It's frustrating being stuck in D.C. when Sam is campaigning in California.  Even more so because I can't get up on my podium and tell the White House press corps that the Democratic Congressional candidate in the California 47th is the absolute right guy for the job.

I watch the tape Carol got me of Sam's latest speech twice, as usual.  The first time, I just grin vapidly at the screen, at the idea, still so startling, that Sam is doing this.  That Sam, our Sam, might be the next Congressman out of Orange County.  When you're so used to somebody in one context, it's a battle to be able to comprehend him in another.

What if I have to address him as "Congressman" in a couple months?  The possibility makes me giddy.

The second time, I watch the tape as a press secretary, and I usually take a few notes.  It's not that Sam's not good already, because he is.  Quite good.  Objectively, the camera loves him.  He looks wonderful on screen.  More importantly, he projects conviction and honesty, which is why we put him on Capital Beat at least once a month.  He doesn't need much, at this point, in the way of help.  But I want to do something, and this is all I can do from 3,000 miles away.  Last week after I emailed him some thoughts on smog in Los Angeles, he mentioned global warming in conjunction with the need for mass transportation in Southern California, and I swear he glanced right at the camera with that smile of his, as if to say, "Was that what you wanted, CJ?"

I think Sam mostly finds my emailed suggestions amusing, but I keep sending them anyway.  I suspect I'm not the only one.  Toby, Josh, Donna, Bonnie, Ginger and I watch these tapes obsessively, often in a group, and I always give a copy to Leo.  I know I'm not the only one with suggestions.  A couple days ago, Toby actually grinned when Sam used a phrase about access to health care that sounded suspiciously like Toby's writing.

I'm sure Sam's probably ready to kill the lot of us, but he knows we didn't get to run the re-election campaign we wanted to.  Four years ago, we ran Bartlet for America based on a fresh face and new ideas, but we always thought the second campaign would be about what we'd managed to do.  What we'd accomplished.  We thought we'd be able to run on the record of the Bartlet administration.

Instead, Jed Bartlet's re-election bid was about MS.

Sam's campaign, though, is the fulfillment of our wish.  It's about the issues that directly affect people.  And he's been able to stand up and say, our administration pushed a bill banning assault weapons through an opposition Congress.  We spent a hundred million dollars on education.  We put an esteemed, compassionate, principled Justice on the Supreme Court.  Sam gets to tout all the good we've done.

And we have done a lot.  Not enough, but a lot.  On days like these, I need to remind myself of that fact.  On days like these, it almost hurts to watch Sam's stump speech.

Today wasn't a good day for the Bartlet administration.  Danny confirmed my suspicions that we killed Abdul Shareef.  The idea of it makes me vaguely nauseated, even though I'm sure I don't have the information the President and Leo had when they decided to do this.  It's incongruous to me, these two men whose principles I so admire, and this hideous act they almost certainly ordered.

After I gave Josh a heads up, I locked myself up in my office and watched the tape of Sam a third time.  I miss Sam's idealism and near-constant good cheer, but I'm almost glad he's not here for this.  I couldn't bear to see his heart broken again by the President, a man he holds in such high esteem.

That's when it hits me:  This isn't going to only hurt us; it's going to hurt Sam.

I'm across the bullpen and at the door to Josh's office before I realize I've moved, and am startled to find Leo there.  They must still be on the thing about the Church of the Nativity, because they're both cajoling the people on the other end of their respective phone calls.  As much I agree with their aim, I don't think two men halfway across the world are going to bring about peace in the Middle East overnight.

Josh finishes up first, and flips his cellphone shut with a sigh, tossing it onto his desk.  "Hey, CJ," he greets me with a tired grin.  "You didn't go home with a Whiffenpoof?"

I roll my eyes.  "I'll be having a little talk with Carol tomorrow, huh?"

"Tomorrow's Christmas," Josh reminds me.  "I don't think Carol will actually be in the office."

"I have her home number."  My momentary levity fades.  "I need you for a second."

Leo covers the mouthpiece of his phone, his expression curious.  "What's up, CJ?"

"Don't worry about it," I tell him.  My smile feels fake and must look it too.  "I'm just gonna borrow Josh for a second."

"You can have him," Leo answers with more levity than I've seen from him all day.

Josh tries to look offended, but only manages worried as he finally seems to notice my mood.  He follows me silently to my office, where Sam's winding up a section on irresponsible economic programs.  I grab the remote and pause the tape, freezing Sam with his hand in the air, gesturing to the audience.

"If this is about Donna," Josh starts, his tone defensive as he drops into the guest chair and spins it to face me, "I didn't keep her here on purpose."

I'm lost for a second.  "No, Josh," I answer, though we may have to come back to that particular hornet's nest some other time.  "It's not that.  It's..."  I sigh, trying to figure out how to say this without really saying it.  There's a chill in the air, and I sink onto the couch and pull over my legs the blanket my grandmother made me years ago.  "Remember what I mentioned earlier?"

Josh blinks, leaning forward in his chair.  "The thing about -- CJ, we really shouldn't--"

"I'm not saying we need to talk about it, Josh," I interrupt.  "But we might have to tell someone else."

"A lawyer?" Josh suggests.  "I still have Abe on retainer."

"No." I point at the TV screen.  "This is going to hit the papers soon, Josh, and we're not the only ones who will be hurt by it."

Josh follows my gaze to Sam's image.  "Shit," he mutters, working out the implications.  He drops his head, rubbing his eye.  "Shit," he repeats.  "This isn't good."

"No."

"Sam's going to get slammed."

I nod.  "Yes."

Josh pushes himself up, starts pacing.  "He's one of two people in the country in an active race right now, and an international scandal involving his boss is about to break," Josh summarizes.  "A scandal about keeping secrets, which is always a big hit with the Washington Post, and, you know, the rest of the national media."

I lean back, letting the couch hold me up.  "They already think at least the four of us were involved in the MS thing, and now this, which is too similar to be dismissed--"

"I don't think it really is all that similar," Josh interrupts.  "The president's MS was a political problem.  It was his right to privacy versus the public's right to full disclosure.  There was no larger moral question.  This is..."  He shrugs.  "It's national security.  It has to be.  They're really not that similar."  His mouth twists bitterly.  "Aside from the part where the President and Leo decide not to tell anyone."

"I'm sure it was a matter of national security," I agree, but my tone isn't very convincing.  In all honesty, I don't care if it was a matter of national security.  I don't care if there are top secret, highly classified reasons somewhere, I want Jed Bartlet and Leo McGarry to sit me down in a room and explain to me how they could do this.

"They must've..." Josh sounds almost lost as he trails off.  "There must have been a good reason.  Proof of something."

"Josh--"

"No, CJ.  Self-defense or defense of others is a legal, you know, defense to--"  He can't say it either.  Frustrated, he drags a hand through his hair and says, "If it was a kill or be killed--"

"Josh," I say again, more sharply this time.

His head jerks up and it takes him a moment to focus on me.  "Yeah," he sighs.  "Listen, Sam will need to distance himself."

I shake my head, more to clear my thoughts than anything else, and try to focus.  Whether the President was morally justified in ordering Shareef killed is not my problem until Danny puts it in the paper.  Right now, how Sam can avoid being torpedoed by the revelation is something I can actually deal with.  "He's been running on our record."

Josh flinches.  "Yeah."

"All the good we've done."  My tone is bitter to my ears.  Sam has to win.  He has to.  And if he doesn't, it can't be because of this.

"He needs to stop doing that," Josh decides, pausing near the TV cabinet, his eyes on Sam's image.  "He needs to run away from us.  He needs to call us leftist liberal ideologues.  He needs to make himself into a moderate, sensible Democrat who's been looking for a way out of his job."

I shake my head.  "He can't."  For many reasons, the most important of which is that Sam would never agree to that.

Josh drops his head.  "I know."

"It's been a month."

"One third of the campaign," Josh agrees.  "Too late to back away from us now.  Damn it."

"He wouldn't do it anyway, Josh," I tell him.

"He would if I told him to," Josh argues.

"You can't."

"There are ways," Josh insists.  "Back channels.  I could have Donna--"

"Josh, he can't abruptly change his campaign strategy without explanation.  You think Danny wouldn't notice?  You think the others won't be looking for a cover-up when the Shareef thing hits the papers?  And by the time you can--"

"I know."  His tone is desolate.

My gaze catches again on Sam's frozen face.  "What's going to happen?" I ask Josh softly.  I have my suspicions, but Josh knows the Hill better than I do.

"We need to get out ahead of this, CJ," he starts speaking quickly.  "The Republicans, they're going to wake up the morning this breaks born-again doves, against getting their hands dirty in an undeclared war."  He shakes his head in disbelief.  "I can't believe I'm saying this, but we need to keep on national security and a strong defense.  Tough decisions.  A time of war.  In defense of our freedoms."

"Yeah."  I never thought I'd be a wartime press secretary.  It's ... not what I dreamed about as a little girl, that's for sure.

I catch Josh's eye, and the same thought occurs to us both.  "The Inaugural," Josh says, and the idea of it is overwhelming.  "We'll have to have Toby add, you know..."  He shrugs.

"War rhetoric?" I suggest, my tone sharp.

"CJ."

"Yeah."

He rubs one eye tiredly and repeats his initial assessment.  "Shit."

Neither of us speaks for a long moment, but Sam's watching me from the TV screen, and I have to ask.  "They'll use this against Sam?"

His expression is grim.  "They'll try."

"I know we can't do anything, but..."  My voice is soft, almost too soft, as if I think that I'm not really saying it aloud if Josh can barely hear the words.  "Can we give Sam a heads up?  Just so he'll know what's coming?"

From the guilty look on Josh's face, I know he was thinking the same thing, which is some sort of relief.  "I don't think we can.  Not yet.  Not without--"  He shakes his head, and when he meets my eyes, I draw my breath in sharply.  "Not without official confirmation."

From his slight stress on the word "official," I know Leo tacitly admitted it to Josh.  It really is true.

God.

"CJ?"

"Yeah." I pull the blanket more closely around me.  "We need to talk to Leo."

"How long do we have?" Josh asks, dropping back into the chair.

"A few days, at least, possibly a couple weeks.  Danny will need to get official denials from the Pentagon before he goes with something this big.  He'll need to dig some more in Bermuda."  I'm thinking out loud at this point.  "Flight logs, duty logs, that sort of thing."

Josh's eyes drift shut for a moment.  "Right," he answers softly.  Then his searching gaze is on me and there's almost desperation in his voice when he asks, "Will he tell you?"

"Danny?"

"Yeah."

"He'll..."  He's been gone a long time.  I can't say for sure.  My gaze drifts over to my desk, where a small red box nearly dwarfed by a gold foil bow sits beside Gail's bowl.  "He'll tell me.  He might ask for a comment.  I need to be ready for that, Josh, and it can't be you and me making decisions without--"  I swallow hard, "without information."

He nods.  "Leo said -- I'll talk to Leo."

"After the holiday," I tell him.  My tone is uncomfortably close to pleading.

"CJ--"

"Not tonight, Josh.  After the holiday," I repeat.

"Okay."

The silence hangs around us for a moment, then Josh moves to sit next to me on the couch.  Sometimes, on late nights when we have too much work and are too tired to do it, Josh and I will sit here on my couch and flip through the late night TV shows.  Conan.  CNN's repeat of Aaron Brown.  An old episode of M*A*S*H.  The Daily Show.  Whatever catches our fancy for twenty minutes, thirty minutes, until we have to get back to work.

I give him part of the blanket, and he puts his feet up on the chair he just abandoned.

"We can't tell him yet," Josh says softly, reaching for the remote.

"I know."

"We can't.  It would distract him unnecessarily.  His head's in the campaign, and if we tell him before we have to, he'll want to come back and help."

"I know."  There are tears in my eyes, and I don't know if it's because we killed Shareef or because Josh can be so sweet and understanding or because Sam is such a good, honorable man who deserves to run a good, honorable campaign.  Or just because it's been an unbearably long day, and I need a drink, an orgasm, or a good cry.

Instead, I have Josh beside me, rewinding Sam's speech.  Not a bad tradeoff when he's like this.

Josh nudges me softly.  "Watch Sam with me?"

"Of course," I answer, and there's only the faintest hint of tears in my voice.

And so, for fifteen minutes, it's not one of those days.  It's just me and Josh in my office, and the campaign is about issues, not scandals, and Sam is untouched and perfect there on the screen.

THE END

01.06.03