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eloriekam
"You know," Sam mused, browsing the menu, "you might think that we're not quite as busy between election and inauguration, but we really are."
"Are you trying to tell me that we might be getting this to go?" Mallory inquired, sitting across from him.
"I'm just saying... one of these years I want a full night's sleep." Sam lifted his eyes to the less-than-usually-critical gaze of his date.
"Sam, do you ever regret being an operative and speechwriter?"
"Why would you say that?" he asked, finally settling on a menu item and wondering if he was buying a small town or a meal as he closed the menu firmly.
"Well, once you said you sometimes wish you could deliver your own speeches."
"I didn't mean anything by it," he denied, taking a long drink of water, his eyes focused on the clear liquid.
"Sam-" Mallory stopped as a waiter came over. Biting her lip a little, she ordered, then sat back and studied him critically as he requested his own food. "I think you want to be a candidate," she continued once they were alone again.
Sam had been fidgeting with just his hands. Now he stopped and sat perfectly still, staring down at the table. When he finally looked up and drilled into her with his blue eyes, she was surprised to see they were brimming with tears. "I don't have any right to run when all my impetus comes at the price of someone else's life," he responded. "I mean, yeah, the President of the United States, who also happens to be my boss, told me I was going to run for office, but she said it first."
"Sam, I'm not usually a member of the Sisterhood, but I've got to tell you that if CJ ever caught any hint you had said that, she would unhesitatingly kick your ass."
"You're probably right." He sighed restlessly. "It's just... damn," he muttered, rubbing his eyes furiously. "I would always wonder if someone would discover that particular skeleton in my closet, that I'd feel I had blood on my hands every time I campaigned. And I have a responsibility to CJ's children, too; we've all got to protect them from politics. On top of that, I'm trying to woo you, and it's possible you'd like to see me for more than ten seconds a day..."
"I'm being wooed?" Mallory smirked.
"Bad choice of words?"
"Not exactly." She reached across the table to take his hand. Surprised, he met her eyes directly again, and she could see, for the first time, the full level of conflict that was pulling at Sam's great mind. "Sam, my dad told me about the box. He told me about the tapes. If you want to run for office, then run... just don't leave your job in the lurch, and if you're still wooing me then, make sure you set time aside in your schedule for me. You write so well for the President because you've got the same qualities he does, or you will in time."
"I don't anymore," he murmured.
"Don't what?" she asked gently.
"Our talent wandered off again," he clarified, looking discouraged. "We're... flat."
"Okay, Sam, you've got to stop referring to the individual talents of yourself and the individual talents of Toby as 'our talent', because it's seriously freaking me out," she admonished.
"Sorry," he confessed with a small smile. "Your dad told you about the tapes?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Because when it comes down to it, he really likes messing with me as much as he likes messing with you."
"Ah." He sat back as their food arrived, and said nothing for several minutes while he focused on it, admitting to himself that it really was very good.
"Sam," Mallory prodded.
"Mmm?"
"Aren't you from the California 47th?" He froze and stared at her. She smiled smugly. "I did my homework, buster. You can appeal to them if you run there, even if it's against Chuck Webb; just don't get into a fistfight, and don't leave me to be the lonely girlfriend or whatever, because I will come and I will kick your ass." Mallory aimed her fork at him for emphasis.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, a smile tugging at his mouth. "Girlfriend?"
"Or whatever."
"You want me to run."
"Sam, I like arguing with you about the issues."
"I like arguing with you too." He paused. "About more than political issues."
Mallory stared at him in surprise.
Sam's pager went off.
The two of them rolled their eyes in perfect concert as Sam dug one hand into his coat. "You kissed me first," he muttered weakly as he pulled it out. "Damn, that's wonderful," he continued, pulling out his cell phone and connecting to the White House. "What's the page?" he inquired grumpily. "This is six time zones over, can it wait, you know, half an hour? I'm almost done... aww, come on, Leo, this is the first one in... Hey! I did not! It's my first slow night in, oh, I don't know, seven months or something. Yeah, I can see it's not slow anymore." At this point Mallory ran out of patience and reached across the table, snatching the phone from Sam's surprised fingers.
"Hi, Dad. Sam will be there in 45 minutes. I'm having a lovely time. Bye." She shut it and handed it back.
"Wow. Can you do that to other people besides your dad?"
"Including you? Yes, Sam, I can."
One of her hands was still resting on the table. Sam picked it up and brought it to his lips, lifting his eyes to Mallory's as he kissed it. She looked surprised at first, then smiled gently.
"Equals, Sam. Shall we finish?"
"I thought we were starting."
"We're finishing the meal," she corrected, looking at him with amusement.
"Oh. Yeah, um, I... shall we argue some more at another time? And maybe do some non-arguing for the sake of my ego?"
"Sure, but I insist on having some drinks if I'm going to be supporting your ego, Sam."
"Thank you, Mallory."
"What'd I do?"
"You said the right things at the right time."
"When are you going to do it?"
"I don't know, but I'll need your help."
Mallory locked gazes with Sam for a good minute before nodding.
"Where'd it go?"
"Which thing?"
"You know, the thing!"
"This thing?"
"No, that one..."
"What are we talking about?"
"I swear, even Donna doesn't know by now." Bonnie turned a somewhat amused gaze to her fellow assistant.
"I'm distracted by the big thing," Donna complained.
"Thanks for that."
"If I start laughing at any point today during an embarrassing moment, I'm blaming you!" Donna exclaimed, blushing all over. Andi retrieved a bracelet from one of the dressing tables and raised her eyes inquisitively.
"That's Ginger's," most of the women in the room responded in chorus. One of them sat patiently in a corner, watching the younger women fuss over Donna. Finally she turned to their high-ranking guest, blushing again and smiling awkwardly.
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Bartlet... thank you for offering to help today."
"You're welcome, Donna; I'm just glad I was able to talk my husband into staying away from the groom's suite," she answered, rising.
"Yeah, I think Josh would be pretty freaked out," she confessed. Taking place the day after Thanksgiving, Josh and Donna's wedding had eventually come out as a relatively small event based in the White House.
"Do you have something old and something new?" Margaret checked. "Something borrowed and something blue?"
"Does the ring count as old?"
"Yes," Andi and Abbey got in as the younger women waffled. "But it's from the groom, so you can't count it," the First Lady added.
"Okay, umm..." Donna looked around.
"Wasn't the necklace your grandmother's?" Carol asked her.
"Oh! Yes!"
"What's new?"
"New Hampshire, New York..." Andi started. The assistants dissolved into nervous laughter for a minute.
"My bracelet is new. And there's blue in the bouquet. I'm not sure I borrowed anything, though."
"It's a good thing I'm here, then," Abbey put in, holding out a pair of earrings.
"Oh, Mrs. Bartlet," Donna gasped in awe. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure, dear. Sit down." Donna carefully slipped into a chair and sat still as the First Lady slipped out her earrings and put the other ones on, then turned her to face a mirror.
"They're perfect," Margaret exclaimed. Abbey just smiled.
There was a knock on the door, and a tuxedoed Charlie appeared after Ginger opened it, still fighting the bracelet.
"The President predicted you'd be ready, and Zoey's here, ma'am."
"Thank you, Charlie; he's a smart man, but don't tell him that."
"Josh wants to come in."
"No!" all of them shouted, including Zoey, who had ducked in and started helping Ginger conquer her bracelet clasp.
"That's what I told him, but he insisted I try," Charlie responded with a smile. "Everything's ready."
"Thanks, Charlie," Donna said with a smile.
"I'm going to go sit down," Andi said, coming to give Donna a quick kiss. "You look great."
"Thanks," Donna responded with a smile.
"Don't let me catch the bouquet," Andi grinned as she went out.
"If you're sure you're ready, Donna, I'm going to go in there too," Abbey said, coming up to her again.
"Thank you, ma'am," Donna answered. "I think I am... I'm not. Yeah, I am."
"You're doing wonderfully, dear, and call me Abbey for now, will you?"
Donna smiled brilliantly as the First Lady exited.
"Everyone ready?" Margaret wanted to know.
"I hope no one minds that there's more bridesmaids than groomsmen," Donna worried again.
"It's fine," Zoey said, smiling.
"Okay." Donna tugged a little at her skirt.
"Are you putting the veil down?" Bonnie asked her.
"I still haven't decided."
"I think it looks good that way," Carol told her, and Zoey and Ginger both nodded.
"Okay." They all went into the hallway, Donna with her eyes increasingly wide. "I'm so nervous."
"We forgot to come up with a contingency plan for what to do if you get nervous," Carol joked. "If Josh tries to make up a secret plan to fight inflation, we're set, but you..." she trailed off, and Donna laughed, distracted again.
"I just hope there's not a thing," Margaret whispered, peering into the hall, which had been converted dramatically for the wedding.
"Me too," Carol agreed. "I can't brief in a bridesmaid's dress."
"Carol and Sam," Margaret directed, turning back from the door.
"We know, we know... man, Josh looks nervous," Carol responded, looking down the aisle.
"He may need his tie straightened once you get there, Donna," Sam said, glancing at her with a smile.
"It wouldn't surprise me," Donna sighed, shooing at them to go in.
"Okay, next is me and Ginger, then Zoey and Charlie, then Bonnie and Toby," Margaret reminded them before stepping off.
Donna took several deep breaths as they all walked slowly away from her.
"Nervous, Donna?" a voice offered at her ear.
"Mr. President," she jumped.
"I'm sorry; didn't mean to startle you. Are you ready?"
"Yes, sir," she agreed, swallowing. He held out his arm.
"Donna?" he prompted after a long moment. She started and shook her head a little bit.
"I'm sorry, sir," she admitted, taking his arm.
"Are those my wife's earrings?" he queried.
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent. Let's go."
Donna couldn't help but smile and blush as the guests rose as she slowly paced down the aisle with the President. Had so many not been smiling, she would have wondered how many were standing for her, and how many were standing for him. At last, they reached Josh.
The President guided her hand directly to Josh's, lifting his gaze to the younger man. It was a moment of curious symmetry; Donna had seen much the same look directed at her, nearly ten months before, when the President had commended Josh's health to her care. Now he was commending her to Josh's care... and letting go, leaving her hand in Josh's. He held it with utter reverence, eyes shining in his nervous but appreciative face, as she faced him directly.
Donna thought she caught motion out of the corner of her eye... a flash of something familiar, but it was just a sandy-haired agent at the back of the hall. She took a breath and focused on Josh again, who lifted his other hand to fully enclose her right, still with that quiet, reverent awe she hadn't guessed he possessed a year ago.
"Excuse me, are you Zoey Bartlet?"
Zoey looked up in surprise. "Hey," she exclaimed, standing up.
"Hi, Zoey," Charlie returned, smiling at her with admiration. As she approached for a hug, he started to back up a little. "What would your dad say about that?"
"He can deal with it," she responded, the last part muffled as she stopped his retreat by wrapping her arms around him. "Are we going anywhere special tonight?"
"I found a pair of tickets to a certain play on my desk last week," he revealed, grinning down at her.
"Oh!"
"Also, the President is going up to the Residence early, so if milady would happen to have a suitable outfit on hand..." he suggested.
"I would suggest that I don't need an outfit to have fun with you," she declared with an impish smile, "but my dad might get upset. What time is it at?"
"If you start changing now, I think you'll have time," Charlie answered after a look at his watch. She smacked him on the arm. "Hey, ow."
"I'm the local representative of the Sisterhood, buster, you'd better watch it," she warned. "I'll be back down in an hour."
Halfway through the third act, Charlie felt his cell phone go off. He disentangled his hand from Zoey's--who knew you could entwine fingers that much?--and reached for it, wondering if Zoey was rolling her eyes as much as he was.
It seemed pretty likely.
He snuck a glance at her attire again as he opened the phone. Only her father would object to it, and no doubt had, just on general principle of her being a young woman and him, well, not being a young woman. It was like velvet, a deep twilight that he hesitated to put an actual color to.
"Charlie Young. Okay, but Debbie... no, wait, he didn't have anything." He didn't say anything for a minute, listening. "Really? Whoa. Listen, though, is this actually a national emergency, or did he have you call just to mess with me? Uh-uh. I see, well..." he glanced over at his date, "I'm not completely sure it's in the best interests of the nation for me to leave here right now, as that might cause a different kind of national emergency."
"Give me that," Zoey directed, suiting action to words. "Debbie? Tell my dad he can have Charlie back in three hours, or after the play, and he'll still owe me, oh, about three days. Yeah, I'm having fun. Bye. That's how you do it," she added, handing it back to him.
"Yeah, but I don't exactly have the same influence you do," he answered dryly, reaching for her hand again. She took it, but fidgeted a little. As the fourth act started, he finally asked her, "What's wrong?"
"I want to sit in your lap," she confessed.
"You'll mess up your dress."
"I don't care," she declared, moving from her seat.
"Zoey, why this sudden urge to sit in my lap?" he asked, even as she climbed on.
"I'm thinking about tragedy, and want a man to comfort me," she said, smiling.
"Oh?"
"Actually, I'm a little cold."
"I wish you'd said something. I would have taken off my jacket."
"No, that's okay... you can do that the next date," she told him, still smiling, from a distance of about four inches.
Charlie turned to look at her. "Next date?"
"Uh-uh." She seemed to study him for another moment, then brought her hand to his chin and turned it. Before Charlie knew it, he was in the midst of a kiss with the President's youngest daughter.
"Hi," he said when they stopped.
"Hi," she returned, smiling. "Ooh, good part," she remarked, leaning against him.
"Yeah, this is the good part," Charlie agreed with fervor.
But he wasn't just talking about the play, and suspected Zoey wasn't either.
"Toby, at some point you're going to have to do something about this look you get every time you see me," Andi advised.
"What look?"
"That combination of wonder and horror that only you could mix up and deliver with such expression," she replied. "Toby..."
"You are both absolutely unbelievable," he remarked suddenly.
"Toby, right now when you're addressing me it's either one or three, not two."
"Just a second." He closed the blinds facing out to the bullpen and sat down on the couch, facing away from the door, and gesturing to her to do the same. Looking at him oddly, Andi sat. "I wasn't talking about you and the twins," he continued softly. "I was talking about you and CJ."
"Okay... why was CJ unbelievable, and why am I unbelievable now?"
"You both used your pregnancies." She raised an annoyed eyebrow at him. "You both used them, and you're using yours, and that terrifies me."
"Toby," she sighed. "This is a direct political fight, because I can't stand those people... the ones who have a problem with it."
"And as I said, I can admire that, Andrea! That does nothing-nothing-to change the fact that it terrifies me. I am terrified of something happening to you, and you can't change that. The only thing that can change that is to go back over eleven months and be in that office."
"How do you know that would have changed anything?" she questioned, even as she was moved by his admission of terror.
Toby looked at the exterior windows, then dropped his gaze to his desk. The frames were turned away from him from where he sat, but he still knew which ones were which. The one on the edge was a folding frame of Samantha and Abigail. There was a 5" by 7" next to it that was from their first Inaugural, and on the opposite edge was a still of CJ at the podium.
When he looked back, his usually inscrutable face was uncharacteristically open, brown eyes even more complex than normal. "I don't," he finally admitted. "But that way I would know I had done what I could, and I want to do everything I can for you."
Andi held his gaze. "Is that why you kept asking about announcing it?"
"Yeah," he admitted.
She smiled, just a little. "How did CJ use her pregnancy?" she asked suddenly, her mind turning over the last few minutes.
Toby's lips parted, his expression changing to surprise and then guilt.
"Toby?" she requested. "What happened?"
"This doesn't go outside..." he started, actually shaking a little.
"Toby, I know this is confidential. What the hell happened?"
"CJ told us last July that she was pregnant, and immediately declared her intent to use herself politically." Toby paused and rubbed his beard. "If I'd dared, I would have talked her out of it, but once CJ's decided something like that, you can't stop her, and if I had, we would have been completely defenseless from then until January. We, uh, had a strategy session--Leo, Sam, Josh, CJ and myself--to plan what to do. Yeah, we looked at both options. Sam was angry about it, and I think deeper down, the rest of us were too, but we were all too busy being political operatives."
"Toby-" Andi started, aghast.
"Let me finish," he said, shaking his head at her. "This is the part I don't know as well, but CJ went a long time between ultrasounds, and the President scheduled her one in September. At the staff meeting in the Oval after it-" he paused, for the moment was now etched in his memory: the image of CJ, sitting across from him, lifting two fingers in response to his question and with a funny little half-smile on her face that he only knew, months later as he cradled her head in his lap for the last time, for the concealment of terror it had been. "After it," he continued, "she told us she was carrying twin girls. What no one but Sam found out until it was far too late was that she was also told then that she was at risk for delivery complications--I never asked what they were. I was too busy trying not to punch Sam in the face for knowing when the rest of us didn't." He pulled his gaze away from memory. "CJ polled on it. She polled on it, Andi! She followed through on her original intent despite the danger to herself, and she solidified her strategy, and left strategy for us so reelection wouldn't suffer, and she did it to protect the rest of us! There is nothing, no duty, no written statement, no oath, that approaches the level of dedication that CJ ultimately felt was required! And I am terrified," he continued in a softer voice, "that you will do the same thing."
Andrea Wyatt, articulate Congresswoman from Maryland, was utterly speechless.
"I knew CJ longer than anyone else here," Toby admitted, so softly she leaned forward a little. "I should have realized why she was pushing herself... I should have done something other than what I did. And that's why," he added, looking up and giving her an odd smile with no joy in it, "I am terrified for you. I'm terrified of what I'm missing."
She closed her eyes, unable to watch this particular pain of Toby's.
"Who was she protecting?" she asked finally.
"Sam and I. Me and Sam. Mostly us... possibly Josh and Leo, too."
"And the President?"
"Him too." By the look in Toby's eyes, she could tell there was more pain and guilt hovering in his mind, but she wasn't sure it was anyone's place to see it.
"I don't know what to say, Toby, except that you know everything I know about my pregnancy, except for the morning sickness and the cravings," she told him finally.
"I know." He moved restlessly on the couch. "But I am still afraid, Andrea, and I will continue to be afraid."
And against that unexpected declaration she had neither defense nor comfort.
My God, CJ, why did you have to be so very brave?
"I really am sorry about Horton Wilde," Sam remarked as he opened a door.
"Thanks. I am too. He was a real Democrat in a district of Webb-lovers."
"And you weren't?"
"Fair point," Will Bailey admitted.
"We really appreciate your coming, by the way," Sam continued.
"My candidate lost by ten votes, so I didn't have a whole lot else to do, although it does increase my hopes for Orange County going Democratic in the future."
"Really?" Sam asked casually.
"Yeah. Know anyone?"
"Not really, since I'm probably going to spend the rest of my life in this building," Sam said dryly, leading the way into the bullpen.
"I see."
"Hi," Toby said as they came into his office.
"Will Bailey."
"Yeah, hi. Sam explain everything on the way in?"
"Yeah," Will admitted.
"Good." The older man picked up a pad of paper and launched it at him. "Global threats. 500 words. If it's 501 don't give it to me."
"Okay," Will said, blinking. Sam about-faced, waving at Will to come with him.
"Come on, I'll find you a desk."
"That was fast."
"Get used to it. Around here we have two speeds: fast and nonexistent."
"So I see," Will answered, ducking out of someone's way as they came through.
"Yeah, you might want to walk faster," Sam directed.
"He didn't give me a time limit," the new guy noted.
"I think he meant as quickly as possible, preferably yesterday. Hey, Donna!" Sam called.
"Yes?" she questioned, turning from her high-speed typing.
"Donna!" Josh bellowed from inside his office.
"Just a minute, darling, I'm talking to Sam!" she called back, half-turning toward the door before turning back to Sam with a smile. "What can I do for you?"
"This is Will Bailey. He's a speechwriter and also ran the Horton Wilde campaign in Orange County; we've brought him in as a temp speechwriter. Toby gave him an assignment; do we have a spare desk?"
"Sam's out there?" came the call from Josh's office, followed shortly by Josh himself.
"Hi, Will, I'm Donna Moss," she greeted. "Orange County... was that the dead guy?"
"Yeah. Am I going to be known for that for the rest of my life?"
"I think that largely depends on how your writing assignment from Toby goes," she told him. "And you can use the desk right there... the guy who used to have it quit or something," Donna added, gesturing. Her cubicle space had been rearranged and enlarged in the past several months to accommodate her increased responsibilities as well as the occasional pair of baby carriers that sat there.
"Josh Lyman," the gentleman of that name offered, coming up and shaking Will's hand.
"Will Bailey."
"Ah, the dead guy," Josh identified, turning to kiss Donna on the cheek.
"What'd I say?" he said, turning to Sam in despair.
"Well, this is pretty good, because now you've met almost all of the senior staff," Sam remarked. "The only one you haven't is Carol, she's the-"
"-de facto Press Secretary," Will finished, and found himself on the receiving end of three expressions approaching a glower.
"Okay, I beg of you," Josh said first, "don't ever let the President hear you say that."
"Sorry." He stepped back, raising his hands.
"It's okay, you didn't know," Donna assured him, moving toward the desk she'd pointed to a minute ago.
"So is it bad if I ask why there are baby toys?" he offered, still backing up.
"A little bit, yeah," Sam responded.
"Okay." He reached the desk and sat down. "I'm just going to write."
"Nice meeting you," Josh said, wrapping an arm around Donna. Will raised an eyebrow and shook his head a little as Sam came up.
"They're married," he informed quietly, realizing the very peculiar dynamics of the senior staff were probably driving Will Bailey crazy after only five minutes of exposure.
"Josh and Donna?"
"Yeah, they're having a long honeymoon," Sam said wryly as Donna smacked Josh lightly on the head.
"They're acting like an old married couple as well; an interesting paradox," Will noted.
"Yeah, that's what everyone keeps saying." Sam watched the two for another minute and then shrugged, heading back to his own office. Will bent his head over the paper; as unaware and open as the affectionate gestures between Josh and Donna seemed to be, he still felt a little strange watching it, and he had writing to do in any case.
He did, however, look up for a moment when the phone rang. "Josh Lyman's office," Donna answered. Josh placed his hands on her sides right below the ribcage even as she continued speaking. "Uh-uh. Yeah, Margaret, I've got the thing right here. What's that? Sorry, I was distracted by a thing... not this thing, another thing."
Will had to wonder if there was a guide to what was meant by 'thing', since it seemed to refer to any of about five hundred items so far, although he suspected the 'thing' Donna had been distracted by was Josh running his hands gently down her sides.
"These people are crazy," he muttered. "Yeah, new global threats.... 500 words."
