The Rarest Faith V: Beginning to Believe
Classification: Post-administration, political. CJ/T and J/...well, you'll get it by the end of this section.
Summary: 2010
"When I was a boy I was told that anybody could become President; I'm beginning to believe it."
--Clarence Darrow
***
January
New York City
***
Jogging in Central Park at seven in the morning wasn't something C.J.
particularly enjoyed - she was more of an indoor track kind of person, and her
slender frame found the winter air shocking rather than invigorating - but Josh
really wanted to do it. "Faster, C.J. - I need to work off some energy!" he
half-shouted as they made their way past the stand of horse-drawn carriages in
front of the Plaza.
"You could just rent a damn bike or something. Your knees aren't what they used
to be," C.J. called ahead to him after they were cut off by a teenager on
rollerblades. "And it's cold."
"Running will warm you up - c'mon, C.J., don't be a wet blanket." He was jogging
in place, sweat already staining the front of his shirt. His ears and nose were
bright pink, making him look like a tall, dimpled elf.
"If I were a wet blanket, then I'd be frozen stiff. Come to think of it, that's
exactly what I am." Grumbling, C.J. sprinted long enough to catch Josh, then
settled down into his easy rhythm. "Listen, I'd be glad to come with you to the
hospital. I know it's going to be difficult."
"Nope." Hard-headed as ever. The day Amy was transferred from her London
hospital to New York's Mount Sinai, Josh had cleared his calendar and started
camping out in C.J.'s apartment until the doctors declared that Amy could have
visitors. Today was that day, and Josh was going in the late afternoon. Abbey
was there now. The advance team of one, talking to the doctors - or, more
likely, grilling them - and seeing Amy first, so that Josh could be prepared for
what was going to be an upsetting reunion.
Sighing, C.J. looked back over her shoulder at the gables of the Plaza. Abbey
was going to meet them at C.J.'s apartment with what Josh called the "Gynecology
for Dummies" report. He was more nervous than he let on, so much so that Abbey
was tempted to make him stay with her at the hotel.
C.J. wanted to keep him close. Besides, he was a surprisingly low-maintenance
houseguest, needing nothing more than the chance to make several phone calls a
day to Sam, keeping abreast of the campaign. Josh talked to Donna every night,
handing the phone over to C.J. at some point in mid-conversation.
Donna seemed to be in surprisingly good spirits, despite this latest bump in her
road with Josh. She channeled her public outrage by helping the candidates put
women's health issues front and center. How she managed to keep comforting Josh
while dealing with her private woes was something she didn't share with C.J.
Every night, C.J. returned the phone to Josh, who went with it into the guest
bedroom and quietly spoke to Donna for a few more minutes. Something in his tone
was so intimate, so loving, that C.J. marveled at how this could be the same
Josh Lyman who was, well, such a Josh Lyman.
They stopped running. Josh leaned over, hands on his thighs, breathing heavily.
"It's cold," he said.
"Well, duh." C.J. put her arm around his shoulders. "C'mon, old man, let's get
some coffee and walk back like human beings."
"You wound me, C.J. To the quick." He straightened up, walking so close that his
arm brushed hers. Something was off in the way he breathed, as if he were
working to control the depth and speed.
She often wondered if the aftereffects of the shooting were coming back to haunt
him. The bullet had passed terrifyingly close to his heart, after all, and for
years he'd had pain in his arm and back. Perhaps that had never gone away. She
couldn't imagine that kind of pain, that kind of long-term suffering, and that
train of thought brought her right back to Amy.
Josh was glancing at her. "You okay?" he asked. "Looks as if you're zoning out a
little."
"Just thinking." She put her arm through his, tugging him close as they waited
in line for coffee.
"I know," he said softly. "I'm thinking, too. You want cream, right?" He fished
around in the pocket of his sweats and handed money to the man behind the cart,
then reached for the two steaming cups.
"Thanks." C.J. blew across the top, watching the ripples move across the smooth
liquid. She and Josh took their time going down Fifth Avenue, both of them lost
in thought.
"You don't even notice them, do you?" Josh asked, and C.J. had to rouse herself
from her reverie.
"Notice who?"
"The...people." Josh gestured with the cup, spilling some on his hand, and he
winced as he shook the hot drops off. "There've been, like twenty people who've
said hello to you, and you just smile and say hello back. But I can tell that
you don't really think about it."
"You're right." He was, and she was surprised at his acuity. "It used to either
thrill or annoy me, depending on what I was doing. But now it doesn't register."
"That's interesting." Josh scanned the street, bouncing a little on the balls of
his feet as they waited at a stop light. "You and Sam are two of the most famous
people in the country right now. Matt's getting to be right up there, too. And
then there are the Bartlets. All these famous people around me."
C.J. snickered. "You have a fan club in D.C., all your very own. Or have they
abandoned you for cuter pastures?"
"It's not the same thing. Political groupies are a small, inbred bunch. The
people you reach are...everyone."
"Josh, if you have a point to make, then please make it before we get to 57th
Street."
It was his turn to laugh. "It just amuses me, that's all. People fawning all
over you in the middle of the greatest city in the U.S., and you don't notice."
She hadn't given it much thought. Just part of the job. Routine. "How's Nina
doing with the publicity?"
"Carol's got a handle on everything. All Nina has to do is smile and look
charming. And , fortunately, that's not hard." He tossed his empty cup into a
trash can. "We still have some mumblings and rumblings from both sides of the
women's issues - she's not feminist enough, she's not traditional enough."
"What are you going to do?" C.J. asked, finishing her coffee so that they could
go into the restaurant. "I mean, about the image thing."
Josh grimaced. "Jed told us to have Bruno Gianelli look the situation over."
Glad that she no longer had anything in her mouth, C.J. started to laugh. "Man,
forget fundraising. Just sell tickets to Nina kicking Bruno's ass. Has she met
him?"
"Uh, no. We thought it might be best if they went into this as absolute
strangers. The idea is that once she gets an earful of Bruno, she'll be ready to
listen to Toby. He's easier to take, by comparison."
"You think? Here we are." They went into the crowded deli, where a sour-faced
woman broke into an unexpected smile and waved her hands at C.J.
"Ms. Cregg, come back here. I've got a place for you."
"Tell me again why fame sucks?" Josh asked with a leer, and C.J. elbowed him in
the ribs. They sat down, ordering huge breakfasts that would completely negate
the effects of the morning's minimal exercise.
A man at a nearby table turned over the pages of his paper, and C.J. caught a
glimpse of this morning's article about Amy's return to the United States. She
hadn't shown it to Josh, and she hoped he didn't see it. But he turned around to
follow her line of sight, and the muscles in his jaw tightened visibly when his
glance fell on the old photo of Amy, taken around the time of Leo's funeral.
Josh turned back around and lowered his head. "I don't think I can talk
anymore," he whispered.
"I know. It's okay," C.J. assured him, reaching across the table to put her hand
on top of his. She tried not to watch him as he picked at his food, and she had
enough sense not to try to talk to him or change the subject that was on both of
their minds. The waitress put their excess breakfast into aluminum containers,
clucking her tongue at the "sad, skinny boy," and they walked quickly back to
C.J.'s apartment.
Hot showers and the morning news put them both into a more positive mood. Josh
lounged on the sofa, writing illegible memos in a notebook. C.J. sat at the
little desk and went over interview notes for later in the week. She was so
engrossed in her work that the buzzer startled her. She pushed the black button,
noticing that Josh was already on his feet, and moments later a Secret Service
agent opened the door for Abbey before melting back into the decor of the
hallway.
She was dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweater, and she carried a
leather-bound legal pad. C.J. hugged her, then brought her over to Josh. Abbey
put her arms around him and held him close for several moments. "Let's sit
down," she said, taking him by the hand and sitting next to him on the sofa.
C.J. nodded toward her bedroom. "Should I...?"
"No, no, she said she wants you to know everything."
"How is she?" Josh asked, his voice quavering a little.
Abbey smiled, although there was worry in her eyes. "She's doing better than I
expected, actually. She's going to have more surgery next week, but she's been
doing quite a bit of physical therapy in the meanwhile and it's looking good for
her. Come sit with us, C.J., and I'll go over it with you."
Of the many difficult things she had done in her life, few had been as awful as
listening to Abbey describe the extent of Amy's injuries. Relatively little
cutting had taken place, but the cuts that were made were deep and infection had
begun to set in even as the medics came to take her to the hospital. Amy had
developed an allergy to the antibiotic cream, which made the wounds even more
painful, and which accounted for the long stay in London before she could be
moved.
Abbey drew pictures of what the area now looked like, and on top of those drew
pictures of what the reconstruction could or could not do for Amy. C.J. bit her
lips so hard that she almost drew blood, and her fingernails bit into the palms
of her clenched hands. Josh's face was white.
"She wanted to have children someday," he said. "Will that be safe?"
"The infection didn't spread to her internal organs, so conception won't be an
issue. Actually giving birth is going to depend on the amount of scarring and
on how hard the scar tissue is. But it's still possible to have a Cesarean even
if vaginal delivery proves to be more than she or the baby could handle."
Josh tried to ask another question, but no sounds came out of his open mouth.
Patting him on the knee, Abbey said, soothingly, "The human body has amazing
powers of regeneration and rerouting. Especially when it comes to pleasure
centers. Amy's a strong, healthy woman, Josh. She'll find ways."
C.J. closed the binder. "Thank you for explaining this, Abbey. It's been hard,
not...knowing."
"She wanted you to know, especially, C.J.," Abbey said, "and she wants to see
you in a couple of days, before the next surgery. She said she'd be fine with
seeing Josh right away, since she knows he won't be able to spend much more time
here. What do you say, Josh? You up to it?"
He nodded. "Can you give me about ten minutes?"
C.J. and Abbey watched him walk, a little unsteadily, to the bedroom. Abbey
opened her arms to C.J., holding on to her while they waited for Josh to return.
***
He had come back out with red eyes, but his demeanor was quiet and composed.
Abbey had offered to take him to the hospital, but Josh said he would probably
need to walk home alone afterwards.
The cab ride was a blur, a numbing fifteen minutes during which time he saw and
heard nothing. Naima met him at the main entrance, hugged him, said how glad Amy
would be to see him, but Josh could make only the most minimal of responses.
Thinking, feeling - those would just break him down, and he refused to allow
that.
"Just a few minutes," Naima cautioned. "She's got jet lag on top of everything
else, and her visit with Mrs. Bartlet almost wore her out." She opened the door
to a private room. "It's Josh."
"Good, send him in."
"She still thinks she's my boss," Naima declared as she gave Josh a gentle push.
"It's okay. It's okay."
He hadn't brought flowers. He had meant to stop along the way, but--
"Hey, J. Thanks for coming to see me." She was smiling. Her face was thin, and
there were dark circles under her eyes, but she was smiling, so Josh couldn't
help but smile back. Amy broke eye contact with him and turned to Naima. "Can
you give us a few minutes?"
"Absolutely." The door closed, and Josh was alone with his ex-wife.
He didn't know what to say.
"I don't know what to say," he whispered. He leaned on the bed rail with one
hand and stroked Amy's cheek with the other.
"Did Abbey give you the talk? Wait, don't answer that, you're blushing."
"A little." He paused. "How do you feel?"
"Much better. I haven't been running a temperature for days, so I'm starting to
feel human again. I'm walking around, I'm exercising." She cocked her head to
one side. "I'm seeing a therapist."
"Yeah, Abbey said you were in physical therapy."
"Not that kind of therapist, Josh," she said, almost laughing. "A, you know,
therapist."
"Oh."
"Wanna know why?" Amy teased.
Teased. How did she do that? Josh tried to control his breathing. "I can
imagine...well, I really can't imagine, but I can...understand...why..."
"It gets better than that. Aside from the obvious, it seems that I also have -
wait for it - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder." She reached up and tugged at the
front of his shirt until he leaned over her. Her eyes were still wide, still
dark, but with a haunted quality Josh knew all too well. "His and Hers PTSD,
Josh."
"We should've gotten monogrammed towels," he murmured. "That must have been what
went wrong. We didn't have towels."
"I don't think a well-stocked linen closet would've solved much of anything,"
Amy said firmly. She let go of his shirt and lay back in the bed, her hands
folded loosely over her abdomen. "I just thought it was funny. Not, you know, in
the hilarious sense, but ironic. Because one of the things that drove me crazy
about you was not knowing what to do when you had an attack."
His heart in his throat, Josh put one hand on top of hers the way C.J. had done
for him just a few hours earlier. "Do you know what to do when you have an
attack?"
Amy shrugged and looked away. "I'm learning."
"I understand. And it does get...not easier, exactly, but manageable." He
brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
"Josh..."
"Ssh. Just listen for a minute, okay?" It felt weird, comforting her, but as
strange as it was, it also felt right. "One of the reasons I got so screwed up
is that I didn't talk to anyone. I didn't think they'd understand, because they
didn't get shot." He hoped she could see the parallel. If not now, then perhaps
later. But Amy looked alert as she met his eyes and waited for him to continue.
"But just because it didn't happen to them didn't mean they wouldn't have tried
to help me. I know what it feels like to live through something that terrifying
over and over again. Please, don't make yourself go through those feelings."
"I'm trying hard not to, Josh. And most days, I'm all right."
"When you're not, though, I want you to call me."
She shook her head, her dark hair falling into her face. "Donna would kill me."
"How the hell do you...oh, never mind. Donna would not kill you. Or me. She went
through it, too, in a lot of ways, and she'd be glad to help in any way she
could."
She would. One of the things Josh loved most about Donna was her boundless
compassion. She'd been the one to insist that he go to New York as soon as
possible, and when he'd asked her to come with him, she'd said that he needed
this time - not just with Amy, but with C.J. and Abbey, who had such unique ways
of helping people heal.
Amy smiled brighter this time, some of her old sauciness returning. "She's a
good person. I can see why you love her so much. Don't screw it up."
"I won't! Why does everyone think I'm incapable of maintaining a relationship
without causing irreperable damage?"
"Because we know you. Yet we love you anyway. C'mere." She beckoned him down and
kissed him. Not like before, not like the hunger of their early days or the fire
of their post-argument lovemaking. Just sweet, and simple, and tender.
She was dear to him, of course, and part of his soul would always grieve for
what had happened to her. But his love for her had altered in the past two
years, replaced by respect and awe for her incredible courage.
"When you say you see why I love Donna so much," he said flippantly, trying to
cover the extremes of emotion he was feeling, "you don't mean that you
really...see why?"
It took her a second to process Josh's cryptic question, then she laughed at
him. Really laughed, hiccuping a little as she held hands with him. "Don't
worry. She's straight."
"That's what I thought about you, and look how wrong I was."
"That's because you're you. I'm me, and I'm telling you she's straight."
"Straight?"
"As an arrow, Josh. You'll only have to worry about losing her to another man."
"Thank God," Josh sighed. His eyes widened. "You know, it's very strange for me
to be having this conversation with my ex-wife."
Amy nodded, biting her lip for a few seconds before speaking again. "Probably.
But then, nothing much about anyone's relationship with you can be categorized
as anything but 'strange.'"
"True." He had just begun to think about those he had loved and lost when Amy
squeezed his hand.
"There's no such thing as the Lyman Curse, Josh. Don't even think of blaming
yourself for what happened to me. And don't use it as an excuse to back away
from Donna again."
He had to swallow hard before he could talk. "I'll never understand how you can
be lying here, after all you've been through, and lecture me on my love life, or
lack thereof."
"I think you understand more than you realize." She tightened her grip on his
hand. "I do love you, Josh. I want you to be happy. As happy as I am with Naima,
especially now that we're safe and nothing can happen to Angela."
"She has you to thank for that," Josh started, but Amy waved him to silence.
"I'm not comfortable...with those words," she said softly. "I don't like to
think of myself as a martyr." With a little grimace she settled back into the
pillows. "I'm starting to fade. It's been a long day. It really was good to see
you, Josh."
"You, too." He leaned over, resting his cheek against hers. "You sure you don't
want to marry me again?"
"I'm trying to get well, Josh," Amy groaned, and that made them both laugh.
"Give my love to C.J., and tell her to come see me in a couple of days. You -
you go home to Donna before I kick your ass." She turned her head so she could
kiss him on the cheek, then she closed her eyes and dropped off to sleep.
Josh stood next to the bed, holding Amy's hand. He stayed like that for a long
time, remembering the past, thinking of the present, and hoping for the future.
When Naima came in a few minutes later and took his place, Josh felt a wave of
relief crest over him, washing him clean, carrying him, like an awe-struck
traveler, to a tantalizing new place.
***
Part Two
Classification: Post-administration, political. CJ/T and J/...well, you'll get it by the end of this section.
Summary: 2010
"When I was a boy I was told that anybody could become President; I'm beginning to believe it."
--Clarence Darrow
***
January
New York City
***
Jogging in Central Park at seven in the morning wasn't something C.J.
particularly enjoyed - she was more of an indoor track kind of person, and her
slender frame found the winter air shocking rather than invigorating - but Josh
really wanted to do it. "Faster, C.J. - I need to work off some energy!" he
half-shouted as they made their way past the stand of horse-drawn carriages in
front of the Plaza.
"You could just rent a damn bike or something. Your knees aren't what they used
to be," C.J. called ahead to him after they were cut off by a teenager on
rollerblades. "And it's cold."
"Running will warm you up - c'mon, C.J., don't be a wet blanket." He was jogging
in place, sweat already staining the front of his shirt. His ears and nose were
bright pink, making him look like a tall, dimpled elf.
"If I were a wet blanket, then I'd be frozen stiff. Come to think of it, that's
exactly what I am." Grumbling, C.J. sprinted long enough to catch Josh, then
settled down into his easy rhythm. "Listen, I'd be glad to come with you to the
hospital. I know it's going to be difficult."
"Nope." Hard-headed as ever. The day Amy was transferred from her London
hospital to New York's Mount Sinai, Josh had cleared his calendar and started
camping out in C.J.'s apartment until the doctors declared that Amy could have
visitors. Today was that day, and Josh was going in the late afternoon. Abbey
was there now. The advance team of one, talking to the doctors - or, more
likely, grilling them - and seeing Amy first, so that Josh could be prepared for
what was going to be an upsetting reunion.
Sighing, C.J. looked back over her shoulder at the gables of the Plaza. Abbey
was going to meet them at C.J.'s apartment with what Josh called the "Gynecology
for Dummies" report. He was more nervous than he let on, so much so that Abbey
was tempted to make him stay with her at the hotel.
C.J. wanted to keep him close. Besides, he was a surprisingly low-maintenance
houseguest, needing nothing more than the chance to make several phone calls a
day to Sam, keeping abreast of the campaign. Josh talked to Donna every night,
handing the phone over to C.J. at some point in mid-conversation.
Donna seemed to be in surprisingly good spirits, despite this latest bump in her
road with Josh. She channeled her public outrage by helping the candidates put
women's health issues front and center. How she managed to keep comforting Josh
while dealing with her private woes was something she didn't share with C.J.
Every night, C.J. returned the phone to Josh, who went with it into the guest
bedroom and quietly spoke to Donna for a few more minutes. Something in his tone
was so intimate, so loving, that C.J. marveled at how this could be the same
Josh Lyman who was, well, such a Josh Lyman.
They stopped running. Josh leaned over, hands on his thighs, breathing heavily.
"It's cold," he said.
"Well, duh." C.J. put her arm around his shoulders. "C'mon, old man, let's get
some coffee and walk back like human beings."
"You wound me, C.J. To the quick." He straightened up, walking so close that his
arm brushed hers. Something was off in the way he breathed, as if he were
working to control the depth and speed.
She often wondered if the aftereffects of the shooting were coming back to haunt
him. The bullet had passed terrifyingly close to his heart, after all, and for
years he'd had pain in his arm and back. Perhaps that had never gone away. She
couldn't imagine that kind of pain, that kind of long-term suffering, and that
train of thought brought her right back to Amy.
Josh was glancing at her. "You okay?" he asked. "Looks as if you're zoning out a
little."
"Just thinking." She put her arm through his, tugging him close as they waited
in line for coffee.
"I know," he said softly. "I'm thinking, too. You want cream, right?" He fished
around in the pocket of his sweats and handed money to the man behind the cart,
then reached for the two steaming cups.
"Thanks." C.J. blew across the top, watching the ripples move across the smooth
liquid. She and Josh took their time going down Fifth Avenue, both of them lost
in thought.
"You don't even notice them, do you?" Josh asked, and C.J. had to rouse herself
from her reverie.
"Notice who?"
"The...people." Josh gestured with the cup, spilling some on his hand, and he
winced as he shook the hot drops off. "There've been, like twenty people who've
said hello to you, and you just smile and say hello back. But I can tell that
you don't really think about it."
"You're right." He was, and she was surprised at his acuity. "It used to either
thrill or annoy me, depending on what I was doing. But now it doesn't register."
"That's interesting." Josh scanned the street, bouncing a little on the balls of
his feet as they waited at a stop light. "You and Sam are two of the most famous
people in the country right now. Matt's getting to be right up there, too. And
then there are the Bartlets. All these famous people around me."
C.J. snickered. "You have a fan club in D.C., all your very own. Or have they
abandoned you for cuter pastures?"
"It's not the same thing. Political groupies are a small, inbred bunch. The
people you reach are...everyone."
"Josh, if you have a point to make, then please make it before we get to 57th
Street."
It was his turn to laugh. "It just amuses me, that's all. People fawning all
over you in the middle of the greatest city in the U.S., and you don't notice."
She hadn't given it much thought. Just part of the job. Routine. "How's Nina
doing with the publicity?"
"Carol's got a handle on everything. All Nina has to do is smile and look
charming. And , fortunately, that's not hard." He tossed his empty cup into a
trash can. "We still have some mumblings and rumblings from both sides of the
women's issues - she's not feminist enough, she's not traditional enough."
"What are you going to do?" C.J. asked, finishing her coffee so that they could
go into the restaurant. "I mean, about the image thing."
Josh grimaced. "Jed told us to have Bruno Gianelli look the situation over."
Glad that she no longer had anything in her mouth, C.J. started to laugh. "Man,
forget fundraising. Just sell tickets to Nina kicking Bruno's ass. Has she met
him?"
"Uh, no. We thought it might be best if they went into this as absolute
strangers. The idea is that once she gets an earful of Bruno, she'll be ready to
listen to Toby. He's easier to take, by comparison."
"You think? Here we are." They went into the crowded deli, where a sour-faced
woman broke into an unexpected smile and waved her hands at C.J.
"Ms. Cregg, come back here. I've got a place for you."
"Tell me again why fame sucks?" Josh asked with a leer, and C.J. elbowed him in
the ribs. They sat down, ordering huge breakfasts that would completely negate
the effects of the morning's minimal exercise.
A man at a nearby table turned over the pages of his paper, and C.J. caught a
glimpse of this morning's article about Amy's return to the United States. She
hadn't shown it to Josh, and she hoped he didn't see it. But he turned around to
follow her line of sight, and the muscles in his jaw tightened visibly when his
glance fell on the old photo of Amy, taken around the time of Leo's funeral.
Josh turned back around and lowered his head. "I don't think I can talk
anymore," he whispered.
"I know. It's okay," C.J. assured him, reaching across the table to put her hand
on top of his. She tried not to watch him as he picked at his food, and she had
enough sense not to try to talk to him or change the subject that was on both of
their minds. The waitress put their excess breakfast into aluminum containers,
clucking her tongue at the "sad, skinny boy," and they walked quickly back to
C.J.'s apartment.
Hot showers and the morning news put them both into a more positive mood. Josh
lounged on the sofa, writing illegible memos in a notebook. C.J. sat at the
little desk and went over interview notes for later in the week. She was so
engrossed in her work that the buzzer startled her. She pushed the black button,
noticing that Josh was already on his feet, and moments later a Secret Service
agent opened the door for Abbey before melting back into the decor of the
hallway.
She was dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweater, and she carried a
leather-bound legal pad. C.J. hugged her, then brought her over to Josh. Abbey
put her arms around him and held him close for several moments. "Let's sit
down," she said, taking him by the hand and sitting next to him on the sofa.
C.J. nodded toward her bedroom. "Should I...?"
"No, no, she said she wants you to know everything."
"How is she?" Josh asked, his voice quavering a little.
Abbey smiled, although there was worry in her eyes. "She's doing better than I
expected, actually. She's going to have more surgery next week, but she's been
doing quite a bit of physical therapy in the meanwhile and it's looking good for
her. Come sit with us, C.J., and I'll go over it with you."
Of the many difficult things she had done in her life, few had been as awful as
listening to Abbey describe the extent of Amy's injuries. Relatively little
cutting had taken place, but the cuts that were made were deep and infection had
begun to set in even as the medics came to take her to the hospital. Amy had
developed an allergy to the antibiotic cream, which made the wounds even more
painful, and which accounted for the long stay in London before she could be
moved.
Abbey drew pictures of what the area now looked like, and on top of those drew
pictures of what the reconstruction could or could not do for Amy. C.J. bit her
lips so hard that she almost drew blood, and her fingernails bit into the palms
of her clenched hands. Josh's face was white.
"She wanted to have children someday," he said. "Will that be safe?"
"The infection didn't spread to her internal organs, so conception won't be an
issue. Actually giving birth is going to depend on the amount of scarring and
on how hard the scar tissue is. But it's still possible to have a Cesarean even
if vaginal delivery proves to be more than she or the baby could handle."
Josh tried to ask another question, but no sounds came out of his open mouth.
Patting him on the knee, Abbey said, soothingly, "The human body has amazing
powers of regeneration and rerouting. Especially when it comes to pleasure
centers. Amy's a strong, healthy woman, Josh. She'll find ways."
C.J. closed the binder. "Thank you for explaining this, Abbey. It's been hard,
not...knowing."
"She wanted you to know, especially, C.J.," Abbey said, "and she wants to see
you in a couple of days, before the next surgery. She said she'd be fine with
seeing Josh right away, since she knows he won't be able to spend much more time
here. What do you say, Josh? You up to it?"
He nodded. "Can you give me about ten minutes?"
C.J. and Abbey watched him walk, a little unsteadily, to the bedroom. Abbey
opened her arms to C.J., holding on to her while they waited for Josh to return.
***
He had come back out with red eyes, but his demeanor was quiet and composed.
Abbey had offered to take him to the hospital, but Josh said he would probably
need to walk home alone afterwards.
The cab ride was a blur, a numbing fifteen minutes during which time he saw and
heard nothing. Naima met him at the main entrance, hugged him, said how glad Amy
would be to see him, but Josh could make only the most minimal of responses.
Thinking, feeling - those would just break him down, and he refused to allow
that.
"Just a few minutes," Naima cautioned. "She's got jet lag on top of everything
else, and her visit with Mrs. Bartlet almost wore her out." She opened the door
to a private room. "It's Josh."
"Good, send him in."
"She still thinks she's my boss," Naima declared as she gave Josh a gentle push.
"It's okay. It's okay."
He hadn't brought flowers. He had meant to stop along the way, but--
"Hey, J. Thanks for coming to see me." She was smiling. Her face was thin, and
there were dark circles under her eyes, but she was smiling, so Josh couldn't
help but smile back. Amy broke eye contact with him and turned to Naima. "Can
you give us a few minutes?"
"Absolutely." The door closed, and Josh was alone with his ex-wife.
He didn't know what to say.
"I don't know what to say," he whispered. He leaned on the bed rail with one
hand and stroked Amy's cheek with the other.
"Did Abbey give you the talk? Wait, don't answer that, you're blushing."
"A little." He paused. "How do you feel?"
"Much better. I haven't been running a temperature for days, so I'm starting to
feel human again. I'm walking around, I'm exercising." She cocked her head to
one side. "I'm seeing a therapist."
"Yeah, Abbey said you were in physical therapy."
"Not that kind of therapist, Josh," she said, almost laughing. "A, you know,
therapist."
"Oh."
"Wanna know why?" Amy teased.
Teased. How did she do that? Josh tried to control his breathing. "I can
imagine...well, I really can't imagine, but I can...understand...why..."
"It gets better than that. Aside from the obvious, it seems that I also have -
wait for it - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder." She reached up and tugged at the
front of his shirt until he leaned over her. Her eyes were still wide, still
dark, but with a haunted quality Josh knew all too well. "His and Hers PTSD,
Josh."
"We should've gotten monogrammed towels," he murmured. "That must have been what
went wrong. We didn't have towels."
"I don't think a well-stocked linen closet would've solved much of anything,"
Amy said firmly. She let go of his shirt and lay back in the bed, her hands
folded loosely over her abdomen. "I just thought it was funny. Not, you know, in
the hilarious sense, but ironic. Because one of the things that drove me crazy
about you was not knowing what to do when you had an attack."
His heart in his throat, Josh put one hand on top of hers the way C.J. had done
for him just a few hours earlier. "Do you know what to do when you have an
attack?"
Amy shrugged and looked away. "I'm learning."
"I understand. And it does get...not easier, exactly, but manageable." He
brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
"Josh..."
"Ssh. Just listen for a minute, okay?" It felt weird, comforting her, but as
strange as it was, it also felt right. "One of the reasons I got so screwed up
is that I didn't talk to anyone. I didn't think they'd understand, because they
didn't get shot." He hoped she could see the parallel. If not now, then perhaps
later. But Amy looked alert as she met his eyes and waited for him to continue.
"But just because it didn't happen to them didn't mean they wouldn't have tried
to help me. I know what it feels like to live through something that terrifying
over and over again. Please, don't make yourself go through those feelings."
"I'm trying hard not to, Josh. And most days, I'm all right."
"When you're not, though, I want you to call me."
She shook her head, her dark hair falling into her face. "Donna would kill me."
"How the hell do you...oh, never mind. Donna would not kill you. Or me. She went
through it, too, in a lot of ways, and she'd be glad to help in any way she
could."
She would. One of the things Josh loved most about Donna was her boundless
compassion. She'd been the one to insist that he go to New York as soon as
possible, and when he'd asked her to come with him, she'd said that he needed
this time - not just with Amy, but with C.J. and Abbey, who had such unique ways
of helping people heal.
Amy smiled brighter this time, some of her old sauciness returning. "She's a
good person. I can see why you love her so much. Don't screw it up."
"I won't! Why does everyone think I'm incapable of maintaining a relationship
without causing irreperable damage?"
"Because we know you. Yet we love you anyway. C'mere." She beckoned him down and
kissed him. Not like before, not like the hunger of their early days or the fire
of their post-argument lovemaking. Just sweet, and simple, and tender.
She was dear to him, of course, and part of his soul would always grieve for
what had happened to her. But his love for her had altered in the past two
years, replaced by respect and awe for her incredible courage.
"When you say you see why I love Donna so much," he said flippantly, trying to
cover the extremes of emotion he was feeling, "you don't mean that you
really...see why?"
It took her a second to process Josh's cryptic question, then she laughed at
him. Really laughed, hiccuping a little as she held hands with him. "Don't
worry. She's straight."
"That's what I thought about you, and look how wrong I was."
"That's because you're you. I'm me, and I'm telling you she's straight."
"Straight?"
"As an arrow, Josh. You'll only have to worry about losing her to another man."
"Thank God," Josh sighed. His eyes widened. "You know, it's very strange for me
to be having this conversation with my ex-wife."
Amy nodded, biting her lip for a few seconds before speaking again. "Probably.
But then, nothing much about anyone's relationship with you can be categorized
as anything but 'strange.'"
"True." He had just begun to think about those he had loved and lost when Amy
squeezed his hand.
"There's no such thing as the Lyman Curse, Josh. Don't even think of blaming
yourself for what happened to me. And don't use it as an excuse to back away
from Donna again."
He had to swallow hard before he could talk. "I'll never understand how you can
be lying here, after all you've been through, and lecture me on my love life, or
lack thereof."
"I think you understand more than you realize." She tightened her grip on his
hand. "I do love you, Josh. I want you to be happy. As happy as I am with Naima,
especially now that we're safe and nothing can happen to Angela."
"She has you to thank for that," Josh started, but Amy waved him to silence.
"I'm not comfortable...with those words," she said softly. "I don't like to
think of myself as a martyr." With a little grimace she settled back into the
pillows. "I'm starting to fade. It's been a long day. It really was good to see
you, Josh."
"You, too." He leaned over, resting his cheek against hers. "You sure you don't
want to marry me again?"
"I'm trying to get well, Josh," Amy groaned, and that made them both laugh.
"Give my love to C.J., and tell her to come see me in a couple of days. You -
you go home to Donna before I kick your ass." She turned her head so she could
kiss him on the cheek, then she closed her eyes and dropped off to sleep.
Josh stood next to the bed, holding Amy's hand. He stayed like that for a long
time, remembering the past, thinking of the present, and hoping for the future.
When Naima came in a few minutes later and took his place, Josh felt a wave of
relief crest over him, washing him clean, carrying him, like an awe-struck
traveler, to a tantalizing new place.
***
Part Two