TITLE: Break It To Me Gently
DISCLAIMER: I own them like I own Colin Firth—in the sad recesses of my mind. If you want to sue me, I have a large collection of finely-cut diamonds, a fabulous ruby bracelet, an extremely ostentatious sapphire ring, and a teddy bear. No way are you getting the teddy bear. (And the title is from a Juice Newton song.)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I posted this elsewhere a long, long time ago but am posting it here now in the hopes of inspiring myself to continue on other stories of mine.
FEEDBACK: Makes me footloose and fancy-free.
AUTHOR'S THANKS: To Alie, beta-reader and just an extraordinary human being.
SUMMARY: "I'm tired of being the bearer of bad news for her." Post-ep to the dreaded "18th and Potomac," when Mrs. Landingham dies.
Obviously the meeting couldn't go on now. But the senior staff had to be told and that in and of itself took some time. Afterwards, Leo remained in the Oval Office with the president and Abbey, but the look he gave everyone else as they silently left was one of great sympathy—he didn't envy them walking past her desk on their way out.
Each went to return to his or her own office, to attempt to sort out and wade through the sheer density of the feelings from the last few days. Josh came within twenty feet of his office and turned back towards the mess, intending to numb himself with a very severe shot of caffeine. But once there he pushed on the cold water tap and stood hunched over the metal sink, his cupped hands filling to over-flowing.
After about five minutes, he shut the tap and let the excess water filter through his palms. He ran first one damp hand and then the other down his drawn face and then across the back of his neck. He trudged back upstairs to his office and stopped short when he found Toby sitting at Donna's desk and fingering the picture she had of the two of them from Inauguration Night—the one she called "the Miracle Photo" because it was actual proof that Toby could smile. He glanced up from the picture as the dim light threw Josh's shadow across the desk.
"Where did you go?"
"Down to the mess," Josh pointed. "I thought I wanted something to drink, but I changed my mind when I got there."
Toby nodded absently. "You been back to your office yet?" Josh shook his head.
Toby sighed and ran a hand over his ever-rapidly thinning hair. "Open your door."
"But..."
"Open your door, Josh."
Silently, Josh obeyed. Nothing seemed out of place: the desk with its mess of papers; the bookshelf with photos and political tomes; the T.V. set in need of dusting; the blackboard; the couch; the big window with moonlight streaming through, catching the blonde in Donna's hair and playing over it gently.
Wait a minute.
A second, closer look at the couch confirmed it. She had fallen asleep waiting for him to come back from the meeting. He closed the door quietly, not wanting to disturb her, and turned back to Toby.
"Donna's asleep on my couch."
"Yeah."
"That was the big dramatic thing I had to open my door to see?"
Toby looked at him blankly. Only Toby's blank stare were never really blank, just fathomless. For just a fraction of a second Josh's heart stopped.
"Toby, did you tell her about Mrs. Landingham already?"
Toby's expression never shifted. "She ever tell you that I was the one who told her you were shot?" Josh's brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to answer, but Toby held up a hand.
"Then today, I told her about the president." He paused. "I came looking for you just a second ago; I didn't expect her to be here any more than you did." Another pause—this one more contemplative and amused. "Well, maybe you i expect her to be here, but I didn't."
"Toby, I..."
"Josh." Josh shut his mouth. You had to let Toby speak when his voice got world-weary like that.
"And you know, that would have been the perfect time for me to tell her about Mrs. Landingham. I could have just woken her up and told her right then and there. But frankly I don't want her looking at me that way again—like I just grabbed a piece of her heart and crushed it in my hand. I'm tired of being the bearer of bad news for her." He glanced over at the picture again for a minute and Josh was about to speak when Toby stood up and looked at him pointedly.
"There is a very sweet, loyal, caring young woman in your office, Josh. She has fallen asleep on i couch, waiting for i to come back from a late-night meeting so she could make sure i were alright. One way or another she is about to get some news that is going to devastate her. Don't you think you ought to be the one to tell her?"
The glance they exchanged was wordless, but Toby seemed satisfied with what he saw in Josh's eyes and he turned and walked away. Minutes later, the sound of a rubber ball bouncing off a wall reverberated down the hallway.
Josh stood rooted outside his office door. It was late but not very; she must have been exhausted to have fallen asleep so soon after he had left. Surely he could just wait until morning to tell her.
But he looked around the silent, empty bullpen and realized the benefits of letting her know now, when there was time and space for grieving. He opened the door and stepped silently into his office, shutting it behind him. Absurd, since there was no one around, but he felt the importance of doing so anyway.
He walked over to the couch. Her head was turned away from him and he gazed at her hair in the moonlight. In his mind's eye, he saw a young, babbling Wisconsin school girl arguing her way into a job. He saw her face, pale and upset, when she thought he would be fired. He saw her tired eyes by his bedside every day in the hospital; the pure hurt she tried to conceal every time he insulted her; the trust and care she bestowed upon him as she took him to GW at Christmas; the embarrassment and shame as she told him of her boyfriend's behavior when she was in an accident. He tried to imagine how she must have looked when Toby told her about the president's illness. How much stronger could he ask her to be?
He knelt beside her and gently touched her hair. He didn't expect her to react so suddenly to his touch that she awoke immediately. But then if he thought about it, which he didn't, maybe he did expect her to react to him. She rolled over slowly and turned sleepy eyes on him; eyes that struggled to clear and focus when she saw who he was.
"How did it go?" she asked quietly. "Is he going to run again?"
He slid his hand down the length of the couch and reached for her hand and realized something. He didn't have to ask her to be stronger; she could lean on him of as long as she needed.
She squeezed his hand encouragingly in response to his silence, and he smiled sadly at her sleepy face.
"Donnatella, there's something I have to tell you..."
DISCLAIMER: I own them like I own Colin Firth—in the sad recesses of my mind. If you want to sue me, I have a large collection of finely-cut diamonds, a fabulous ruby bracelet, an extremely ostentatious sapphire ring, and a teddy bear. No way are you getting the teddy bear. (And the title is from a Juice Newton song.)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I posted this elsewhere a long, long time ago but am posting it here now in the hopes of inspiring myself to continue on other stories of mine.
FEEDBACK: Makes me footloose and fancy-free.
AUTHOR'S THANKS: To Alie, beta-reader and just an extraordinary human being.
SUMMARY: "I'm tired of being the bearer of bad news for her." Post-ep to the dreaded "18th and Potomac," when Mrs. Landingham dies.
Obviously the meeting couldn't go on now. But the senior staff had to be told and that in and of itself took some time. Afterwards, Leo remained in the Oval Office with the president and Abbey, but the look he gave everyone else as they silently left was one of great sympathy—he didn't envy them walking past her desk on their way out.
Each went to return to his or her own office, to attempt to sort out and wade through the sheer density of the feelings from the last few days. Josh came within twenty feet of his office and turned back towards the mess, intending to numb himself with a very severe shot of caffeine. But once there he pushed on the cold water tap and stood hunched over the metal sink, his cupped hands filling to over-flowing.
After about five minutes, he shut the tap and let the excess water filter through his palms. He ran first one damp hand and then the other down his drawn face and then across the back of his neck. He trudged back upstairs to his office and stopped short when he found Toby sitting at Donna's desk and fingering the picture she had of the two of them from Inauguration Night—the one she called "the Miracle Photo" because it was actual proof that Toby could smile. He glanced up from the picture as the dim light threw Josh's shadow across the desk.
"Where did you go?"
"Down to the mess," Josh pointed. "I thought I wanted something to drink, but I changed my mind when I got there."
Toby nodded absently. "You been back to your office yet?" Josh shook his head.
Toby sighed and ran a hand over his ever-rapidly thinning hair. "Open your door."
"But..."
"Open your door, Josh."
Silently, Josh obeyed. Nothing seemed out of place: the desk with its mess of papers; the bookshelf with photos and political tomes; the T.V. set in need of dusting; the blackboard; the couch; the big window with moonlight streaming through, catching the blonde in Donna's hair and playing over it gently.
Wait a minute.
A second, closer look at the couch confirmed it. She had fallen asleep waiting for him to come back from the meeting. He closed the door quietly, not wanting to disturb her, and turned back to Toby.
"Donna's asleep on my couch."
"Yeah."
"That was the big dramatic thing I had to open my door to see?"
Toby looked at him blankly. Only Toby's blank stare were never really blank, just fathomless. For just a fraction of a second Josh's heart stopped.
"Toby, did you tell her about Mrs. Landingham already?"
Toby's expression never shifted. "She ever tell you that I was the one who told her you were shot?" Josh's brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to answer, but Toby held up a hand.
"Then today, I told her about the president." He paused. "I came looking for you just a second ago; I didn't expect her to be here any more than you did." Another pause—this one more contemplative and amused. "Well, maybe you i expect her to be here, but I didn't."
"Toby, I..."
"Josh." Josh shut his mouth. You had to let Toby speak when his voice got world-weary like that.
"And you know, that would have been the perfect time for me to tell her about Mrs. Landingham. I could have just woken her up and told her right then and there. But frankly I don't want her looking at me that way again—like I just grabbed a piece of her heart and crushed it in my hand. I'm tired of being the bearer of bad news for her." He glanced over at the picture again for a minute and Josh was about to speak when Toby stood up and looked at him pointedly.
"There is a very sweet, loyal, caring young woman in your office, Josh. She has fallen asleep on i couch, waiting for i to come back from a late-night meeting so she could make sure i were alright. One way or another she is about to get some news that is going to devastate her. Don't you think you ought to be the one to tell her?"
The glance they exchanged was wordless, but Toby seemed satisfied with what he saw in Josh's eyes and he turned and walked away. Minutes later, the sound of a rubber ball bouncing off a wall reverberated down the hallway.
Josh stood rooted outside his office door. It was late but not very; she must have been exhausted to have fallen asleep so soon after he had left. Surely he could just wait until morning to tell her.
But he looked around the silent, empty bullpen and realized the benefits of letting her know now, when there was time and space for grieving. He opened the door and stepped silently into his office, shutting it behind him. Absurd, since there was no one around, but he felt the importance of doing so anyway.
He walked over to the couch. Her head was turned away from him and he gazed at her hair in the moonlight. In his mind's eye, he saw a young, babbling Wisconsin school girl arguing her way into a job. He saw her face, pale and upset, when she thought he would be fired. He saw her tired eyes by his bedside every day in the hospital; the pure hurt she tried to conceal every time he insulted her; the trust and care she bestowed upon him as she took him to GW at Christmas; the embarrassment and shame as she told him of her boyfriend's behavior when she was in an accident. He tried to imagine how she must have looked when Toby told her about the president's illness. How much stronger could he ask her to be?
He knelt beside her and gently touched her hair. He didn't expect her to react so suddenly to his touch that she awoke immediately. But then if he thought about it, which he didn't, maybe he did expect her to react to him. She rolled over slowly and turned sleepy eyes on him; eyes that struggled to clear and focus when she saw who he was.
"How did it go?" she asked quietly. "Is he going to run again?"
He slid his hand down the length of the couch and reached for her hand and realized something. He didn't have to ask her to be stronger; she could lean on him of as long as she needed.
She squeezed his hand encouragingly in response to his silence, and he smiled sadly at her sleepy face.
"Donnatella, there's something I have to tell you..."