III
Josh frowned as his assistant set down the phone as he came in.
"Who was that?"
"That was the First Lady."
He froze in the process of taking his coat off. "Oh, God, what did I do?"
"Nothing, she was just checking in with me about something."
"Oh, God, what did you tell her I did?"
She smirked at him. "You're paranoid, Joshua."
"I'm not paranoid! It's just that you're all out to get me."
"We were just talking."
"The First Lady phones you up to just talk?"
"Yes."
"About me?"
Donna gave him a scathing look. "No."
"Then what are you talking about?"
"Shocking as it may seem, Josh, we're able to scratch around for a few other subject areas."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"No."
"My instincts tell me you're plotting some kind of rebellion against me."
"I can see how you would think that. We oppressed peoples have a history of it."
"I do not oppress you!" She just looked at him. He ducked away from her gaze and walked over to hang his jacket up.
"Senior staff in twenty," she reminded him.
"I know." Although he'd actually thought it was half an hour later, but there was really no need to share that.
"And Congresswoman Henderson called to confirm your lunch meeting."
"Yeah," he agreed distractedly, entering his office searching for a file.
Donna followed him in, picked up the file he was looking for, and handed it to him with a frown. "You're having lunch with Vicky Henderson?"
"Yeah... I'd been meaning to set up a meeting with her, and I ran into her at the weekend," he elaborated. Donna didn't have quite a Margaret-like protectiveness over the contents of his appointment book, but she did possess a healthy scepticism about his ability to schedule himself.
"What's the meeting about?" she asked, grabbing her planner to ink it in.
"Marriage."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "You're planning to propose?"
"Gay marriage," he elaborated.
"You're proposing to her brother?"
Josh gave her a look.
"I'm just testing the waters."
The thought of actually moving anywhere on gay marriage and adoption was an unrealistic dream, but he felt compelled to chase it up anyway. It was the next logical step in the president's anti-prejudice initiative, albeit one that was more of a giant leap. If wrenching the military away from their beloved 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' policy was hard, it was nothing on taking on hard-line religious groups over the sanctity of marriage.
Still, the trick was to keep chipping away. Vicky Henderson was just the latest in a long line of Congresspeople he'd been rounding up and sounding out. Not the die-hard liberals who could be relied on to back such a move with entirely too much enthusiasm, but the ones closer to the centre; those who'd never expressed an opinion, or were excessively careful to keep it ambiguous.
He wouldn't get any of them leaping up to announce to the world that gay marriage was their new crusade. But if he applied enough of a constant pressure, and then abruptly stepped back and offered the more easily swallowed suggestion of better legal rights for gay partnerships...
That was how the game was played.
He skimmed through the file Donna had given him, and got ready for senior staff.
Sam was conscious of eyes on him as he walked through the corridors of the West Wing. He wondered if they were trying to figure out what was different about him, or if they'd even noticed anything at all. Maybe it wasn't obvious yet, at least not from a distance.
He passed into the communications bullpen. No Toby to be seen - he was probably already on his way to senior staff, or else talking with CJ. "Hey Bonnie. Hey Ginger."
The two assistants turned to greet him, and then exchanged a glance.
"Hey, Sam," said Ginger, somewhat tentatively.
He frowned down at the pile of folders on the edge of the desk. "Do we have the notes from Friday's conference?"
"Toby's got 'em." Bonnie scurried across into his office, and brought out the file to hand to Sam.
"Thanks." He took the folder from her hands, noticing she was looking at him oddly.
He headed into his office, and after a few moments, Ginger followed him in. She hovered hesitantly in the doorway, and he gave her a questioning look.
"Is something-?"
"Um, Sam, did you-?" She gestured vaguely to her face. "Did you, you know, not get time to shave this morning? Because-"
He smiled, and rubbed his chin. "I know. I'm growing a beard," he explained.
"Oh." She digested that. "Okay..."
Ginger left, pulling the door closed behind her.
A few moments later, there was a burst of poorly-concealed giggling from the bullpen. Sam decided to ignore it.
Not the most auspicious beginning ever, but... these things took time.
The phone rang, and he picked it up fast enough to almost knock it off his desk. "Abbey."
"Hey, babe." She sounded concerned, and he'd probably been too desperate to answer her call, but the promise of hearing her voice had been too much to let him hesitate. "You sound kinda ragged. Did you sleep?"
"I slept." And dreamed. And woke up in the early hours of the morning with something that might or might not have been a panic attack.
But that was just a bad dream, and she didn't need to know every little detail of his bad dreams.
"You should take it easy today, Jed. You're looking tired."
He had to smile at that. "And how would you know that?" he demanded, feeling the tension in his back relax a little as amusement crept into his voice.
"I see everything, sugar." He could picture her smile.
"Of course you do. How could I forget?"
"And now I see that you're smirking."
"Ah, that's just the process of deduction," he refuted.
"And you're wearing your blue tie with the diamond pattern."
He had to flip it up to look at it. "Okay, now you're scaring me."
She laughed, and when he closed his eyes he could picture her perfectly. It made the room seem closer and cosier somehow.
"Spies! You have spies in my White House," he accused.
"I'm just looking out for you from a distance, babe."
"I know."
He knew. And whatever joking complaints he might make about not getting a moment to himself, the knowledge that she cared enough to do it kept him warm.