Author's Note/Disclaimer: I decided to take a crack (unofficially) at the Ultimate Fanfic Challenge on LiveJournal. 100 prompts, 100 fanfics. While my goal is to keep all stories in the same universe (canon, plus my interpretation of what came afterward), they are organized simply according to the order they appear on LiveJournal. Likewise, points of view, voice, and person may vary. I'll try to address these things at the beginning of each entry. Enjoy.

Josh, Donna, and the rest of The West Wing crew belong to Sorkin, Wells, Warner Brothers, NBC, et al. I write for fun, and as such, do not profit.

Prompt: Middles
Setting: Immediately post-2162 Votes (Will's POV)

Not a word passes between us as we sip our beers and gaze at the television screen. Watching too much or listening too hard ties my stomach in knots of frustration, so I distract myself by watching them.

Did he come here to gloat? Were the beers simply a means of roping us in, forcing us to watch him triumph on a national stage? Was he questioning his own sanity, putting his alcoholic, heart-attack-prone former boss on the ticket with his liberal Hispanic dark horse?

What was she feeling? Disappointment? Exhaustion? Relief? Dare I say…satisfaction? Unlike mine, her gaze doesn't waver from the screen for a moment. A funny little smile lingers on her face; whether it's bitter or genuine, I can't tell.

And maybe—surprise, surprise—I'm overanalyzing all of this.

It occurs to me that the silence that permeates the room might be completely unrelated to what's going on inside the convention center. Suddenly I'm aware of all the things that haven't been said between them, hanging over our heads. The room suddenly seems smaller. Too small for three.

I shift in my seat and begin to stand, trying to come up with some plausible excuse for my exit. There are plenty, I'm sure, but none seem to materialize in my brain.

At the sound of my chair creaking, they whip around to stare. To my surprise—as I know both are less than thrilled with me—the look on their faces is not one of personal dislike or anticipation of my imminent absence.

It's fear.

Donna is more obvious. Her body stiffens, and her tongue swipes her lips nervously. Nonononono is written plainly in her eyes. Josh is better at masking his emotions, but he's blinking far too much and his grip on his beer bottle has tightened considerably.

The scene might have been comedic if it wasn't so sad. I consider them for a moment before sinking back into my seat. Relaxing perceptibly, their gazes slowly drift back to the television. I can't begin to understand the complexity of their relationship, but for their sakes, I hope one day it won't be like this.

For the moment, however, I'm just stuck in the middle.