGarry and Mrs. Bartlet--and Seaborn and Lyman, they're all-"

"Getting some, yeah."

I stare at him in amazement. I am a United States Secret Service Agent. I have been trained to be observant and to know, well, to know stuff. How did I not know that the vast majority of the senior staff--not to mention the President, the First Lady, and the Vice President--are all getting it on with each other?

"Since when. . . " I can't form a question. I have too many of them. "Who. . ." Well, there goes that one, too. This is just too bizarre.

"Well, I dunno since when, but, hey, that's just me. And as for who, well. . . let's see. Sam and Josh, the President and the First Lady and Leo, Leo and the Vice President, Leo and Lord John Marbury-"

"Wait a minute," I interrupt. "Leo and. . . is he the office slut, or something?"

"No, he's the office dom. Sam's the office bitch, but he's quite good at it. Let's see, who else. . . Bonnie and Ginger--they do everything else together, so, you know. Uh, CJ and. . . either Donna or Ainsley. I dunno, those two are basically one and the same anyway. Oh, Cathy and Carol. And Margaret and Mrs. Landingham are into bondage games."

What the *hell*. . . I shudder completely and wholly at the thought of Mrs. Landingham in leather. I look at Toby incredulously. This has got to be the absolutely most bizarre day in my entire life--not to mention the most emotionally scarring. "Is everyone in this White House getting some?"

"Currently, yes," Toby answers nonchalantly. "Except the two of us."

This is quite depressing. I'm not getting any. Mrs. Landingham's getting more play than me. Sweet, kind Mrs. Landingham and her cookies. And her whips. Oh, God. Christ, this day is bad. "Except the two of us?" I repeat sadly.

"Yup." He looks at me thoughtfully, as if sizing me up. "You know, we *could* fix that."

Eh, what the hell. Everything's worth trying at least once, right? So I close the door to his office. My rating of this day has just gone up.

Well, *something's* just gone up, at any rate.

-end-

(I know, it was very silly. Kinda stupid, too, no? Well, whaddya expect? It's three in the morning. G'night!)

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