Chapter 6

He sits bent over on the bed with his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair. He's been back in his room for five minute and has almost called her twice. She was crying when he left, and he hates that, but he can't get over what she accused him of, what her words turned last night into, and so each time he picks up the phone on the nightstand, he puts it back down without dialing her room.

He sighs and lies back onto the bed, his legs still dangling over the side. Twenty minutes earlier he had it all figured out and now he's more confused than ever before. She's still planning on working for Will, which is something he can't even begin to fathom, and that means he's not only going to be getting Santos elected without her, but he's going to be working against her. How is he supposed to do that?

Is he supposed to forget that last night happened? Push it to the back of his mind and go on as though their relationship is nothing more than a severed business one? Is he supposed to see her on the campaign trail and not want to touch her, to hold her, to be with her in every way he was last night?

Or is he supposed to fight for her, pretend she didn't accuse him of using her body and emotions for political gain, tell her to take the job but to be with him anyway? And would she even want that?

He stares up at the ceiling. Maybe he should go back to the White House and forget all about ?xml:namespace prefix st1 ns "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" / Santos. Or take Donna's suggestion and convince him to run for the senate. But how can he do that and let Vinick take over the White House? How can he let someone undo what they've all spent seven years doing? He almost died for this administration, for fuck's sake, and so did she. How is he supposed to let someone destroy what they've done?

He sits up again and stares at the phone on the nightstand. He needs to call her, needs to apologize for just walking out on her. He doesn't know much about this sort of thing, but he knows you don't walk out when she's crying. That can't be the right answer. But when he picks up the phone, her words come back again and he can't make himself dial.

He eventually stands up and walks to the dresser where his cell phone and laptop are. He's going to have to change the proposal for Congressman Santos, but first he has to check in at work. He calls CJ and Toby, who are flying back from China, then calls Annabeth and Charlie in the office. As he suspected, he's not needed there today. The main focus is on the president's health and the deal in China that was reached yesterday. It reminds him that this is the time to leave.

He calls Janice last and gets his messages from her. While half-listening, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the dresser. It's a far different picture than the one looking back at him last night. In Donna's mirror he saw a family; this morning he sees an aging, lonely man. When he's done talking to Janice, he stands there watching himself for a minute, then shakes his head and hits his speed dial.

It rings three times and he can picture her staring at the caller id and debating whether or not to answer. But she finally does, or at least hits send, because although she doesn't say anything, he can hear her breathing on the other end. And because he has no idea what to say to her, he does the same thing and they sit there in silence.

He walks back over to the bed and sits down, mimicking his earlier actions of leaning over with his elbows on his knees. He can hear her take a deep breath and exhale slowly, and it relaxes him slightly. At least a minute passes without either saying a word and he can't help but thinking that on some level it's nice; comforting.

But he knows that eventually she'll hang up. He called her and hasn't even said hello. So he runs his free hand over his face and talks quietly. "Are you ok?" he asks because it's her, and because when it comes right down to it, that's the most important thing.

She doesn't answer right away and he wonders if it's because she's surprised that he finally said something, if she's angry and waiting for an apology, or if she doesn't know how to answer the question. "Yes," she finally whispers. "Are you?"

No. "Yeah."

The silence returns and he feels like there's an ocean between them instead of a thin, peach painted wall.

"Ok," he breathes out after another minute goes by. He doesn't know what else to say to her and since they both just lied, he thinks it's best to just hang up. "I just wanted to make sure."

"Are you still… I mean, when are you…"

He closes his eyes and drops his head. She's thinking the same thing he is, he knows it. He's about to go against her, put his career before her yet again. "I have to, Donna."

"Yeah," she says in a resigned voice before speaking louder. "I'm going to Madison."

Her words surprise him and he stands. He takes a few steps, then turns and walks back to the bed. He doesn't know what he's supposed to say to that. Is he supposed to ask her to stay or let her go? There must be a right answer, but he doesn't know what it is. "When…"

"There's an eleven a.m. from Hobby. I already changed my ticket."

"Oh." But they should talk; they need to talk.

"So… I guess I'll…"

"You'll be in the office on Tuesday?" he asks suddenly.

She pauses and he can hear her sigh. "I don't know."

Her answer doesn't surprise him; it's why he asked the question. But he can suddenly see a scenario in which they avoid each other until they're barely speaking and finally break ties altogether. And while he's hurt and angry right now, he doesn't want to face a life without her in it in some way.

He hears her room phone ringing both through the wall and through her cell. "That's my cab," she says quietly. "I have to go."

"Yeah," he says, then takes a quick breath. "Have a good Christmas." He cringes at how impersonal he sounds, as if he's talking to a stranger instead of the woman whose body he worshipped just hours earlier.

"Thanks."

He keeps the phone gripped to his ear after she hangs up, dropping it onto the bed only when he hears her muffled voice through the wall as she answers the other phone. It doesn't make any sense; personally, professionally, none of it. He feels like there's something he's missing and it frustrates him that he can't put his finger on what exactly that is.

He's still standing in the same spot a minute later when he hears a door close. It's her, he knows, and without thinking of his actions or the consequences they'll bring, he jogs to the door and throws it open just as she sets his t-shirt down in front of it.

She stands up and their eyes lock. She looks completely put together with her combed hair and business attire and he thinks he must look like a schmuck, still in nothing but his boxers almost an hour later.

"I was…" she gestures down to the shirt on the floor, then reaches down and picks it up. "Here." She holds it out to him and he takes it from her without looking away from her gorgeous blue eyes. Even mad, he can't deny wanting her. It's not surprising in and of itself, except that it's not a primal angry fuck he desires. It's something slow and soft and tender; he wants her to heal the wounds she inflicted.

But he can't explain something to her that he doesn't really understand, and so for the second time that morning he doesn't say anything at all. She looks at him expectantly for a moment, then turns and starts down the hallway.

Her movement propels him into action and he turns back and grabs his keycard, then follows her down the hallway while slipping on his t-shirt. It smells like her and he groans.

"You're making a mistake," he says when he's almost caught up with her. He doesn't know where it came from, but he knows it's the truth. "You said you weren't quitting because of me, but now you're turning this down because you're mad at me."

She shakes her head but keeps walking. "Your ego knows no bounds, you know that?"

"So does your stubbornness. If anyone else had brought this to you, you'd have taken it in a second."

She stops at the elevator and harshly hits the button. "That's not…"

"Yes it is," he cuts in.

She folds her arms over her chest and stares at the closed elevator doors, saying nothing.

"Donna, I'm as pissed off at you as you are at me." Her head snaps in his direction, her eyes wide as if he's just said something preposterous, but he ignores it and continues. "You're still the one I want to do this with."

She pauses for just a second and it's the most hope he's had in an hour. "You don't even know if he'll do it," she scoffs.

He steps closer to her. "So come with me and find out," he says softly.

"I can't."

"You can."

"No. I can't," she says louder. "I can't try to convince one guy to run for president and then work on the other guy's campaign."

"If he won't run, no one will know we asked him to. If he does run..." he trails off as she shakes her head. "You don't have to commit to anything, Donna. Just come and meet him."

The elevator door opens and she looks inside. "I have a flight in an hour and a half."

"So fly out later."

She shakes her head and steps inside the elevator. The door starts to close and he holds it open with his hand as he stares at her hard. "Let go," she says.

"Why won't you at least consider this?" he almost shouts. They're not making a scene, but they're not far from it, and he thinks again that this isn't the way this morning was supposed to go.

"Let go," she says again, angrier this time.

He stares at her in a game of wills. It's ridiculous and he knows it, but other than taking her by the shoulders and shaking her until she's thinking again, he's out of options. He keeps looking at her face, stubborn and hard and not at all like the woman he held last night. He shakes his head and grimaces; he's been angry and exasperated down-right pissed at her before, but he doesn't think he's ever been disappointed in her until now. "You're going to regret this," he says softly, leaning in towards her as far as he can from outside the elevator. "Not at first, because it's going to be new and exciting and you're going to be too busy to think about it. But he'll do something or not do something or compromise something, and then he'll do it again and then again, and you'll look at him one day and wonder what the hell your doing trying to push him off on the country."

He lets go, watching as the door closes between them. Watching as it opens again.