August 2003
(six weeks earlier)
"What I'm saying is that there's a limited amount of time for us to get this off
the ground, and that I need to see my remarks before I make them. I'm finicky
that way." Bartlet, seated behind his desk in the Oval Office, grimaced at Leo
over the rim of his coffee cup.
"They're doing the best they can, Mr. President, and you and I both know that's
significant." Leo tipped the cream pitcher just enough to put a splash of ivory
into his dark coffee, then walked from the cart back to the desk. "Toby's hands
are a little full lately, so he handed it over to Will. And Will's never done
anything like this, so he's taking his time, doing some research, that sort of
thing."
Bartlet smirked. "He wrote a significant portion of my Inaugural - you're
telling me he's stymied over two pages to be read at a high school SADD event?"
"Go figure."
Debbie knocked on the frame of the open door. "Mr. President, Mr. McGarry, Will
is here to see you. And he's probably heard everything you just said."
"And he'd better have a notebook," Bartlet groused as he stood up. "Ah, good, I
see you have a few things written out for me."
"It's still rather rough, Mr. President," Will said, glancing nervously from the
President to Leo. "I wanted to make it concise yet compassionate. I'm just not
sure I actually went there."
Bartlet put on his glasses and began to read. Will, standing on tiptoe as if
that would let him read along, kept talking. "I didn't know how much of the
history to put in there - I've made some calls, trying to find out what the
other speakers are doing in that regard."
"The other speakers, and the audience, for that matter, can just hear the story
again," Leo commented. "Part of the beauty of writing for the President is that
everyone else gets to suck it up for fifteen minutes."
Will checked to ensure he wasn't about to interrupt the President before he
spoke. "I don't disagree with you about that beauty, Leo, but won't we lose the
audience's attention somewhat if they're hearing the third iteration of the same
information?"
"I don't know about the audience," Bartlet put in, "but you're losing me because
I can read or I can listen, but I cannot give both the attention they deserve.
One moment, please." Without looking down he pulled a pencil off his desk and
made some marks on the paper. "Yeah, this part needs to be a lot stronger. I
want to leave an impression, Will, something about my words rather than, you
know, 'Hey, it's the President and he's a lot shorter than he looks on TV.'" He
handed the notebook back to Will with a nod. "You're headed in the right
direction. Just get us there with a little more passion, a little more
direction, okay?"
"Yes, sir." Will held the notebook to his chest as he left the Oval Office. He
greeted Charlie and Debbie as he passed them, then started reading as he walked
toward Toby's office. The President wanted stronger language. Loftier phrases.
Something more visceral.
He managed not to collide with anyone or anything. Will's ability to maneuver
the corridors without actually looking where he was going had improved
dramatically in the last few weeks. In his first few months on the Senior Staff
he'd sent so many people sprawling in his wake that he'd been given the
sobriquet "Hurricane Will."
Now his navigational skills had improved vastly, but he was still uncertain
about his place in the minds of his co-workers. While they no longer looked up
in dread when they saw him coming - also, there hadn't been any olives in his
pockets for some time - Will couldn't really get a read on how they felt about
him. Losing Sam to the California branch of the D.N.C. had been wrenching,
particularly to Toby and Josh, and while his own welcome had been sincere Will
was still troubled at being called upon to replace such a beloved figure.
"How'd it go?" Toby asked, looking up from his ever-present legal pad.
"He has some suggestions," Will answered. He was finally comfortable enough in
Toby's presence to sit down without being invited. "He wants the language to be
more substantial. Tougher on the law, more emotional on the subject."
Toby tapped his pen on the yellow paper, the purpose of the rhythm known only to
him. "That's understandable, given the circumstances."
"The circumstances being...?"
"Zoey's coming with him."
Will could not believe how calmly Toby had uttered those words. "Zoey's coming
with him," he parroted. Toby nodded, the twitch of his eyelids indicating that
he was about to become irritated. Will went ahead anyway. "She's coming to watch
him give a speech to high school students about the dangers of combining alcohol
and automobiles?"
"Assuming that you ever write the speech, yes."
"But Zoey just came back from Manchester yesterday," Will protested.
The threat of irritation began to evolve into the real thing. "This, I already
know. She's here, the First Lady is there," Toby muttered, gesturing in opposite
directions, "and speculations abound. Which, to you and me, would be a warning
sign to keep her close, to protect her, but it has been decided that she is to
take an active role in political causes that interest her, and that she will do
it with her father."
"Be that as it may, she's been through a horrific experience," Will countered.
"She's understandably nervous, her mother is so furious that she can't even
stand to be around Leo, much less the President, and the President himself is so
high-strung that Joshua Bell couldn't play on him, so maybe parading her around
isn't the world's greatest idea."
"It's her idea."
"So was going to that party with Jean-Claude." With anyone else, Will would have
overstepped a boundary with those words. But Toby wasn't anyone else - he was a
writer, and within their writers' sanctum any words were fair game.
"Jean-Paul," Toby corrected, ignoring the faux pas. "Nonetheless, it has been
decided."
Knowing that further argument would just be a delaying tactic on his part, Will
capitulated. "You're the only person I know who talks in declarative capital
letters, Toby."
"Shut up." Toby rubbed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
"Listen, for what it's worth, I think you have a valid point. I think that
because I made that very point to the President not two days ago."
Will opened his mouth to say something, but the ferocity behind Toby's eyes made
him close it and wait.
"Aren't you going to ask me what he said in response?" Toby asked, picking up
the pen again and twirling it between his fingers.
"Am I supposed to?"
"Will. Don't let trepidation interfere with your intellectual curiosity. If it
does, then you will no longer interest me. You do not want to be here if that
happens." He flicked a smile at Will for just an instant. "I told him pretty
much everything you just said to me - only, of course, I said it better."
Another flicker of a smile. "He told me that he understands and shares my
concerns, but that there's no time like the present to prevent the loss of even
a single life. Zoey's always been a supporter of SADD and MADD, and he's
relieved that she wants to take a public stand so soon after..." For all his
words, Toby still couldn't seem to find any that he could bear to utter about
the abduction. "He said that everyone on the staff is a game day player and
there's no reason to think that he'd expect less of himself. Or his daughter."
He hadn't known the President for very long, but Will could hear the very
cadence of Bartlet's voice speaking those words. "Okay. I'll work on it."
"Good." Toby went back to scribbling on his paper, so Will went into his own
office, sat behind the desk he still felt he'd usurped, and tried to envelop his
ideas in the President's voice.
***
"Josh?"
He looked away from his computer. "What's up, Donna?"
"Was that supposed to be your Bugs Bunny imitation?"
He cocked his head. "Honest to God, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You sounded like Bugs Bunny just now."
"Then why did you ask if I was supposed to be imitating...Donna, what the hell
are we talking about?"
"I wasn't, I was just...never mind." She took a deep breath and started over.
"Zoey would like to say hi."
"She's in the West Wing?"
"No, Josh, she's in Latvia and just wants to show off her Russian."
"Latvian." Josh swiveled his chair so he was facing her. "They have their own
language."
Donna rolled her eyes. "Be that as it may, she wants to say hi, so can she say
hi or should I tell her that you're too busy with linguistics to spare her a
thought?"
"I'm not really...yeah, sure." Donna stepped into the hall and made a "come in"
gesture. Zoey entered with Charlie and three Secret Service agents in tow. Josh
stood up and approached Zoey cautiously, his arms not quite outstretched. "Hey,
Zoey."
"Hey, Josh." She shrugged. "No more sling. It's okay if you want to hug me. The
Secret Service won't attack you."
"I'm more worried about Charlie," he replied, folding her up gently in his arms
for a moment before stepping away again. "It's good to see you. Is your mom--"
Charlie shook his head warningly at him. "Never mind. I'm glad you're back. And
Donna's glad you're back too, right?"
"I am." She patted Zoey's arm but looked meaningfully at Josh, trying to remind
him to do something other than look at his shoes. "Is there anything in
particular you need us to do for you?" she asked when Josh didn't respond.
"Nope," Zoey said too quickly, her eyes downcast. "Just came in to say hi.
So...hi."
She slipped past them, and the Secret Service agents and Charlie immediately
surrounded her. Donna waited until they were out of earshot before she poked
Josh in the arm. "Nice job. She probably felt about as welcome as the plague."
"I hugged her!" Josh exclaimed. "What was I supposed to do, with half of
Treasury and Charlie standing there, staring at me?"
"I don't know," Donna admitted after a moment. "But I'm going to find out. And
you're supposed to call Steve Cheng ASAP."
"Right." Josh sat back down at his desk and reached for the phone.
Donna felt off-balance, unsure of what to do next, but instinct told her to talk
to Charlie so she went in search of the group that had just left. "Hey, Charlie,
can I ask you something? About the deficit?"
It was weak, and Zoey would probably have picked up on it right away if she had
been paying attention. She appeared so distracted that she hardly seemed to
notice when Charlie excused himself from her and went with Donna into the
corridor. "The deficit?"
"I choked. Listen, Zoey never comes to Josh's office just to say hi."
"They've known each other since the campaign. Sure she does."
"She doesn't. She doesn't come by three times before getting the courage to ask
to see him, just to say hi."
"She does," he insisted.
"No, Charlie. She doesn't."
His posture sagged. "I know that," he sighed. "It was a stab in the dark."
Her fears confirmed, Donna pulled Charlie into the Roosevelt Room - miraculously
unoccupied at this hour of the day - and put her hand on his arm. "What's going
on?"
"She hasn't really said, so this is just conjecture--"
"Doesn't matter," Donna said, shaking her head for emphasis. "Your conjecture is
better than anyone else's. Why is Zoey hanging around Josh's office?"
Charlie, looking straight ahead, spoke softly, and Donna could hear the fear
beneath the surface of his calm words. "She's seeing a doctor. A couple of
doctors, actually. Medical and, you know, psychological. She's was with her
mother in full doctor mode, for a while, and now she's around her father all the
time. She's seen family, and she's seen specialists. I think she needs to see a
normal person."
"Yet she went to see Josh." When Charlie glared at her, she put up a defensive
hand. "Just a joke."
"A bad one."
"I see that, now." She spent a few moments considering his words. They made
sense - of course Zoey would want to be around someone who didn't think of her
as fragile.
Now, if she could just make Josh stop thinking of Zoey as fragile.
"So you think it'd help if she talked to Josh?"
Charlie gave her a brief nod. "At the very least, let her see that there's life
after near-death. Do you think you could get him to talk to her? About it?"
"He doesn't talk about it. At least not to me."
"Never?"
They'd had intense conversations, when Josh was in the hospital and when he
first came home, but those had become rarer and rarer until he had yelled at the
President, and by then it was too late for her to talk to him. "He used to. For
a while. Now, I think that most days he doesn't even remember."
"Doesn't remember, or pushes it aside?"
"Either. Both." Her pulse quickened and her mouth was desert-dry. "You think
that's what Zoey is doing?"
"That would seem likely - I mean, how else do you explain her wanting to go with
the President to the SADD event?"
"She's a public figure wanting to show support for a cause she believes in?"
Donna wanted that to be true, but she knew it probably wasn't. Not if Charlie
looked at her so pleadingly.
"Donna, I'm not sure what to do for her. She won't let me in. But she might with
Josh. So - will you try?"
"Absolutely. I promise. I'll get back to you as soon as I have an answer." She
started to leave, but Charlie's voice made her pause.
"Make sure the answer is yes."
Donna didn't reply, but she walked back to her desk much faster than usual. The
light on the phone indicated that Josh was still conversing. She shuffled some
papers, keeping an eye on the phone until the light finally went off.
Josh was already staring at the doorway when Donna came up. "Hey," he said
softly. "Is she okay?"
"I didn't talk to her. I talked to Charlie. And he thinks she should talk to
you."
"To me?" He pointed at himself with both hands. Whether he knew or not that he
was pointing to his chest, Donna couldn't guess. "Why?"
"Come on," she groaned.
"I mean, I know why, but - why?"
"Because you're the only person she knows that's been through something
traumatic and come out the other side relatively okay."
"Her dad was shot--"
"It's not the same thing," Donna said, her voice rising along with her blood
pressure. She closed the door and leaned against it. "He's not a normal man. And
even if he were, he's her father, and daughters always have different responses
to fathers."
"She's got a team of world-class psychiatrists at her beck and call," Josh
protested.
"None of whom had something unthinkable happen to them because of her father,"
Donna replied, emphasizing the word 'because' more than she had intended.
Josh grimaced. He shook his head, but his right hand was over his heart as if to
protect it from bullets. Or words. "You and I both know that at the best of
moments I'm inarticulate. At the worst of them, I'm an idiot." He glanced down,
seeming to notice his hand with surprise, and brought it down on the desk. His
fingers tapped on the surface. "I can't," he whispered. He closed his eyes for a
moment, breathing slowly, and when he looked at Donna again there was so much
anxiety on his face that she wanted to cry.
"You think you'd screw it up?" she asked gently, and Josh nodded in silence.
"Would it help if I said I don't think you'd screw it up?"
"No." He must have seen her crestfallen look, because he lowered his head,
sighed, then gazed up at her again. "Yes. But I still can't. Not now, anyway."
"Okay," Donna replied, her voice still soft even though her heart was pounding.
She hated this thing about herself, whatever it was that gave her so much
compassion that she could feel this badly about two people at the same time. She
forced down the lump in her throat and blinked rapidly to keep her tears at bay.
Josh had said "not now," which meant that she'd just have to try again later.
She just hoped it wouldn't be too much later, because her instincts were warning
her that Zoey might not have that kind of time.
***
"Am I interrupting?" CJ asked as she watched Will hit his delete key with far
too much enthusiasm.
"Please. Interrupt all you want to," Will said, snapping his laptop closed. He
indicated the vacant seat at his table in the Mess, and CJ sat down.
"How's the speech coming?"
"Have you heard about molasses in January?" CJ nodded, smiling. "Molasses in
January would get a citation for speeding, compared to this speech."
So earnest. So self-deprecating that she wanted to slap him. "I'd be glad to
take a look if you think that might--"
"God, no. The last thing I need is witnesses."
"What's the first thing you need?"
"A beer," Will replied tartly.
"You have one sitting right in front of you. You haven't opened it."
Will eyed the bottle. "I forgot."
"A lot of things happen in this building - great decisions, far-reaching social
programs, meetings with kings and prime ministers and five-star generals. One of
the things that does not happen in this building, Will, is forgetting to drink."
She got up, picked up two glasses from a sideboard, and returned to the table.
Will popped the cap and poured, tilting the glasses to minimize the foam. "Thank
you," CJ said as she accepted her glass. "Now. About the speech."
"I just can't get a handle on it, on the idea of Zoey being there. It's almost
too personal."
"We're good at carrying on in the face of personal tragedy," CJ said before
taking another sip of beer. "The President's seen it, back when he and Josh were
shot, and it means a lot to him that he and Zoey put their money where their
mouths are, so to speak." She reached out and patted the back of his hand. "I
want to tell you a story," she said. "Maybe it'd help you understand."
*** April 1999 Manchester
As tinny as it sounded over the speakerphone, Josh's voice managed to convey
both weariness and obstinacy at the same time. "I still think we need to get
Hoynes out of the way once and for all. I don't like the numbers in Texas."
"None of us likes the numbers in Texas," Toby answered. "But that's his state.
Going there and trying to drum up support makes us look weak."
"Not going there makes us look like we're writing them off."
"We are writing them off!" Toby exclaimed.
"But you don't want to have it look like that," CJ said, breaking into the
conversation.
"It's called a codicil - like a postscript. It's part of the will."
CJ looked at Toby, then at Sam and Leo. "Uh, Josh..."
"Sorry, I was answering a question. My mom."
She'd forgotten why Josh wasn't with them, why he was in Connecticut instead of
Massachusetts. "We should get off the phone," she said, guilt burning the back
of her throat as she spoke.
"No, no, I can do this."
He'd buried his father the day before and was arguing politics while discussing
his father's will. Holy crap. There was focus, and then there was focus. She
wasn't crazy about Josh, thought he was over the edge most of the time, but
still she reproached herself about dragging him into this conversation.
"Anyway," Leo cut in, "We've got this guy - Sam, what's the guy's name?"
"Al Kiefer."
"Right. Al Kiefer. He's putting together a poll for us."
"We can't decide whether or not to run in Texas based on a poll, Leo. We have to
keep the momentum going."
"I'm not saying we have do or die by the poll, Josh, but it's not a bad idea to
get one going."
"Pension payouts are taxable, life insurance isn't."
Toby began to look annoyed. This was not his usual blandly irritated expression,
but genuine annoyance. "Josh, stay with us or, you know, not. But don't try to
do two things at once."
In the brief moment of silence that followed, CJ had to fight the urge to kick
Toby for being such an ass.
"I'm sorry," Josh said, sounding so contrite that CJ gave in to her impluse and
let her foot connect with Toby's ankle. "Look, what does the Governor say?"
"He says, 'Ask Josh,'" Sam said. "So we're asking."
"I think it's a crappy idea. Do you need me to come in for the poll? I can do
it, I can be there in a couple--"
"We have it covered. Sam has it all under control," CJ assured him. Sam looked
at her, his eyes cold behind his glasses. "What?"
"I was going to - listen, Josh, I can't come in Thursday after all. That's when
the poll starts and they need me here."
"You were going out to Connecticut?" CJ asked, hating herself. Toby kicked her,
gently, on the ankle.
"He was going to help out with the legal stuff," Josh said, his voice thickening
with each word. "I mean, I can do it, that's fine."
"I'm sorry," Sam murmured. "Don't do anything you don't absolutely have to, and
bring the rest of it back with you."
"Nah, it's okay," Josh replied. Oh, God, he was crying, could the others tell he
was crying? CJ cut a glance at Leo, whose head was hanging low, and Sam, who was
blushing and looking as if he, too, might begin to cry. Toby's lips were pressed
together in a thin line.
"Josh," CJ said gently. "We can do without Sam. I'll handle it."
"No. You need...you have other things to do, and...Sam needs...to take care of
the polls." Josh's words were muffled, and CJ could almost see him running his
hand over his mouth so they wouldn't hear what came between the words. "I'll be
back on Sunday. I'm coming straight into Manchester. Get Donna to help you and
keep an eye on wire stuff about Hoynes."
"Okay," Leo said. "Josh, give my love to your mom."
"I did that already, Leo," he answered, sounding almost like normal, "but I'll
do it again. Night, guys."
"Good night, Josh," CJ and Sam chorused. Leo pushed a button and ended the call.
"Leo," Toby began in a low voice, "We need all of our wits about us right now."
"We've got plenty of wits," Leo replied, his tone almost too neutral to be
believed. "We're fine."
"You're not going to like this, but...I think we may need a new Political
Director."
CJ and Sam voiced immediate displeasure, tripping over each other's words until
Leo silenced them with a wave of the hand. "You think Josh can't handle it?" he
asked Toby.
"I'm not saying Josh isn't a great director. Because he is. But he's not himself
- for good reason," he added, looking squarely at CJ. "And we don't know when we
get him back."
"Sunday," Sam said firmly. "He said he'll be back on Sunday."
"He'll be back here," Toby went on, gesturing around the room before pointing to
Bartlet's face on a poster. "But will he be here?"
"He will be here," Leo replied. The neutrality had been replaced by testiness.
CJ didn't know Leo well, but she'd heard that tone enough that she knew she
needed to be quiet and listen. "Josh is a game day player. And game day players
have their heads in the event."
Toby dropped his arms, letting his hands fall at his sides. "I've buried a
parent and had to go back to work. So has CJ, and I bet you have, too, Leo. But
were the jobs we were doing...were they at this level?"
"At this or any level," Leo said, pointing at Toby with a steady finger, "Josh
is the guy. Period. End of discussion." He turned away from them and walked out
of the main office.
***
"Josh came back on Sunday and did a phenomenal job of getting strategy sewn up
for us. Toby apologized. Then Josh told me that he hadn't cried until that
conference call."
Will had not said a word the entire time. He was still looking at her, his brow
slightly furrowed and an expression of empathy in his dark eyes. Like Josh, like
Toby, like CJ, he'd buried a parent.
CJ continued. "He didn't cry when Donna told him, or when he was packing, or on
the plane. He didn't cry when his mother met him at the airport. He didn't even
cry when they lowered his father's coffin into the ground and he dropped his
handful of dirt on it. But he cried when Sam said he couldn't come out to help
with the legal paperwork. Not because that was what made him sad, but because he
needed something mundane to let him...vent."
She hoped Will understood. He was so smart about so many things, yet so clueless
about the underbelly of politics. She waited, eyebrows raised, as Will let the
words sink in.
"Zoey needs to vent. Through her father's words." He looked so relieved that CJ
couldn't help grinning at him. "I'm sorry it took me this long to get it."
"Think it'll help?" CJ asked, but Will had already opened the laptop and begun
to type furiously. As she left the Mess, she took out her cell phone and dialed
Toby's office. "You know how to pick the good ones," she said as she started up
the stairs.
***
Part 2
(six weeks earlier)
"What I'm saying is that there's a limited amount of time for us to get this off
the ground, and that I need to see my remarks before I make them. I'm finicky
that way." Bartlet, seated behind his desk in the Oval Office, grimaced at Leo
over the rim of his coffee cup.
"They're doing the best they can, Mr. President, and you and I both know that's
significant." Leo tipped the cream pitcher just enough to put a splash of ivory
into his dark coffee, then walked from the cart back to the desk. "Toby's hands
are a little full lately, so he handed it over to Will. And Will's never done
anything like this, so he's taking his time, doing some research, that sort of
thing."
Bartlet smirked. "He wrote a significant portion of my Inaugural - you're
telling me he's stymied over two pages to be read at a high school SADD event?"
"Go figure."
Debbie knocked on the frame of the open door. "Mr. President, Mr. McGarry, Will
is here to see you. And he's probably heard everything you just said."
"And he'd better have a notebook," Bartlet groused as he stood up. "Ah, good, I
see you have a few things written out for me."
"It's still rather rough, Mr. President," Will said, glancing nervously from the
President to Leo. "I wanted to make it concise yet compassionate. I'm just not
sure I actually went there."
Bartlet put on his glasses and began to read. Will, standing on tiptoe as if
that would let him read along, kept talking. "I didn't know how much of the
history to put in there - I've made some calls, trying to find out what the
other speakers are doing in that regard."
"The other speakers, and the audience, for that matter, can just hear the story
again," Leo commented. "Part of the beauty of writing for the President is that
everyone else gets to suck it up for fifteen minutes."
Will checked to ensure he wasn't about to interrupt the President before he
spoke. "I don't disagree with you about that beauty, Leo, but won't we lose the
audience's attention somewhat if they're hearing the third iteration of the same
information?"
"I don't know about the audience," Bartlet put in, "but you're losing me because
I can read or I can listen, but I cannot give both the attention they deserve.
One moment, please." Without looking down he pulled a pencil off his desk and
made some marks on the paper. "Yeah, this part needs to be a lot stronger. I
want to leave an impression, Will, something about my words rather than, you
know, 'Hey, it's the President and he's a lot shorter than he looks on TV.'" He
handed the notebook back to Will with a nod. "You're headed in the right
direction. Just get us there with a little more passion, a little more
direction, okay?"
"Yes, sir." Will held the notebook to his chest as he left the Oval Office. He
greeted Charlie and Debbie as he passed them, then started reading as he walked
toward Toby's office. The President wanted stronger language. Loftier phrases.
Something more visceral.
He managed not to collide with anyone or anything. Will's ability to maneuver
the corridors without actually looking where he was going had improved
dramatically in the last few weeks. In his first few months on the Senior Staff
he'd sent so many people sprawling in his wake that he'd been given the
sobriquet "Hurricane Will."
Now his navigational skills had improved vastly, but he was still uncertain
about his place in the minds of his co-workers. While they no longer looked up
in dread when they saw him coming - also, there hadn't been any olives in his
pockets for some time - Will couldn't really get a read on how they felt about
him. Losing Sam to the California branch of the D.N.C. had been wrenching,
particularly to Toby and Josh, and while his own welcome had been sincere Will
was still troubled at being called upon to replace such a beloved figure.
"How'd it go?" Toby asked, looking up from his ever-present legal pad.
"He has some suggestions," Will answered. He was finally comfortable enough in
Toby's presence to sit down without being invited. "He wants the language to be
more substantial. Tougher on the law, more emotional on the subject."
Toby tapped his pen on the yellow paper, the purpose of the rhythm known only to
him. "That's understandable, given the circumstances."
"The circumstances being...?"
"Zoey's coming with him."
Will could not believe how calmly Toby had uttered those words. "Zoey's coming
with him," he parroted. Toby nodded, the twitch of his eyelids indicating that
he was about to become irritated. Will went ahead anyway. "She's coming to watch
him give a speech to high school students about the dangers of combining alcohol
and automobiles?"
"Assuming that you ever write the speech, yes."
"But Zoey just came back from Manchester yesterday," Will protested.
The threat of irritation began to evolve into the real thing. "This, I already
know. She's here, the First Lady is there," Toby muttered, gesturing in opposite
directions, "and speculations abound. Which, to you and me, would be a warning
sign to keep her close, to protect her, but it has been decided that she is to
take an active role in political causes that interest her, and that she will do
it with her father."
"Be that as it may, she's been through a horrific experience," Will countered.
"She's understandably nervous, her mother is so furious that she can't even
stand to be around Leo, much less the President, and the President himself is so
high-strung that Joshua Bell couldn't play on him, so maybe parading her around
isn't the world's greatest idea."
"It's her idea."
"So was going to that party with Jean-Claude." With anyone else, Will would have
overstepped a boundary with those words. But Toby wasn't anyone else - he was a
writer, and within their writers' sanctum any words were fair game.
"Jean-Paul," Toby corrected, ignoring the faux pas. "Nonetheless, it has been
decided."
Knowing that further argument would just be a delaying tactic on his part, Will
capitulated. "You're the only person I know who talks in declarative capital
letters, Toby."
"Shut up." Toby rubbed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
"Listen, for what it's worth, I think you have a valid point. I think that
because I made that very point to the President not two days ago."
Will opened his mouth to say something, but the ferocity behind Toby's eyes made
him close it and wait.
"Aren't you going to ask me what he said in response?" Toby asked, picking up
the pen again and twirling it between his fingers.
"Am I supposed to?"
"Will. Don't let trepidation interfere with your intellectual curiosity. If it
does, then you will no longer interest me. You do not want to be here if that
happens." He flicked a smile at Will for just an instant. "I told him pretty
much everything you just said to me - only, of course, I said it better."
Another flicker of a smile. "He told me that he understands and shares my
concerns, but that there's no time like the present to prevent the loss of even
a single life. Zoey's always been a supporter of SADD and MADD, and he's
relieved that she wants to take a public stand so soon after..." For all his
words, Toby still couldn't seem to find any that he could bear to utter about
the abduction. "He said that everyone on the staff is a game day player and
there's no reason to think that he'd expect less of himself. Or his daughter."
He hadn't known the President for very long, but Will could hear the very
cadence of Bartlet's voice speaking those words. "Okay. I'll work on it."
"Good." Toby went back to scribbling on his paper, so Will went into his own
office, sat behind the desk he still felt he'd usurped, and tried to envelop his
ideas in the President's voice.
***
"Josh?"
He looked away from his computer. "What's up, Donna?"
"Was that supposed to be your Bugs Bunny imitation?"
He cocked his head. "Honest to God, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You sounded like Bugs Bunny just now."
"Then why did you ask if I was supposed to be imitating...Donna, what the hell
are we talking about?"
"I wasn't, I was just...never mind." She took a deep breath and started over.
"Zoey would like to say hi."
"She's in the West Wing?"
"No, Josh, she's in Latvia and just wants to show off her Russian."
"Latvian." Josh swiveled his chair so he was facing her. "They have their own
language."
Donna rolled her eyes. "Be that as it may, she wants to say hi, so can she say
hi or should I tell her that you're too busy with linguistics to spare her a
thought?"
"I'm not really...yeah, sure." Donna stepped into the hall and made a "come in"
gesture. Zoey entered with Charlie and three Secret Service agents in tow. Josh
stood up and approached Zoey cautiously, his arms not quite outstretched. "Hey,
Zoey."
"Hey, Josh." She shrugged. "No more sling. It's okay if you want to hug me. The
Secret Service won't attack you."
"I'm more worried about Charlie," he replied, folding her up gently in his arms
for a moment before stepping away again. "It's good to see you. Is your mom--"
Charlie shook his head warningly at him. "Never mind. I'm glad you're back. And
Donna's glad you're back too, right?"
"I am." She patted Zoey's arm but looked meaningfully at Josh, trying to remind
him to do something other than look at his shoes. "Is there anything in
particular you need us to do for you?" she asked when Josh didn't respond.
"Nope," Zoey said too quickly, her eyes downcast. "Just came in to say hi.
So...hi."
She slipped past them, and the Secret Service agents and Charlie immediately
surrounded her. Donna waited until they were out of earshot before she poked
Josh in the arm. "Nice job. She probably felt about as welcome as the plague."
"I hugged her!" Josh exclaimed. "What was I supposed to do, with half of
Treasury and Charlie standing there, staring at me?"
"I don't know," Donna admitted after a moment. "But I'm going to find out. And
you're supposed to call Steve Cheng ASAP."
"Right." Josh sat back down at his desk and reached for the phone.
Donna felt off-balance, unsure of what to do next, but instinct told her to talk
to Charlie so she went in search of the group that had just left. "Hey, Charlie,
can I ask you something? About the deficit?"
It was weak, and Zoey would probably have picked up on it right away if she had
been paying attention. She appeared so distracted that she hardly seemed to
notice when Charlie excused himself from her and went with Donna into the
corridor. "The deficit?"
"I choked. Listen, Zoey never comes to Josh's office just to say hi."
"They've known each other since the campaign. Sure she does."
"She doesn't. She doesn't come by three times before getting the courage to ask
to see him, just to say hi."
"She does," he insisted.
"No, Charlie. She doesn't."
His posture sagged. "I know that," he sighed. "It was a stab in the dark."
Her fears confirmed, Donna pulled Charlie into the Roosevelt Room - miraculously
unoccupied at this hour of the day - and put her hand on his arm. "What's going
on?"
"She hasn't really said, so this is just conjecture--"
"Doesn't matter," Donna said, shaking her head for emphasis. "Your conjecture is
better than anyone else's. Why is Zoey hanging around Josh's office?"
Charlie, looking straight ahead, spoke softly, and Donna could hear the fear
beneath the surface of his calm words. "She's seeing a doctor. A couple of
doctors, actually. Medical and, you know, psychological. She's was with her
mother in full doctor mode, for a while, and now she's around her father all the
time. She's seen family, and she's seen specialists. I think she needs to see a
normal person."
"Yet she went to see Josh." When Charlie glared at her, she put up a defensive
hand. "Just a joke."
"A bad one."
"I see that, now." She spent a few moments considering his words. They made
sense - of course Zoey would want to be around someone who didn't think of her
as fragile.
Now, if she could just make Josh stop thinking of Zoey as fragile.
"So you think it'd help if she talked to Josh?"
Charlie gave her a brief nod. "At the very least, let her see that there's life
after near-death. Do you think you could get him to talk to her? About it?"
"He doesn't talk about it. At least not to me."
"Never?"
They'd had intense conversations, when Josh was in the hospital and when he
first came home, but those had become rarer and rarer until he had yelled at the
President, and by then it was too late for her to talk to him. "He used to. For
a while. Now, I think that most days he doesn't even remember."
"Doesn't remember, or pushes it aside?"
"Either. Both." Her pulse quickened and her mouth was desert-dry. "You think
that's what Zoey is doing?"
"That would seem likely - I mean, how else do you explain her wanting to go with
the President to the SADD event?"
"She's a public figure wanting to show support for a cause she believes in?"
Donna wanted that to be true, but she knew it probably wasn't. Not if Charlie
looked at her so pleadingly.
"Donna, I'm not sure what to do for her. She won't let me in. But she might with
Josh. So - will you try?"
"Absolutely. I promise. I'll get back to you as soon as I have an answer." She
started to leave, but Charlie's voice made her pause.
"Make sure the answer is yes."
Donna didn't reply, but she walked back to her desk much faster than usual. The
light on the phone indicated that Josh was still conversing. She shuffled some
papers, keeping an eye on the phone until the light finally went off.
Josh was already staring at the doorway when Donna came up. "Hey," he said
softly. "Is she okay?"
"I didn't talk to her. I talked to Charlie. And he thinks she should talk to
you."
"To me?" He pointed at himself with both hands. Whether he knew or not that he
was pointing to his chest, Donna couldn't guess. "Why?"
"Come on," she groaned.
"I mean, I know why, but - why?"
"Because you're the only person she knows that's been through something
traumatic and come out the other side relatively okay."
"Her dad was shot--"
"It's not the same thing," Donna said, her voice rising along with her blood
pressure. She closed the door and leaned against it. "He's not a normal man. And
even if he were, he's her father, and daughters always have different responses
to fathers."
"She's got a team of world-class psychiatrists at her beck and call," Josh
protested.
"None of whom had something unthinkable happen to them because of her father,"
Donna replied, emphasizing the word 'because' more than she had intended.
Josh grimaced. He shook his head, but his right hand was over his heart as if to
protect it from bullets. Or words. "You and I both know that at the best of
moments I'm inarticulate. At the worst of them, I'm an idiot." He glanced down,
seeming to notice his hand with surprise, and brought it down on the desk. His
fingers tapped on the surface. "I can't," he whispered. He closed his eyes for a
moment, breathing slowly, and when he looked at Donna again there was so much
anxiety on his face that she wanted to cry.
"You think you'd screw it up?" she asked gently, and Josh nodded in silence.
"Would it help if I said I don't think you'd screw it up?"
"No." He must have seen her crestfallen look, because he lowered his head,
sighed, then gazed up at her again. "Yes. But I still can't. Not now, anyway."
"Okay," Donna replied, her voice still soft even though her heart was pounding.
She hated this thing about herself, whatever it was that gave her so much
compassion that she could feel this badly about two people at the same time. She
forced down the lump in her throat and blinked rapidly to keep her tears at bay.
Josh had said "not now," which meant that she'd just have to try again later.
She just hoped it wouldn't be too much later, because her instincts were warning
her that Zoey might not have that kind of time.
***
"Am I interrupting?" CJ asked as she watched Will hit his delete key with far
too much enthusiasm.
"Please. Interrupt all you want to," Will said, snapping his laptop closed. He
indicated the vacant seat at his table in the Mess, and CJ sat down.
"How's the speech coming?"
"Have you heard about molasses in January?" CJ nodded, smiling. "Molasses in
January would get a citation for speeding, compared to this speech."
So earnest. So self-deprecating that she wanted to slap him. "I'd be glad to
take a look if you think that might--"
"God, no. The last thing I need is witnesses."
"What's the first thing you need?"
"A beer," Will replied tartly.
"You have one sitting right in front of you. You haven't opened it."
Will eyed the bottle. "I forgot."
"A lot of things happen in this building - great decisions, far-reaching social
programs, meetings with kings and prime ministers and five-star generals. One of
the things that does not happen in this building, Will, is forgetting to drink."
She got up, picked up two glasses from a sideboard, and returned to the table.
Will popped the cap and poured, tilting the glasses to minimize the foam. "Thank
you," CJ said as she accepted her glass. "Now. About the speech."
"I just can't get a handle on it, on the idea of Zoey being there. It's almost
too personal."
"We're good at carrying on in the face of personal tragedy," CJ said before
taking another sip of beer. "The President's seen it, back when he and Josh were
shot, and it means a lot to him that he and Zoey put their money where their
mouths are, so to speak." She reached out and patted the back of his hand. "I
want to tell you a story," she said. "Maybe it'd help you understand."
*** April 1999 Manchester
As tinny as it sounded over the speakerphone, Josh's voice managed to convey
both weariness and obstinacy at the same time. "I still think we need to get
Hoynes out of the way once and for all. I don't like the numbers in Texas."
"None of us likes the numbers in Texas," Toby answered. "But that's his state.
Going there and trying to drum up support makes us look weak."
"Not going there makes us look like we're writing them off."
"We are writing them off!" Toby exclaimed.
"But you don't want to have it look like that," CJ said, breaking into the
conversation.
"It's called a codicil - like a postscript. It's part of the will."
CJ looked at Toby, then at Sam and Leo. "Uh, Josh..."
"Sorry, I was answering a question. My mom."
She'd forgotten why Josh wasn't with them, why he was in Connecticut instead of
Massachusetts. "We should get off the phone," she said, guilt burning the back
of her throat as she spoke.
"No, no, I can do this."
He'd buried his father the day before and was arguing politics while discussing
his father's will. Holy crap. There was focus, and then there was focus. She
wasn't crazy about Josh, thought he was over the edge most of the time, but
still she reproached herself about dragging him into this conversation.
"Anyway," Leo cut in, "We've got this guy - Sam, what's the guy's name?"
"Al Kiefer."
"Right. Al Kiefer. He's putting together a poll for us."
"We can't decide whether or not to run in Texas based on a poll, Leo. We have to
keep the momentum going."
"I'm not saying we have do or die by the poll, Josh, but it's not a bad idea to
get one going."
"Pension payouts are taxable, life insurance isn't."
Toby began to look annoyed. This was not his usual blandly irritated expression,
but genuine annoyance. "Josh, stay with us or, you know, not. But don't try to
do two things at once."
In the brief moment of silence that followed, CJ had to fight the urge to kick
Toby for being such an ass.
"I'm sorry," Josh said, sounding so contrite that CJ gave in to her impluse and
let her foot connect with Toby's ankle. "Look, what does the Governor say?"
"He says, 'Ask Josh,'" Sam said. "So we're asking."
"I think it's a crappy idea. Do you need me to come in for the poll? I can do
it, I can be there in a couple--"
"We have it covered. Sam has it all under control," CJ assured him. Sam looked
at her, his eyes cold behind his glasses. "What?"
"I was going to - listen, Josh, I can't come in Thursday after all. That's when
the poll starts and they need me here."
"You were going out to Connecticut?" CJ asked, hating herself. Toby kicked her,
gently, on the ankle.
"He was going to help out with the legal stuff," Josh said, his voice thickening
with each word. "I mean, I can do it, that's fine."
"I'm sorry," Sam murmured. "Don't do anything you don't absolutely have to, and
bring the rest of it back with you."
"Nah, it's okay," Josh replied. Oh, God, he was crying, could the others tell he
was crying? CJ cut a glance at Leo, whose head was hanging low, and Sam, who was
blushing and looking as if he, too, might begin to cry. Toby's lips were pressed
together in a thin line.
"Josh," CJ said gently. "We can do without Sam. I'll handle it."
"No. You need...you have other things to do, and...Sam needs...to take care of
the polls." Josh's words were muffled, and CJ could almost see him running his
hand over his mouth so they wouldn't hear what came between the words. "I'll be
back on Sunday. I'm coming straight into Manchester. Get Donna to help you and
keep an eye on wire stuff about Hoynes."
"Okay," Leo said. "Josh, give my love to your mom."
"I did that already, Leo," he answered, sounding almost like normal, "but I'll
do it again. Night, guys."
"Good night, Josh," CJ and Sam chorused. Leo pushed a button and ended the call.
"Leo," Toby began in a low voice, "We need all of our wits about us right now."
"We've got plenty of wits," Leo replied, his tone almost too neutral to be
believed. "We're fine."
"You're not going to like this, but...I think we may need a new Political
Director."
CJ and Sam voiced immediate displeasure, tripping over each other's words until
Leo silenced them with a wave of the hand. "You think Josh can't handle it?" he
asked Toby.
"I'm not saying Josh isn't a great director. Because he is. But he's not himself
- for good reason," he added, looking squarely at CJ. "And we don't know when we
get him back."
"Sunday," Sam said firmly. "He said he'll be back on Sunday."
"He'll be back here," Toby went on, gesturing around the room before pointing to
Bartlet's face on a poster. "But will he be here?"
"He will be here," Leo replied. The neutrality had been replaced by testiness.
CJ didn't know Leo well, but she'd heard that tone enough that she knew she
needed to be quiet and listen. "Josh is a game day player. And game day players
have their heads in the event."
Toby dropped his arms, letting his hands fall at his sides. "I've buried a
parent and had to go back to work. So has CJ, and I bet you have, too, Leo. But
were the jobs we were doing...were they at this level?"
"At this or any level," Leo said, pointing at Toby with a steady finger, "Josh
is the guy. Period. End of discussion." He turned away from them and walked out
of the main office.
***
"Josh came back on Sunday and did a phenomenal job of getting strategy sewn up
for us. Toby apologized. Then Josh told me that he hadn't cried until that
conference call."
Will had not said a word the entire time. He was still looking at her, his brow
slightly furrowed and an expression of empathy in his dark eyes. Like Josh, like
Toby, like CJ, he'd buried a parent.
CJ continued. "He didn't cry when Donna told him, or when he was packing, or on
the plane. He didn't cry when his mother met him at the airport. He didn't even
cry when they lowered his father's coffin into the ground and he dropped his
handful of dirt on it. But he cried when Sam said he couldn't come out to help
with the legal paperwork. Not because that was what made him sad, but because he
needed something mundane to let him...vent."
She hoped Will understood. He was so smart about so many things, yet so clueless
about the underbelly of politics. She waited, eyebrows raised, as Will let the
words sink in.
"Zoey needs to vent. Through her father's words." He looked so relieved that CJ
couldn't help grinning at him. "I'm sorry it took me this long to get it."
"Think it'll help?" CJ asked, but Will had already opened the laptop and begun
to type furiously. As she left the Mess, she took out her cell phone and dialed
Toby's office. "You know how to pick the good ones," she said as she started up
the stairs.
***
Part 2