XXI

The famous Rita Wells was, as it turned out, a plump, mousy-haired woman who would have faded easily into any crowd without leaving much of an impression on your mind. Josh had the vague inkling he'd met her or seen her at some event or other, but he didn't know if he was confusing her with someone else.

"Congresswoman Wells."

"Mr. Lyman." She greeted him herself when he walked into the office. He didn't suppose a minor-league Congresswoman from the middle of nowhere could procure a replacement staffer quite so fast as they shuttled temps around in the White House.

"I don't think I need to tell you why I'm here," he said, mildly enough. She looked abashed, something he certainly wasn't accustomed to from the higher echelons of political power.

"No."

"You jeopardised the passing of a very important bill for this administration. And, in doing so, you helped perpetuate the cover-up of a very serious matter of blackmail involving two US Senators and the Vice President of the United States."

Wells seemed quietly resigned, disinclined to make herself excuses. "I know."

"However..." he shifted gears, "I realise that you acted out of loyalty. And that's worth something. Loyalty is always worth something." She stayed silent. "Ash quit his job?" he asked after a moment.

"I didn't ask him to. He was doing the right thing. I wasn't. I wouldn't have asked him to quit."

"But he did anyway."

She grimaced. "He felt that he'd betrayed my trust."

"And loyalty is... worth something."

"It is." Wells met his eyes, and smiled faintly. "He was a good secretary. Probably better than I deserved."

"I know that feeling," he agreed wryly. He nodded slowly. "One last question."

She shrugged slightly, as if saying she had nothing more to hide. "Go ahead."

"If I was to go looking for Ashley Bowers right about now... where would I find him?"

Danny left the meeting with CJ and Leo in an indescribable mood. On the one hand, he was still slightly dazed at the information that had just been dumped on him. On the other, there was that journalistic itch, a burning, fizzing sensation just below the skin that hinted at words ready to boil out and fill the page. Words that would be instrumental in deciding the fate of the Vice President of the United States.

Halfway down the corridor, he ran into the president.

"Ah, Danny."

"Mr. President." He doubted this meeting was pure coincidence; the president didn't typically take to wandering the halls aimlessly on a Saturday evening. "How are you feeling?" he asked automatically, journalistic and human impulse for once going hand in hand.

"I'm doing fine, Danny," he said, perhaps equal parts brush-off and truth. His colour had definitely improved since his deathly pallor at the dinner party on Tuesday. " How did you enjoy England?"

"It was great, but it's good to be back," he said sincerely. Travelling the world had been fun, researching and writing his book incredibly satisfying... but it was definitely good to back. Both in the States, and in the press room where he knew in his heart he belonged.

It had been honestly friendly small-talk, not the facile public-relations front many politicians put up, but Jed Bartlet could still jettison it quickly enough when there was a point to be getting down to. "You spoke with Leo?"

"Yes, sir." No point in pretending either of them didn't know what about.

Jed nodded slowly. "We're trusting you on this one, Danny," he said. "We're trusting you to... give the man his due. You'll do that?"

He hesitated for a beat, then said "I'll write the truth as I see it, Mr. President." His promise; nothing more, nothing less. No hatchet job, but no whitewash, either. Just the truth, as he saw it.

The president nodded again, and gave him what seemed to be an approving smile. "Then you do that," he agreed. "Do that."

He walked away, and Danny watched him. Perhaps it was just that it was late in the day, or that he was still a little under the weather, but he didn't seem to have quite the energy to his stride that he had once had. He thought of all the chaos that had gone down in his absence, and the media frenzy over revelations about the president's abusive childhood. He was glad he hadn't had to report on that.

Jed Bartlet was a good man. So was John Hoynes, in his way. Danny had met - and interviewed - enough pure sleaze in his time to know that, adulterer or not, Hoynes wasn't that.

Hoynes would get a fair hearing, and a chance to tell his tale. It was what he was entitled to, and many reporters wouldn't have given it to him. But he would give Hoynes a fair hearing... and then tell the truth, as he saw it.

The communications department had mostly gone quiet, but for the scrape of turning pages, and occasional muttered comments from the group clustered around a single desk in Sam's office.

"Aww."

"Pasta? Toby can cook?"

"I might have known he'd bring the Yankees into it sooner or later."

"Four-hundred and twenty-nine is sweet. Did you read that one?"

"Foot massage? Nobody ever gives me foot-massages."

"Oh, I'm using this one for blackmail. Somebody get me to a copy machine."

Sam wondered again if they should really be reading this, but there was something almost mesmerising about the list of reasons that just drew you in and kept you reading. The power of Toby's writing, of course - but turned to an unusual and unexpected purpose. Almost as if the list were more than a list, a declaration: proof that he could show something so personal the same force of concentration and determination he exercised in his work. That, Sam was sure, was what he'd been offering to Andy, not just a list of bon mots and touching statements.

Persuasive as they were.

"You know, I should stop reading this thing before I agree to marry Toby," he observed. The assistants made good humoured snorts of agreement... but none of them stopped reading.

Flipping to the penultimate page, Sam found the thousand and first reason had been given a whole sheet of paper to itself. In the same unassuming ten-point font as the rest of the list, looking lonely in the upper corner of all that whiteness, it read simply:

1001. Because he loves you.

Nobody said anything for a moment, and Sam was glad, because his throat suddenly felt suspiciously raspy.

They all started guiltily as Toby reentered the bullpen. However, if he minded them reading through his private declaration, he didn't say anything. In fact, he was uncharacteristically silent. They crowded around him, and it fell to Sam to be to the one to speak up.

"Well?" he demanded impatiently. "What did she say?"

Instead of answering, Toby looked over his shoulder, as Andy somewhat shyly followed him in. She looked a little as if she'd been crying, and he wished he had a better eye for distinguishing between the good kind and the bad kind.

She didn't say anything either for what felt like far too long. Then she raised her hand and almost unthinkingly rubbed the gold band that Sam realised he hadn't seen her wearing in a long time. "You have to admit," she said, a little raggedly, "the man knows how to make a good argument."

The bullpen exploded into joyous celebration.

The president offered him a wan smile as he entered the Oval Office. The black-and- white kitten was once again perched on his knee; Leo allowed the little creature to nuzzle his hand for a moment before speaking.

"Well," he said finally. "It's all set in motion now."

"I talked to Danny," Jed admitted. Normally, Leo would chide him for that, but he supposed they were all putting their trust in Danny right now. It made little difference what the president did or didn't do; in the end, it would all come down to Hoynes, and how the American people chose to judge him.

He ran a finger down the back of the kitten's head. A tiny, fragile little container for a life. As delicate and insubstantial as most things worth holding onto were.

"You realise a lot of people are going to be saying we have to force him to resign," he said, after a moment. Jed looked up at him, and smiled softly.

"We didn't get this far by doing what everybody told us to," he reminded him. " We don't do the easy thing. Everybody should have a chance to atone for their mistakes."

Leo shrugged his shoulders very slightly. Some mistakes were worse than others; he knew he was still atoning for his, and would be for the rest of his life. "He's cost himself his shot at the presidency."

"Maybe." Jed had always had more basic faith in things turning themselves out right than he could muster. "Maybe not. He's telling the truth, and that should be worth something."

"Yeah." After a moment, he straightened up. "Okay. I'll come by again before I leave."

"Okay." Jed looked up. "Can you send Charlie in on your way out?" he added, almost as an afterthought. "I've got something to speak to him about."

"Okay," he nodded. He left the Oval Office.