Title: Does Heaven Have Enough Angels Yet?
Author: (fauquita@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: I bow down before the greatness that is Aaron Sorkin, and admit that these are his characters, not mine...although I usually have more fun with them than he does!
Summary: I've gone hard and I've gone cold. I can't make the pieces of this cracked life fit. Please forgive me for wanting to know, does Heaven have enough angels yet ?
Thanks: To my partners in crime, Sidalicious and Lizisita.
Note: Yes, illness is involved, and again I'm attempting to portray it with the sensitivity it deserves. Be forewarned however that if these kinds of things upset you, you're gonna wanna skip this one. In addition, this is a sequel to 'Silence', so you might want to read that one first. Oh, and this is entirely AU...I mean, I'll pick and choose what I want to include from third season.
++++++
Part II
There's a muffled buzzing just around the edges of my consciousness, and somewhere in the deep recesses of my sleep-addled mind, I realize that it's the TV. I reach across to the other side of the bed blindly and pry open one eye as my hand touches only the cool sheets. Damn.
I lie there for a few more moments, listening as Conan O'Brien and Al Roker exchange insults and barbs over muted audience laughter. The hallway glows eerily from the TV light and I sigh as I throw the covers back. One loose floorboard groans under my weight and she turns her head to look at me.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," CJ apologizes quietly as I sit beside her on the couch.
She's wearing only an over-sized T-shirt, washed so many times over the years that the Berkeley logo has faded into almost non-existence, and I pat her smooth leg reassuringly. "You didn't wake me up," I lie, my voice husky with sleep.
She smiles even as she looks at me dubiously. "You should get back to bed, I'll turn the volume down."
"I'll go back to bed if you come with me."
She shakes her head and turns her attention back to the television. "I can't sleep. I'll just be staring at the ceiling."
"What's going on?"
"What do you mean?" she asks in annoyance.
"I just mean, you haven't been able to watch loverboy here in a few months because you barely last past the 11 o'clock news."
"For the last time, I do not have a crush on Conan O'Brien," she laughs as she slaps my leg.
I grab her hand and squeeze it gently. "Whatever. The point is, something must be bothering you if you're up at this time of night."
"Hmmm, what could possibly be bothering me? Well, there is that pesky grand jury and impending subpoenas. Oh, and you know what else? The President has this awful debilitating disease, and he's going to die from it," she says angrily as she pulls her hand from mine violently and stands up.
"You don't know that," I say quietly. When she raises an eyebrow, I continue. "You don't know that MS is going to kill him."
"Yeah, because there are always car accidents, and you know, assassins," she says sarcastically. Her eyes soften however as I move my hand unconsciously to my T-shirt covered chest, tracing the scar beneath it. She sighs in frustration and sits beside me on the couch once more. "I'm sorry."
"No, no...I understand."
She reclines against me, resting her head on my shoulder. "It's just...nothing in particular and everything in general. I'm just overwhelmed."
The vulnerability in her voice surprises me, and I gently thread my fingers through her hair. "You can talk to me, CJ."
She grabs a fistful of my shirt and smiles as she kisses the side of my neck. "Yeah, because you don't have enough to worry about already."
"I'm serious here. I want you to talk to me."
"I do talk to you, Josh," she sighs as she nestles closer to my body.
"Fine," I say in frustration because I know we're not getting anywhere. I'll continue to push, and she'll evade like she usually does.
"Now you're mad at me."
"I'm not mad at you."
"Well, if you're not mad at me, then why are you pouting?" She's more amused than anything else because she's poking me in the side, trying to elicit a smile.
"I'm not pouting."
"You really are, mi amor."
"OK, I am mad," I finally admit.
"Why?"
"Because...because...damn it, CJ. Why are you so good at pretending that everything's fine?"
"Because everything is fine, Josh," she replies patronizingly.
I roll my eyes and let out a long, slow breath. "Ok."
She regards me quietly for a moment and then moves to straddle my thighs. I look at her in surprise as she cradles my face in her hands. She lowers her mouth to mine in an intoxicating kiss and when she pulls back, I'm sure I'm grinning like a fool.
"Do you trust me?" she asks quietly.
"Of course," I reply without hesitation.
"Josh, I promise that if there is anything worth..." she pauses momentarily and shrugs, "mentioning, then you will be the first to know."
I smile at her and rest my hands on her hips. "Good enough for now."
She cocks her head to the side and bites her lip contemplatively. Then her large eyes light up mischievously as her hands travel to the bottom of my T-shirt. She gently pulls it over my head, and I moan in pleasure as her lips travel across my chest.
All coherent thought escapes me when she captures my bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling gently on the flesh. She smiles against my mouth when my hands move beneath her shirt to stroke her spine. She pulls back suddenly,
"Take me to bed, Joshua."
Some mornings he wakes me up with the gentle exploration of his hands across my body. Some mornings he wakes me up with feather-light kisses upon my eyelids. Some mornings he wakes me up with a steaming mug of coffee and a shake to the shoulders. And some mornings I lie awake hours before him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.
The light of dawn streams in through the blinds and I roll closer to his naked body beneath the sheets, desperate for the warmth he offers. I wrap my arms around his waist, resting my head at the juncture between his shoulder and neck. His breathing grows shallow as he begins to wake up under my touch.
"Good morning," he says huskily. And although I can't see his face, I know he's smiling.
"Morning," I whisper as I press a soft kiss to the skin of his shoulder.
He turns in my embrace and brings his hand up to rest on my cheek, his thumb moving in slow circles across my skin. "What time is it?"
"A little before six."
"We still have thirty minutes before we absolutely have to get up, you know," he says waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
His lips meet mine in a searing kiss, and our tongues begin their familiar dance when the phone rings shrilly, causing us both to jump in surprise. Josh reaches behind him to the phone on the nightstand, cursing under his breath.
"Hello?" he says angrily. His face immediately softens and he rolls his eyes at me. "How are you doing, mom?"
I smile at him and stroke the side of his face before climbing out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. Josh still keeps his house across town even though he spends most of his evenings and weekends at my place. The subject of moving in together has never come up, and I think he's too comfortable with the situation as is to start rocking the boat.
But I find myself wondering sometimes what it would be like to share more than just nights and bodies together. I'm sure he would drive me crazy by leaving dirty clothes outside the hamper and on the bathroom floor. And I'm sure that my compulsive need to vacuum the carpet everyday would leave him sighing in frustration. I think it could work though, which is why I inevitably pick up free renters brochures outside of Walmart about once a week. Hell, I've even toured a few places. All I have to do is get Josh on the same wavelength, but I still haven't garnered the courage to ask his thoughts because I'm scared of what he'll say. Or maybe I'm terrified of what he won't say.
I brush my teeth quickly and step under the warm spray of the shower, sighing softly as the water kneads my tense muscles. The shower curtain is pulled back suddenly, and Josh steps in behind me, running one hand down my slick skin.
"Now, where were we?"
Twenty minutes later, feeling better than I have in weeks, I watch Josh struggle with his tie in the mirror. He catches my eye and smiles, but doesn't say anything to disrupt the easy silence that has fallen between us as we dress. I used to find his presence in the bedroom uncomfortable while pulling on my nylons; now I find it oddly comforting.
"What's your schedule like, today?" he asks as I step past him to pick up my earrings off the bureau.
"I'm not coming in until late morning, so I figure the rest of the day is going to be hectic. Why?"
"I just wanted to see if we could try and grab lunch together today since the last attempt failed miserably," he answers as he sits on the bed to pull his shoes on.
"Maybe next week," I offer.
He nods his head and then looks at me curiously. "Why are you coming in late today?"
"Doctor appointment," I shrug carelessly.
"Is something wrong?" he asks worriedly.
"No...just an annual check-up," I lie smoothly. "Female stuff," I add, hoping this will curb his inquisitiveness.
"Well, ok." He stands up and plants a quick kiss on my lips. "I guess I'll see you later, then."
"Yeah."
He starts walking away, but stops suddenly and turns to face me. "Hey, if we get out at a reasonable hour, maybe we can catch a movie like normal couples."
"I'd like that."
"Kay."
With one last lingering kiss, he grabs his blazer and leaves the room. I hear him rinse out his coffee cup-something I have arduously been training him to do-in the sink, the musical jingle of keys, and the sound of the front door closing.
Only then do I allow the shaking in my hands to take over. I'm not worried, of course. The flu, I have the flu. Kevin will prescribe some antibiotics and direct me to get plenty of fluids and rest. And then I'll be as right as rain in a week or two.
But if that's all I have, why didn't Kevin tell me so over the phone? Why did he have me rearrange my schedule and meetings so that I could meet with him as soon as possible? Why do I feel like nothing is ever going to be the same after today?
All morning there have been glaring omens that have gone undetected. The campaign meeting ended in a shouting match between Bruno and Toby, Mrs. Bartlet was full of ire and snapping at anyone foolish enough to get in her way after her meeting with Babish and Donna called in sick. So, when I walk into my office to find Danny leaning against the wall, it stands to reason that everything is about to be shot to hell. But the thought doesn't even register.
"Hey, Danny. If you're looking for CJ, she'll be in by ten."
"Yeah, I talked to Carol," he returns quietly. Danny takes a deep breath and observes me silently for a few moments until I wave my arms impatiently.
"What do you need?"
"Barbara Shallick is filing for divorce," he says simply.
"Good for her. Does that mean she's going to start voting Democrat?"
"Barbara Shallick is filing for divorce...and was paid by the Enquirer to give an exclusive."
"Real classy paper, there. I thought she would have gone to something more respectable."
"Barbara Shallick sold her story for a couple of round figures, and the edition came out today."
"Danny, are you close to making a point here? There's been whispers for months now that things aren't so great in the Shallick's marriage," I say in frustration because there are about ten different things I could be doing right now.
Danny clears his throat and rubs his beard nervously. "Josh, one of the things she discloses in this article is the alleged affair between the Senator and CJ."
I have no doubt that right now I could be knocked over with a feather. I literally feel the color drain from my face and I perch on the edge of my desk because I really don't have much faith in the ability of my legs to support me. CJ and Shallick? There's no way in hell.
"You want to run that by me again, Danny?"
He looks truly sympathetic as he shoves his hands into his trouser pockets. "Five years ago before he was a senator."
"But five years ago she..." I trail off and cover my face with my hands. "This can't be happening."
CJ would have told us that the married man she was involved with all those years ago was a high-ranking Republican Senator. She knows the ins and outs of politics by now, and she knows how this would affect us. She would have told us, wouldn't she?
"Look, Josh, from what I understand, Barbara only found out about the affair a few months ago. She makes it clear that this isn't the reason for the divorce, but she sure as hell wasn't going to keep quiet about it."
"So?"
"So, don't be mad at CJ about this. There's no way she could've known that this would ever become public."
"You think this story is true, then?"
He nods his head gravely. "Yeah, I do."
"Damn!" I pound my fist on the desk and clench my jaw. "This is going to cost us."
"All the papers will pick up the story and have their own articles out by tomorrow morning. Mrs. Shallick is going to be a very busy woman the next few weeks."
"So what's the fall-out of this going to be?"
"I'm not a political operative, Josh."
"No, but you've covered the white hours for almost ten years now. You've seen a lot of scandals and stories in your time, and I want to know what you think is going to happen!"
"I think this is going to be a story for a few months at least."
"Well, that's a given. What I mean is, do you think..." I trail off because I realize how callous this is going to sound.
Danny picks up my train of thought however, because he narrows his eyes. "You want to know how this is going to affect your reelection chances."
"Yes. And don't look at me like that."
"I don't know," he admits honestly after a slight pause. "With the MS already hanging around your necks, I don't know what this will do. It may not even register, I mean, she did say the man she was involved with was married at the, um, press conference she held after the, well, you know. She just chose not to give further details."
"Yes, but it might be construed as a cover-up?"
"Maybe."
I exhale a long, slow breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Ok, look, Danny. Thanks for coming to us with this. It will give us time to prepare."
"Josh-"
"I gotta get to work, now."
He studies me for a few moments and finally acquiesces by walking to the door. He turns around before he walks through and meets my gaze challengingly. "This isn't her fault, Josh."
"I've got work."
Once he closes the door behind him, I pound the desk again in fury. I look at my watch and yell for Donna, and then remember that she's not in. All morning long there were glaring omens that went undetected. I will never admit to this failure of perception, and in a voice haunted with conviction I will tell myself that I saw this coming because, how is it possible I did not?
So this is what it feels like.
My hands are shaking almost uncontrollably, even as I grip the steering wheel in an effort to steady them, my mouth is dry, and my heart is racing so fast that by all rights it should beat itself right out of my chest.
But I can't move. I've been sitting in my car for the past thirty minutes staring at the odometer because I can't focus on anything other than abnormal blood cells, chemotherapy, and bone marrow transplants. I can't bring myself to start the car because I can't go back to the White House like this.
I can't go back into the press room and deliver a briefing when I can't stop my voice from trembling. I can't waltz into my office and smile the fake smile I've been using for months because this, unlike hurt feelings, can't be fixed by theater tickets. I can't lie about this, or brush it off. I can't deny this.
Leukemia.
I've seen specials on Dateline and 20/20 about people living with cancer, their brave faces smiling at the camera even as they had to wrap their heads in scarves to cover the baldness. Holding on to vanity, even as it becomes the least of their problems; even as their bodies fail to fight infection; even as they're injected with chemicals or subjected to radiation.
But never in a million years did I think I'd become one of these people. Never.
I'm still in shock, if you want to know. I was barely listening to Kevin as he explained treatment methods, side effects and survival rates. I can't imagine what it must have been like for him...having to tell an ex-girlfriend, someone he's seen naked, that she has this terrible illness.
He offered to call Josh for me. He offered to drive me home, or back to the office, whichever I preferred. But I can't let anyone see me like this, falling apart and scared to breathe. Wondering what I did to deserve this.
I'm a mess. I can't bring myself to cry though. Somewhere in the back of my mind I think that maybe, just maybe if I hold back these tears, Kevin will call me and tell me that it was a mistake, that there was a mix-up in the lab.
I wonder if this is how President Bartlet felt when he was diagnosed with MS. I wonder if he started bargaining with God, promising to go to church more regularly, promising to call his father more often, promising anything, anything, to make his test results a mistake. Maybe I'll ask him.
So this is what it feels like. This is what it feels like to know that you're dying.
++++++++
TBC...
Author: (fauquita@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: I bow down before the greatness that is Aaron Sorkin, and admit that these are his characters, not mine...although I usually have more fun with them than he does!
Summary: I've gone hard and I've gone cold. I can't make the pieces of this cracked life fit. Please forgive me for wanting to know, does Heaven have enough angels yet ?
Thanks: To my partners in crime, Sidalicious and Lizisita.
Note: Yes, illness is involved, and again I'm attempting to portray it with the sensitivity it deserves. Be forewarned however that if these kinds of things upset you, you're gonna wanna skip this one. In addition, this is a sequel to 'Silence', so you might want to read that one first. Oh, and this is entirely AU...I mean, I'll pick and choose what I want to include from third season.
++++++
Part II
There's a muffled buzzing just around the edges of my consciousness, and somewhere in the deep recesses of my sleep-addled mind, I realize that it's the TV. I reach across to the other side of the bed blindly and pry open one eye as my hand touches only the cool sheets. Damn.
I lie there for a few more moments, listening as Conan O'Brien and Al Roker exchange insults and barbs over muted audience laughter. The hallway glows eerily from the TV light and I sigh as I throw the covers back. One loose floorboard groans under my weight and she turns her head to look at me.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," CJ apologizes quietly as I sit beside her on the couch.
She's wearing only an over-sized T-shirt, washed so many times over the years that the Berkeley logo has faded into almost non-existence, and I pat her smooth leg reassuringly. "You didn't wake me up," I lie, my voice husky with sleep.
She smiles even as she looks at me dubiously. "You should get back to bed, I'll turn the volume down."
"I'll go back to bed if you come with me."
She shakes her head and turns her attention back to the television. "I can't sleep. I'll just be staring at the ceiling."
"What's going on?"
"What do you mean?" she asks in annoyance.
"I just mean, you haven't been able to watch loverboy here in a few months because you barely last past the 11 o'clock news."
"For the last time, I do not have a crush on Conan O'Brien," she laughs as she slaps my leg.
I grab her hand and squeeze it gently. "Whatever. The point is, something must be bothering you if you're up at this time of night."
"Hmmm, what could possibly be bothering me? Well, there is that pesky grand jury and impending subpoenas. Oh, and you know what else? The President has this awful debilitating disease, and he's going to die from it," she says angrily as she pulls her hand from mine violently and stands up.
"You don't know that," I say quietly. When she raises an eyebrow, I continue. "You don't know that MS is going to kill him."
"Yeah, because there are always car accidents, and you know, assassins," she says sarcastically. Her eyes soften however as I move my hand unconsciously to my T-shirt covered chest, tracing the scar beneath it. She sighs in frustration and sits beside me on the couch once more. "I'm sorry."
"No, no...I understand."
She reclines against me, resting her head on my shoulder. "It's just...nothing in particular and everything in general. I'm just overwhelmed."
The vulnerability in her voice surprises me, and I gently thread my fingers through her hair. "You can talk to me, CJ."
She grabs a fistful of my shirt and smiles as she kisses the side of my neck. "Yeah, because you don't have enough to worry about already."
"I'm serious here. I want you to talk to me."
"I do talk to you, Josh," she sighs as she nestles closer to my body.
"Fine," I say in frustration because I know we're not getting anywhere. I'll continue to push, and she'll evade like she usually does.
"Now you're mad at me."
"I'm not mad at you."
"Well, if you're not mad at me, then why are you pouting?" She's more amused than anything else because she's poking me in the side, trying to elicit a smile.
"I'm not pouting."
"You really are, mi amor."
"OK, I am mad," I finally admit.
"Why?"
"Because...because...damn it, CJ. Why are you so good at pretending that everything's fine?"
"Because everything is fine, Josh," she replies patronizingly.
I roll my eyes and let out a long, slow breath. "Ok."
She regards me quietly for a moment and then moves to straddle my thighs. I look at her in surprise as she cradles my face in her hands. She lowers her mouth to mine in an intoxicating kiss and when she pulls back, I'm sure I'm grinning like a fool.
"Do you trust me?" she asks quietly.
"Of course," I reply without hesitation.
"Josh, I promise that if there is anything worth..." she pauses momentarily and shrugs, "mentioning, then you will be the first to know."
I smile at her and rest my hands on her hips. "Good enough for now."
She cocks her head to the side and bites her lip contemplatively. Then her large eyes light up mischievously as her hands travel to the bottom of my T-shirt. She gently pulls it over my head, and I moan in pleasure as her lips travel across my chest.
All coherent thought escapes me when she captures my bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling gently on the flesh. She smiles against my mouth when my hands move beneath her shirt to stroke her spine. She pulls back suddenly,
"Take me to bed, Joshua."
Some mornings he wakes me up with the gentle exploration of his hands across my body. Some mornings he wakes me up with feather-light kisses upon my eyelids. Some mornings he wakes me up with a steaming mug of coffee and a shake to the shoulders. And some mornings I lie awake hours before him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.
The light of dawn streams in through the blinds and I roll closer to his naked body beneath the sheets, desperate for the warmth he offers. I wrap my arms around his waist, resting my head at the juncture between his shoulder and neck. His breathing grows shallow as he begins to wake up under my touch.
"Good morning," he says huskily. And although I can't see his face, I know he's smiling.
"Morning," I whisper as I press a soft kiss to the skin of his shoulder.
He turns in my embrace and brings his hand up to rest on my cheek, his thumb moving in slow circles across my skin. "What time is it?"
"A little before six."
"We still have thirty minutes before we absolutely have to get up, you know," he says waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
His lips meet mine in a searing kiss, and our tongues begin their familiar dance when the phone rings shrilly, causing us both to jump in surprise. Josh reaches behind him to the phone on the nightstand, cursing under his breath.
"Hello?" he says angrily. His face immediately softens and he rolls his eyes at me. "How are you doing, mom?"
I smile at him and stroke the side of his face before climbing out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. Josh still keeps his house across town even though he spends most of his evenings and weekends at my place. The subject of moving in together has never come up, and I think he's too comfortable with the situation as is to start rocking the boat.
But I find myself wondering sometimes what it would be like to share more than just nights and bodies together. I'm sure he would drive me crazy by leaving dirty clothes outside the hamper and on the bathroom floor. And I'm sure that my compulsive need to vacuum the carpet everyday would leave him sighing in frustration. I think it could work though, which is why I inevitably pick up free renters brochures outside of Walmart about once a week. Hell, I've even toured a few places. All I have to do is get Josh on the same wavelength, but I still haven't garnered the courage to ask his thoughts because I'm scared of what he'll say. Or maybe I'm terrified of what he won't say.
I brush my teeth quickly and step under the warm spray of the shower, sighing softly as the water kneads my tense muscles. The shower curtain is pulled back suddenly, and Josh steps in behind me, running one hand down my slick skin.
"Now, where were we?"
Twenty minutes later, feeling better than I have in weeks, I watch Josh struggle with his tie in the mirror. He catches my eye and smiles, but doesn't say anything to disrupt the easy silence that has fallen between us as we dress. I used to find his presence in the bedroom uncomfortable while pulling on my nylons; now I find it oddly comforting.
"What's your schedule like, today?" he asks as I step past him to pick up my earrings off the bureau.
"I'm not coming in until late morning, so I figure the rest of the day is going to be hectic. Why?"
"I just wanted to see if we could try and grab lunch together today since the last attempt failed miserably," he answers as he sits on the bed to pull his shoes on.
"Maybe next week," I offer.
He nods his head and then looks at me curiously. "Why are you coming in late today?"
"Doctor appointment," I shrug carelessly.
"Is something wrong?" he asks worriedly.
"No...just an annual check-up," I lie smoothly. "Female stuff," I add, hoping this will curb his inquisitiveness.
"Well, ok." He stands up and plants a quick kiss on my lips. "I guess I'll see you later, then."
"Yeah."
He starts walking away, but stops suddenly and turns to face me. "Hey, if we get out at a reasonable hour, maybe we can catch a movie like normal couples."
"I'd like that."
"Kay."
With one last lingering kiss, he grabs his blazer and leaves the room. I hear him rinse out his coffee cup-something I have arduously been training him to do-in the sink, the musical jingle of keys, and the sound of the front door closing.
Only then do I allow the shaking in my hands to take over. I'm not worried, of course. The flu, I have the flu. Kevin will prescribe some antibiotics and direct me to get plenty of fluids and rest. And then I'll be as right as rain in a week or two.
But if that's all I have, why didn't Kevin tell me so over the phone? Why did he have me rearrange my schedule and meetings so that I could meet with him as soon as possible? Why do I feel like nothing is ever going to be the same after today?
All morning there have been glaring omens that have gone undetected. The campaign meeting ended in a shouting match between Bruno and Toby, Mrs. Bartlet was full of ire and snapping at anyone foolish enough to get in her way after her meeting with Babish and Donna called in sick. So, when I walk into my office to find Danny leaning against the wall, it stands to reason that everything is about to be shot to hell. But the thought doesn't even register.
"Hey, Danny. If you're looking for CJ, she'll be in by ten."
"Yeah, I talked to Carol," he returns quietly. Danny takes a deep breath and observes me silently for a few moments until I wave my arms impatiently.
"What do you need?"
"Barbara Shallick is filing for divorce," he says simply.
"Good for her. Does that mean she's going to start voting Democrat?"
"Barbara Shallick is filing for divorce...and was paid by the Enquirer to give an exclusive."
"Real classy paper, there. I thought she would have gone to something more respectable."
"Barbara Shallick sold her story for a couple of round figures, and the edition came out today."
"Danny, are you close to making a point here? There's been whispers for months now that things aren't so great in the Shallick's marriage," I say in frustration because there are about ten different things I could be doing right now.
Danny clears his throat and rubs his beard nervously. "Josh, one of the things she discloses in this article is the alleged affair between the Senator and CJ."
I have no doubt that right now I could be knocked over with a feather. I literally feel the color drain from my face and I perch on the edge of my desk because I really don't have much faith in the ability of my legs to support me. CJ and Shallick? There's no way in hell.
"You want to run that by me again, Danny?"
He looks truly sympathetic as he shoves his hands into his trouser pockets. "Five years ago before he was a senator."
"But five years ago she..." I trail off and cover my face with my hands. "This can't be happening."
CJ would have told us that the married man she was involved with all those years ago was a high-ranking Republican Senator. She knows the ins and outs of politics by now, and she knows how this would affect us. She would have told us, wouldn't she?
"Look, Josh, from what I understand, Barbara only found out about the affair a few months ago. She makes it clear that this isn't the reason for the divorce, but she sure as hell wasn't going to keep quiet about it."
"So?"
"So, don't be mad at CJ about this. There's no way she could've known that this would ever become public."
"You think this story is true, then?"
He nods his head gravely. "Yeah, I do."
"Damn!" I pound my fist on the desk and clench my jaw. "This is going to cost us."
"All the papers will pick up the story and have their own articles out by tomorrow morning. Mrs. Shallick is going to be a very busy woman the next few weeks."
"So what's the fall-out of this going to be?"
"I'm not a political operative, Josh."
"No, but you've covered the white hours for almost ten years now. You've seen a lot of scandals and stories in your time, and I want to know what you think is going to happen!"
"I think this is going to be a story for a few months at least."
"Well, that's a given. What I mean is, do you think..." I trail off because I realize how callous this is going to sound.
Danny picks up my train of thought however, because he narrows his eyes. "You want to know how this is going to affect your reelection chances."
"Yes. And don't look at me like that."
"I don't know," he admits honestly after a slight pause. "With the MS already hanging around your necks, I don't know what this will do. It may not even register, I mean, she did say the man she was involved with was married at the, um, press conference she held after the, well, you know. She just chose not to give further details."
"Yes, but it might be construed as a cover-up?"
"Maybe."
I exhale a long, slow breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Ok, look, Danny. Thanks for coming to us with this. It will give us time to prepare."
"Josh-"
"I gotta get to work, now."
He studies me for a few moments and finally acquiesces by walking to the door. He turns around before he walks through and meets my gaze challengingly. "This isn't her fault, Josh."
"I've got work."
Once he closes the door behind him, I pound the desk again in fury. I look at my watch and yell for Donna, and then remember that she's not in. All morning long there were glaring omens that went undetected. I will never admit to this failure of perception, and in a voice haunted with conviction I will tell myself that I saw this coming because, how is it possible I did not?
So this is what it feels like.
My hands are shaking almost uncontrollably, even as I grip the steering wheel in an effort to steady them, my mouth is dry, and my heart is racing so fast that by all rights it should beat itself right out of my chest.
But I can't move. I've been sitting in my car for the past thirty minutes staring at the odometer because I can't focus on anything other than abnormal blood cells, chemotherapy, and bone marrow transplants. I can't bring myself to start the car because I can't go back to the White House like this.
I can't go back into the press room and deliver a briefing when I can't stop my voice from trembling. I can't waltz into my office and smile the fake smile I've been using for months because this, unlike hurt feelings, can't be fixed by theater tickets. I can't lie about this, or brush it off. I can't deny this.
Leukemia.
I've seen specials on Dateline and 20/20 about people living with cancer, their brave faces smiling at the camera even as they had to wrap their heads in scarves to cover the baldness. Holding on to vanity, even as it becomes the least of their problems; even as their bodies fail to fight infection; even as they're injected with chemicals or subjected to radiation.
But never in a million years did I think I'd become one of these people. Never.
I'm still in shock, if you want to know. I was barely listening to Kevin as he explained treatment methods, side effects and survival rates. I can't imagine what it must have been like for him...having to tell an ex-girlfriend, someone he's seen naked, that she has this terrible illness.
He offered to call Josh for me. He offered to drive me home, or back to the office, whichever I preferred. But I can't let anyone see me like this, falling apart and scared to breathe. Wondering what I did to deserve this.
I'm a mess. I can't bring myself to cry though. Somewhere in the back of my mind I think that maybe, just maybe if I hold back these tears, Kevin will call me and tell me that it was a mistake, that there was a mix-up in the lab.
I wonder if this is how President Bartlet felt when he was diagnosed with MS. I wonder if he started bargaining with God, promising to go to church more regularly, promising to call his father more often, promising anything, anything, to make his test results a mistake. Maybe I'll ask him.
So this is what it feels like. This is what it feels like to know that you're dying.
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TBC...