Chapter 6

He'd stayed for her. What was it that made him like that? How could he barely speak to her for three months and then refuse to leave a riot because she was there? How could the same man who took her for granted day in and day out fly to another country to be there when she woke up? Didn't he know he could've been there when she woke up anytime he wanted to be? He didn't have to go to Germany for that.

She had to tell him. She had to. This time, she would. She had to this time. Even as she thought it, though, she laughed at herself. It certainly wasn't the first time she'd said that to herself, what would make this time any different? When he was shot, she'd prayed all night long. And in those prayers, she told God she'd tell him. That whether he felt the same way or not, if God let him live, she'd tell him. He deserved to know. She couldn't let him die without saying it.

And then, when she'd woken up in Germany and he was there, she said it again. She was dozing off from the morphine and she told herself that when she woke up she was going to tell him. Life was too short and she'd almost died and what if she'd died and he never knew? He deserved to know.

Then she was going into surgery and she'd come closer than she ever had before. She asked for him. They were putting her under and she shook her head no and whispered his name over and over. Finally, they brought him in the room, but when she looked at him, all she could write was 'nice hat.' She'd looked at him, knowing she might never wake up and she'd written 'nice hat' instead of the most important thing she ever could've written. Part of her thought for sure he'd say it. He felt the same way, she was positive. But even there, when she might have died, neither had the guts to say the words. What made her think today was going to be any different? He was sitting in a building and she might never see him again, but still, she hadn't said it. What if something happened to him and she had to spend the rest of her life without having said it? What if she had to spend the rest of her life without having heard him say it back?

She looked at her phone. Call him right now. Tell him right now. She hit '1' and stared at it for several seconds. Then she hit 'end' and looked back out the window.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

He took a deep breath. Carol stood next to him with a stack of papers in her hand and he considered offering her money to brief for him. One more deep breath and he walked in the pressroom where reporters immediately jumped to their feet and started yelling his name.

He ignored the noise and went directly into his brief. "Approximately 32 minutes ago, a riot broke out at a rally in Miami, FL., where Vice-President Russell and presidential candidate Congressman Santos were scheduled to speak. Local police and FBI are on the scene, and both the Vice-President and Congressman Santos are safe and away from the park."

"Toby!" the shouting started again.

"Katie," he said, pointing to her.

"Toby, is the riot a result of the address the President gave today?"

"I don't see how. The riot started two minutes before the President went on the air. Ed."

"But the riot is linked to the administration's recent meetings with Cuban leader Fidel Castro, correct?"

"The riot is linked to 1200 people who started it. Mike."

"Toby, are you saying the riot had nothing to do with the administration talking to Cuban leaders?"

He took a deep breath and ran his hand over his face. "I'm saying the President didn't start a riot. Mark."

"In light of today's events and obvious public opinion, is the President still as confident in his decision to work with Mr. Castro?"

"The President understands the concerns Americans, especially Cuban-Americans have, but firmly believes this is the best course of action at this time. Jeff."

"Is it true that Josh Lyman's trapped inside a building at the riot and if so, is he injured?"

Toby looked to his right where Mike Casper was standing and shaking his head. "A representative from the FBI will be fielding all questions concerning the site and injuries, that's all I have," he said and walked off the podium as they continued shouting his name.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

He found himself surprised that he never knew how much a woman's purse weighed. He found himself surprised that he was so excited to have dinner that night. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and cringed.

He reached for several paper towels and soaked them in water, then dabbed at the gash on his head with them. It hurt like hell as the rough edges touched the cut and he gritted his teeth and cursed Bob Russell's name, trying to keep bile from rising in his throat at the site of the blood.

His nose had stopped bleeding, and didn't really hurt, so he thankfully assumed it wasn't broken. As for his forehead, it would need stitches; there was no way he'd get out of this without them. It was still bleeding like hell, and it was pulled widely open, showing him white fatty material and what he hoped was bone, not skull.

Something hit the main door to the pavilion again and he froze. He waited a solid minute before moving or perhaps even breathing, then he slowly opened the bathroom door and poked his head out, looking at the main door. It was visibly sunken in, had a huge crack straight down the center of it, and the lock was bent. One more big push and he wouldn't be alone.

He shook himself out of his daze, shut the bathroom door again, and started digging through Donna's purse, tossing a comb, a small day runner, some lipstick, and three pens into the sink before he found the Aleve, which he swallowed three of with no water. Then he shrugged off both his dress shirt and t-shirt. If he was going to have to run for it, he was going to have to protect his forehead. He put his dress shirt back on and looked at his t-shirt, wondering how he was supposed to use it to stop the bleeding. He tried tying it around his head, and it slipped, pulling the wound apart even more and hurting so much that he screamed loud enough to make him wonder if anyone outside had heard it.

He looked at Donna's purse again, and figured she'd forgive him once she saw his head and screamed at him for lying to her about it. He started digging around in it again and found a small pair of scissors. He cut his t-shirt down the center, then folded it neatly and very carefully put it to his head again over a few wet paper towels. He tied it more carefully this time, and it stayed put, the pressure immediately helping the pain.

He looked at himself in the mirror, a white t-shirt tied to his head with brown paper towels sticking out where the gash was, a little blood on the shirt he was wearing, smeared blood on his pants leg where he had wiped his face and then his pants, and dried blood just inside his nose as well as in his hair line. Maybe they could order in.

He grabbed Donna's things from the sink and started shoving them back into her purse. The day runner fell on the floor and he put everything else in the purse and sat down. When he picked up the day runner, the calendar opened to February 9 and he noticed his name.

He looked closer and saw a list of things to do, all crossed off except the line that said 'call Josh.' He flipped to the next day and saw another list, again every thing crossed off except 'call Josh.' The page after that was the same as well. He randomly flipped through the calendar and each of the pages he flipped to, January 4th, January 23rd, and March 3rd, were all the same. He hung his head and took a deep breath. When had they gotten so far away from each other that she couldn't even call? And what had he done in this life to deserve to be loved enough by her that every day she'd try. A tear stung his eye and he let it pool there until it finally slipped slowly down his cheek and landed on his lip.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

"Have we messed up?" Leo asked the President as they sat in the oval office playing chess.

"We usually do at least once a day," the President replied, moving a knight.

"Yeah, but it doesn't usually result in Josh's life being in danger. We've only done that once before."

The President picked up his bishop, staring at it for a minute before setting it back down. "That time wasn't our fault."

"No," he agreed, moving a pawn. "But this time…"

The President stood up and walked to his desk. "We had a very small window of opportunity Leo, you said so yourself," he said defensively.

"Yeah. But…"

"What?"

"I sent him out there. Told him to find the next you. He went and did that and now I'm sabotaging him."

"We only have ten months left. We have to…"

"Preserve your legacy?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Do what we can," the President countered bitterly.

"I just wonder if by holding on so tightly, getting whatever we can get done by pissing everyone off, if we're hurting the party."

"It's not the party I'm concerned about, it's the world."

"What good does it do us to make these amazing changes if we're ensuring that a republican will be here next to undo it all?" he asked himself as much as the President.

"Vinick's going to win the nomination, you know he is. Santos can't beat him, Russell can't even beat him."

Leo looked pointedly at him. "People stood in this room and said that about you once. Thing is, I've always found that Josh can get anyone elected; that's why I pulled him away from Hoynes eight years ago. It's got to be tough though, fighting Russell, fighting the republicans…"

The President took a deep breath. "Fighting us."

"Yeah."

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Matt pulled into the hotel parking lot and up to the main entrance, but Donna didn't budge. He looked at Ned, who nodded, got out and opened the sliding door, which woke her from the daze she'd been in the last five minutes or so. She looked at him and then up at the Comfort Inn sign, and then she stepped out, letting Ronna and Helen out of the minivan. Then, just before Ned closed the door again, she slid back into her seat. Matt turned around and looked at her, but she avoided his gaze.

"Come on Chicken Fighter, this is where you get out," he said in a friendly manner.

"I'm going back with you."

"Donna…"

"I'm going back with you," she repeated softly, staring at the phone in her hand.

He hung his head for a second and then looked back at her. "I understand Donna, I do, but he asked me to bring you here."

"And you did. Now I'm going back with you."

He took a deep breath and put the van in park, then got out and went to the other side where Helen and Ronna stood next to Ned, who was still holding the door open. His wife looked at him with a superior smile on her face and he wondered what she was thinking. "Donna, get out of the van," he said sternly.

"No," she said stubbornly, reminding him of his children. Helen must've thought the same thing, because she chuckled next to him.

"I'm not leaving until you get out of the van."

Without looking at him, she hit something on her cell phone and put it to her ear. "Yes, I need the name and number of a cab company in Miami, please."

Helen chuckled again and he sent her a glare. "You're not helping. I told him I'd get her out of there," he said quietly before turning back to Donna. "You're not going to find a cabby who'll take you to that park, Donna."

She ignored him and spoke into the cell phone. "Hi. I'm at the Comfort Inn on…" she looked past Matt to Helen.

"52nd Avenue."

"Helen!" Matt yelled.

She looked at him and shook her head. Men were so obtuse sometimes. "She's going back, Matt. One way or another."

"52nd Street," Donna continued. "I need to get to GwenCherryPark or as close as you can get me to it. There's a hundred dollar tip if someone can be here to get me within the next five minutes… thank you."

Matt glared at her for several seconds while she stared straight ahead at the seat in front of her, then he turned around and walked quickly to the driver's side. "The man asks me to do one thing. One thing!" He got in and slammed the door shut. "Let's go, Ned!"

"Thank you," Donna mouthed to Helen as Ned shut the door.