Part 4 of 6

"You're late again, Josh."

"Yeah."

"Very late."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Something came up."

"You're also wet. Very wet. Soaked to the skin, in fact."

"Yeah."

"And you're shivering. You've gotten pretty thoroughly chilled, I'd say."

"I guess."

There was a pause, while they looked at each other.

"Well, do you want to go get a hot shower and get warmed up before we start the fun stuff?"

"Actually, Marilyn, I just came by . . . I just wanted to say . . . I really appreciate what you've been trying to do for me, especially the way you've been willing to juggle things to fit my crazy schedule, and put up with my being late all the time and everything, but . . ."

"But what, Josh?"

"I don't want to do this any more."

"Josh!"

"I mean it. I've decided. I'm not doing this any more. I just don't want to."

"Josh, you can't be serious."

"I am."

"Josh! You can't be. You can't do this, you can't just quit on me now. You know how important this is!"

"It really isn't."

"What did you say?"

"I said it really isn't. It doesn't matter any more. Not to me."

"You're the person it should matter most to."

"It doesn't. It really just doesn't."

oooooo

"Toby?"

It was a couple of hours later. Donna had spent them sitting at her desk, trying to think what to do. She hadn't had any good ideas. She'd cried herself out, her head was pounding, and she had finally decided to go home. The West Wing was almost deserted; she'd been surprised to see Toby still at his desk, writing. He was the last person she wanted to talk to, which was why she thought he might be the best; C.J. would be too easy, even if she were still around, which she wasn't. Donna had walked past his door, turned and come back, then walked away again. And turned. And come back again. Then stood there just out of his sight for several minutes, before knocking hesitantly and saying his name.

"Donna?" He looked up, surprised. "What are you still doing here? I thought Josh left hours ago."

"He did. I—I just stayed. Could I—could I talk to you?"

Toby blinked, surprised. She looked, he realized, as if she had been crying. He shifted a little, awkwardly, in his chair, but in spite of his discomfort with emotion he wasn't a man to dodge difficult scenes. "Of course, Donna. Sit down. What is it?"

She sat down in his visitor's chair, her back very straight and stiff, her knees pressed together, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. She reminded Toby of a schoolgirl who had been sent to talk to the principal.

"I've done something awful, and I thought—I hoped—I wanted to ask you if—if you thought—what I should do—if there's anything I can do—to make it better . . ."

Toby stared at her. "Donna? What are you talking about?"

She swallowed, and dropped her head to look at her hands, still twisting in her lap. Her hair hung down and hid her face. "I said something to Josh. Something terrible, awful, unforgivable. And he's so angry with me, he won't let me tell him I'm sorry. He said . . . he said . . . he thought I was just trying to apologize to keep my job. He said I didn't have to worry about that, no one was going to fire me. He said I should just do my job and stop . . . stop. . ."

"Stop what, Donna?"

"Stop trying to pretend . . ."

She choked a little. Toby waited a few moments, then prompted her again: "Pretend what, Donna?"

"Stop trying to pretend . . . to be . . . his friend."

Toby leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his all-but-nonexistent hairline. He couldn't even begin to imagine what Donna could have said to have gotten that reaction from Josh.

"What did you say to him, exactly?"

"I said—oh, God, I can't tell you, Toby, you'll hate me too. It was unforgivable."

"Donna?"

"Yes?"

"If you want me to tell you what to do, I need to know what you said."

"You'll hate me." Her face was buried in her hands now, her voice muffled.

"I doubt it, Donna. I don't imagine Josh hates you, either, no matter what you've said to him."

"You don't know what I said."

"Tell me."

"I said . . . I said . . . I said he looked like an inmate in a concentration camp."

Toby sucked in his breath, and looked down at his own hands. He waited for a minute, trying to collect himself, not wanting to speak in anger, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

"I see. Why did you say that?"

"I don't know."

"You must have some idea."

"I really hate his haircut."

Toby gave a snort of laughter; he couldn't help himself.

"That's it?"

"Yes. No. I don't know, I don't—we've been going on about it for weeks. I've said a lot of things about it, mean things, he's never cared. Of course, they weren't as bad as that . . ."

"How do you know he didn't care?"

"I—he'd just smirk at me, and say something about it being a hot look for a hot guy. Or about his new girlfriend liking it. I don't know, it just bugged me."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe because he seems so different. Changed. This summer, it happened almost over night. One minute everything was normal; we were working all day Saturdays, sometimes Sundays; he was dragging me out to dinner Saturday night or Sunday night to make up for making me lose my weekend, or making me come along when he was going out with you and CJ. You know, the way we always do. Normal. And then he went to the Hamptons in July, the long weekend, and met this girl, and suddenly he's going up there every other Saturday night and he's there all day Sundays then too. And even when he's here it's different; he doesn't want to do anything together any more. I don't—I'm not saying I mind, of course; it's great to have some time off for a change, and if he's happy, that's good. Right? But it's so strange. He's had girlfriends before, and he's never acted like this about them. And it's great that he's crazy about her, it should be great, but he's never told me her name, or anything about her; I've never met her. And normally he would have told me a lot stuff about her, about where they went to dinner, what movie they saw, stuff like that; he always has before. And the hair! He says it's hip; when did Josh ever want to look hip? It doesn't, anyway, it looks awful. She's got him losing weight, too; I can't imagine why. I don't get it, I don't know what's happening, I feel like I don't even know Josh any more. And that bothers me. A lot. So when we're talking, it's like I'm digging at him, trying to get some sort of response, and nothing I say seems to matter to him at all. So then I dig harder, and say something meaner, and it still doesn't matter. Didn't matter, I mean. Until tonight. And then all of a sudden—And I know what I said tonight was awful, I know that, but—"

"But what?"

"Some of the other things I've said have been pretty awful, too." Her voice was almost a whisper.

Toby didn't say anything for a while. He sat with his head bent over, chewing on the end of his pencil, then taking it out of his mouth and twirling it in his fingers before putting it back between his teeth and chewing on it again. Donna sat quietly, sniffling a little, still looking down at her hands.

"Donna," Toby said at last.

"Yes, Toby?"

"This isn't really my territory, you know. I'm not very good at this sort of thing. But,"—his voice got a bit gruff—"I do care about Josh. And," getting even gruffer—"I care about you, too. You seem to have gotten yourselves into something you both need to get out of. Or, rather, that you need to get both of you out of, because I don't really think Josh is going to be able to do that himself at this point."

Donna nodded. She was looking at Toby now, expectantly. He continued to play with his pencil.

"To do that, I think you're going to need some information I'm not sure you have right now. I don't really think I should be the one to give you that information. But I don't know how the hell else you're going to get it, and if you don't have it, you'll just make things worse. For Josh. For you."

It was Donna's turn to look surprised. "What do you mean, Toby? What kind of information?"

Toby hunched his shoulders, and cleared his throat. "It's obvious from what you say happened tonight that you've upset Josh. You know that. You just don't understand it."

"I do understand, Toby. I know what a terrible thing that was for me to say—to anyone, but especially to Josh. I know about his family, about his grandfather, I know how he feels about it. I wasn't thinking—I didn't mean to make him think of that, but I understand why it upset him."

"I wasn't referring to what you said tonight, Donna. Yes, it was a—bad thing to say, but you know that. And it won't have been the worst thing he's ever heard, either. Just—"

"Just what, Toby?"

"Just maybe the worst thing he's heard from you, Donna. You're wrong if you think that what you say to him doesn't matter to Josh. You've probably been saying a lot of things that have got to him; he just hasn't let on before. Sam always said Josh has a terrible poker face, but he's actually very good at covering himself when he wants to. He wouldn't be able to do his job if he couldn't."

"I know that, of course. It's just—I can usually tell when he's doing it."

"I don't think you're really quite as good at reading Josh as you think you are, Donna. For instance, I'm not sure you realize—" Toby broke off suddenly, and put his pencil in his mouth again.

"Realize what?"

Toby chewed on the pencil for a while, then took it out of his mouth and rubbed it between his hands. He took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly. "Damn," he said. "I really wish I hadn't gotten into this."

"Please, Toby. If there's something I need to know so I can make things better with Josh, I need to know it! Please, Toby, tell me. I don't want him to be this angry; I don't want him to be so upset. I can't stand for him to be upset."

Toby looked up at her for a minute, studying her face, then gave an almost-imperceptible nod. He took another deep breath, and said, "I'm not sure you realize that Josh is in love with you."

Donna almost fell off her chair.

"WHAT?" she squeaked.

Toby looked at her helplessly. "You heard me, Donna."

"Since WHEN? Whatever gave you THAT idea?"

"Since forever, Donna. Since probably the day he hired you."

"You're crazy."

"No, I'm not, Donna. It's not exactly a secret; I know it, Sam knows it, C.J. knows it, Leo knows it, I daresay the President and Mrs. Bartlet know it. Charlie and Zoe and Danny Concannon know it. You don't know it, because he does his damnedest not to let you see it, and because you—" Toby broke off that thought abruptly. "But he's made himself abundantly obvious to everyone else."

Donna was stunned. "You mean, he's actually said—?"

"No. At least, not to me, and not to anyone, as far as I know. He doesn't need to. It's been apparent, in the way he looks at you when you're not watching, the way he talks about you, the ridiculous lengths he'll go to to spend time with you, or to keep you from spending time with anyone else."

"He's never said anything to me at all."

"I know that. He wouldn't."

"Why?" Her voice was very small, and trembled a little.

"He can't, Donna. You must be able to see that. You work for him; he's your boss. There are rules about things like that, and this is the White House. It's one of Josh's many jobs to make sure those rules are followed here. Even if it wasn't, I can't see him putting you in that position."

"What position?"

"Being pressured to have sex with your boss, Donna; what the hell do you think I mean?"

"Oh." There was a very long pause. Toby went back to chewing on his pencil, then took it out of his mouth again, and said, "So you see, what you say really does matter to Josh, whether he shows it or not. I imagine especially comments about the way you think he looks."

"Oh." She bit her lip, and blinked back the tears that were starting to pool in her eyes. Then something occurred to her. "But you can't be right about this, Toby. What about his girlfriend? He's really serious about her; he has to be, to be spending all this time with her. You know that's something new for him; he never did that with Mandy or Amy or anyone else. And she gave him a watch, a few weeks ago, a really expensive watch, so she must be serious about him, too."

There was another long pause. Then Toby took a breath, and said, "There isn't any girlfriend, Donna."

"What?"

"Josh doesn't have a girlfriend."

"He does; I told you—"

"He doesn't. That's not why he's taking time off work on the weekends."

"It's not?"

"No, it's not."

"How do you know?"

Toby shrugged. "I know."

Donna looked at him suspiciously. She'd thought a lot about that girlfriend; she wasn't going to disbelieve in her as readily as that.

"Why is he doing it, then?"

Toby looked back at her for a minute, then dropped his eyes and stared at his hands. Donna held her breath; there was something in his face that she couldn't quite identify, but it made her feel almost sick with tension. "Why, Toby?" Toby kept looking down at his hands and his pencil, wishing he could just stick it in his mouth and never have to say anything again. He couldn't, though, and he knew Josh needed help, even if he would never admit it. He took a very deep breath, looked her in the face, and said, "He's sick, Donna. He has cancer. He goes to the hospital every other weekend for treatment. For chemotherapy."

oooooo

"I—no, no. He can't have. Not Josh. Not Josh. Not again. No, please, no, no."

Donna wrapped her arms around herself and was rocking back and forth in her chair. Toby got up and went over to her, dropping his arm around her shoulders briefly in an awkward hug. "I'm sorry, Donna, but yes, he does."

It was a minute before she was able to say anything else. Then, her voice breaking, she asked, "What kind?"

"Lymphoma."

"Did he have surgery?"

"In July, I think. The long weekend."

The long weekend. Of course. "Why—why didn't he tell me?"

"He didn't tell anyone, Donna."

"He told you."

"No. I guessed. Not that long ago. He made me promise not to tell anyone."

"You've broken that promise."

"Yes, I have."

"How did you guess?"

"I'm a man, Donna; I use the men's room. I kept finding him there, puking his guts out. The stomach flu story only worked so long. And then the fact that he was away from this place regularly every second weekend, the fact that he's so tired he keeps falling asleep in meetings, his hair—"

"His hair—it didn't fall out, Toby; he just cut it."

"I think it was preemptive."

"I didn't know. I didn't know. I knew he was tired; I could see that. I knew he wasn't eating much. I thought—I didn't know he's been falling asleep in meetings; I didn't know he was being sick."

"He didn't want you to know, Donna."

("Josh?"

"Yeah, Toby?"

"You need to tell Leo."

"No thanks."

"And the President."

"No way."

"And Donna."

"Absolutely not.")

"Why, Toby? Why wouldn't he tell me? I should have known; I could have helped him; I wouldn't have-"

("They need to know, Josh. You're not going to be able to sit on this much longer. They're going to be upset when they find out."

"That's why I'm not telling them.")

"He said he didn't want anyone to worry, Donna."

"Why not?"

("They're going to be more upset when they find out and you haven't told them. And they're going to find out, Josh. They're actually quite intelligent people, though you may have a hard time wrapping your Ivy-educated brain around the idea that the word applies to anyone but you.")

"Because he cares about us, Donna. Because he cares about you. Though I think—"

"Think what? What do you think?"

("God damn it, Toby, what do you think you—I mean, damn it, it's my life, isn't it? I'll tell who I want, what I want, when I want, and if I don't feel like telling anyone at all, why the hell should I?"

"So they can help you."

"I don't want their frigging help, Toby! Damn it, can't you see? I don't want anyone pussy-footing around me, being nice just because—If I'm fucking up, I want Leo to tell me I'm fucking up. If I look like shit, I want Donna to say I look like shit. I can't take lies from them, Toby, I just can't.")

"I think he also didn't want our sympathy. He didn't want us being nice to him just because we felt sorry for him."

"But we love him. Everyone loves him."

"And I think I'm not sure Josh really knows that."

oooooo

"Josh?"

"Yeah, Marilyn?"

"I know these treatments can be pretty hard to face. It might help if you brought someone with you, a friend. Someone to talk with, maybe play cards or Scrabble with, help you relax."

"No, thanks."

"Why not, Josh? It's a good idea; a lot of people find it helpful. It helps them remember why they're here, keeps them focused on the goal—getting better."

"I said, no thanks."

"Why not, Josh?" A long pause. "Why not?"

When he finally answers, his voice rasps. "There isn't anyone. There isn't anyone to ask."

oooooo

"Donna?"

"Yes?" She was still wiping her face, sniffling a little.

"Don't let him know you know."

Donna thought about that for a minute. "But he needs us; he needs his friends; he needs-"

"He does, but not like that. This is what he's said he wants; we need to respect that."

"WHY? Whyis this what he wants? When he was shot-"

"That was completely different, Donna."

"Why?"

"Because he didn't have a choice then. By the time he was conscious, we all knew about it—the whole world knew about it. You know how comfortable he was with that, how much he hated being fussed over. He needs his privacy, Donna. He needs to try to keep—his dignity. That's something I respect."

Donna knew Toby was right. She often forced issues with Josh, but there wasn't anything to be gained by doing that here, now, except a little peace of mind, a little comfort for her. Which wasn't worth sacrificing any comfort Josh might be holding onto right now.

"Toby?"

"Yeah?"

"Is he in a lot of pain?"

"I don't really know, Donna. It's one of those questions I didn't feel I could ask."

"Toby?"

"Yes, Donna?"

"He—he is going to be all right, isn't he? They can cure this, can't they?"

"I hope so, Donna. I really hope so."

oooooo

After Donna left Toby she went back and let herself into Josh's office. She curled up in his chair and thought about him sitting there, day after day, all summer, all fall, knowing that he was sick. Very sick. Knowing that he might—she couldn't bring herself to think the words. She wanted to remember everything she could of what he had said and done and how he had looked when he was saying it and doing it, so she could re-imagine what had been happening to him, so she could understand. She still couldn't believe she could have misunderstood so much.

She wondered when he'd found out. It must have been near the end of June. She tried to think what they had been doing then. Not a lot; Congress had broken for the summer, there had been no bills to ram through. They'd spent time finishing off small projects, tying up loose ends. There had been plenty of time for Josh to go to doctor's appointments without her knowing about it. And there must have been lots of appointments, she thought. The first one, a regular check-up—yes, she remembered now, she'd had to nag him about going for it; he'd put it off several times earlier in the season, when they'd been busy. The doctor would have found something he didn't like, a lump somewhere, some soreness; or maybe Josh had been having symptoms—he'd had some sort of flu in the spring that had dragged on a long time. The doctor would have ordered tests, a biopsy. She tried to imagine what Josh might have felt at being told he might, there was just a possibility he might, have cancer. She thought probably he would have pushed the information to the back of his mind, refusing to give it any further thought until he had to, telling himself that the tests would come back negative. She tried to imagine what it must have been like when he was told they hadn't.

It hurt her, physically, to think of him having to deal with that by himself, alone. She didn't think any of it had showed in his face, in his voice, at work; she couldn't remember anything that even hinted at the fact that his world had turned upside down. Had he been a little quieter than usual? Maybe; it was hard to remember. Unless—there had been a Friday night, surely it had been near the end of June, when he had hung around her desk longer than usual at the end of the day, fiddling with her index cards, driving her crazy. He'd finally asked if she wanted to go and get some dinner, maybe go to a movie. She'd been startled; they often did things together, but dinner-and-a-movie, combined with his nervousness in asking, had almost sounded like a date. Of course, she'd thought, that was just her-he'd never be thinking of it like that-and she'd been both disappointed and a little relieved that she had to say she couldn't, she had plans already. Which was true; Stuart, a lawyer she'd met the week before, was taking her out. He was good-looking and intelligent, and she'd been really excited about it when he'd asked her. Afterwards she'd wished she'd cancelled and gone with Josh, but it hadn't occurred to her in time. For just a second she had thought Josh looked crushed; then he'd smirked and teased her about her gomers, and she'd had to defend herself, so the moment had passed. Yes, it must have been the last weekend in June; it was just a few days later that Josh had announced his plans to spend the Fourth of July weekend in Southampton. She thought again about that look in his eyes, and wondered if he'd found out that day and had been hoping for company. A distraction. A friend. She thought about him going for the surgery by himself, listening to the results by himself, going for the chemo every time by himself, facing whatever side effects he'd had to deal with by himself. She should have been there for him, but he hadn't told her, and she'd been too caught up in her own little world of jealousy and self-protection to figure it out. She would have been angry with him for not telling her, if she weren't so much angrier with herself.

oooooo