***
September
Manchester
***
One night. It was going to come down to one night.
Matt had already debated the manly, bland replacement for departing
Vice-President Atkinson. Assistant Treasury Secretary Christopher Dickinson
might as well have come from Central Casting - taller than Matt, broader through
the shoulders, an athlete, a father who was soon to become a grandfather.
Dickinson had managed to mention his wife and children in answers to questions
about everything from health care to farm subsidy bills. Josh had to be sent out
of the auditorium because he kept laughing.
Analysis of the Vice-Presidential debate was so polarized along partisan lines
that it meant nothing, changed nothing. Conservative Republicans made
thinly-veiled homophobic "family values" remarks and talked about a
Constitutional amendment to allow government sponsorship of religion. Democrats
feared that third-party candidate Jeffrey Sawyer could cause Sam to lose the
election unless many people who'd never voted took a sudden interest in
politics. Get rid of Sawyer before the Presidential debate, the D.N.C. told the
Seaborn for America staff - and by staff, they meant Josh.
"Put me in, coach," Josh told Sam, and, despite some raised eyebrows, he was
allowed to play hardball.
Josh began by sparking a massive "Get Out the Vote" campaign. C.J.'s
entertainment connections proved to be a godsend, and everything from college
rallies to free concerts provided ample opportunity for young voters to try
their hand at "overthrowing" the government. The same young people who had been
attracted to Jeffrey Sawyer's message of self-preservation met with "the best
and the brightest," and, appropriately, began to see the light. Strike one.
He arranged "The Attack of the Killer Ex-Wives" in the form of Andrea Wyatt, now
Governor of New Jersey and an outspoken advocate of women's rights, and Amy
Gardner, who was scheduled to speak at the United Nations during her visit to
the States. Everywhere Jeffrey Sawyer spoke, Amy or Andrea was there, insisting
that his position that U.S. neutrality toward the brutalization of women was
simply "respect for cultural integrity" was nothing more than dangerous
misogyny. Strike two.
Josh then fired a fastball at the heart of the International Party itself,
courtesy of information that came to him by way of a citizens' advocacy group in
North Carolina. The group, led by an up-and-coming public defender by the name
of Charlie Young, discovered that an overseas corporation run by a distant
relative of May Heckart Schiller had sent up a Zurich bank account for Jeffrey
Sawyer.
Three strikes for Jeffrey Sawyer. Batter up.
If neutralizing Jeffrey Sawyer had been the playoff game, then tonight's
Presidential debate in Boston was the World Series. Sam's numbers rose after
Sawyer was eliminated, but the polling was still too close for comfort. The
debate was going to weigh heavily. Josh had played less of a role in the
preparation than he wished, but he could hardly complain when Debate Camp was
held at the farm in Manchester and he knew that Sam was getting the best advice
that could be had.
Retired Admiral Percy Fitzwallace. Surgeon General Millicent Griffith, who had
managed to survive four years of Schiller by keeping her head down and her ideas
private, waiting for the next Democratic President. United States ambassadors to
foreign nations. Cabinet members, state officials, D.N.C. chairs. And, of
course, for economic advice Sam could turn to no one else but Jed Bartlet.
Despite the headache he got from the combination of brandy fumes and math, Josh
enjoyed sitting in the study while Bartlet held court on capitalism, the current
economic state in America, and global economic patterns. He loved watching
Bartlet make a point that Sam suddenly understood, the way both men's eyes lit
up. He loved when Bartlet tried to bait Toby with a complicated question that
Toby would easily answer. He even loved when Bartlet turned to him and said,
"You don't understand three words of this, do you, Josh?"
The little digs didn't matter. He was doing this thing that he loved, and he was
with the people he admired most in the world, and he knew in his heart that Sam
was going to mop the floor with President Schiller in the debate.
Because of his bad behavior at Matt's debate, Josh was banned from the drive to
Boston, Senior Political Director or no. Sam took only Nina, Matt, and an
intern. "I'll feel better knowing that you're watching somewhere...else," he'd
said as Josh stood next to the car with his hands on his hips, scowling.
So it was coming down to this one night, and Boston seemed very far away.
Josh stood with his arms folded atop the fence, watching two border collies make
a perimeter check around the sheep pen. He wasn't a fan of sheep, or of being
outside on a chilly autumn evening, but he couldn't stay in the house for one
more minute. All the "Bartlet girls" were there with their husbands - Zoey had
carried on her mother's tradition of finding a charming, brilliant divinity
student and wooing him away from the Church - and C.J. was staying at the
carriage house with Toby.
It hurt to be around all the happy people, so Josh was glad when the sheer
number of visitors meant that he was housed with the Secret Service agents in
the "bunker." He looked over in that direction, hunching his shoulders as a gust
of wind tickled him.
***
Bartlet watched Josh shiver in the night wind. "Abbey said to bring you this,"
he said as he walked carefully up the gravel path. He handed Josh a well-worn
leather jacket. "I think you had this on my first campaign."
"I think I did." Josh smiled as Bartlet helped him put the coat on. "This is a
little surreal," he commented.
Bartlet patted him on the shoulder. "You'll be doing this for Sam, soon enough,
if you're not already."
"Sam actually doesn't like for me to touch his clothes. He says I exude
wrinkles." Josh blinked as he looked from Bartlet's face to the night sky. "I
should be there."
"Believe it or not, Josh, I said I thought you should go. But I got overruled."
Bartlet smiled, leaning a little on the cane he used for balance. "Are you lost
in thought, or may I join you?" He didn't wait for an answer, but sat down
carefully on a tree stump while Josh leaned back against the fence. "I'm sorry
that Donna couldn't be here. But someone has to mind the store, and she's the
only one of you that's not going mad over the debate." It was true. Donna had
beenthe calm center of the storm, so sure that Sam was going to emerge
victorious that she had scoffed at the need for a Debate Camp.
Josh set his jaw and nodded. Months of campaign stops where Donna was on one
side of the country with Matt and Josh was on the other with Sam had reduced
their communication to e-mails and phone calls made in airport lobbies and
highway rest stops. Bartlet knew that Josh's 49th birthday had come and gone,
spent sulking at the motel coffee shop in Bay Minette, Alabama.
"You've probably been getting a lot of advice about Donna," he said, noticing
that Josh's posture slumped at the mention of her name. "So I won't go there
tonight. What I do want to talk to you is the job you're about to have, and
it'll take a while. Do you mind?"
"We'll miss the debate," Josh said.
Bartlet waved his hand. "Nah, they'll come get us. Besides, I'd rather torture
you than watch Sam kick Schiller's ass. That's so easy, it's not even a
contest."
"Okay," Josh said, tipping his head back.
There were a dozen expressions competing for room on Josh's face. His mouth was
turned down, and his eyes were dark and sad. "What are you thinking, right now?"
Bartlet asked.
"Lots of things," Josh said, shrugging. "All the stuff that could trip us up in
the end, trying to predict what's next and dealing with it before it happens.
Keeping it off of Sam's plate so he can concentrate on the important issues."
"Those are all good things. Leo did those for me, and I never knew about them
until they were over - just as Sam won't really understand everything you've
done for him until he's a private citizen again. I just wish I'd had more time,
after the administration ended, to show Leo how much I appreciated him."
"He knew." It was a whisper, a blessing.
Bartlet nodded as he blinked the bitter tears back. Now wasn't the time for
mourning Leo. "Sam's going to be the busiest man in the world, and it's likely
that he won't have the chance to demonstrate his appreciation until his term's
done. But we were talking a couple of days ago, and I asked him to do me a
favor."
"A favor?" Josh asked, looking utterly confused.
"You see, I've been troubled ever since Leo died - there was a debt that I
couldn't repay, because he was gone so quickly. So I asked Sam if he'd mind if I
kept an eye on you, the way Leo would have done, and it turns out Sam was
already thinking about that, about finding ways to lessen the burden."
"It's not a burden," Josh protested. "It's a privilege. I don't just believe in
the message - I believe in the man. And anything I can do to help him govern is
a mitzvah. A duty that's also a joy."
That earned him a smile. "You are so like him, Josh. As many times as I've
wanted to drop-kick your smirking face into another zip code, I've always
marveled at your spirit. You've never let tragedy stop you, just as he never let
it stop him, and instead of wallowing in grief or self-pity you each turned
your situations around and used them to help the whole of humankind. And neither
of you gave yourselves enough credit for doing it."
With just the light from the starlit sky, Bartlet could still see color rising
on Josh's face. Couldn't take a compliment. Just like Leo.
One of the collies trotted over, looking from one man to the other in hopes of
getting some attention. Josh sat cross-legged on the ground and scratched behind
the dog's ears. He seemed glad to focus on something else, to avoid Bartlet's
gaze. "Does Sam...do you...think I'm going to lose it under stress, the way I
did in 2000? Is that why you're worried about this 'burden?'"
"Josh, no." Horrified, Bartlet put his hand over his heart. "You've come so far
since then. That's not what we mean at all."
Josh let the dog lick his face a few times, then leaned against the fence with
his legs outstretched, the collie settling down beside him with his head on
Josh's thigh. "Okay," Josh said quietly, his hand coming to rest on the dog's
head.
"We just want to spare you as much heartache as possible. God knows you've seen
enough." He had to stop, bowing his head for a moment. How he loved this man,
this troubled, troublesome man. "And we don't want anything to happen to you
again, Josh. It hurt too much when we almost lost you."
Abbey's voice, cutting through the anesthetic fog. You have to focus, Jed.
There's something I have to tell you. Josh was shot, honey, and it's serious.
Yes. He might not make it. He could die.
The stricken, sick look in Leo's eyes. C.J., barely holding it together. Sam's
waxwork pallor on the morning shows. Toby, haunting the hospital corridors,
surrounded by a miasma of self-recrimination.
Donna's wraithlike presence, keeping Death at bay with nothing more than love.
Abbey found her late that night, sobbing her heart out in a closet, and had her
brought to Bartlet's room so they could pray together. Fervent, painful prayers.
Please, God, not Josh, please don't let him die, please, please, it's not right,
it's not right...
Josh shifted, pulling his knees close to his chest and resting his forehead on
his crossed arms. The dog whimpered and nuzzled his elbow.
"I don't mean to bring up painful memories, Josh. Forgive me." He reached out
and put his hand on Josh's head, just as he had in the recovery room. "But just
in case Sam's elected, and just in case he's so busy letting you run the country
that he forgets to tell you - I want to make sure you understand just how much
he loves you. Because I loved Leo that much, and..." His voice gave out, leaving
the pale gray cloud of his breath hanging silently in the air.
There was a creak of leather as Josh got up. He held his hand out to Bartlet,
who grasped it tightly, then with unexpected swiftness Josh leaned over and
embraced him. Grateful, affectionate, still a little dazzled after all these
years and all these experiences. As loving as a son.
Leo, shoving Josh into the tiny Manchester office. This is the son of an old
friend, and he's brilliant. He'll make you the President. Hire the guy, wouldya,
Jed?
"Jed?" It was Abbey, standing a few feet away. Still, always, his beautiful
firebrand. "The debate's going to start in a couple of minutes."
Josh backed away, straightening up, trying to disguise the sentiments playing
out across his mercurial face. "I gotta see this. Aren't you coming?"
He didn't have the heart, not just yet, to remind himself of what was so far in
his past. "In a minute. I'm going to sit and think for a bit."
"Not too long, old man," Abbey said softly. She turned to Josh. "I can't see for
crap out here in the dark - may I?" She put her arm through his, making him
think he was supporting her instead of the other way around. "This good-looking
fellow will see me home, since you're indisposed. But don't be long."
He just needed a minute to send a message up...there. Wherever Leo was, wherever
his indomitable spirit hovered. "He's gonna do just fine, Leo. He's gonna do
just fine."
Not really an answer, the sudden warmth, the surge of strength that let him walk
back to the house at a brisker pace than normal. But it was enough. Oh, yes, it
was enough.
***
October
New York City
***
It wasn't so much being beaten by Sam Seaborn that had made President Schiller
turn mean in the final weeks of the campaign - it was that Sam had beaten him
while being polite, even deferential, and utterly, completely professional.
Suddenly, campaign ads went from simple, homespun messages about hearth and
family to statements from a long-forgotten Princeton roommate saying that Sam
had smoked pot at a party. Sam Seaborn, friend of a prostitute, complete with
the ancient photograph. Sam Seaborn, dating his boss' daughter while working in
the White House.
Petty as the sudden smear campaign was, as much as Sam - and even Nina - found
it amusing, it pissed C.J. off so much that she decided to do something about it
on the air. She knew exactly who to have on as a guest, too.
Because the only person more pissed off than C.J. was Toby.
Half a floor at the Plaza was taken up with the Bartlet and Seaborn entourages,
who had come to town for what Matt called "the floor show." C.J. and Toby were
coming over for a late drink after the interview.
***
C.J. and Toby were going to go to the Plaza after the interview, and, with luck,
they'd get back to her apartment before sunrise.
Ah, the vampire life.
She took her place in the familiar chair - the one she would be leaving behind
if Sam won, although she hadn't bothered to announce the offer to NBC - and
smiled as Toby put on his mike and submitted to the application of another coat
of powder to his head. "You ready?"
"You bet." He would look relaxed to any normal viewer, but C.J. saw the coiled,
serpentine strength beneath the professorial exterior. He pulled his jacket
down, sitting carefully on it so that it wouldn't ride up during the interview,
then waited as C.J. introduced him.
"My guest tonight is the author of 'An Assembly of Words' and 'Dead Right,' and
the co-author, along with former President Jed Bartlet, of 'In This White
House.' It's my pleasure to introduce former White House Communications Director
Toby Ziegler."
"Thank you, C.J. It's a pleasure to be here."
Those were the last polite words out of his mouth.
***
Nina stared, aghast, at the television. "Is he allowed to say that?"
"...despicable acts of a desperate man..."
Josh high-fived Matt.
"...repeated statements indicating, at best, a degree of homophobia previously
left unspoken in the Republican Party..."
Toby was on a roll as only Toby could be. "...educational policies whose
outcomes look sound on paper but in practice will do nothing more than to ensure
a permanent underclass..."
Nina remembered Sam saying something like that a few weeks earlier. She stole a
glance at her husband, who seemed to be enjoying the program with a little more
glee than might be considered seemly. Then again, they were sitting in a room
with the Bartlets, Matt, Gary, Donna, and Josh. Who among them wouldn't be
having a wonderful time watching Toby, master chef, carving up the Schiller
Presidency?
"...an attempt to overthrow the most basic of Constitutional rights, that of
freedom of religion, the bastion of our nation, the cornerstone of our
democracy, the reason my father's father and the Founding Fathers all made the
heartwrenching decision to leave their homes and seek out this new and better
land..."
C.J. wasn't saying anything, really, just asking a couple of brief questions and
letting Toby run with his ideas. Nina recognized the strategy now, even though
she was still vaguely uncomfortable with it. But, dammit, Schiller had gone on
television and called her husband a panderer and a traitor. It had taken every
ounce of her considerable will to smile during interviews and say that there
wasn't a person in the world who didn't have a few skeletons in the closet, and
that her husband was surely no exception.
What she really wanted to do was punch Schiller's lights out.
No.
"...these inexcusable, low blows aimed at the greatest heart, the finest mind,
the most loyal and loving man I've ever known must not - shall not - go
unanswered.
What she really wanted to do was...exactly what Toby was doing.
***
They escaped the studio, taking the ashen-faced Andrew with them, ignoring the
ringing phones and the horrified, if secretly amused, expressions of the crew.
Someone shouted something about ratings going through the roof. Someone else
shouted something about Schiller's people demanding retractions, equal air time,
and Toby's head on a platter.
C.J.'s stature, as much as her fame, got them a cab on the busy street, and
minutes later they were in the lobby of the Plaza, explaining to the Secret
Service agents that Andrew had already been vetted and was surely on someone's
list.
"I'm on someone's list, all right," Andrew mumbled, but he wasn't completely
suppressing his grin.
Donna, still the least recognizable face in the party, met them in front of the
elevator and rode up with them. "I haven't seen Josh look like that since
Ritchie tanked in the debate."
C.J. threw her head back and laughed. "How's Sam?"
"Pacing the room, saying he's going to kill Toby with his bare hands."
"Me?" Toby put his hands out in an exaggerated "who, me?" gesture. "All I did
was exercise my right to freedom of speech while it's still a right."
"There's your sound bite," C.J. told him as the agents parted to let them out
into the hallway. She knocked sharply on the door of the Presidential Suite and
Abbey answered.
"Way to go, tiger!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Toby. "We have some
raw meat for you over there in the cage."
Before Toby had a chance to respond, Josh shouted that Schiller was on the news.
"He's in the Mural Room! You have got to see this!"
The President of the United States was turning redder by the instant. "Even
assuming that Mr. Ziegler has the right to make such scurrilous remarks on
television, I'm calling the technique of the so-called 'interview' into
question."
"Why is that, Mr. President?" asked an off-screen reporter.
"Because it's just a way to get free air time for the Democratic campaign."
"I still hate this whole 'I won't say the other guy's name thing,'" Bartlet
commented.
"Well, Mr. President," said another reporter, "we're interviewing you in the
Mural Room of the White House, which could also be construed as gaining free air
time for your campaign."
"The difference is that, in this case, the interviewee and the journalist aren't
husband and wife."
Toby grabbed the remote from Josh's limp fingers and snapped the television off.
"Wow," Sam said, steepling his fingers together. "He's really losing it. That's
way, way out of line."
"Can he just make stuff up like that?" Donna asked, frowning at the blank
screen.
C.J. realized what it must be like to take a punch in the gut. She looked at
Toby, whose expression was a comical mixture of dismay and embarrassment, then
at Bartlet.
"I think you're busted, guys," he said mildly.
The room went suddenly, ominously silent. C.J. closed her eyes, hoping against
hope that the earth would open up and swallow her whole. Or, barring such a
miracle, that Josh would at least close his mouth. She turned slowly and fixed
her gaze on Gary.
"It wasn't me," Gary said as he adjusted his glasses. "C.J., really. It wasn't
me."
"Were you in on this?" Matt demanded.
"I made her a suit, that's all. I didn't say anything to anyone."
"He's telling the truth," Donna said, staring intently at C.J. "I pestered him
for a week to tell me why you needed it, and he just kept saying that it was for
the interview at the farm." She grinned, triumph brightening her eyes. "I was
right! I knew it! You got married that week."
Toby, who had been gnawing his lower lip in silence, nodded.
"It was a lovely little ceremony," Abbey said quickly. "Ainsley Hayes did the
honors--"
"Ainsley Hayes?" chorused Matt and Sam.
"You got married by a Republican?" Josh asked on the heels of their dismayed
question.
"She's a J.P. now. She got married a couple of years ago and had a baby, and she
wanted to slow down a bit. I thought she did very well." Abbey beamed at Toby.
"She tried to get Toby to vow to obey C.J. It almost made up for the wedding
pie."
Donna blinked rapidly. "I...so do not want to know about wedding pie." She
turned a baleful eye on Josh. "And don't you dare ask if it was cherry pie,
either."
He didn't seem to hear her, although Bartlet snickered and even Toby managed a
smile. Instead, he looked down at the floor. "You didn't tell us. It's been
almost a year, and you didn't tell us. We weren't invited."
"I wasn't invited to your wedding, Josh!" C.J. exclaimed, feeling heat rise in
her face. She grimaced. "Sorry, Donna."
Donna shrugged. "No, it's okay. I wasn't invited to his wedding, either."
"Hey!" Josh cried. "Since when did this turn into a round of beating me up over
something that happened a million years ago?"
"Four years ago," Toby said to the ceiling.
"Whatever!"
"It happened after Toby had the heart attack that turned out to be
gastroenteritis," C.J. said, trying to keep her voice down. "I couldn't get
anyone to tell me how he was because I wasn't next of kin. So we got married.
It's no big deal."
"Excuse me?" Toby asked, arching an eyebrow.
"No, no, I didn't mean that..."
"But you live in different cities!" Nina piped up.
"Which is best for everyone involved. Toby and I are happy with the situation -
why aren't you?" She wanted to cry. She would cry, if someone didn't tell her...
"It's all right." Gary. Soft-spoken, reaching out to fold her up in his arms. "I
think everyone in this room understands what it's like to be in an
unconventional romance."
Of all of them, Gary was the easiest target, and he'd borne more than his fair
share of abuse in the press. His word on the subject was inviolate. It was more
than enough to bring the arguments to a halt.
"I'm sorry," Donna said, displacing Gary so she could hug C.J. tightly. "I'm
really happy for you. It was just...a weird way to find out."
"Exactly," Josh agreed, although he still looked more than a little shocked. He,
too, embraced C.J. After Josh came Andrew, Sam and Nina, and Matt, all offering
belated but sincere best wishes.
"I was there, too, you know, sort of off to one side and stuff," Toby
admonished.
Laughing, Nina threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. "You got
the good end of the deal - you expect congratulations, too?"
"Now that the cat's out of the bag, it wouldn't bother me too much," he said,
cutting a glance at Sam.
Sam. C.J.'s heartbeat still quickened every time she allowed herself to believe
that Sam, her Sam, Toby's Sam, would shortly belong to the entire country. She
knew, with intuition born of long, hard days and nights fought by his side, that
Sam would always retain a streak of hero-worship where Toby was concerned. She
adored him for it.
She adored him even more when he took a few long steps across the room and
grabbed Toby in a fierce embrace. She sensed the tension leaving Toby's body -
for all his bluster, he couldn't bear to have Sam angry with him for even ten
minutes - and smiled when Sam whispered his thanks for Toby's breathtaking,
passionate defense.
Toby smiled, fully, with dimples. "It was over the top, what I said tonight. And
Schiller's right - I shouldn't have taken an interview with C.J. I'll apologize
if you want me to."
Sam shook his head. "Don't you dare. Just - make sure the marriage is legal,
okay?"
"It's certainly been consummated," Bartlet said under his breath. Abbey poked
him in the ribs. "Well, it's true. They didn't come out for two days."
"We ran out of pie." Toby quirked an eyebrow at Sam, who barked out a sharp
laugh in response. "Come on, C.J. I think we've provided enough entertainment
for one night."
"Good night, everyone," she said, hoping she would always remember the delight
on the faces of her dearest friends. As she and Toby walked arm in arm toward
her apartment, she was so giddy, so euphoric, that she was practically skipping.
"What?" Toby whispered in her ear.
"I won't be able to call him 'Spanky' anymore," she giggled.
Toby stopped walking and stared at her. "You are a very, very strange woman," he
said, but he had a sweetly amused smile on his face as he said it.
"Seriously! I mean, it never really occurred to me before. I can't exactly call
him "President Spanky! God, Toby, it's so wonderful!"
He tugged at his beard, regarding her with warmth and bewilderment in his eyes.
Then he leaned forward, put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her for five
minutes, right there on the steps of F.A.O. Schwartz, while a crowd watched and
applauded.
***
Part Five
September
Manchester
***
One night. It was going to come down to one night.
Matt had already debated the manly, bland replacement for departing
Vice-President Atkinson. Assistant Treasury Secretary Christopher Dickinson
might as well have come from Central Casting - taller than Matt, broader through
the shoulders, an athlete, a father who was soon to become a grandfather.
Dickinson had managed to mention his wife and children in answers to questions
about everything from health care to farm subsidy bills. Josh had to be sent out
of the auditorium because he kept laughing.
Analysis of the Vice-Presidential debate was so polarized along partisan lines
that it meant nothing, changed nothing. Conservative Republicans made
thinly-veiled homophobic "family values" remarks and talked about a
Constitutional amendment to allow government sponsorship of religion. Democrats
feared that third-party candidate Jeffrey Sawyer could cause Sam to lose the
election unless many people who'd never voted took a sudden interest in
politics. Get rid of Sawyer before the Presidential debate, the D.N.C. told the
Seaborn for America staff - and by staff, they meant Josh.
"Put me in, coach," Josh told Sam, and, despite some raised eyebrows, he was
allowed to play hardball.
Josh began by sparking a massive "Get Out the Vote" campaign. C.J.'s
entertainment connections proved to be a godsend, and everything from college
rallies to free concerts provided ample opportunity for young voters to try
their hand at "overthrowing" the government. The same young people who had been
attracted to Jeffrey Sawyer's message of self-preservation met with "the best
and the brightest," and, appropriately, began to see the light. Strike one.
He arranged "The Attack of the Killer Ex-Wives" in the form of Andrea Wyatt, now
Governor of New Jersey and an outspoken advocate of women's rights, and Amy
Gardner, who was scheduled to speak at the United Nations during her visit to
the States. Everywhere Jeffrey Sawyer spoke, Amy or Andrea was there, insisting
that his position that U.S. neutrality toward the brutalization of women was
simply "respect for cultural integrity" was nothing more than dangerous
misogyny. Strike two.
Josh then fired a fastball at the heart of the International Party itself,
courtesy of information that came to him by way of a citizens' advocacy group in
North Carolina. The group, led by an up-and-coming public defender by the name
of Charlie Young, discovered that an overseas corporation run by a distant
relative of May Heckart Schiller had sent up a Zurich bank account for Jeffrey
Sawyer.
Three strikes for Jeffrey Sawyer. Batter up.
If neutralizing Jeffrey Sawyer had been the playoff game, then tonight's
Presidential debate in Boston was the World Series. Sam's numbers rose after
Sawyer was eliminated, but the polling was still too close for comfort. The
debate was going to weigh heavily. Josh had played less of a role in the
preparation than he wished, but he could hardly complain when Debate Camp was
held at the farm in Manchester and he knew that Sam was getting the best advice
that could be had.
Retired Admiral Percy Fitzwallace. Surgeon General Millicent Griffith, who had
managed to survive four years of Schiller by keeping her head down and her ideas
private, waiting for the next Democratic President. United States ambassadors to
foreign nations. Cabinet members, state officials, D.N.C. chairs. And, of
course, for economic advice Sam could turn to no one else but Jed Bartlet.
Despite the headache he got from the combination of brandy fumes and math, Josh
enjoyed sitting in the study while Bartlet held court on capitalism, the current
economic state in America, and global economic patterns. He loved watching
Bartlet make a point that Sam suddenly understood, the way both men's eyes lit
up. He loved when Bartlet tried to bait Toby with a complicated question that
Toby would easily answer. He even loved when Bartlet turned to him and said,
"You don't understand three words of this, do you, Josh?"
The little digs didn't matter. He was doing this thing that he loved, and he was
with the people he admired most in the world, and he knew in his heart that Sam
was going to mop the floor with President Schiller in the debate.
Because of his bad behavior at Matt's debate, Josh was banned from the drive to
Boston, Senior Political Director or no. Sam took only Nina, Matt, and an
intern. "I'll feel better knowing that you're watching somewhere...else," he'd
said as Josh stood next to the car with his hands on his hips, scowling.
So it was coming down to this one night, and Boston seemed very far away.
Josh stood with his arms folded atop the fence, watching two border collies make
a perimeter check around the sheep pen. He wasn't a fan of sheep, or of being
outside on a chilly autumn evening, but he couldn't stay in the house for one
more minute. All the "Bartlet girls" were there with their husbands - Zoey had
carried on her mother's tradition of finding a charming, brilliant divinity
student and wooing him away from the Church - and C.J. was staying at the
carriage house with Toby.
It hurt to be around all the happy people, so Josh was glad when the sheer
number of visitors meant that he was housed with the Secret Service agents in
the "bunker." He looked over in that direction, hunching his shoulders as a gust
of wind tickled him.
***
Bartlet watched Josh shiver in the night wind. "Abbey said to bring you this,"
he said as he walked carefully up the gravel path. He handed Josh a well-worn
leather jacket. "I think you had this on my first campaign."
"I think I did." Josh smiled as Bartlet helped him put the coat on. "This is a
little surreal," he commented.
Bartlet patted him on the shoulder. "You'll be doing this for Sam, soon enough,
if you're not already."
"Sam actually doesn't like for me to touch his clothes. He says I exude
wrinkles." Josh blinked as he looked from Bartlet's face to the night sky. "I
should be there."
"Believe it or not, Josh, I said I thought you should go. But I got overruled."
Bartlet smiled, leaning a little on the cane he used for balance. "Are you lost
in thought, or may I join you?" He didn't wait for an answer, but sat down
carefully on a tree stump while Josh leaned back against the fence. "I'm sorry
that Donna couldn't be here. But someone has to mind the store, and she's the
only one of you that's not going mad over the debate." It was true. Donna had
beenthe calm center of the storm, so sure that Sam was going to emerge
victorious that she had scoffed at the need for a Debate Camp.
Josh set his jaw and nodded. Months of campaign stops where Donna was on one
side of the country with Matt and Josh was on the other with Sam had reduced
their communication to e-mails and phone calls made in airport lobbies and
highway rest stops. Bartlet knew that Josh's 49th birthday had come and gone,
spent sulking at the motel coffee shop in Bay Minette, Alabama.
"You've probably been getting a lot of advice about Donna," he said, noticing
that Josh's posture slumped at the mention of her name. "So I won't go there
tonight. What I do want to talk to you is the job you're about to have, and
it'll take a while. Do you mind?"
"We'll miss the debate," Josh said.
Bartlet waved his hand. "Nah, they'll come get us. Besides, I'd rather torture
you than watch Sam kick Schiller's ass. That's so easy, it's not even a
contest."
"Okay," Josh said, tipping his head back.
There were a dozen expressions competing for room on Josh's face. His mouth was
turned down, and his eyes were dark and sad. "What are you thinking, right now?"
Bartlet asked.
"Lots of things," Josh said, shrugging. "All the stuff that could trip us up in
the end, trying to predict what's next and dealing with it before it happens.
Keeping it off of Sam's plate so he can concentrate on the important issues."
"Those are all good things. Leo did those for me, and I never knew about them
until they were over - just as Sam won't really understand everything you've
done for him until he's a private citizen again. I just wish I'd had more time,
after the administration ended, to show Leo how much I appreciated him."
"He knew." It was a whisper, a blessing.
Bartlet nodded as he blinked the bitter tears back. Now wasn't the time for
mourning Leo. "Sam's going to be the busiest man in the world, and it's likely
that he won't have the chance to demonstrate his appreciation until his term's
done. But we were talking a couple of days ago, and I asked him to do me a
favor."
"A favor?" Josh asked, looking utterly confused.
"You see, I've been troubled ever since Leo died - there was a debt that I
couldn't repay, because he was gone so quickly. So I asked Sam if he'd mind if I
kept an eye on you, the way Leo would have done, and it turns out Sam was
already thinking about that, about finding ways to lessen the burden."
"It's not a burden," Josh protested. "It's a privilege. I don't just believe in
the message - I believe in the man. And anything I can do to help him govern is
a mitzvah. A duty that's also a joy."
That earned him a smile. "You are so like him, Josh. As many times as I've
wanted to drop-kick your smirking face into another zip code, I've always
marveled at your spirit. You've never let tragedy stop you, just as he never let
it stop him, and instead of wallowing in grief or self-pity you each turned
your situations around and used them to help the whole of humankind. And neither
of you gave yourselves enough credit for doing it."
With just the light from the starlit sky, Bartlet could still see color rising
on Josh's face. Couldn't take a compliment. Just like Leo.
One of the collies trotted over, looking from one man to the other in hopes of
getting some attention. Josh sat cross-legged on the ground and scratched behind
the dog's ears. He seemed glad to focus on something else, to avoid Bartlet's
gaze. "Does Sam...do you...think I'm going to lose it under stress, the way I
did in 2000? Is that why you're worried about this 'burden?'"
"Josh, no." Horrified, Bartlet put his hand over his heart. "You've come so far
since then. That's not what we mean at all."
Josh let the dog lick his face a few times, then leaned against the fence with
his legs outstretched, the collie settling down beside him with his head on
Josh's thigh. "Okay," Josh said quietly, his hand coming to rest on the dog's
head.
"We just want to spare you as much heartache as possible. God knows you've seen
enough." He had to stop, bowing his head for a moment. How he loved this man,
this troubled, troublesome man. "And we don't want anything to happen to you
again, Josh. It hurt too much when we almost lost you."
Abbey's voice, cutting through the anesthetic fog. You have to focus, Jed.
There's something I have to tell you. Josh was shot, honey, and it's serious.
Yes. He might not make it. He could die.
The stricken, sick look in Leo's eyes. C.J., barely holding it together. Sam's
waxwork pallor on the morning shows. Toby, haunting the hospital corridors,
surrounded by a miasma of self-recrimination.
Donna's wraithlike presence, keeping Death at bay with nothing more than love.
Abbey found her late that night, sobbing her heart out in a closet, and had her
brought to Bartlet's room so they could pray together. Fervent, painful prayers.
Please, God, not Josh, please don't let him die, please, please, it's not right,
it's not right...
Josh shifted, pulling his knees close to his chest and resting his forehead on
his crossed arms. The dog whimpered and nuzzled his elbow.
"I don't mean to bring up painful memories, Josh. Forgive me." He reached out
and put his hand on Josh's head, just as he had in the recovery room. "But just
in case Sam's elected, and just in case he's so busy letting you run the country
that he forgets to tell you - I want to make sure you understand just how much
he loves you. Because I loved Leo that much, and..." His voice gave out, leaving
the pale gray cloud of his breath hanging silently in the air.
There was a creak of leather as Josh got up. He held his hand out to Bartlet,
who grasped it tightly, then with unexpected swiftness Josh leaned over and
embraced him. Grateful, affectionate, still a little dazzled after all these
years and all these experiences. As loving as a son.
Leo, shoving Josh into the tiny Manchester office. This is the son of an old
friend, and he's brilliant. He'll make you the President. Hire the guy, wouldya,
Jed?
"Jed?" It was Abbey, standing a few feet away. Still, always, his beautiful
firebrand. "The debate's going to start in a couple of minutes."
Josh backed away, straightening up, trying to disguise the sentiments playing
out across his mercurial face. "I gotta see this. Aren't you coming?"
He didn't have the heart, not just yet, to remind himself of what was so far in
his past. "In a minute. I'm going to sit and think for a bit."
"Not too long, old man," Abbey said softly. She turned to Josh. "I can't see for
crap out here in the dark - may I?" She put her arm through his, making him
think he was supporting her instead of the other way around. "This good-looking
fellow will see me home, since you're indisposed. But don't be long."
He just needed a minute to send a message up...there. Wherever Leo was, wherever
his indomitable spirit hovered. "He's gonna do just fine, Leo. He's gonna do
just fine."
Not really an answer, the sudden warmth, the surge of strength that let him walk
back to the house at a brisker pace than normal. But it was enough. Oh, yes, it
was enough.
***
October
New York City
***
It wasn't so much being beaten by Sam Seaborn that had made President Schiller
turn mean in the final weeks of the campaign - it was that Sam had beaten him
while being polite, even deferential, and utterly, completely professional.
Suddenly, campaign ads went from simple, homespun messages about hearth and
family to statements from a long-forgotten Princeton roommate saying that Sam
had smoked pot at a party. Sam Seaborn, friend of a prostitute, complete with
the ancient photograph. Sam Seaborn, dating his boss' daughter while working in
the White House.
Petty as the sudden smear campaign was, as much as Sam - and even Nina - found
it amusing, it pissed C.J. off so much that she decided to do something about it
on the air. She knew exactly who to have on as a guest, too.
Because the only person more pissed off than C.J. was Toby.
Half a floor at the Plaza was taken up with the Bartlet and Seaborn entourages,
who had come to town for what Matt called "the floor show." C.J. and Toby were
coming over for a late drink after the interview.
***
C.J. and Toby were going to go to the Plaza after the interview, and, with luck,
they'd get back to her apartment before sunrise.
Ah, the vampire life.
She took her place in the familiar chair - the one she would be leaving behind
if Sam won, although she hadn't bothered to announce the offer to NBC - and
smiled as Toby put on his mike and submitted to the application of another coat
of powder to his head. "You ready?"
"You bet." He would look relaxed to any normal viewer, but C.J. saw the coiled,
serpentine strength beneath the professorial exterior. He pulled his jacket
down, sitting carefully on it so that it wouldn't ride up during the interview,
then waited as C.J. introduced him.
"My guest tonight is the author of 'An Assembly of Words' and 'Dead Right,' and
the co-author, along with former President Jed Bartlet, of 'In This White
House.' It's my pleasure to introduce former White House Communications Director
Toby Ziegler."
"Thank you, C.J. It's a pleasure to be here."
Those were the last polite words out of his mouth.
***
Nina stared, aghast, at the television. "Is he allowed to say that?"
"...despicable acts of a desperate man..."
Josh high-fived Matt.
"...repeated statements indicating, at best, a degree of homophobia previously
left unspoken in the Republican Party..."
Toby was on a roll as only Toby could be. "...educational policies whose
outcomes look sound on paper but in practice will do nothing more than to ensure
a permanent underclass..."
Nina remembered Sam saying something like that a few weeks earlier. She stole a
glance at her husband, who seemed to be enjoying the program with a little more
glee than might be considered seemly. Then again, they were sitting in a room
with the Bartlets, Matt, Gary, Donna, and Josh. Who among them wouldn't be
having a wonderful time watching Toby, master chef, carving up the Schiller
Presidency?
"...an attempt to overthrow the most basic of Constitutional rights, that of
freedom of religion, the bastion of our nation, the cornerstone of our
democracy, the reason my father's father and the Founding Fathers all made the
heartwrenching decision to leave their homes and seek out this new and better
land..."
C.J. wasn't saying anything, really, just asking a couple of brief questions and
letting Toby run with his ideas. Nina recognized the strategy now, even though
she was still vaguely uncomfortable with it. But, dammit, Schiller had gone on
television and called her husband a panderer and a traitor. It had taken every
ounce of her considerable will to smile during interviews and say that there
wasn't a person in the world who didn't have a few skeletons in the closet, and
that her husband was surely no exception.
What she really wanted to do was punch Schiller's lights out.
No.
"...these inexcusable, low blows aimed at the greatest heart, the finest mind,
the most loyal and loving man I've ever known must not - shall not - go
unanswered.
What she really wanted to do was...exactly what Toby was doing.
***
They escaped the studio, taking the ashen-faced Andrew with them, ignoring the
ringing phones and the horrified, if secretly amused, expressions of the crew.
Someone shouted something about ratings going through the roof. Someone else
shouted something about Schiller's people demanding retractions, equal air time,
and Toby's head on a platter.
C.J.'s stature, as much as her fame, got them a cab on the busy street, and
minutes later they were in the lobby of the Plaza, explaining to the Secret
Service agents that Andrew had already been vetted and was surely on someone's
list.
"I'm on someone's list, all right," Andrew mumbled, but he wasn't completely
suppressing his grin.
Donna, still the least recognizable face in the party, met them in front of the
elevator and rode up with them. "I haven't seen Josh look like that since
Ritchie tanked in the debate."
C.J. threw her head back and laughed. "How's Sam?"
"Pacing the room, saying he's going to kill Toby with his bare hands."
"Me?" Toby put his hands out in an exaggerated "who, me?" gesture. "All I did
was exercise my right to freedom of speech while it's still a right."
"There's your sound bite," C.J. told him as the agents parted to let them out
into the hallway. She knocked sharply on the door of the Presidential Suite and
Abbey answered.
"Way to go, tiger!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Toby. "We have some
raw meat for you over there in the cage."
Before Toby had a chance to respond, Josh shouted that Schiller was on the news.
"He's in the Mural Room! You have got to see this!"
The President of the United States was turning redder by the instant. "Even
assuming that Mr. Ziegler has the right to make such scurrilous remarks on
television, I'm calling the technique of the so-called 'interview' into
question."
"Why is that, Mr. President?" asked an off-screen reporter.
"Because it's just a way to get free air time for the Democratic campaign."
"I still hate this whole 'I won't say the other guy's name thing,'" Bartlet
commented.
"Well, Mr. President," said another reporter, "we're interviewing you in the
Mural Room of the White House, which could also be construed as gaining free air
time for your campaign."
"The difference is that, in this case, the interviewee and the journalist aren't
husband and wife."
Toby grabbed the remote from Josh's limp fingers and snapped the television off.
"Wow," Sam said, steepling his fingers together. "He's really losing it. That's
way, way out of line."
"Can he just make stuff up like that?" Donna asked, frowning at the blank
screen.
C.J. realized what it must be like to take a punch in the gut. She looked at
Toby, whose expression was a comical mixture of dismay and embarrassment, then
at Bartlet.
"I think you're busted, guys," he said mildly.
The room went suddenly, ominously silent. C.J. closed her eyes, hoping against
hope that the earth would open up and swallow her whole. Or, barring such a
miracle, that Josh would at least close his mouth. She turned slowly and fixed
her gaze on Gary.
"It wasn't me," Gary said as he adjusted his glasses. "C.J., really. It wasn't
me."
"Were you in on this?" Matt demanded.
"I made her a suit, that's all. I didn't say anything to anyone."
"He's telling the truth," Donna said, staring intently at C.J. "I pestered him
for a week to tell me why you needed it, and he just kept saying that it was for
the interview at the farm." She grinned, triumph brightening her eyes. "I was
right! I knew it! You got married that week."
Toby, who had been gnawing his lower lip in silence, nodded.
"It was a lovely little ceremony," Abbey said quickly. "Ainsley Hayes did the
honors--"
"Ainsley Hayes?" chorused Matt and Sam.
"You got married by a Republican?" Josh asked on the heels of their dismayed
question.
"She's a J.P. now. She got married a couple of years ago and had a baby, and she
wanted to slow down a bit. I thought she did very well." Abbey beamed at Toby.
"She tried to get Toby to vow to obey C.J. It almost made up for the wedding
pie."
Donna blinked rapidly. "I...so do not want to know about wedding pie." She
turned a baleful eye on Josh. "And don't you dare ask if it was cherry pie,
either."
He didn't seem to hear her, although Bartlet snickered and even Toby managed a
smile. Instead, he looked down at the floor. "You didn't tell us. It's been
almost a year, and you didn't tell us. We weren't invited."
"I wasn't invited to your wedding, Josh!" C.J. exclaimed, feeling heat rise in
her face. She grimaced. "Sorry, Donna."
Donna shrugged. "No, it's okay. I wasn't invited to his wedding, either."
"Hey!" Josh cried. "Since when did this turn into a round of beating me up over
something that happened a million years ago?"
"Four years ago," Toby said to the ceiling.
"Whatever!"
"It happened after Toby had the heart attack that turned out to be
gastroenteritis," C.J. said, trying to keep her voice down. "I couldn't get
anyone to tell me how he was because I wasn't next of kin. So we got married.
It's no big deal."
"Excuse me?" Toby asked, arching an eyebrow.
"No, no, I didn't mean that..."
"But you live in different cities!" Nina piped up.
"Which is best for everyone involved. Toby and I are happy with the situation -
why aren't you?" She wanted to cry. She would cry, if someone didn't tell her...
"It's all right." Gary. Soft-spoken, reaching out to fold her up in his arms. "I
think everyone in this room understands what it's like to be in an
unconventional romance."
Of all of them, Gary was the easiest target, and he'd borne more than his fair
share of abuse in the press. His word on the subject was inviolate. It was more
than enough to bring the arguments to a halt.
"I'm sorry," Donna said, displacing Gary so she could hug C.J. tightly. "I'm
really happy for you. It was just...a weird way to find out."
"Exactly," Josh agreed, although he still looked more than a little shocked. He,
too, embraced C.J. After Josh came Andrew, Sam and Nina, and Matt, all offering
belated but sincere best wishes.
"I was there, too, you know, sort of off to one side and stuff," Toby
admonished.
Laughing, Nina threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. "You got
the good end of the deal - you expect congratulations, too?"
"Now that the cat's out of the bag, it wouldn't bother me too much," he said,
cutting a glance at Sam.
Sam. C.J.'s heartbeat still quickened every time she allowed herself to believe
that Sam, her Sam, Toby's Sam, would shortly belong to the entire country. She
knew, with intuition born of long, hard days and nights fought by his side, that
Sam would always retain a streak of hero-worship where Toby was concerned. She
adored him for it.
She adored him even more when he took a few long steps across the room and
grabbed Toby in a fierce embrace. She sensed the tension leaving Toby's body -
for all his bluster, he couldn't bear to have Sam angry with him for even ten
minutes - and smiled when Sam whispered his thanks for Toby's breathtaking,
passionate defense.
Toby smiled, fully, with dimples. "It was over the top, what I said tonight. And
Schiller's right - I shouldn't have taken an interview with C.J. I'll apologize
if you want me to."
Sam shook his head. "Don't you dare. Just - make sure the marriage is legal,
okay?"
"It's certainly been consummated," Bartlet said under his breath. Abbey poked
him in the ribs. "Well, it's true. They didn't come out for two days."
"We ran out of pie." Toby quirked an eyebrow at Sam, who barked out a sharp
laugh in response. "Come on, C.J. I think we've provided enough entertainment
for one night."
"Good night, everyone," she said, hoping she would always remember the delight
on the faces of her dearest friends. As she and Toby walked arm in arm toward
her apartment, she was so giddy, so euphoric, that she was practically skipping.
"What?" Toby whispered in her ear.
"I won't be able to call him 'Spanky' anymore," she giggled.
Toby stopped walking and stared at her. "You are a very, very strange woman," he
said, but he had a sweetly amused smile on his face as he said it.
"Seriously! I mean, it never really occurred to me before. I can't exactly call
him "President Spanky! God, Toby, it's so wonderful!"
He tugged at his beard, regarding her with warmth and bewilderment in his eyes.
Then he leaned forward, put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her for five
minutes, right there on the steps of F.A.O. Schwartz, while a crowd watched and
applauded.
***
Part Five