AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is an AU/Future Fic that centers around, well in the beginning, Sam running for President. I've had it rolling around my head for a while and just now picked it up again to get started. I liked the premise, liked the idea and wanted to do something with it... feedback, as always, is appreciated!
xxxxxxx
Josh Lyman, in typical Josh Lyman fashion, gaped and arched his eyebrows before collapsing, rather awkwardly, behind the large desk in his office. Rather, the chair he was perching on its back legs wobbled then fell over with Josh still in residence.
From the other side of the desk, a soft male voice stated, in a matter of fact tone, "You know, when I pictured this scene in my head, that was not the reaction I imagined. But C.J., now… C.J., when she heard I was coming up here today, pretty much nailed it. Do you realize you just put a hundred bucks in her pocket?"
Josh pulled himself up on the edge of his desk, resting his weight on his elbows and replied, "Gee, Sam, I'm really sorry about that. Now, could you repeat what you said a minute ago?"
Standing up, Josh reached down for the chair and righted it, looking around his cramped office at the same time. Two and a half years as a political pundit and college professor had done nothing to enhance his organizational abilities. As far as that was concerned, he was pretty much a worthless case. Sighing heavily, he sat down in his chair and looked over a stack of books at the man sitting in the visitor's chair.
Sam Seaborn returned the gaze of his best friend with a look that exhibited no amazement at the bizarre behaviour he had just witnessed. Falling out of a chair was one of the more subdued reactions that Josh could have given to Sam's anxious question. Years of laughter, friendship and heartache had made them brothers-in-arms under the gaze of the most powerful men in the country and there was virtually nothing the two hadn't experienced together. Nothing except this.
"I'm running for President and I want you to help me," Sam said evenly, looking his friend straight in the eye and throwing down the gauntlet.
xxx
After getting Matt Santos elected, and in the interim before the Inaugural, Josh had walked away from Washington. He had turned down Santos' offer of a position of Chief of Staff and had walked out the door, literally, and down the street to an apartment he had only visited a few times in the last year. Knocking on the door he received no response and speaking to a neighbor, he realized she was gone.
"When did she leave?"
"The moving boys came last week," Mrs. Silvasky said, gesturing with her hands, "She went back to Minnesota, Michigan, no... oh where is it she's from?"
"Wisconsin."
"That's it! She went back to Wisconsin. Said she was going to do something with books."
"Books?"
"That's what she said. I'm sorry you missed her."
Josh slumped slightly and shifted his backpack on his shoulder. The months of work and stress, elation and depression, suddenly made him feel like an old man. He had waited years for this very day and had banked everything on her opening that door when he knocked. It had never occurred to him that she wouldn't be behind the door or that she wouldn't even be in the city. But she wasn't there. Just like those months ago when she walked out of the White House, she was gone. Except this time, she didn't even tell him she was leaving.
"So am I."
xxx
A month later, Josh was installed in an office at the John F. Kennedy School of Government on the Harvard campus. He didn't mind teaching, really. The kids were interesting and wanted to learn and talking, after all, was one of his strong suits. He was popular with the students and faculty and traveled enough, with speaking engagements, that he didn't feel too tied down. He published, appeared on Sunday morning talk-shows, made an appearance every so often in Washington, when the DNC needed a fast-talker, and generally settled down into what he had often derisively referred to as the "private sector."
He had kept in touch with most of the old gang from the Bartlet administration. Abby and Jed (still "Mrs. Bartlet" and the "President" in his mind) had retired to the farm in New Hampshire. Josh had visited a few times, each time recognizing that Jed Bartlet's slow agonizing trip through the debilitation of multiple sclerosis was advancing despite everyone's best efforts. Abby guarded Jed's time like a lion at the gates of the emperor's palace. Only a select few got to sit down with Jed and Josh was honored to be included in that very small club.
Leo had retired as well, dividing his time between Mallory's home in Connecticut and his own winter home in Palm Springs. Never completely restored after his heart attack, Leo often could be found sitting with Jed on the porch of the farmhouse, reliving old memories of the campaign trail, or tense moments in the Oval. Josh tried hard to keep in touch, sending funny letters and post-cards from his travels and calling every Sunday night.
Once the most powerful woman in the country, C.J. Cregg had moved to Paris after the end of the Bartlet administration. Turning down the offer of an ambassadorship to France – something Matt Santos and Josh, both, had been certain she would accept – she left to become editor of the French edition of Vogue. Josh wondered if she had enough of the political life after her tenure as Chief of Staff or if personal reasons prevented her from involving herself in the Santos administration. A man named Marco was often photographed with her and Josh knew, from certain sources, that Marco had a less than reputable past. She was still graceful and elegant and wickedly witty, but the glow of innocence and idealism had long since left her by the time she crossed the Atlantic.
Toby Ziegler was teaching at his alma mater, New York University. He tortured students daily with writing assignments that would turn even a Pulitzer Prize winner into a weeping child, but every year, his classes would fill to capacity and students would fight over seats at his lectures. Molly and Huck were still in Washington with Andi who continued to serve her constituency in Maryland with grace and fiery steel. Toby shuttled down on weekends to spend time with his children and it seemed to be a satisfying arrangement for all parties involved.
The Junior Senator from California, Sam Seaborn was hot in Washington. During the first year of the Santos administration, he had married a doctor, Suzanna Mitchell, an OB/GYN at George Washington. The two had met at a DNC fundraiser and the sparks flew immediately. Suzanna reminded Josh of a young Abby Bartlet and he knew his friend would be in good, albeit somewhat fiesty, hands. In the spring of the previous year, the couple had welcomed their first child, Abigail Olivia Seaborn, and Josh stood proudly as his first godchild was baptized in the presence of her namesake.
Charlie Young graduated from Georgetown Law with honors. He and Zoey Bartlett continued to do their dance and each spring, Josh fully expected to see wedding invitation in the mail. Charlie had taken a position in the Santos White House after graduation and was proving to be quite a rising star in Washington politics.
Josh heard, though various people (mostly C.J.) that Donna was the editor for a small publishing house in Madison, Wisconsin. While she was very stingy with any discussion involving Donna, Josh knew that C.J. would tell him if anything important, like a marriage, was on the horizon. So far, the only news he had received was that Donna was happy and on the rise professionally. When he first got to Boston, he tracked down her number and picked up the phone to call at least once a day. Old habits, after all, do die hard. But when he got to the last number, he would hang up the phone and sit with his head in his hands, remembering the feeling of standing in the hallway outside her apartment and realizing that she had left him once again.
xxx
"Sam, old buddy, old pal, old friend of mine. Are you utterly and totally in-freaking-sane? You can't possibly be thinking of challenging the sitting President, who so happens to be of your party, for the Presidency. Even you can't be that crazy. Or that suicidal."
Sam looked back at his friend with a steady, even gaze that made Josh's stomach drop.
"Oh my God. You are that crazy."
"Santos isn't going to run for a second term."
"What?" Josh shook his head as if to clear his ears. "What did you just say?"
"I said, Santos isn't going to run for a second term."
Josh looked at his friend and realized that Sam was terribly serious and it dawned on him that something was amiss with the President.
"What's going on, Sam? Why isn't he running?"
The dark-haired Senator looked at his hands and cleared his throat. He felt like a vulture feeding on the bones of the not-yet-dead, but he knew that if he was going to take his chance, it had to be now.
"The First Lady is sick. They are going to finish out the term and go back to Texas with the kids."
"Helen's sick? What's wrong?" Josh had not kept in touch with the Santos family once they entered the White House. Never having felt as close to them as he had to the Bartlet's he sent the requisite holiday cards and announcements, but never felt comfortable in contacting them on a casual basis.
Sam made a triangle of his hands and rested the tips of his fingers against his chin in a gesture Josh found maddeningly familiar. When his friend couldn't bring himself to answer the question, Josh realized the nature of Helen Santos' illness and he felt nauseous.
"Oh no, Sam. Not that. They've got three small kids, for Christ's sake! She's only 37!"
The two men looked at one another in collective sadness. The situation had to be dire if the President was willing to walk away from the White House after only one term.
"It's not public knowledge yet, Josh. But I talked with him. He wants to be there for her and for the kids. They mean everything to him."
"You talked to him?"
"Yeah. He called me in last week."
"That's when he told you about this?"
"Yeah."
Silence fell again between the two men as they pondered the implications of what had just been disclosed. A high-polling President was leaving office after one term to be with his dying wife, foregoing a second term in office and leaving the Presidency up for grabs.
"So you want to run ?" Josh knew the answer before he even asked, but felt compelled to hear it out loud.
"I want to run." There was no mistaking the determination in Sam's eyes.
"And Suzanna? She knows what this means?"
Sam nodded, "She knows. Her father was a senator, her grandfather was a senator. It's not anything new for her."
"And C.J.? What did she have to say about all of this?"
Sam chuckled and waved his hand, "She wanted to know if my slogan was going to be 'Spanky for President – He's Our Man.' But she's in... if you are."
Josh leaned back in his chair, brought his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. He thought his retirement from the campaign trail had been final. After all, he was inching up on fifty at a rather rapid pace and he had never taken very good care of himself. A campaign at this point in his life, particularly a Presidential campaign, would be the hardest he had ever undertaken. And given his history with candidates, that said quite a lot.
Opening his eyes, he looked at Sam and uttered one question.
"When do we start?"
