Disclaimer: I own nothing belonging to The West Wing; it all belongs to NBC, Aaron Sorkin, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: I owe every one of my readers a huge apology for the long wait on this chapter. I can only plead painful writer's block and RL stress, and ask for forgiveness. This chapter isn't particularly long, and I have to write the next one – South Carolina – from the bottom up as well, but after that it should get easier, as I've already got the next few chapters entirely written or started. As always, thanks to my wonderful beta for this story, lcf328.
Chapter Nine: Bartlet for America – Donna, Part Two
Donna was on the phone when Sam reached the doorway of Josh's office for the second time. To give her time to finish her conversation, he leaned against the doorway and just observed her.
She was efficient; Sam saw that immediately. No matter how new Donna was to campaigning, she clearly had office experience. She was paging through Josh's calendar and taking notes on a message pad as though she'd been doing it all her life. As Sam watched, she reached over to one of the piles of file folders, picked one up, discarded it, and then flipped open the next, apparently having found what she needed.
I wonder what her story is, Sam mused. If this isn't what she was trained to do, she's certainly done it enough that she makes it look easy.
Donna hung up the phone before Sam could ponder any more, and she turned to him with an inquiring smile. Sam caught the hesitation in her expression; she had made it past Josh, but she was still incredibly nervous.
"Hi," he said, reaching out a hand and smiling. "I'm Sam Seaborn."
"Donna Moss," Donna replied, shaking his hand. "It's nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too," Sam said. "I just wanted to introduce myself; I'm working with Toby."
Sam intentionally left out his campaign title; he wanted to put Donna at ease, and brandishing his authority at her was not going to accomplish that.
What little authority I have as a junior speechwriter, Sam silently reminded himself, mocking his own momentary egotism.
"So you're a speechwriter?" Donna said curiously, and Sam grinned wryly at the verbal mirroring of his thoughts.
"I am," he acknowledged. "Though sometimes Toby would beg to differ."
Donna laughed, then clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh at you. I just . . . Toby seems like a very intense person. I can imagine he would be hard to please if you're trying to write with him."
"Don't be sorry," Sam told her. "And 'hard to please' is a massive understatement when describing Toby – but you're not going to be any better off, you know. Josh is relentless when it comes to campaigning."
"Yes, I've gotten that impression," Donna said, her face relaxing again and her eyes crinkling in amusement.
"Where are you from?" Sam asked her, doing his best to keep the friendly conversation going. He reached unobtrusively for a pile of folders on the desk and beginning to flip through them, trying to separate the necessary from the unnecessary. Sorting anything that Josh had compiled was always dififcult; he tended to scribble important notes in the margins of memos, stick post-it notes containing names and numbers on top of meaningless faxes, and mix polling data with fast-food menus. Some of it was important and some of it was useless, but the trick was knowing what was what.
"Wisconsin," Donna told him. "I spent the last three days driving up here because I wanted to come and work for the campaign."
Sam stopped his sorting in surprise, looking at her appreciatively. "That's impressive. We usually only get local volunteers."
"Not really," Donna contradicted him. "It was impulsive; I just wanted to do something good, for a change. But now that I'm here, I'd really like to stay," she finished earnestly, sending Sam another smile.
Sam frowned mentally. Something wasn't right here; Donna was a beautiful woman and clearly a sweet person, but she was . . . scared. Something in her demeanor was ringing alarm bells in his head. She reminded Sam of a deer, beautiful and trusting, but ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger or the smallest reprimand. What had happened to her?
Trust her, his mind supplied. Show her that you trust her, that she can be useful.
"Okay," Sam said, reaching for another stack of files. "If you're sure you want to be part of the insanity that is this campaign" – and he felt a surge of satisfaction when Donna grinned – "then I am going to show you some secrets that will help. Deal?"
"Deal," Donna nodded, and her eyes were sparkling.
"Josh sent me in here to talk to you, but also to sort his files, because he's too busy, he hates doing it anyway, and I am one of the few people who understand his system," Sam summarized quickly. "If you can keep his files in order and actually find things for him, you will never be out of a job."
"I could use some job security at the moment," Donna said, and this time her laugh was genuine and pure.
"The key is knowing what's important," Sam said, echoing his earlier thoughts as he flipped open the top file on the stack. "Often, what isn't on the memos is just as important as what's on the memos. Polling data and opposition research are crucial, but Josh will take notes on just about anything, from post-its to random scraps of paper. Keeping his notes with the right memos is never an easy thing. Ignore the fast-food menus unless they have notes on them; ignore the faxes from the historical preservation societies and the local ladies' auxiliaries."
"It doesn't occur to Josh to type up his notes and staple them to the memo?" Donna asked, rolling her eyes in amusement.
"Never in a million years," Sam said, grinning in his turn.
"So how is it that you know Josh's system so well, especially since he doesn't seem to bother to learn it himself?" Donna questioned.
Sam chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. "We've been friends a long time; I think of it as osmosis."
That was the easy answer. The true answer was much more complicated, far more complicated than he could explain to Donna, who had only met him five minutes ago and who knew none of the history that he and Josh shared. The truth was that understanding Josh's cryptic sense of organization was a skill he had never lost, once he had acquired it – and it had taken him all of two weeks to acquire it. He saw the files as a reflection of the mind that had created them. Josh remembered and utilized more facts than anyone Sam knew, save perhaps Leo, and his mind was like a particularly complex puzzle, with pieces connecting in unexpected and yet brilliant ways. Two facts that might initially appear unrelated were suddenly revealed to be vital to one another, and two clearly related facts were often implemented in a strategy where, initially, they didn't seem to belong. Sam understood the files because he understood Josh. It was as simple and as complicated as that.
They worked in tandem for the next few minutes, Donna pausing occasionally to ask Sam about a particularly cryptic note or oddly placed bit of scrawl. It wasn't until they were about halfway through the stack of files that Sam ventured to ask another question.
"Have you always been interested in politics?" he ventured. "You said driving up here was impulsive, but you seem to catch on very quickly."
Donna blushed and then paled, her shoulders tightening, and Sam knew immediately that he has said the wrong thing, though he had no idea why.
"No," she answered, self-consciousness and bitterness coloring her tone. "I don't know much at all about politics, really. I'm a pretty quick study."
"Well, that's something that will definitely come in handy," Sam said gently, trying to make Donna comfortable again. "Campaigns move fast, and learning to adapt to every new location is something that can take some people a long time to learn."
Donna tried to smile at him, but it was strained. "I think seeing new places will be exciting," she said. "I've lived in Wisconsin my whole life, and I've traveled a little, but there's so much of the country I haven't seen. It will be wonderful meet different kinds of people."
What – or who – are you running from, Donna Moss? Sam wondered to himself. She was running, that much was clear, but Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know why.
Aloud, he said, "That's always been one of my favorite things, too – that and the food," he added with a chuckle. "You eat a painful amount of take out on campaigns, but the different kinds of food are wonderful. Nothing beats fried chicken that's actually made in Georgia."
Donna actually giggled at his declaration, and it made Sam turn to her in surprise. "What?"
"You," she said, still giggling. "You look like you've never eaten fried chicken in your life."
"Thank goodness for that. I work very hard to keep it that way," Sam bantered back, and Donna laughed again.
"Someday I will make my mother's fried chicken recipe for you, Sam Seaborn, and then you will never say another word about fried chicken from Georgia," she retorted.
"I look forward to it," Sam said, raising his eyebrows in challenge. "We'll see if you can make me a believer."
It dispelled the awkward moment, Donna looked happy once more, and their conversation stayed on easier topics from then on. Sam wasn't going to push Donna for information she wasn't ready to give, but he hoped that he could help her heal in some way.
Maybe all she really needs is a friend.