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caz963Disclaimers: I own nothing, I’m making nothing… these wonderful characters were created by Aaron Sorkin and belong to Sorkin, Wells and NBC. I’m just taking them out for a spin and will return when I’ve finished with them. Although I might need to hang on to Josh for a while …
Being anally retentive about that sort of thing, I proofed it myself, so any mistakes are mine!
Spoilers: up to the end of S2
Category/Pairing: The angst has taken over my brain. Josh, Leo, Toby, with implied J/D
Rating: PG-13 (language)
A/N: Takes place at the end of S2, between Bad Moon Rising and The Fall’s Gonna Kill You.
This is all![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
coloneljack’s fault. I’m supposed to be writing smutty bubblefic, but no, we were chatting the other night, when I said “I’d liked to have seen Josh’s reaction to the news about Bartlet’s MS”.
And okay, so I actually said that, but this is still her fault. She encouraged me. Or something.
A/N 2: Thanks tocoloneljack for the head-smacking hand-holding and to zinke for helping me to see the wood for the trees.
Number Eighteen
“Thank you, Mr President.”
Josh said the words automatically, not really knowing he was speaking at all as he turned and followed Leo through the adjoining doors.
When they entered the Chief of Staff’s office, Josh walked aimlessly into the middle of the room, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his eyes trained, unseeing, on the carpet, his mind still unable – or point-blank refusing – to process the information he’d just been given.
“There’s no easy way to say this. I have Multiple Sclerosis.”
“I – I’m sorry, sir?”
“I have MS, Josh.”
“You – I – don’t understand. You’re… sick?”
“Yeah.”
“How long have you known?”
“About eight years.”
“Since before – the election?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t under… you knew? And you still..?”
“Yes, I did.”
Josh had stood in the Oval Office, his surroundings familiar and yet still awe-inspiring, and listened to the President – a President he’d helped to put into office – telling him not only that he was sick, but that he’d been sick for years and had thought it prudent to keep that fact from both the electorate and his closest advisors.
He’d listened in silence as President Bartlet had explained to him the nature of his illness, waited dutifully to be asked if there was anything he wanted to know – but Josh hadn’t been able to think of a single thing. All he could think, all he could feel before the numbness that had been creeping slowly through his body finally settled somewhere around his chest, was that he had put his faith and his trust in this man, had given him his unquestioning loyalty –
“You okay, kid?”
Josh heard the words, as though coming from a long way away, but he didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. He needed to think. To work out what to do now, work out if this was fixable.
And if so – how.
The march towards re-election had already begun… the buzz was about whether the President would be running again, whether he’d be an unchallenged candidate, who his opponent might be… but now? Re-election could well be completely out of the question. When this came out – regardless of how or when the story broke, or whether, as Leo wanted, they managed to get out in front of it – the media frenzy would be like nothing they’d ever experienced. The administration would be dragged through the mud, all of them would be questioned and cross-examined to the limit of their sanity; it would be like living under a microscope, everything and anything the President and his senior aides had done for the past three years and whatever they did in the coming months would be dissected and analysed to death in a quest to expose any signs of wrong-doing or a cover-up.
They’d be so mired down in this fight that actually governing was going to be –
“Josh?” Leo’s voice, louder this time brought him back from his reverie and he jerked his head up and to the side, squinting vaguely at the man standing in front of him. “Hm?”
“Are you okay?” Leo repeated slowly.
“What?” Josh straightened up, blinking rapidly as though he was trying to wake himself up. “Uh - yes, I -” If only he could get rid of this damn buzzing in his ears. Although he supposed he should be grateful it was buzzing and not –
“Josh,” Leo said again, firmly – but not unkindly – fixing him with an intense, concerned stare.
“I’m…” Josh swallowed and looked Leo directly in the eye. “It’s okay. I’m not going to - ”
- go home and put my hand through a window.
Josh felt a little unnerved by the force of Leo’s scrutiny, but he didn’t break eye contact, willing him to see that he was, in fact okay and not about to – do something stupid.
Leo must have found whatever reassurance he had been searching for, because after a few seconds, he nodded and pursed his lips. “Okay. Look, we’ll talk more in the morning when you’ve had time to - ” He walked around his desk and sat down behind it. “Go home. Get some sleep. There’ll be precious little time for that once this breaks, so you need to take what you can when you can get it.”
Josh didn’t move. “Yes, sir,” he said, quietly.
“I mean it,” Leo warned. “We’ve got a real fight on our hands and the last thing I need is you dead on your feet.”
Josh inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement and walked to the door, coming to a halt at the sound of the other man’s voice.
“Josh?”
He paused, his hand on the doorknob and turned around to raise an enquiring eyebrow at Leo, who he thought looked somehow smaller sitting behind his desk, behind piles of folders, binders and briefing books.
“I’m sorry.”
Josh frowned and offered a confused half-smile. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
Leo shrugged and sat back. “I knew and I didn’t tell you. I couldn’t. And I’m sorry about that.”
Josh looked at him uncomprehendingly for a few seconds before he spoke again. “It’s okay. It’s not,” he sniffed. “Not your fault.”
Leo fixed him with a piercing stare. “And it’s not yours, either.” He put on his glasses and waved his hand. “Now get outta here.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Josh walked slowly back to his office, his normally confident stride reduced to a downbeat shuffle, his head bowed as he continued to think about the ramifications of what he’d just learned, trying to formulate some sort of strategy, some sort of plan of attack with which he could go to Leo – but he couldn’t do it. His mind felt sluggish, as though he was trying to think his way through a vat of toffee, and the only thoughts that were managing to cut through it all were ones of anger and disillusion. He’d never experienced anything quite like this, his fury at the betrayal he was feeling so acutely only exacerbated by disappointment in the man who had executed it.
Having arrived at his doorway, he turned to enter - and stopped in his tracks. Toby was sitting quietly in one of the visitor’s chairs, one knee draped across the other, his arms resting lightly along the arms of the chair.
Josh closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he went in and walked over to stand at the side of his desk.
“You knew.”
“Yeah,” Toby said quietly, apparently deep in thought.
“When?”
Toby didn’t speak – he just looked up; and Josh got it. He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “The night we were working on the speech.”
“Yeah.”
“No wonder you didn’t laugh at any of the jokes,” Josh said as he shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie.
“They weren’t that funny.”
“Yeah. Maybe we should’ve gone with John Wayne and the sock puppet after all.”
“I, for one, am glad you didn’t.”
Josh walked around to the front of the desk and perched on the edge – then jumped up again and took a couple of steps back in the opposite direction, hands planted firmly on his hips. “What the hell was he thinking?”
Toby rubbed at his temple for a few seconds. “I don’t think that’s something we should be worrying about right now, do you?”
Josh shot him a small, incredulous smile. “You don’t think..?”
“I think – and can I just say I’m more than slightly mortified that this whole thing has reduced me to cliché – I think we’re going to have bigger fish to fry.”
Josh narrowed his eyes, his jaw firmly set as he walked back across the office to the door. “Believe me when I tell you your aversion to cliché is something about which I could really care less.” Kicking it shut, he began to pace back and forth behind Toby’s chair. “The Iowa caucus is in seven and a half months and we don’t even know if - ”
“Leo thinks he’ll run,” Toby stated flatly, without turning around.
“He thinks…” Josh stopped and flung his hands out to the side. “For God’s sake, that might not be an option! I don’t know if he – we – can recover from this. I don’t know if I can fix it, or if -” he puffed out a breath and ran a hand through his hair, walking back towards the door. “And what about all of us? We’re going to be so bogged down in hearing after fucking hearing that our chances of doing any actual governing will be shot to hell!”
Toby said nothing, just propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested a couple of fingers against his cheek.
“Goddammit!” Josh smacked his hand hard against the doorframe. He stood for a few seconds, breathing hard, staring at the door before he turned and resumed his pacing.
“I should have seen this coming,” he muttered, talking as much to himself as to the other man sitting in his office. “I know Hoynes. I know how he thinks, I should have realized, when he -”
“Wow,” Toby interrupted, sarcastically. “It’s a wonder you can live with yourself.”
Josh glared at the back of his head. “What?”
“So tell me what you think you should have done.” Toby turned finally, an expression of mild curiosity on his face. “What should you have seen coming? Your crystal ball and extensive medical knowledge could have told you that the President has a degenerative disease?”
Josh stopped again, frowning. “What? No, I – you worked out something was wrong. I should have -”
Toby let out a short, bitter laugh. “Would you listen to yourself? Just what is it you’re pissed about? The fact that the President is sick and didn’t tell anybody?” He stood up and turned around. “Or,” he continued, his voice now rising in indignation, “that you and I and Sam and CJ - all of us - unknowingly perpetrated a massive fraud on the American public - or is it because I worked it out before you did?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Josh stopped on the other side of the office. “He lied to us, Toby! He lied to all of us! That’s what I’m pissed about. He was the real deal – for once here was a guy I didn’t think was going to let us down or turn out to be less than he could possibly be, someone who was going to - ”
“Live up to your astronomically high expectations?”
Josh blinked, squirming internally at Toby’s uncanny knack for getting under his skin. He tried a supercilious smirk. “For the love of God, he’s the President of the United States! I shouldn’t have high expectations of the man holding that office?”
But Toby wasn’t buying. “So what would you have done?”
Josh stared at him, jiggling his leg nervously as he struggled to find an answer, knowing that he wasn’t going to be let off the hook. “What would you have done?” Toby persisted. “Resigned? Talked the President out of running? What?”
“I don’t know!” Josh burst out. “We should – he should have told the truth! If we’d gotten out in front of it from the start we could have - ”
“Lost?”
“Maybe! But if he’d been honest with us, at least everyone would have been able to make their own decision as to whether they - ” he swallowed and took a step backwards, lining himself up against the wall. “He wouldn’t have put everyone in this position. And win or lose, we wouldn’t be facing this now.”
Toby studied him intently for a moment before he asked quietly, “Are you saying you wouldn’t have worked to get him elected if you’d known?”
“I - ” Josh paused and slid down to sit on the floor, draping one one arm loosely across his knees. “No,” he said, truthfully, scrubbing his other hand across his face. “What was it Leo said? He was tired of having to make a choice between the lesser of ‘who cares?’? Well so was I. And finding Jed Bartlet was like … ” He leaned his head back against the wall and blinked up at the ceiling.
Toby rested a hand on the back of his chair and rubbed a thumb across his brow. “Yeah.”
After a few more seconds of silence, he continued, “I raised my voice to him, you know. I can’t believe I did that.”
Josh closed his eyes, chuckling. “Yeah. Leo told me you kinda freaked out.”
Toby jangled the change in his pockets, a small, uncertain smile on his face. “What we’re about to face is scaring the crap out of me, you know that? But you know what’s worse? I stood in the Oval office a few nights ago and raised my voice to a man – a man – who for all I know could have been in pain, and who, instead of taking it easy or whatever the hell it is he should be doing has chosen to do,” he waved a hand around expansively, “this – this … arduous, exhausting thing - and for a while, all I could think was ‘what have I done? What about me?’”
Josh blew out a breath and tipped his head forward. “God…”
“Yeah.”
“So who else knows?”
A slight frown creased Toby’s forehead. “With you – there are eighteen of us now. Leo’s going to tell CJ and Sam over the next few days.” He paused. Then – “you going to tell Donna?”
Josh let his head fall back again. Oh, God. Donna. What the - how the hell was he going to tell her?
“Yeah. I’ll tell her. Just … not yet. I haven’t …” he rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know what… I’ll tell her.”
Josh realized then that he must have paused a moment too long, because when he looked up, it was to find Toby’s eyes fixed knowingly on his face. “You can’t protect her from this, Josh,” he said softly. “She has to know, and she has to know soon.”
Josh looked up at the ceiling. “I know.”
“I’m not kidding, Josh,” Toby’s tone of voice made him jerk his head forward, his eyes flying open wide. “You’re going to need her.”
Josh swallowed – but said nothing, the look on his friend’s face effectively forestalling any protest he might have thought to make.
After a few seconds more, Toby broke eye-contact and ran a hand over his pate. “I’d expect a call from the Counsel’s office in the morning.”
“Yeah. Leo said.”
“So. I’m …” Toby half-turned and inclined his head towards the door.
“’kay.”
Toby nodded and made to leave as Josh sat forward and clasped his hands loosely between his knees. “Toby?”
“Yeah?”
Josh inclined his head and inhaled deeply. “Thanks.”
Toby smiled, ruefully. “’night.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
A couple of extremely unproductive hours later, once his mind had begun to clear and he’d started to realize that clarity of thought might not be such a good thing after all, Josh had left the office with the intention of heading for the nearest bar and drinking just enough to encourage the return of the muzzy-headedness he’d experienced earlier - yet not enough to leave him with the mother of all hangovers in the morning.
But he’d changed his mind. Alcohol wasn’t what he needed right now. And although he wouldn’t let himself actually articulate what it was he did need, here he was nonetheless, trudging wearily up the stairs and along the corridor until he came to the door of Donna’s apartment.
He made a fist, raised his hand … and stopped.
If he knocked - if he went inside… there was no way he’d be able to keep the news from her. He knew Toby was right, she would have to know sooner rather than later, but for now, his instincts were warring within him. On the one hand, he needed to tell her, to have someone to confide in, someone to tell him that everything would be okay, to understand what he was going through … and on the other, he wanted to keep it from her for as long as possible, to spare her the anxiety, the disappointment he believed she’d feel so keenly.
Donna’s first thought wouldn’t be a selfish one, of that he was sure. He felt almost physically sick as he recalled the things that had gone through his head as he’d listened to the President, the things he’d yelled at Toby afterwards. Donna wouldn’t do that. Her concern would be for the man, a man she admired who had a potentially painful and debilitating illness, who had a family who loved him, and who could lose him earlier than they should. Her first thoughts wouldn’t be about betrayal or disloyalty or deception, they wouldn’t be about whether the administration could possibly survive, or about how the hell they could find a way to fix the damage that would inevitably result when the revelation became public.
The mortification Josh had been experiencing since leaving the White House that night intensified as he told himself that she, at least, was better than that.
He blew out a soft sigh and rested his forehead lightly against the door, his hand braced against the frame.
If he knocked - if he went inside… he knew with complete certainty that he wouldn’t be leaving until the morning. And that he wouldn’t be spending the night alone on the sofa. He could see her face in his mind’s eye, knew exactly how she would look when he told her, how her eyes would open wide in shock, her lips parting slightly just before her tongue darted out to moisten them. And then it would be all over for him – that one, familiar gesture all it would take for him to pull her into his arms and kiss the hell out of her before he took her to bed.
She wouldn’t stop him. Wouldn’t question his actions or his motives … she joked about it, about being ‘tuned to him’, but deep down, he knew how close to the truth it was, they both did. And despite his occasional tactlessness or thoughtlessness, he was the same way with her. Which was how he just - knew. Her first thought might be for the President – but her second would be for him. She’d do whatever she could to comfort him, and if that meant offering him whatever fleeting oblivion her body could provide, she’d do it. And he knew that he wouldn’t be strong enough to refuse her. Right now, oblivion was what he wanted, and the idea that he could forget, even for a few short hours, the anger and the self-recrimination he was feeling deep inside, and ignore his apprehension about what was to come by losing himself in her warmth and softness was tempting beyond reason.
But to do that, to take what he knew she’d offer unconditionally… it would ruin them, ruin everything. They might find temporary solace in each other, but he couldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t use her as a distraction; she meant too much to him for that, and when – if … if something ever happened between them, he was still enough of a romantic to want it to be because of him. Because she wanted him, and not out of some misplaced sense of loyalty or, God forbid, pity.
But still, the ferocity of his need for her shook him to the core. He needed her understanding and her compassion, he needed her strength… he just needed her.
If you were in an accident, I wouldn’t stop for red lights.
That was what Donna had said the other night. Josh laughed softly, bitterly. It had taken just a few short nights for the world to turn itself upside down and for him to be looking at the ruin of almost everything – and everyone – he held dear.
He straightened up and backed away from the door.
This wasn’t… couldn’t happen. Not now. He thought about the look on her face as she’d sat with him on the floor of his office and told him the real story behind her return to the campaign, how he’d felt a knot forming in his chest at the thought that that deadbeat boyfriend of hers could have treated her like that, when she deserved so much more. And how later, he’d begun to wonder whether her parting words had actually meant - what he hoped they might have meant.
But now… it didn’t matter anyway, because he wasn’t going to have the opportunity to find out.
He was finding it more and more difficult to keep himself from showing what he felt. Sam was fond of telling him he had a terrible poker face, but Josh knew he did a far better job of concealment than his friend could possibly imagine. But there had been times…
You look really great in that dress tonight, Donna. You should buy it for yourself.
… when he knew he'd been far too obvious.
And he couldn’t afford that. Not now. Not now, when they were about to be investigated to within an inch of their lives.
Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his raincoat, Josh turned and walked slowly back towards the stairs.
End.
Being anally retentive about that sort of thing, I proofed it myself, so any mistakes are mine!
Spoilers: up to the end of S2
Category/Pairing: The angst has taken over my brain. Josh, Leo, Toby, with implied J/D
Rating: PG-13 (language)
A/N: Takes place at the end of S2, between Bad Moon Rising and The Fall’s Gonna Kill You.
This is all
coloneljack’s fault. I’m supposed to be writing smutty bubblefic, but no, we were chatting the other night, when I said “I’d liked to have seen Josh’s reaction to the news about Bartlet’s MS”. And okay, so I actually said that, but this is still her fault. She encouraged me. Or something.
A/N 2: Thanks to
coloneljack for the zinke for helping me to see the wood for the trees.Number Eighteen
“Thank you, Mr President.”
Josh said the words automatically, not really knowing he was speaking at all as he turned and followed Leo through the adjoining doors.
When they entered the Chief of Staff’s office, Josh walked aimlessly into the middle of the room, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his eyes trained, unseeing, on the carpet, his mind still unable – or point-blank refusing – to process the information he’d just been given.
“There’s no easy way to say this. I have Multiple Sclerosis.”
“I – I’m sorry, sir?”
“I have MS, Josh.”
“You – I – don’t understand. You’re… sick?”
“Yeah.”
“How long have you known?”
“About eight years.”
“Since before – the election?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t under… you knew? And you still..?”
“Yes, I did.”
Josh had stood in the Oval Office, his surroundings familiar and yet still awe-inspiring, and listened to the President – a President he’d helped to put into office – telling him not only that he was sick, but that he’d been sick for years and had thought it prudent to keep that fact from both the electorate and his closest advisors.
He’d listened in silence as President Bartlet had explained to him the nature of his illness, waited dutifully to be asked if there was anything he wanted to know – but Josh hadn’t been able to think of a single thing. All he could think, all he could feel before the numbness that had been creeping slowly through his body finally settled somewhere around his chest, was that he had put his faith and his trust in this man, had given him his unquestioning loyalty –
“You okay, kid?”
Josh heard the words, as though coming from a long way away, but he didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. He needed to think. To work out what to do now, work out if this was fixable.
And if so – how.
The march towards re-election had already begun… the buzz was about whether the President would be running again, whether he’d be an unchallenged candidate, who his opponent might be… but now? Re-election could well be completely out of the question. When this came out – regardless of how or when the story broke, or whether, as Leo wanted, they managed to get out in front of it – the media frenzy would be like nothing they’d ever experienced. The administration would be dragged through the mud, all of them would be questioned and cross-examined to the limit of their sanity; it would be like living under a microscope, everything and anything the President and his senior aides had done for the past three years and whatever they did in the coming months would be dissected and analysed to death in a quest to expose any signs of wrong-doing or a cover-up.
They’d be so mired down in this fight that actually governing was going to be –
“Josh?” Leo’s voice, louder this time brought him back from his reverie and he jerked his head up and to the side, squinting vaguely at the man standing in front of him. “Hm?”
“Are you okay?” Leo repeated slowly.
“What?” Josh straightened up, blinking rapidly as though he was trying to wake himself up. “Uh - yes, I -” If only he could get rid of this damn buzzing in his ears. Although he supposed he should be grateful it was buzzing and not –
“Josh,” Leo said again, firmly – but not unkindly – fixing him with an intense, concerned stare.
“I’m…” Josh swallowed and looked Leo directly in the eye. “It’s okay. I’m not going to - ”
- go home and put my hand through a window.
Josh felt a little unnerved by the force of Leo’s scrutiny, but he didn’t break eye contact, willing him to see that he was, in fact okay and not about to – do something stupid.
Leo must have found whatever reassurance he had been searching for, because after a few seconds, he nodded and pursed his lips. “Okay. Look, we’ll talk more in the morning when you’ve had time to - ” He walked around his desk and sat down behind it. “Go home. Get some sleep. There’ll be precious little time for that once this breaks, so you need to take what you can when you can get it.”
Josh didn’t move. “Yes, sir,” he said, quietly.
“I mean it,” Leo warned. “We’ve got a real fight on our hands and the last thing I need is you dead on your feet.”
Josh inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement and walked to the door, coming to a halt at the sound of the other man’s voice.
“Josh?”
He paused, his hand on the doorknob and turned around to raise an enquiring eyebrow at Leo, who he thought looked somehow smaller sitting behind his desk, behind piles of folders, binders and briefing books.
“I’m sorry.”
Josh frowned and offered a confused half-smile. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
Leo shrugged and sat back. “I knew and I didn’t tell you. I couldn’t. And I’m sorry about that.”
Josh looked at him uncomprehendingly for a few seconds before he spoke again. “It’s okay. It’s not,” he sniffed. “Not your fault.”
Leo fixed him with a piercing stare. “And it’s not yours, either.” He put on his glasses and waved his hand. “Now get outta here.”
Josh walked slowly back to his office, his normally confident stride reduced to a downbeat shuffle, his head bowed as he continued to think about the ramifications of what he’d just learned, trying to formulate some sort of strategy, some sort of plan of attack with which he could go to Leo – but he couldn’t do it. His mind felt sluggish, as though he was trying to think his way through a vat of toffee, and the only thoughts that were managing to cut through it all were ones of anger and disillusion. He’d never experienced anything quite like this, his fury at the betrayal he was feeling so acutely only exacerbated by disappointment in the man who had executed it.
Having arrived at his doorway, he turned to enter - and stopped in his tracks. Toby was sitting quietly in one of the visitor’s chairs, one knee draped across the other, his arms resting lightly along the arms of the chair.
Josh closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he went in and walked over to stand at the side of his desk.
“You knew.”
“Yeah,” Toby said quietly, apparently deep in thought.
“When?”
Toby didn’t speak – he just looked up; and Josh got it. He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “The night we were working on the speech.”
“Yeah.”
“No wonder you didn’t laugh at any of the jokes,” Josh said as he shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie.
“They weren’t that funny.”
“Yeah. Maybe we should’ve gone with John Wayne and the sock puppet after all.”
“I, for one, am glad you didn’t.”
Josh walked around to the front of the desk and perched on the edge – then jumped up again and took a couple of steps back in the opposite direction, hands planted firmly on his hips. “What the hell was he thinking?”
Toby rubbed at his temple for a few seconds. “I don’t think that’s something we should be worrying about right now, do you?”
Josh shot him a small, incredulous smile. “You don’t think..?”
“I think – and can I just say I’m more than slightly mortified that this whole thing has reduced me to cliché – I think we’re going to have bigger fish to fry.”
Josh narrowed his eyes, his jaw firmly set as he walked back across the office to the door. “Believe me when I tell you your aversion to cliché is something about which I could really care less.” Kicking it shut, he began to pace back and forth behind Toby’s chair. “The Iowa caucus is in seven and a half months and we don’t even know if - ”
“Leo thinks he’ll run,” Toby stated flatly, without turning around.
“He thinks…” Josh stopped and flung his hands out to the side. “For God’s sake, that might not be an option! I don’t know if he – we – can recover from this. I don’t know if I can fix it, or if -” he puffed out a breath and ran a hand through his hair, walking back towards the door. “And what about all of us? We’re going to be so bogged down in hearing after fucking hearing that our chances of doing any actual governing will be shot to hell!”
Toby said nothing, just propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested a couple of fingers against his cheek.
“Goddammit!” Josh smacked his hand hard against the doorframe. He stood for a few seconds, breathing hard, staring at the door before he turned and resumed his pacing.
“I should have seen this coming,” he muttered, talking as much to himself as to the other man sitting in his office. “I know Hoynes. I know how he thinks, I should have realized, when he -”
“Wow,” Toby interrupted, sarcastically. “It’s a wonder you can live with yourself.”
Josh glared at the back of his head. “What?”
“So tell me what you think you should have done.” Toby turned finally, an expression of mild curiosity on his face. “What should you have seen coming? Your crystal ball and extensive medical knowledge could have told you that the President has a degenerative disease?”
Josh stopped again, frowning. “What? No, I – you worked out something was wrong. I should have -”
Toby let out a short, bitter laugh. “Would you listen to yourself? Just what is it you’re pissed about? The fact that the President is sick and didn’t tell anybody?” He stood up and turned around. “Or,” he continued, his voice now rising in indignation, “that you and I and Sam and CJ - all of us - unknowingly perpetrated a massive fraud on the American public - or is it because I worked it out before you did?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Josh stopped on the other side of the office. “He lied to us, Toby! He lied to all of us! That’s what I’m pissed about. He was the real deal – for once here was a guy I didn’t think was going to let us down or turn out to be less than he could possibly be, someone who was going to - ”
“Live up to your astronomically high expectations?”
Josh blinked, squirming internally at Toby’s uncanny knack for getting under his skin. He tried a supercilious smirk. “For the love of God, he’s the President of the United States! I shouldn’t have high expectations of the man holding that office?”
But Toby wasn’t buying. “So what would you have done?”
Josh stared at him, jiggling his leg nervously as he struggled to find an answer, knowing that he wasn’t going to be let off the hook. “What would you have done?” Toby persisted. “Resigned? Talked the President out of running? What?”
“I don’t know!” Josh burst out. “We should – he should have told the truth! If we’d gotten out in front of it from the start we could have - ”
“Lost?”
“Maybe! But if he’d been honest with us, at least everyone would have been able to make their own decision as to whether they - ” he swallowed and took a step backwards, lining himself up against the wall. “He wouldn’t have put everyone in this position. And win or lose, we wouldn’t be facing this now.”
Toby studied him intently for a moment before he asked quietly, “Are you saying you wouldn’t have worked to get him elected if you’d known?”
“I - ” Josh paused and slid down to sit on the floor, draping one one arm loosely across his knees. “No,” he said, truthfully, scrubbing his other hand across his face. “What was it Leo said? He was tired of having to make a choice between the lesser of ‘who cares?’? Well so was I. And finding Jed Bartlet was like … ” He leaned his head back against the wall and blinked up at the ceiling.
Toby rested a hand on the back of his chair and rubbed a thumb across his brow. “Yeah.”
After a few more seconds of silence, he continued, “I raised my voice to him, you know. I can’t believe I did that.”
Josh closed his eyes, chuckling. “Yeah. Leo told me you kinda freaked out.”
Toby jangled the change in his pockets, a small, uncertain smile on his face. “What we’re about to face is scaring the crap out of me, you know that? But you know what’s worse? I stood in the Oval office a few nights ago and raised my voice to a man – a man – who for all I know could have been in pain, and who, instead of taking it easy or whatever the hell it is he should be doing has chosen to do,” he waved a hand around expansively, “this – this … arduous, exhausting thing - and for a while, all I could think was ‘what have I done? What about me?’”
Josh blew out a breath and tipped his head forward. “God…”
“Yeah.”
“So who else knows?”
A slight frown creased Toby’s forehead. “With you – there are eighteen of us now. Leo’s going to tell CJ and Sam over the next few days.” He paused. Then – “you going to tell Donna?”
Josh let his head fall back again. Oh, God. Donna. What the - how the hell was he going to tell her?
“Yeah. I’ll tell her. Just … not yet. I haven’t …” he rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know what… I’ll tell her.”
Josh realized then that he must have paused a moment too long, because when he looked up, it was to find Toby’s eyes fixed knowingly on his face. “You can’t protect her from this, Josh,” he said softly. “She has to know, and she has to know soon.”
Josh looked up at the ceiling. “I know.”
“I’m not kidding, Josh,” Toby’s tone of voice made him jerk his head forward, his eyes flying open wide. “You’re going to need her.”
Josh swallowed – but said nothing, the look on his friend’s face effectively forestalling any protest he might have thought to make.
After a few seconds more, Toby broke eye-contact and ran a hand over his pate. “I’d expect a call from the Counsel’s office in the morning.”
“Yeah. Leo said.”
“So. I’m …” Toby half-turned and inclined his head towards the door.
“’kay.”
Toby nodded and made to leave as Josh sat forward and clasped his hands loosely between his knees. “Toby?”
“Yeah?”
Josh inclined his head and inhaled deeply. “Thanks.”
Toby smiled, ruefully. “’night.”
A couple of extremely unproductive hours later, once his mind had begun to clear and he’d started to realize that clarity of thought might not be such a good thing after all, Josh had left the office with the intention of heading for the nearest bar and drinking just enough to encourage the return of the muzzy-headedness he’d experienced earlier - yet not enough to leave him with the mother of all hangovers in the morning.
But he’d changed his mind. Alcohol wasn’t what he needed right now. And although he wouldn’t let himself actually articulate what it was he did need, here he was nonetheless, trudging wearily up the stairs and along the corridor until he came to the door of Donna’s apartment.
He made a fist, raised his hand … and stopped.
If he knocked - if he went inside… there was no way he’d be able to keep the news from her. He knew Toby was right, she would have to know sooner rather than later, but for now, his instincts were warring within him. On the one hand, he needed to tell her, to have someone to confide in, someone to tell him that everything would be okay, to understand what he was going through … and on the other, he wanted to keep it from her for as long as possible, to spare her the anxiety, the disappointment he believed she’d feel so keenly.
Donna’s first thought wouldn’t be a selfish one, of that he was sure. He felt almost physically sick as he recalled the things that had gone through his head as he’d listened to the President, the things he’d yelled at Toby afterwards. Donna wouldn’t do that. Her concern would be for the man, a man she admired who had a potentially painful and debilitating illness, who had a family who loved him, and who could lose him earlier than they should. Her first thoughts wouldn’t be about betrayal or disloyalty or deception, they wouldn’t be about whether the administration could possibly survive, or about how the hell they could find a way to fix the damage that would inevitably result when the revelation became public.
The mortification Josh had been experiencing since leaving the White House that night intensified as he told himself that she, at least, was better than that.
He blew out a soft sigh and rested his forehead lightly against the door, his hand braced against the frame.
If he knocked - if he went inside… he knew with complete certainty that he wouldn’t be leaving until the morning. And that he wouldn’t be spending the night alone on the sofa. He could see her face in his mind’s eye, knew exactly how she would look when he told her, how her eyes would open wide in shock, her lips parting slightly just before her tongue darted out to moisten them. And then it would be all over for him – that one, familiar gesture all it would take for him to pull her into his arms and kiss the hell out of her before he took her to bed.
She wouldn’t stop him. Wouldn’t question his actions or his motives … she joked about it, about being ‘tuned to him’, but deep down, he knew how close to the truth it was, they both did. And despite his occasional tactlessness or thoughtlessness, he was the same way with her. Which was how he just - knew. Her first thought might be for the President – but her second would be for him. She’d do whatever she could to comfort him, and if that meant offering him whatever fleeting oblivion her body could provide, she’d do it. And he knew that he wouldn’t be strong enough to refuse her. Right now, oblivion was what he wanted, and the idea that he could forget, even for a few short hours, the anger and the self-recrimination he was feeling deep inside, and ignore his apprehension about what was to come by losing himself in her warmth and softness was tempting beyond reason.
But to do that, to take what he knew she’d offer unconditionally… it would ruin them, ruin everything. They might find temporary solace in each other, but he couldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t use her as a distraction; she meant too much to him for that, and when – if … if something ever happened between them, he was still enough of a romantic to want it to be because of him. Because she wanted him, and not out of some misplaced sense of loyalty or, God forbid, pity.
But still, the ferocity of his need for her shook him to the core. He needed her understanding and her compassion, he needed her strength… he just needed her.
If you were in an accident, I wouldn’t stop for red lights.
That was what Donna had said the other night. Josh laughed softly, bitterly. It had taken just a few short nights for the world to turn itself upside down and for him to be looking at the ruin of almost everything – and everyone – he held dear.
He straightened up and backed away from the door.
This wasn’t… couldn’t happen. Not now. He thought about the look on her face as she’d sat with him on the floor of his office and told him the real story behind her return to the campaign, how he’d felt a knot forming in his chest at the thought that that deadbeat boyfriend of hers could have treated her like that, when she deserved so much more. And how later, he’d begun to wonder whether her parting words had actually meant - what he hoped they might have meant.
But now… it didn’t matter anyway, because he wasn’t going to have the opportunity to find out.
He was finding it more and more difficult to keep himself from showing what he felt. Sam was fond of telling him he had a terrible poker face, but Josh knew he did a far better job of concealment than his friend could possibly imagine. But there had been times…
You look really great in that dress tonight, Donna. You should buy it for yourself.
… when he knew he'd been far too obvious.
And he couldn’t afford that. Not now. Not now, when they were about to be investigated to within an inch of their lives.
Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his raincoat, Josh turned and walked slowly back towards the stairs.
End.
