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: Really long note this time, everyone! Sorry about that, but I wanted to cover a few things. I spent a quite a bit of time trying to track down the origin of Leo's line, "Act as if ye have faith, and faith shall be given to you," which he uses in "In the Shadow of Two Gunmen." As far as I can tell, this exact variation of this saying is credited to Rev. Dr. Samuel Shoemaker, who was a major contributor to the founding principles of Alcoholics Anonymous. The same version of the saying is also used in the 1982 Paul Newman movie The Verdict (in which Paul Newman's character is a lawyer and a recovering alcoholic). However, it is also a slightly simpler version of Mark 11:24: "For this reason I say to you, Whatever you make a request for in prayer, have faith that it has been given to you, and you will have it."
Also, I'm doing a little bit of educated guesswork, here, about Leo knowing Noah longer than Jed. We know Leo fought in Vietnam, and that Jed did not – and that Jed was in London for at least part of the Vietnam War, studying at the London School of Economics. Leo states in 3.09 that he and Jed have known each other for 32 years, which would mean they met in about 1969. Also, Leo says to Josh, "That's what sons do for old friends of their father's," which seems to imply that he's known Josh since Josh was very young – and Josh had to have been about 35, give or take a year or two, during the first campaign, which would make his birth year 1961. So, it makes sense to me that Leo knew Noah before he knew Jed, hence his reaction to Noah's death in this chapter.
Sam's favorite writers are Toby and Dickens; see "The Stackhouse Filibuster."
Finally – the entire scenario in which Josh and Sam meet, including the piece of it involving Matt Skinner, is intentionally somewhat parallel to the bar scene in 1.06, "Mr. Willis of Ohio." The Alchemist & Barrister is an actual pub in Princeton, and as far as I can tell it has been in existence since at least the mid-eighties. All of it will come into play, one way or another, later in the story; I've had the broad outlines of this scene in my head since I started writing this thing five or six years ago. The Cap & Gown is one of the oldest and most famous Princeton eating clubs. I'm taking a little bit of liberty with their rules here, as I don't know their policy about inviting outsiders.
My deepest and most heartfelt thanks to my two wonderful betas, lcf328 and thebreakfastgenie. I had multiple attacks of writer's jitters and an incredible amount of nervousness about this chapter, and they have been nothing but supportive and encouraging.
Chapter Eleven: Bartlet for America – The Illinois Primary
Leo: I heard your dad was in the hospital again.
Josh: Yeah. They put . . . they got it all this time.
~Episode 2.01, "In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, Pt. I"
Josh: The President's daughter, the Chief of Staff's daughter, a Georgetown bar, and Sam. What could possibly go wrong?
~ Episode 1.06, "Mr. Willis of Ohio"
Skinner: Ask me the question, Josh!
Josh: How can you be a member of this party?!
Skinner: You've been holding that in for way too long, man.
Josh: This party who says that who you are is against the law.
~Episode 2.07, "The Portland Trip"
Jed found Abbey as the room erupted into cheers over the television announcement. He tucked his hand into her elbow and gave her a smile, silently tugging her into the bedroom area of the hotel suite. He wanted just a small moment of privacy to share this victory with his wife. He was still reeling from the fact that they had won; no one, least of all himself, had expected that they would come this far.
Once they were safely away from the staffers, Abbey leaned up and kissed him soundly.
"Congratulations, Governor," she said, her eyes sparkling. "How does it feel to have won the Illinois Primary?"
Jed smiled. "Amazing," he said quietly. "A little surreal, too. How did we get here?"
"You have a very talented staff," Abbey said solemnly. "And Leo is right. You were born to do this, Jed."
"I'm not so sure," Jed confessed. "I wasn't so sure back in New Hampshire. Leo quoted the Book of Mark at me – well, the Book of Mark and Rev. Samuel Shoemaker."
"'Act as if ye have faith . . .'?" Abbey clarified, and Jed nodded.
Abbey cupped his cheek in her palm. "I think the fact that you aren't sure is precisely what makes you so qualified. You aren't doing this because you wanted it for yourself; you're doing this because you want to try and do what's best for the country."
"I . . . had things I wanted to say," Jed said slowly. "I didn't get into this wanting to be President – but I have hope for what this country could be, Abbey, and I was hoping some people would listen. I was hoping to plant ideas. I never dreamed we would be here."
"I know you didn't. I dreamed it for you," Abbey said earnestly. "And I am so proud of you."
She leaned in and kissed him again, but they were interrupted by a knock. Jed smiled at his wife apologetically before calling, "Come in!"
Leo entered, and Jed knew immediately that something was seriously wrong. His old friend's face was ashen, and his mouth set in the way that it only ever was when he had bad news to deliver.
"Leo! My God, you look awful," Abbey exclaimed. "Sit down." She hurried over and grabbed a chair for their campaign director, and Leo was distressed enough that he sank into it, and took the glass of water Abbey brought him a moment later.
"What's happened, Leo?" Jed asked gently. Abbey pulled up a chair next to Leo and took his wrist, counting silently as Leo collected himself.
"Noah Lyman, Josh's father, died a few hours ago," Leo said, his voice rough with emotion. "Donna got the call; Josh is already packing. Cancer."
"Oh, Leo," Abbey said softly. "He was your friend, wasn't he?"
"My oldest friend," Leo confirmed. "I've known him even longer than you, sir," he added, looking at Jed, "and he was an extraordinary man. Kind, wise, a consummate legal and political mind. Josh gets a lot of his talent from Noah."
"I'm so sorry, Leo," Jed murmured sympathetically. "You should go to the funeral. Josh will need you."
Leo shook his head. "I can't, sir. Josh has to go, but we can't run this campaign without a director and a deputy director. Only one of us can be absent at a time, especially now. You have a victory speech to give, we have to go to California – it's a terrible time to lose team members. Josh will go, and he'll give my condolences to Judith. It's enough."
"How long had Noah been sick?" Jed asked.
"He was first diagnosed with prostate cancer a few years ago. They did chemo the first time, but the cancer came back and spread, and Noah had surgery just before I brought Josh to see you in Nashua," Leo explained. He rubbed a hand over his face before continuing. "They thought they got it all, but he had to go back on chemo as a preventive measure. Apparently he had gone in for a session today and developed a blood clot."
"Poor Josh," Abbey said sympathetically. "He's so young to lose a parent."
"I want to go talk to him," Jed said suddenly. "He shouldn't be alone; I want to go talk to him."
"Governor, we have to get you to your victory speech, sir," Leo objected. "I can pass along your thoughts to Josh; I'm sure he'll appreciate it."
"You don't have time; Jed; you'll never make it to the ballroom in time if you go to the airport first," Abbey said, trying to soothe him and reason with him at the same time.
"It won't take that long," Jed said, wondering as he did why he was pleading for this chance, when up to now he had interacted with Josh in ways that were polite at best and grumpy and dismissive at worst. "Please, Leo. Abbey. Someone should be there with him. Delay the speech for an hour and let me talk to him."
Leo looked at his old friend and assessed the gravity and earnestness of his face before giving in. He knew that look; there was no turning Jed from a course when he really decided on something.
"All right," he sighed. "I can't argue with you; God knows Noah would be on your side. But quickly, for heaven's sake. I'll go with you, and you can talk to Josh for five minutes."
Abbey stood, squeezing Leo's shoulder as she did so, then moving over and kissing her husband's cheek. "I'll meet you at the hall. I have to change."
Jed nodded. "I'll grab my coat and tie."
The next few minutes were blurry for Jed. He found his suit coat and the tie he was planning to wear for the victory speech, and he absently followed Leo out to the car. He was struggling to identify all the emotions that were swirling around in his mind. Ten minutes ago he never would have thought he was attached enough to Josh Lyman to follow the boy to the airport after such devastating news; now he couldn't imagine any other course of action.
His thoughts almost inevitably turned to Liz, Ellie, and Zoey. It was incredibly painful to think about what would happen to his daughters if he passed away. Their mother would help to keep them together, but he knew they would be devastated. Josh was considerably older than Zoey and Ellie, but it couldn't be any less painful to lose a parent, someone so integral to your very being. Even when parents and children didn't get along, parents never stopped defining you or creating expectations for you, good and bad. Based on what he had seen so far of Josh's character, his parents must have been extraordinary people. It occurred to Jed to wonder how Josh's mother would cope, and he tucked away a reminder in his mind to talk to Abbey about what they might send to Mrs. Lyman.
To see Leo so shaken was another difficult revelation; Jed was used to relying on Leo as a rock of steady council. In almost thirty years of friendship, he could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Leo lose his composure – and one or two of them had been at the hands of his addiction and not really under his control at all. For Leo to so openly display his grief was almost earth-shattering; based on that alone, Jed would have said that Noah Lyman was the rarest and most precious sort of friend.
What could he possibly say to Josh? How could he convey to Josh what it meant to him that Josh had left Hoynes' campaign for him, an unknown candidate with (comparatively) minimal credentials? How could he let him know that he was cared about and valued, not just as a member of Jed's team but as a son?
Jed knew, better than most, what it was like to doubt your own value after the death of a parent. He only hoped Josh didn't fall into the same trap; he hoped that Josh's mother (and Sam, and Mandy) would be firm and caring enough not to let Josh drown in his own guilt.
Bowing his head, Jed prayed for guidance.
Josh rubbed his eyes wearily, leaning his head back against the airline seat and tossing aside a folder full of polling data and opposition research on the Hoynes campaign that had been conducted during the last week. He had no idea why he had brought campaign information with him when he was going to his father's funeral, but at the moment, thinking about Governor Bartlet and ways that he might be able to do an end run around John Hoynes was the only wall between Josh and the grief that was threatening to drown him.
His father was dead. His father had died from cancer while Josh was off running a national campaign, while Josh had been working in Washington. His father had died, and Josh hadn't been with him.
Donna had been horrified by the way she had blurted out the news to him – but to be fair, he hadn't really been listening to her, other than to try and get her to join in their celebration. Still, she had apologized profusely as they were hurrying back to his room, after he had spoken with his mother and assured her that he was on the way.
"Josh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say it like that."
"It's . . . fine, Donna."
"It's not fine. I never should have said it like that."
"Is there any good way to say it?"
They had stopped then, right in front of his door. "No," she acknowledged softly. "I'll have your tickets when you're ready."
"Okay. Thanks," Josh said quietly, mustering up a small smile. She nodded, and left him with Mandy, who had immediately come to his side when she saw his shocked face in the wake of Donna's news. They went into his hotel room, and Josh began blindly pulling his suitcase together, tossing suits and shirts haphazardly into its interior.
"No. Hey, don't do it like that," Mandy said gently, coming over and stilling his hands. "You'll crease your suits, and you won't have anything decent to wear when you get there."
Josh looked down at their hands, unwilling to look at his girlfriend for fear he would fall apart – or shout at her, when it wasn't Mandy he was angry at.
Reading his face, Mandy silently pulled him into a hug and held him.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Josh," she murmured. "I know how much you loved him."
"Yeah," Josh acknowledged hoarsely.
Letting him go, Mandy straightened his clothes with a few efficient folds while Josh grabbed his toiletries from the bathroom. In less than five minutes, they had the suitcase packed, and Mandy zipped it shut with an air of purpose.
"Let's go," she said determinedly.
"Mandy, you don't have to . . ."
"I want to, Josh. You shouldn't drive to the airport alone. I want to be be with you as long as I can."
Josh nodded, conceding defeat when his shoulders slumped. "Okay."
Mandy had kept her promise, walking him through the airport and to the gate before they said goodbye. She had kissed him tenderly and made him promise to call her when his flight landed. Her scent, which still lingered on him after she left, was a little bit of comfort in what felt like an ocean of sorrow.
Then the Governor had shown up, and Josh's perception of the world had turned over again as the man he was trying to get elected, the man who had done nothing but give cranky answers and shout at them all for months, spoke to him like a father and a friend, with genuine sympathy and sorrow in his face. It was the first glimpse Josh had seen of the man who had spoken at the Nashua VFW; the same compassion and intelligence, the same earnest desire to help and care for others. In that moment at the airport gate, Josh knew why he had followed Governor Bartlet and Leo, knew that his instincts about the Real Thing had been utterly right. He was humbled by the idea that the Governor, for all his testiness, really did care for him, and for all of them – enough to follow Josh to an airport on the biggest night of his political life.
Josh reached for his backpack again, hoping that some aspirin would alleviate his headache. Rummaging in the front pocket, his hand brushed an envelope that he didn't remember packing. Pulling it out and flipping it over in puzzlement, he read his own name in Sam's elegant script.
The note inside was less neat, Sam's writing slightly scrawled as it always was when he was in a hurry.
Josh,
I'm writing this as you pack to go to your father's funeral, and I don't have the words that I wish I did. In the space of two minutes, I experienced the best few moments that I have had in years, and then your entire world crumbled. You have given me such a gift by bringing me onto this campaign, and I can never thank you enough for that.
There are better ways to put this, more elegant phrases, but you will be gone moments from now. Know that we will keep things running in your absence, and that you need to take these few days for yourself. Know that you are being thought of every minute, that we are all thinking of you and Noah and your mother. Know that we wish Noah peace and rest, that we wish you and Judith solace. Know that your father is with Joanie, and take comfort in that knowledge. Know that I share your grief. Yo estoy con vosotros en espíritu.
Always,
Sam
Josh felt his throat close up as he tried to hold back the tears that were gathering in his eyes. He had no idea how Sam had managed to slip this note into his bag before he left, but even the two small paragraphs were enough to make his brittle composure crack. He had had one glimpse of Sam's shocked face before he had rushed from the room with Donna and Mandy at his heels, hitting his mother's cell number on his speed dial and trying to comfort her. Sam had met Noah and Judith Lyman several times over the years of his friendship with Josh, and he spoke truly when he said he would share Josh's grief. Josh knew that he had been genuinely fond of Noah.
The last line of Sam's note was the most revealing. Sam used Spanish in conversation with Spanish speakers, but Josh was one of the few people who knew that he also used it when he was deeply moved, when he needed to convey a feeling and English seemed insufficient. Josh had picked up enough Spanish over the years to be able to translate it: I am with you in spirit.
He wanted to pick up the phone and thank Sam. He wanted to tell him that he knew Sam was with him, that he could hear Sam's voice in his head, at its most comforting if not its most eloquent. Since he was several thousand feet above the earth, all he could do was hold on to the consolation that Sam's words conveyed and hope that he was strong enough to make it through the next few days.
Sam leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Every muscle in his body ached, as though his grief for Josh and Noah had been translated into physical pain. He was desperate for sleep, as they all were, but sleep would never come now. He gripped his glass of scotch, which Toby had put in his hand at some point in the last few hours, and took a long swallow.
When the news announcer had called the Illinois primary for Governor Bartlet, happiness had crackled through his veins like electricity, and his shout of victory had been echoed by everyone in the room. For a perfect five seconds, he had locked eyes with Josh, mouthing a silent "Thank you" to his best friend.
Then Josh had embraced Leo, and Sam had been swept up by C.J., and he had only seen Donna approach Josh as C.J. had released him. He had watched Josh's face change from elation to blank shock and from shock to devastation, though Josh controlled it quickly. Josh had leapt into action, leaving the rest of the room in bewildered confusion. Sam had exchanged one more fleeting look with him before he was out the door, a meager moment of sympathy. Donna had stayed behind long enough to repeat the news of Noah's death to the rest of the staff, and then she, too, had disappeared.
When Josh left, Sam had reached blindly for a pen, hardly knowing what he needed to write down. He wanted Josh to have a talisman of some kind to carry with him. Noah Lyman had been an incredibly intelligent, kind, humorous man, and he and Josh's mother Judith had made Sam feel at home in a way that his own parents never managed to do. He had penned a brief note and slipped it into Josh's backpack, which was sitting on a chair in the hotel suite where the televisions screens were still blaring with their victory, unnoticed by most of the staff. Sam knew Josh would come back for the bag; he never went anywhere without it. Sure enough, Josh had flown back into the room five minutes later, suitcase in tow. Donna had called Josh a cab, and he gave Sam a wordless hug before he and Mandy departed for the airport. The shell-shocked campaign staff had been trying to process what had happened ever since.
Sam wondered miserably if Josh had found the note, if he should have written it at all. If he had been composing for a speech, Toby would have eviscerated him for the shaky incoherence of those two paragraphs, for the jarring changes of subject, the lack of transitions, the sheer lack of polish in his writing.
In this moment, all he wanted to do was wrap Josh in his arms and tell him everything would be all right.
He swallowed another mouthful of scotch.
Princeton, NJ, 1986
The Alchemist & Barrister Restaurant and Pub
Sam worked his way back over to where his friends sat in a booth, his hands full of beers and his grin so wide his cheeks hurt. He had graduated today; he was officially a Princeton alumnus of the Woodrow Wilson School.
He slid into the booth beside his girlfriend, Jennifer, and passed around the drinks in his hands. He leaned in and kissed Jennifer. "How does it feel to be officially done with your bachelor's?"
"Amazing," she smiled. "I can't believe we made it!"
"Yeah, me neither," Sam admitted.
"Oh, come on, Mr. Magna Cum Laude," his friend Adam teased from across the table. "We all knew you were going to be part of the top of the class. You never quit studying!"
"Well, exactly!" Sam retorted, grinning again. "I'm amazed I didn't have a nervous breakdown! I could be in a padded room right now."
"I don't believe you," said Adam's girlfriend Carrie, shaking her head. "You were always far too put together for our eight a. m. lectures."
"He's telling the truth," Jennifer affirmed with a laugh. "I had to talk him down from hyperventilating a few times in the middle of the night."
"Oh, and I didn't have to do the same when you were working on one of your architectural models?" Sam said indignantly.
"Touché," Jennifer admitted.
As their friends laughed, some movement caught Sam's attention over by the bar. There were three or four guys surrounding two men, one of whom Sam recognized. Matt Skinner was in the Wilson School with him, but in the graduate dual degree program for public affairs and law. Sam had seen him in the library a few times, and he was always friendly. Whatever was happening now, though, Sam didn't like the look of it. While Matt and his friend appeared to be trying to placate the other men, the group of them looked like they were trying to pick a fight.
"Excuse me for one second," he murmured to Jennifer, who looked up as he slid out of their booth and walked over to the bar.
"Is there a problem here?" he said sharply, elbowing his way into the cluster of people so that he stood by Matt and his companion. Matt looked surprised, and Sam threw him a reassuring glance, but kept his expression hard as he confronted the others.
"Oh, good, are you another one of them?" one of the guys sneered. Sam didn't recognize him or his companions, but they clearly had been part of the graduating class; Sam could see their mortarboards and commencement programs scattered on stools farther down the bar.
"Another one of what, exactly?" Sam retorted coolly. "Another Woodrow Wilson graduate? Another guy who could kick you around the block on the SATs? Yeah. And you're bothering my friend and his friend, so I'll thank you to leave them alone."
"God, you Wilson boys are all the same," his opponent growled. "Hoity-toity cock lovers."
Matt's companion snorted. "Seriously? Could you be, you know, any more stereotypical?"
Despite himself, Sam's lips twitched; Matt's friend was right, even if he was more than a little foolish to say that aloud.
One of the other toughs in the group bristled. "How about we go outside right now and I show you how stereotypical my fist is?" he snapped, his voice rising.
Matt raised his hands. "Guys, we don't want any trouble."
"Oh, I'll give you trouble, fairy, whether you want it or not," the second man snarled, now close to shouting.
Overhearing the ruckus, which was starting to draw the attention of other patrons, the bartender came barreling down to where they stood. He took in Sam and Matt's defensive postures and the aggressive stance of the others and immediately sized up the situation.
"You all get the hell out of my bar right now, or I will have the bouncers come over here and drag you out," he commanded, leveling a stone-hard stare at the men who had been harassing Matt and his friend. "I catch you in here again tonight, and I will call the police and have you arrested for being drunk and disorderly."
The men exchanged glares with the bartender, but he was a tall and imposing man with plenty of muscle to back up his threats. The men left, glaring still as they gathered up their belongings and skulked out of the bar.
"Thanks, Mack," Sam said gratefully, letting out a breath.
"You're welcome, Sam," Mack said, nodding at him. He turned to Matt. "Matt, I'm so sorry that you and your friend had to deal with that. I apologize."
"That's okay, Mack," Matt said, with a slightly strained smile. "Thank you for looking out for us."
"I'm Josh Lyman," Matt's friend said, reaching a hand over the bar. "Thank you very much."
"My pleasure," Mack said, shaking Josh's hand and flashing a grin. "It makes my day better to get rid of assholes like those guys."
"Sam, you didn't have to do that," Matt said, turning to him.
"Don't be silly," Sam said. "I wasn't going to let them just attack you."
Matt raised an eyebrow, but there was a smile playing around his mouth. "We crossed paths in the library."
"Yes," Sam acknowledged. "And you were always nice to me, and you are another Wilson graduate, and there's no reason anyone in the world should have to put up with that kind of harassment."
The smile bloomed on Matt's face. "Thank you."
"Not a problem," Sam smiled back.
"Sam, this is Josh Lyman," Matt said, turning to his companion. Sam took in the man in front of him, since he hadn't really had the chance to do so before. Josh had a head full of mussed auburn curls, dimples, and incredibly bright and intelligent brown eyes.
"So I heard," Sam said enthusiastically. "You have a big mouth, has anyone ever told you that?"
Josh laughed, shaking Sam's hand. "Yeah, I hear that a lot."
"Josh and I were classmates at Harvard," Matt filled in. "He just got back from a Fulbright scholarship at Oxford."
"Wow," Sam said, impressed. "That's amazing."
Unbelievably, given that he'd just been mouthing off a few minutes before, Josh's expression turned a little bit shy. "It was a pretty amazing experience, that's for sure."
"I bet," Sam returned kindly. "I'd love to hear about it. Hey, do you guys want to join us? You'd be welcome to."
"We actually have a party of our own to get to," Matt said, checking his watch. "There's a whole bunch of my classmates who are throwing a party at the Cap & Gown tonight, and I'm supposed to be helping with the setup. You and your friends should join us, if you want."
Sam hesitated. "We're not members."
"That's fine; it's an open party," Matt smiled. "It would be great to have all of you."
"It would," Josh added. "You should come."
Sam capitulated at this; he liked Matt, and Josh Lyman was intriguing, at the very least. "Okay. I'll pass along the invitation. It was really nice to meet you, Josh."
"Nice to meet you, too, Sam," Josh returned, that quick grin once again making an appearance. "'Hopefully we'll see you later. Take it easy."
"Yeah," Sam replied, and Josh and Matt nodded and were out the door.
Sam went back over to Jennifer, Adam, and Carrie, a trifle dazed.
"Sam? What was that all about?" Jennifer asked, concerned.
"Oh, some professional gay-baiters," Sam answered, his tone irritated. "I know Matt Skinner a little bit, and he's a good guy. I have no idea whether he or his friend are gay or not, actually, but it doesn't matter. There's no excuse for that kind of behavior. Mack stepped in for us."
"Thank heavens for that," Jennifer said, relieved. "But it was good of you to defend them."
"I don't understand why people have to be so cruel about sexual orientation," Sam said, his face troubled. "There's more than one way to love other people. There's more than one type of sexual attraction. Why is that so hard to understand?"
"It's not," Jennifer said gently. "Or at least, it's not for you, and for a whole lot of other people, including me. But we're ahead of the curve, Sam."
"I know," Sam admitted, suddenly feeling exhausted. He rubbed a hand over his face. "Hey, we have an invitation for tonight, by the way. Matt and Josh asked all of us to come to the Cap & Gown party."
"Whoa, swanky," Adam said impishly. "I will gladly mingle with the elite."
"Hey!" Carrie nudged him. "Just because we're not C & G members doesn't mean we are any less worthy than they are."
"Yeah, but they think we are," Adam said saucily. "It will be fun upsetting their preconceptions."
"So what do you want to do now? What's next?" Sam asked Josh, taking a sip of his beer.
They were about two hours into the party at the Cap & Gown, and Adam had indeed set out to disabuse any and all of the C & G members of the notion that he and his friends were in any way inferior to them. Josh and Matt had found Sam and his friends almost as soon as they walked in, and had spent about an hour introducing them to people. Some of them were quite nice, and some of them were clearly just looking to network, and at one point Adam, Carrie, and Jen had been pulled into another group that Matt was talking to. It was then that Sam shot Josh a look of desperation, and Josh obligingly took his elbow, found them beers, and guided them to a quiet corner of the back lawn. Ever since, they had been talking, covering their families, where they were from, what they had studied in school (Josh, as it turned out, had done an honors degree in Government at Harvard, a law degree at Yale and a master's of philosophy in Comparative Government at Oxford), and which sports teams they rooted for.
"I'm going to be in Washington," Josh said, his face lighting up with excitement. "I'll be working in the Minority Whip's office. I'm leaving next week, actually; I have to go see my parents for a few days before I leave, pick up some stuff from the house."
"Wow," Sam sighed. "I wish I was going to Washington instead of going to law school. I know law school is a necessary step – and I do want to be a lawyer, an actual lawyer - but Washington sounds a lot more exciting right now."
"You could go to Washington after you go to law school," Josh responded, taking him in with a keen glance. "Where are you going?"
"Duke," Sam said. "Appropriately prestigious, but yet again, as far away from California as possible. Warmer than here, too," he noted with a little smile.
"Your father wanted you to go to law school?" Josh guessed.
"He did, but I wanted to go as well," Sam answered. "We just disagree about the best way to practice law, and what the best kinds of laws are."
Understanding dawned in Josh's face. "Your father is a Republican."
"Yeah."
"And you are . . ."
"Incredibly not," Sam grinned. "It makes for some interesting dinner table conversation, I can tell you."
"I bet," Josh smirked. "If you can stand up to your father as well as you stood up to those twats at the bar tonight, you're going to be a fearsome lawyer."
"Thanks," Sam said, feeling surprised but pleased. "And since you're working for the Minority Whip, I am assuming you are also very much a Democrat."
"You assume correctly," Josh chuckled. "LBJ is my favorite president."
Sam threw back his head and laughed before he looked back at Josh, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "Of course he is."
"What does that mean?" Josh demanded, but he was smiling.
"It just doesn't surprise me in the least," Sam said. "LBJ suits you."
"And you?" Josh asked in his turn. "Who's your favorite?"
"I have two, actually," Sam admitted. "FDR and Lincoln."
"Huh," Josh said thoughtfully. "That doesn't surprise me, either."
After a pause, and several sips of beer, Josh asked carefully, "Did you pick Duke because you wanted to be somewhere warm and prestigious, or because you wanted to get away from your father?"
Sam considered his reply, contemplating the neck of his beer bottle as he answered. "He . . . my father is a good man, Josh. We disagree a lot politically, but he has always been there for my accomplishments, and he's supported almost every decision I've made about what I wanted to do with my life. Sometimes I think that getting into political arguments was his way of ensuring I'd be a lawyer," Sam said with a smile. "I wanted to go to Princeton and then to Duke because I didn't want any handouts; my father's name carries a lot of weight in our part of California. He's a highly respected person, for good reason, but I wanted to reach my goals on my own. Our relationship is complicated, but good, most of the time. The same is true of my mother."
Josh nodded. "I'm lucky enough to have a pretty simple relationship with my parents," he shared. "They're great. My mother is very Jewish, and so I avoid her phone calls at all costs," he said with a grin, "but we've always gotten along and agreed about political and social issues. I think my father would have liked another actual lawyer in the family, though, rather than a political operative. He likes what I'm doing, but it's not exactly where he hoped I would go, you know? He would like you."
"I appreciate that; he sounds like a good man," Sam said. "Do you have any brothers or sisters? I always kind of wished that I had a sibling, but it was just me."
Josh's face clouded over. "I . . . had a sister," he said quietly. "She died in a house fire when I was little. She was babysitting me, and something went wrong with the popcorn machine. I ran out of the house, and she tried to put the fire out."
"God, Josh, I am so sorry," Sam said. He tentatively reached over to squeeze Josh's forearm. "I didn't know, or I wouldn't have . . ."
"I know," Josh said quickly. "It's okay. She was – Joanie was really amazing. She loved classical music and funny movies. She almost never got frustrated with me; she loved to play games and teach me things."
"She sounds great."
"It was hard – I don't normally talk to people about Joanie, but it's easy to talk to you," Josh said reflectively. "That's . . . nice."
"I'm glad," Sam said softly. He paused. "Do you want another beer?"
"Sure," Josh acquiesced. "When you come back I'll tell you some of the stories from Oxford."
"I would love that," Sam said, his face lighting up. "I'll be right back."
And when he returned to the lawn with two more beers in hand, Josh did indeed tell him stories. At some point Sam lost track of how many subjects they covered; Josh talked about the current debates in political theory, they wandered into the practical problems of a true democracy versus a republic, and began to debate who would win the presidential election in the fall.
"I want to do that someday, Sam," Josh said, gesturing expansively with his beer bottle. He was more than a little tipsy, Sam noticed with amusement, even though they had only had two beers apiece. "I want to help someone become President of the United States. I want to work for the guy who's in the Oval Office. That's the end game of all of this."
"You can't work for some run-of-the-mill politician, though," Sam warned him. "If you're going to take someone to the White House, he has to be the real thing, Josh. I mean the Real Thing with capital letters – someone with honesty, and intelligence, and integrity. Someone who truly wants to make this country better, and improve the lives of the people. I get so tired of voting for men who want the power of the presidency just for themselves. They don't want to help American citizens, or improve the prosperity of the country as a whole; they want to exert influence over the wealthy few, or go after other countries just because they can. Promise me that you'll only ever run a presidential campaign if the person is the Real Thing, Josh."
"I promise," Josh said, his face suddenly achingly sincere, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "The Real Thing. No compromises."
Josh took the last swig of his beer and regarded Sam earnestly. "Come to Washington when you're done at Duke, Sam. Keep in touch, and I'll help you get a position. I think you could be amazing doing political work. Have you worked any campaigns before?"
"A few in California, and while I was here at Princeton," Sam acknowledged. "I just volunteered, but I loved it. I always wanted to write speeches. They don't let the volunteers do that, though," he said wryly. "More's the pity."
"Are you a good writer?"
"I like to think so. I'm hoping Duke will make me better," Sam said.
"Who's your favorite writer?"
"Dickens," Sam said immediately.
"Again, not surprising," Josh murmured. "Would you send me something you've written?"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah," Josh said. "If you don't like anything you've written lately, pick a subject and write a speech as if you were writing for our Real Thing. I want to see what you can do."
"Okay," Sam said, smiling. "Deal. You'll have to give me your address, though."
"Here," Josh said, reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He fumbled a little with the fabric before holding out a card. "These are my cards from Oxford, but I can write my D. C. address on the back. Do you have a pen?"
Sam pulled a ballpoint pen out of his own jacket, handing it to Josh, who scribbled a few lines on the back before handing both card and pen back to him.
"Next question," Josh said. "Jefferson or Hamilton?"
"Oh, no, really?" Sam groaned. "You want me to choose between the agrarian and the capitalist? Not to mention the slaveowner and someone who was, at the very least, complicit in slaveholding transactions?"
Josh raised his eyebrows, looking wickedly gleeful. "Yeah."
"All right," Sam sighed. "In principle, I would side with Jefferson. Not because I think we all should have been farmers, but because he advocated a more equal distribution of property and wealth than Hamilton. He also wrote some of the most beautiful, profound, and historically consequential words ever penned. That said, I think even Hamilton would have serious problems with what we've done to his capitalist system."
"Fair enough," Josh chuckled. "I think so, too."
"You just wanted to get a rise out of me!" Sam said indignantly.
Josh shrugged, unrepentant. "It's a good debate question. It usually tells me pretty quickly whether or not I'm going to like someone. But I already like you. You stood up for Matt today – and really for me, too, without knowing anything about me."
"It was the right thing to do," Sam said.
"And there wasn't anyone else in the bar who did anything," Josh retorted. "Not that Matt and I couldn't take care of ourselves – and even if we couldn't, your friend Mack could and did – but it takes either a pretty brave or a pretty foolish person to stand up for something just because it's the right thing to do. You might have to be both at the same time."
"Well, I don't think I'm either particularly brave or particularly foolish," Sam said, feeling a little stung. "Matt is my friend, or at least a friendly acquaintance, and I did the right thing because it is right."
Josh looked at his face and then leaned over and nudged Sam's shoulder with his own. "Hey. I meant it as a compliment. I was grateful when you came over – neither Matt nor I wanted to start a fight – and let's be honest, those guys probably could have kicked our butts. I'm not in bad shape, but I'm not exactly up to frat boy standards."
Sam could tell that Josh was sincere, and his shoulders relaxed. "Okay. I just – it wouldn't be the first time I've had to defend my own principles. I had this horrible public policy professor who called me an idealistic socialist, and I turned around and asked him what was wrong with that."
Josh laughed. "To his face?"
"Yeah, and in front of about 75 other students. People seem to think that having ideals about the way society should be means you're either completely ignorant or hopelessly naïve, and I don't appreciate either label."
"I don't think you're either of those things," Josh said firmly. "I think politics and policy need some idealism and hope, and I think the best way to turn ideals into good public policy is to have a well-educated and passionate person articulate them."
Josh swayed a bit as he finished his sentence, and shook his head to clear it. "If I were any more intoxicated, that would have been impossible to say. There was way too much alliteration in that sentence."
Sam laughed again, amusement completely eradicating any defensiveness that might have lingered. "You're drunk. You should have told me you are a complete lightweight."
"Not something I like to publicize," Josh murmured. "And you're beautiful."
Before Sam could even register his intent, Josh's lips were on his, warm and soft and just a little sloppy, imprecise with alcohol and giddiness. It ended as quickly as it had begun, though, as Josh pulled away, wide-eyed and shocked.
"I'm – I have no idea why I did that," he said blankly. "Sam, I'm sorry."
Sam didn't know what was going on in Josh's head, at the moment, but if nothing else, he was tipsy and Josh was drunk, and he'd just been having one of the best conversations of his life with one of the most interesting people he'd ever met. "Josh, it's okay."
"But I'm not – I don't," Josh fumbled. "That was just – out of nowhere."
Sam smiled reassuringly, mimicking Josh's shoulder nudge from earlier. "Josh, it's okay. Honestly. It's not the first time I've been kissed by someone who's a little drunk."
"Yeah?" Josh asked, relief washing over his features.
"Yeah."
"Because you don't – you know, seem at all fazed by this."
"I'm not," Sam grinned. "Should I be?
"Well, most people would be."
"This is going to sound incredibly snobbish, but I am not most people."
"I'm figuring that out," Josh said. "So we're okay?"
"We're okay," Sam confirmed. "Are you okay? I'm guessing from your reaction just then that you and Matt aren't actually –"
"No," Josh said emphatically, incredulously. "We're absolutely not. I've never kissed another man in my life until just now, and even if I were attracted to men, I don't think I could get past the fact that Matt's a Republican. He's a great guy, but I don't know how he reconciles being gay and the GOP's social platform."
"So Matt is gay," Sam said. "I wasn't sure. He's never explicitly said, but it didn't matter to me, so I never pressed him about it."
Josh groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Oh, God. Now I've outed one of your friends to you, which is absolutely not okay. I need to sleep, and I'll try not to be humiliated tomorrow by the fact that I've committed two incredible faux pas in five minutes."
Sam stood up, still grinning, and offered Josh a hand. "Matt will never know, I promise. Come on," he said. "Let's find you a cab."
Josh allowed himself to be pulled up. "Thanks."
"Just promise me you won't freak out when you wake up tomorrow," Sam said. He really was oddly anxious about that; Josh was . . . Sam had a gut feeling that Josh was terribly, terribly important, somehow.
"Nope," Josh said, shaking his head. "No freak outs. If I did that, I'd never get to drag you to Washington, and I'm pretty sure that needs to happen."
"I might have to hold you to that," Sam chuckled, as they began walking back toward the Cap & Gown.
Sam came back to himself when he felt someone sit down next to him. He blinked, seeing Donna's blond hair in his peripheral vision.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
"No," Sam admitted. "This is just – it's so unfair. Tonight is supposed to be a celebration, and for Josh as much as anyone. Except now he is grieving for one of the most important people in his life. He's always going to associate tonight with grief, and guilt."
"Why guilt?" Donna inquired.
"His father has been ill for a while, and Josh isn't the type of person to leave people," Sam explained. "If he didn't believe so strongly in what he's doing, he would have been back home in Connecticut. He's going to think it's his fault."
"Sam, it was cancer," Donna said. "It's no one's fault. It's a terrible disease."
"Josh will still feel like it's his fault. He shouldn't, but he will."
Donna took his empty glass and set it next to her on the floor, then squeezed his hand. "Is there anything in particular we should do?"
"Just be there for him," Sam answered, returning her squeeze in thanks. "Do what he needs, don't treat him like glass, but – be there for him."
Donna mustered a small smile. "We will. That's what friends are for."
