IV
It was hard to tell whether to smirk or frown at the wide-eyed look of fear his young aide gave him as he emerged from the Oval Office. "Hey, Charlie."
"Mr. President," he squeaked, almost excessively formal.
Jed could have played around with him a little... but that seemed too cruel, even for the boy who was marrying his youngest daughter. "How are you doing, Charlie?" he asked. Kindly, although with enough paternal steel in his voice that Charlie might not have been able to tell so.
"I'm fine," he nodded. And kept nodding, beyond the point where on a less anxious day he would have known to stop. "Fine," he repeated, not sounding like he meant it.
Yes, it would definitely be cruel to play around with him right now.
Still...
"You're not having second thoughts about marrying my daughter, I hope?" he demanded sternly.
"No, sir!" Charlie blurted, alarmed, and Jed had to chuckle.
"I know, I know." He squeezed his armed companionably. "Nervous?"
"I think my brain's about to explode and run out of my left ear at any moment," Charlie admittedly candidly.
"Well, just you make sure you keep that side away from the photographers." He smiled, and rested his hands on Charlie's shoulders to look him in the eye. "Son. Turn up at the church, wear your tuxedo, try not to faint. You'll do fine."
"Yes, sir." He didn't look at all convinced.
"Hey, I'm home!" Sam called out as he opened the door.
"Hi, Sam." Steve shuffled out of the next room, and Sam poorly concealed a startled snort of amusement at the sight of what he was wearing. Ignoring this, Steve struck a few catalogue model poses. "So, what do you think?"
Sam took in the ridiculously puffy ski-jacket and matching stupid hat. "Well, the whole 'gay men have fashion sense' myth? Pretty much exploded."
"Hey, it's cold up in New Hampshire." Steve shrugged, although the motion was barely visible under the lines of the coat. "I want to be prepared."
Sam gave him a look. "Steve, it's August. And you look like the Staypuft Marshmallow Man."
Steve grinned playfully. "Sweet enough to eat?"
"Something like that." Sam smiled back, and leaned across to give him a quick kiss. He collapsed into giggles as he practically sank into Steve's coat. "For God's sake, would you take that thing off?" he pleaded.
"Okay." Steve shrugged out of it with such speed that Sam was sure he must have put it on solely for the reaction shot - not even Steve would be crazy enough to try on a ski jacket in midsummer.
"And the hat," he directed.
He pouted. "I like the hat."
"It's geeky."
"But it has charm."
"Much like yourself."
"Indeed." Steve reluctantly peeled it off. "I'm still bringing it with me, though," he warned. "Just in case." He looked around the room full of bags and cases, trying to find some small gap in which to shove it.
Sam shook his head and sighed. "Steve. Have you heard of travelling light?"
"Wasn't that a song by Cliff Richard?"
He picked up the nearest bag and peeked inside to find various snack foods. He rolled his eyes. "Steve, it's the president's daughter's wedding. I'm willing to bet they'll spring for feeding us."
"Ah, but will they have this specific brand of chocolate chip cookies? 'Cause these are the only ones I eat. And you know how I get cranky if-"
Sam silenced him by pulling him into a fond hug. "Steve," he sighed pointedly, when they were eye to eye.
"I like to be prepared," he shrugged defensively.
"You're a regular boy scout, aren't you?" They kissed.
"I'll try and pare it down a little," Steve allowed as they pulled apart, in the tones of one agreeing to part with a kidney.
"Well good. 'Cause I don't really want to get there and hear we had to leave the president behind to make room for your carry-on luggage."
"Ah, he's only little, I'm sure we can fit him in somewhere," he shrugged.
"I'll tell him you said that," Sam said dryly. He slipped out of his suit jacket. "Listen, I'm gonna have to head back to the office for the afternoon, but before I go I'm gonna take you through here, and demonstrate how it's possible to pack for forty-eight hours using exactly fourteen minutes and one medium-sized suitcase."
"Oh, well, that's just not natural," Steve said, trailing after him. Sam paused in the doorway to give him a sudden sharp look.
"You listen to Cliff Richard?"
He shrugged. "I'm gay. I don't have to come up with excuses for these things."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "And the '1950's Crooners Collection'?"
"Those, I'm just holding for a friend."
"I'm sure you are," he accepted dryly. Steve just grinned, and laced his fingers through Sam's. Sam grinned back.
"Need help?"
"No."
"Sure?"
"Positive."
"'Cause-"
"Donna." He glared at her. She shrugged defensively.
"Well, I know you have trouble with that whole 'stringing words together' thing, and so-"
"It's a wedding speech," Josh growled. "It's not rocket science."
"Well, that's a pity. 'Cause if it was rocket science, I could tell you some interesting facts."
"I'll bet you could," he sighed, glaring at the page. Stupid speech. Deceiving him with its aura of easiness. It was supposed to have been done by now. Instead he had the words "We're here today to-" subsequently heavily crossed out. But he wasn't telling Donna that.
Fortunately, she was far too busy dredging up space travel factoids to pay attention to him now. "For instance, an astronaut's heart shrinks when he's in space," she offered.
"Mine's doing it right now," Josh said dryly.
"If you tried to count all the stars in the galaxy at the rate of one a second, it would take you three thousand years."
"Why don't you go give it a try?" he suggested.
Donna dropped easily down from her perch on his desk and smiled smugly. Other people might deny that Donna could be smug; it was an expression she saved up for him when nobody else was looking, like some kind of... sneaky stealth thing.
"Want me to leave?" she asked sweetly.
"Whatever gave you that impression?"
"I'll be outside. Yell when you concede defeat."
He grinned sharply at her, and waited for her to leave. Then looked down at the frustratingly blank sheet of paper. It was only a wedding speech. There would be no conceding of defeat.
Unfortunately, there might not be any celebration of victory anytime soon, either.
"Hi, CJ."
"Sam." She smiled at him, and shook her head slowly. "Is anybody working today?"
He shrugged. "Josh's still working on his speech," he offered.
She groaned loudly. "You couldn't, you know, bludgeon him with a heavy object and take over the writing?"
"Believe me, I've tried."
"Objects not heavy enough?"
"It appears no mere piece of office furniture can conquer the Lyman skull." He twisted around to look over his shoulder as Carol appeared in the doorway.
"CJ? The publisher's on the line."
"Oh, right." She made an apologetic face at Sam and picked up the phone. "Hi, CJ Cregg. Okay. Yeah, so it'll be- Uh-huh. Is that the final date? Okay, thanks. Thank you."
She hung up, and Sam raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Selling your memoirs?" he joked. She smiled distractedly in reply, and scribbled something on the edge of a sheet of paper. Sam hesitated until she looked up at him. "Something I should know about?" he asked softly.
CJ waited for a beat longer than he was comfortable with, and then sighed. "There's a book. It doesn't directly concern the administration, but... it's gonna raise some stuff." She nodded slowly to herself, and then met his eyes. "But it's not for a couple of months, so... Charlie and Zoey are getting married tomorrow. So let's not-"
"Yeah." He nodded his understanding, but paused in the doorway on his way out. "You'll let me know when...?" He hated the pleading edge to his voice, but... there were too many painful secrets in this administration's history to let another one slip by him like a silent shark in the water.
CJ herself was no stranger to being on the wrong side of a highly exclusive loop. She met his gaze levelly. "When you need to know, you'll know."
"Okay."
He left her office, and let the conversation drift gradually to the back of his mind. Secrets and political concerns were for another time. This weekend was for celebration.