XV
Leo wandered away from the thick of the crowd to answer his phone. "Josh, where the hell are you?" he demanded irritably.
"Standing outside Rita Wells' office. Uh, getting rained on."
"You were supposed to be at this thing!"
"I know, Leo, but I wanted to strike while the iron was hot."
"What iron?"
There was a brief crackle from the other end of the phone. "She's the leak, Leo. Her secretary confirmed it."
"She up and said so?" he demanded in disbelief.
"He - and not in so many words," Josh corrected. "But... yeah. Didn't bat an eyelid when I said Wells had leaked it for McGann. Let me keep working on him, Leo, he seems like a smart kid. Don't know what he's doing working for a nobody like Wells, but I might be able to convince him it's in his best interest to talk to us."
"And then where do we go?"
"Back to McGann," Josh said shortly. He hesitated. "You want me to show up at this thing?"
Leo sighed. "Nah, you're off the hook." He didn't miss the sigh of relief from the other end. "At least until tomorrow, when CJ kicks your ass for letting Danny Concannon in to the party."
"I figured we could use a little friendly representation in the press section," Josh covered himself, although Leo knew damn well he'd done it purely for the amusement value.
"Yeah, well, you just- Oh, God. Stay on the line," he ordered suddenly.
"What?"
"The president's bearing this way, and he looks like- Yes, he's definitely gonna hug me."
Josh just chuckled. "We all make our sacrifices for the country, Leo," he reminded him. "Be proud to serve at the pleasure of the president." He hung up.
"Leo!" The president seemed to be beaming even wider than usual as he approached.
Leo surrendered to the indignity of being squeezed in front of a ballroom full of people, and mentally vowed to deliberately set CJ on Josh the following morning.
"Okay, it's not too obvious, is it?" Sam fretted anxiously beside him.
"That the president's mildly stoned?"
His boyfriend shot him a dark look. "Okay, you're not helping."
Steve shrugged easily. "Oh, come on, Sam, relax. It's not like he's throwing up or dancing on tables or anything. He's just..." They watched him greet another dinner guest with an over-exuberant level of hand-shaking. "Friendly." He considered for a beat. "Very, very friendly."
"I can't believe nobody's noticed," Sam groaned, momentarily shielding his eyes with a hand.
"So he's a bit... bouncy," he shrugged. "It's a dinner party! Look at these people - they're hammered. Half of them wouldn't notice anything amiss if he formed them into a conga-line and started doing high kicks. I don't think it's the end of the world as we know it."
"It's a political disaster waiting to happen," his boyfriend mumbled despairingly.
Steve smirked, and took a reflective sip of champagne. "I think it's cute."
Sam spluttered. "You think it's-?"
"Cute," he repeated mildly.
"You think the President of the United States, who is also incidentally my boss, the leader of the free world - and did I mention my boss? - is cute?"
"Well, look at him," Steve grinned. "Bounding around the place, with that totally adorable-"
"Okay, I'd like you to stop talking now," Sam butted in urgently. He blinked. "And then, you know, go and discover time travel, so you can have stopped talking half a sentence ago." Steve had to chuckle at the expression on his face.
They continued to watch the president, Sam now looking decidedly flustered. Steve smirked into his champagne glass. It was a toss-up which was more fun; teasing his boyfriend, or watching his country's leader bounce around the room with all the wide-eyed exuberance of an over-eager puppy. He didn't care what Sam might think - it was definitely cute.
Sam made a slightly nervous sound in his throat as the First Lady appeared, making a beeline for the two of them.
"Sam!"
"Ma'am." They both swivelled to face her. Mrs. Bartlet's gaze, however, slid right past them to settle on her husband.
"Oh, dear," she sighed tolerantly, although Steve thought he could detect a distinct flavour of amusement as well. "I can see why you and CJ called me."
"I don't think he had particularly much to drink, ma'am-" Sam hopped in quickly, probably already feeling guilty for calling out reinforcements.
"He knows he shouldn't drink at all when he's on medication," she breezed right past him. "The party's just about wrapping up; let's wrap it faster. We need to get him into bed."
Sam began to splutter once again. She gave him a sharp sideways look.
"You're looking a little red there, Sam, are you okay?"
"We were just having a spirited discussion," Steve put in helpfully.
"Really? What about?"
"I disturbed his sense of protocol by calling the president cute."
By this point, his boyfriend was making distinct choking noises. Mrs. Bartlet paused for a beat, and then smirked.
"The president is cute," she agreed gracefully.
He gestured with his glass. "Well, exactly. It was... descriptive."
The First Lady turned to Sam, and gave him a distinctly tigerish smile. "You don't think he's cute, Sam?"
Sam stuttered helplessly for a moment. "I, I- I need to go and get another drink. A big one." He fled the scene.
Steve paused to take a calm, reflective sip, and exchanged a look with the First Lady. "I think we scared him."
Andy knew what she had to do. And she had to do it now, tonight, before she let the moment slip away and plunged them back into the same old circular routine.
She just wished she didn't have to be so emotional when she did it.
"Toby... this isn't going to work," she said. Looking at the wall, trying to collect the threatening tears even though she knew they wouldn't hold off for long.
It didn't matter that she wasn't looking at him; she could still see his expression in her head. "What isn't?"
"This, Toby!" She wheeled around to face him, frustrated and upset. Her voice cracked despite her best efforts not to let it. "I can't- I just... Toby, I can't do this again."
He got up and came towards her, speaking quietly. "You can. We can." Why did he always have to be like this? Arguing when didn't want to fight, calm and gentle when it would be easier if they could be shouting. Why did he always have to be so... complicated?
Just for once, she would have liked things to be simple. She needed something to be simple.
"We can't, Toby," she refuted, shaking her head. "We always say it's going to be different, we're going to do it different this time, and it never is. It never is, Toby. We just go round in circles."
He smiled slightly behind his beard. "I like our circles," he said, almost plaintively.
"I don't, Toby." She sat down heavily, resting her forehead in her palm. "We go round, and round, and I'm just... so... tired-"
"You're upset," he reminded her, moving towards her, and she almost laughed because it was such a stupid thing to say; did he think she'd forgotten? "This is-" he reached for her awkwardly, never quite sure what to do with an distressed woman. "We both know why you're upset."
Andy just looked at him, nakedly, letting her face say all that lay underneath. "We've been here before, Toby. We've been here... so many times before. And we're just going to end up here again." She wasn't even tearful anymore, just numb, crushed under the leaden weight of exhaustion. She was just so tired of this.
"You don't know that," he said sensibly.
"I do. Because it's not even about... this thing, it's about- it's about us. We're always- here, we always seem to end up here, and I just- I don't want to do this anymore, Toby. We've done this so many times before, and I don't want to do this anymore." The same old cycle as they both retreated into themselves to nurse their grief in private, and then the guilt, and then the stupid, pointless, worthless anger...
Wasn't it better, wasn't it easier, just to be lonely? Better than hurting all the time. Better than building something that could actually make you happy, and seeing it torn down, again and again and again.
He wanted to gather her in his arms, but she wouldn't let him. Andy stood up, pulling away from him.
"I can't, Toby. I just... can't, anymore. I'm sorry." She retreated, wanting to get out, wanting to be away from the temptation to just collapse against him and let herself be swept up into it all over again for the promise of temporary comfort.
"Stay for tonight," he suggested softly. Offering it as a compromise, when she knew there couldn't be any compromise here. Andy shook her head.
"If I don't go tonight, then I won't go at all."
"Then don't," he said simply, dark eyes on her.
She smiled, and wanted to cry. "Toby..."
There was nothing to say. It had all been said before. If there was one thing they were good at, it was talking themselves round in circles.
"I'm sorry," she finished simply. And meant it. Their locked gaze held for a moment, and then she twisted the doorhandle, and stumbled out.
She had to fumble her phone from her purse to dial a cab, and stand outside his home at the roadside while she waited for it to arrive. She knew he was watching her, but he didn't come down.
She was composed for the whole of the cab ride home, but when she got inside, she curled up on her bed and cried.
