Author's Note: Yet another new chapter! See, I promised I would not forget this story while I was writing other things. Those of you who are incredibly attentive to show continuity may notice a small and persistent error in timing throughout this next chapter. Everything happens about three hours later than it did in the episode the chapter draws from, although it doesn't make much difference in the grand scheme of things. I'm going to go full West Wing on this and blame time zones. :D Thank you all for your feedback and comments, and for your continuing faith that I will take this story someplace you will enjoy going in the end. I am working hard to make it all worth it.
…...
Sam listened to the news on the radio as he drove home from work, half-listening to the local calender and the weather report, paying more attention to the news reports from the city and around the state. October brought the Santa Ana winds to Southern California, and that meant the risk of wildfires, but so far the weather had been damp enough to prevent them. National news was not particularly interesting but Sam listened anyway, wondering idly if Vinick might actually capture all fifty states this year.
Ever since Hoynes' new scandal had broken, his already slightly anemic numbers had been draining steadily away, to the point where it looked like he might not even carry his home state. There had been rumors around the Beltway that Ricki Rafferty had seriously considered leaving the ticket, but had been swayed back into place by heavy pressure from party leaders. Sam knew her a little, mostly through Toby, and felt bad that she'd been dragged into this kind of position, but there was a small amount of relief that at least it wasn't Santos. He couldn't imagine what Josh would be going through if it were his guy on the bottom of this disastrous ticket. Sam didn't actually know what Josh was doing these days, but he sincerely hoped it involved a lot of sleep and some food that wasn't fried.
At home, Sam puttered around for awhile, doing a load of laundry and bagging up his dry cleaning, emptying the dishwasher, then sitting down with some journal articles he needed to catch up on. Donna had classes, so she wouldn't be stopping by till after eight. Sam realized he was mainly just killing time until she arrived, and wondered what that meant. They'd been spending a lot of time together for the past ten months, and even more so since he and Kinley had ended things, but lately everything had seemed a little different, a little more charged. He'd always been aware of how soft her skin was and how nice she smelled when they would cuddle up and watch television, but she was his friend and she wasn't looking for anything, and there was no way he wouldn't respect that.
He'd noticed a change in the way she looked at him, though, since the beginning of fall. Nothing overt, but he could tell when a woman was watching with a considering eye. He wasn't always good at knowing what to do about it, but he could at least tell. Normally if a woman he was attracted to gave him that look, he'd at least try making a move, but the fraughtness of this situation gave him pause. Whatever was going on, it seemed a lot smarter to let her make the first move. But he couldn't deny that, whatever the relationship was turning into, he was coming to rely on her as one of the nicer parts of his everyday life.
Donna showed up just as Sam was unpacking the Italian delivery he'd ordered in. Neither he nor Donna were any kind of cooks, but there were enough delivery places in LA to get different food every night for a month and never repeat. "God, it's windy out tonight," she told him, unwinding her scarf and making a vain attempt to smooth out her tangled hair.
"The winds of Santa Ana are blowing again," Sam sang cheerfully as he dished lasagna onto a plate.
"Yeah, yeah, welcome to California," Donna groused without any real annoyance. "You know," she added as she came around the breakfast bar to join him in the kitchen, "I'm pretty sure we have two or three days worth of leftovers in your fridge still."
"I know," Sam assured her, "it's the only food I've got in the house. But I was really in the mood for Italian tonight. You can take some home with you for breakfast if you want."
"Eww," was Donna's response to that idea. "I haven't eaten pad thai for breakfast on purpose since the last time I was in college."
Sam slanted her a look. "You've eaten pad thai for breakfast accidentally?"
"You know," she waved a hand, "back during the MS thing when people were sleeping on couches and floors and even us assistants weren't getting home for days at a time. It wasn't like there was any time to buy groceries or lay in a supply of cereal, so we'd all just steal the leftovers of whatever you guys had gotten the night before."
His eyes widened. "So that's what always happened to it? I thought it was overzealous cleaning staff."
"It was like overtime pay," she informed him primly. "Incredibly lousy overtime pay, but it kept body and soul together." She scooped up a serving of manicotti and added a piece of garlic bread, then carried it to her favorite TV tray in the living room.
Sam followed her in, grabbing a couple bottles of beer from the fridge as he went. "So what do you purposefully eat for breakfast?" he asked, setting down his plate.
"Mostly toast," she answered with a shrug, "sometimes Cheerios with bananas if I'm feeling fancy. What about you?"
"Mostly pad thai," he told her with an unrepentant grin, laughing at the face she made. They settled in, watching television and talking while eating. Donna wanted to know more about the Santa Ana winds, and whether they actually made people crazy or not. Sam was in the middle of a story about his high school debate team and the surprising amount of technique required to properly saran-wrap a car when the national news was abruptly preempted by a loud, blaring Breaking News animation. They both fell silent as Sam turned the volume up.
"We interrupt your nightly program to bring you a breaking story out of San Andreo," the handsome and somber newscaster reported. "Approximately nine minutes ago, a loud explosion was reported in the vicinity of the San Andreo Nuclear Generating Station. Onlookers are reporting lights and sirens in the vicinity of the plant, and a security cordon has been established to keep citizens and reporters at bay."
"San Andreo is located approximately sixty miles from downtown Los Angeles," the beautiful young female newscaster added smoothly. "In the event of a total meldown at the plant, the greatest danger would be to the community of San Andreo itself and the surrounding area. Approximately forty-five thousand people live within a ten-mile radius of the town, with ten miles being the minimum safe evacuation distance according to Nuclear Regulatory Commission protocols. However, if safety measures within the plant fail, there could be a spread of nuclear contamination spread through a far greater radius, up to fifty miles. Stay tuned to this network for further updates and evacuation instructions."
Donna looked over at Sam, her eyes wide and scared. Sam instinctively scooted towards her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She linked the fingers on his free hand with her own. "Marina del Rey is almost parallel with the downtown," he reminded her, doing his best to be reassuring. "We're not within the fifty mile zone."
"Deputy Chief of Staff coordinates White House response to federal disasters," Donna reminded him tersely. "I've read the briefing books on this stuff. If the wind is blowing in the wrong direction or contaminated water enters an aquifer, another ten miles isn't going to matter very much. And that's before you take the civil disturbances into account. There's going to be panic, Sam. Half of Southern California is going to be trying to get to Northern California by morning if this doesn't turn out to be a false alarm. There'll be car crashes, maybe rioting, hospitals will fill up, the communications system will go down because the circuits will be jammed-"
At that nearly poetic moment, Donna's phone rang. She picked it up immediately, but didn't let go of Sam's hand. "Donna Moss," she said. "Oh, hey Margaret." She thumbed the phone to speaker and held it out so Sam could hear too.
"-had to try three times just to get you at all," Margaret was saying, "and it hit the air less than fifteen minutes ago!"
"It's nine-thirty here," Donna remarked, "everybody was watching television already."
"Huh, that's true. I'm still wearing my pajama pants and hoping nobody notices till I can get changed. It's too damn cold to go out there in hose at this hour, plus there are muggers and rapists everywhere and I only have one can of mace-"
"Margaret!" Donna interrupted. "Did you have some reason for calling?"
"Of course," Margaret replied, sounding not at all rebuked. "CJ's coming in as we speak, and remind me to tell you about where she was later, but she's going to want to know where you and Sam are. I don't want her having to worry about it."
"Marina del Rey," Donna replied, looking over at Sam. "About sixty miles north of San Andreo."
"Okay, that's good," Margaret said with obvious relief, faint scratching noises on her end as she made a note. "Do you have any idea where Sam is?"
"I'm here too," Sam spoke up, meeting Donna's gaze. "Tell CJ we're okay right now, we're out of the spread range and in a gated community. We're going to hunker down here for the night and stay off the roads."
"Oh, hi Sam." Margaret sounded surprised but not shocked to find Sam and Donna together so late in the evening. "That's a good plan. I'll tell her you're both safe and accounted for."
"Thanks, Margaret," Donna said. "How are things looking out there?"
"Oh, it's all about to go to hell as soon as more people get here," Margaret replied, almost cheerfully. "But I don't have any actual information."
"We understand," Sam told her. "Thanks for calling us. But... how did you get there before anyone else, then?"
"I was watching Leno and checking my RSS feeds," Margaret explained. "Fark had a news flash out almost twenty minutes ago, and when I realized it was San Andreo I came right in. I was an all-state track runner in high school, and I have a can of mace," she added smugly. "I need to go, don't want to tie up the phone lines any more than they are. Good luck, stay safe, stay in touch."
"Okay, bye Margaret." Donna hung up the phone, looking slightly bemused until the television caught her eye again. More sources were confirming the explosion now, though nobody seemed to know exactly what had blown or what the effects might be. Hastily rendered overlays were popping up on screen now, showing where fallout might hit during a catastrophe, and the chyron had the site spelled "San Andreo Nuculear Generating Station." It wasn't a sight to inspire a lot of confidence.
Sam watched as Donna got up and walked over to the window, her arms wrapped around herself as she looked outside. Marina del Rey was an exclusive community, a quiet community, and even now it seemed like any other evening. "Sam?" she said quietly. "I need you to use your very best politician voice right now." Still hugging herself, she turned to look at him. "I need you to use that voice that could make anybody believe anything you say, and tell me that everything's going to be all right."
"Donna..." Sam stood and crossed the room, enfolding her into a hug. She was stiff for a moment, her arms still pinned to her chest, but then she relaxed all at once and hugged him back hard. "You've read the briefing books," he reminded her, running his hand lightly up and down her back. "They tell you all the worst case scenarios, but the very first thing they'll say is how unlikely a true meltdown is. Places like San Andreo have a dozen failsafe systems so that even if something does go wrong, nothing bad will happen to anybody because of it. In the incredibly unlikely event that radioactive fallout does escape, we are a long ways away from the plant, and almost due north. You remember those Santa Ana winds?" he teased lightly. "They always blow west, and they're strong right now. A fallout plume will blow out to sea, not north to LA. But more than any of that, President Bartlet is still in charge, and CJ is right there helping him. Everything is absolutely going to be okay." It was his best politician voice, but it helped that he believed it.
She didn't move or say anything for a minute so he just stood there holding her, feeling the beat of her heart through his hand on her back, the soft movement of her breathing against his chest. Finally she murmured something into his shoulder, so quietly that he could barely hear it at all. "Vinick is incredibly pro-nuclear."
He let out a surprised laugh and couldn't stop himself from kissing the top of her head with simple affection. "You really are born to this career, aren't you?" he asked rhetorically.
Donna pulled away, and he was relieved to see she was smiling a little. "Guess so. Once this is over and we can all laugh about it in retrospect, we can watch to see how it shakes up the race."
"That's the spirit," He guided her back to the couch and their forgotten meals, where they spent the rest of the evening watching the effort to save San Andreo. Donna all but crushed his fingers while they counted down the minutes that the technicians were inside the reactor, but Sam didn't even think to complain. She shed a few tears when the first attempt was unsuccessful, despite the men being in the reactor so long, murmuring that Debbie was going to have to pull call sheets. It was strange, Sam decided, watching a disaster unfold from this side, knowing what was likely happening but being powerless to change anything. Not for long, he promised himself.
It was after midnight when the phone rang again, startling them both. Sam had tried to call a few friends earlier, but the circuits were entirely jammed up, along with the roads. Whoever was calling was either extremely lucky or extremely tenacious. "Sam Seaborn," he said automatically as he answered.
"Sam! Thank god, I've been trying to get you for hours!" Josh's voice in his ear was ragged with worry and relief. "Where the hell are you? You're not out in that, are you?"
Sam felt his heart start to race, his chest filling with all kinds of conflicting emotions. First and foremost, though, was happiness at hearing Josh's voice. He turned on the speakerphone and mouthed "Josh". Donna's eyes went wide. "We're completely safe," he assured Josh, falling back into best-politician voice without even thinking about it. "My new place is a gated community in Marina del Rey, just west of downtown LA. We're going to have a two-day traffic jam to deal with out here, but that should be the worst of it. I think they're going to get the reactor shut down in the next hour or so anyway."
"Okay, good, that's good," Josh said, and Sam could almost see him nodding frantically on the other side of the line. "Outside of the fifty mile radius isn't foolproof, you're still looking at potential civil disturbances and groundwater contamination, but it's a hell of a lot better than being any further south. You just stay inside, okay?" He paused for a second. "We?"
"I've got Donna with me," Sam answered, and immediately felt obligated to explain, even though technically- well, screw technically, there was nothing technical or explicable about any of their relationships right now. He felt obligated to explain somehow. "Her place is in Mar Vista, it's close by but not quite as safe. Just this once I'm saying forget the populist optics and we're holing up behind the gates here."
"Hi Josh," Donna called tentatively.
"Hey Donna," Josh replied, his voice even more ragged than before. "That's- that's a good idea," he managed. "Screw the optics, you're not even pre-running till at least January. Just try and resist the temptation to go out looting and you should be fine."
"I'll keep that in mind," Sam said with a quick laugh.
"How are you doing, Josh?" Donna asked quickly, as though afraid she wouldn't get the chance.
"Oh, you know, fine," Josh told them, and for once it was hard to tell if he was lying or not. "Doing some writing, trying not to watch the news. My mom says to say hi, by the way. I can't... I can't talk for very long, but I wanted to be sure you were safe." There was something very raw in those last words, something Sam was afraid to even touch. "Take care, all right?"
"Josh, wait-" Donna began, but there was an unmistakable click as the line went dead. They both stared at the phone for a minute.
"It's good that he called," Sam offered, the best he could do right now. "It's nice that he worried. Well, not nice, obviously, but I think it has to mean something about his recovery that he's monitoring current events and that he thought of us-"
He trailed off as Donna slowly leaned forward until she was bent double, her forehead resting against her bent knees. She didn't cry, didn't even close her eyes, but her posture was one that suggested she was entirely finished dealing with the events of the day. Sam could hardly blame her; he'd probably do the same thing if he thought he had any hope of making his body fold that way. Instead he closed his phone and put it back on the table, then leaned back into the couch and slowly rubbed Donna's back while another set of brave men walked into hell to save thousands of lives. Eventually she relaxed and tipped sideways, laying on the couch with her head on his leg. They fell asleep that way sometime in the wee hours, and woke to safety and a new presidential race.