August 9, 2002

The night Hoynes won the nomination was -- as ABC, CBS, NBC, CNN, MSNBC and Fox News lost no time informing the viewing public -- historic.  The fact that an incumbent President ran and lost his party's support was, by itself, unprecedented.  The fact that his own Vice President actively sought -- and won -- the nomination was astounding.

And yet, the pundits asked, what else could anyone expect?  The Bartlet administration had been mired in grand jury hearings and impeachment proceedings for months.  No formal charges had been brought against the President, the First Lady or any members of Bartlet's staff yet, but the general consensus was that an element of pity was at work there.  Whatever legal charges could be brought against Jed Bartlet, after all, paled in comparison to the disease he was fighting.  Even the most partisan Republicans hesitated to be labeled as the ones who sent a critically ill man to jail.  The numbers, after all, were complicated.  Did the public believe that Jed Bartlet had lied?  Overwhelmingly yes.  Did they have serious reservations about his ability to govern?  Again, yes.  Did they trust him?  Not anymore.  Did they think he should resign?  Those numbers, since it was so late in his term anyway, were pretty evenly split.  Did they think he deserved jail time?  For the most part, no.  Mostly the numbers indicated that people felt he should be allowed to pack up his things, move back to New Hampshire and live out his days in peace.  Was the American public likely to vote for a party that hounded a seriously ill man?  Probably not.  And so, while the hearings would most likely drag on throughout the campaign, no one expected any indictments at this late date.  Or, as CJ put it when most of the senior staff met for drinks in her hotel room, "The bad news is that we'll all be out of jobs in six months.  The good news is that at least we won't be in jail."

CJ, Sam and Toby had gathered together for one last peaceful drink before going downstairs to make nice with Hoynes and his staff.  Sam and Toby had already crafted the President's speech; CJ had no formal press briefings until tomorrow.  ("Do I become a lame duck press secretary?" she asked after her third grasshopper.  "Is there such a thing as a lame duck press secretary?  Maybe I can be the first.  Set a precedent.  Score one for the sisterhood."  It was at this point that Toby quietly removed the drink from her hand.)  Josh was nowhere to be found.

"The last time I saw him," Sam said, "he was in his hotel room calling each and every delegate and attempting to harangue them into changing their votes."  This, of course, was a complete waste of time.  The days when presidential nominations were actually decided at the nominating convention had ended forty years ago.  Hoynes had sewn up the nomination two months before the convention.  Josh, however, seemed determined to pull off a last-minute miracle.

No one mentioned that they had long ago reached the point (for Sam, it had come around the time he was served with his fourth subpoena) where they hoped Josh would fail.  The only thing that worried them about Josh's attempt to revive the days when nominations were decided in smoke-filled rooms was how their colleague would react when he finally admitted that he was engaged in an exercise in futility.  The very fact that CJ had left Josh alone for six hours in a room with Donna and a bed was the clearest example of how worried they all were.  The unspoken consensus was that Donna could get Josh through this.  If she had to resort to tactics that would have given them all nightmares a few months before, so be it.  What, after all, was one more scandal at this point?  And, it seemed, the press was already moving on, searching for dirt about Hoynes' past.  "Bartlet scandals," Karen Cahill had written four days ago, "are so passé."

Being regarded as passé, they all agreed, was something of a blow to the ego.

***

More than half the delegates Josh had left messages for failed to return his phone calls.  For the most part, those delegates weren't even professional politicians; they were bankers, doctors, housewives -- people who worked now and then in state and local government and for whom a trip to the national convention was a once-in-a-lifetime thrill.  Four years ago, men and women like them had been excited to talk to a member of Governor Bartlet's campaign staff.  Now they couldn't be bothered to spend five minutes on the phone with President Bartlet's Deputy Chief of Staff.  He wished he hadn't started making all these calls that only served to remind him that he was losing whatever power he'd held in the Democratic Party for four years.  He wished that thought hadn't occurred to him.  He wished he didn't know that the same thought had clearly occurred to Donna.

He hadn't even looked at her for the last three hours.  He couldn't stand to see those expressive eyes of hers all wide with pity or hear her say his name in that tone she used when she wanted to reassure him that he was blowing their problems out of proportion.

"Josh."

Yeah, that was the tone.

"What?"

And that, he realized, was his answering tone -- the one he used when he didn't want her to pry into his emotional state.  He knew he'd been subjecting her to that tone way too often this last year.  Lucky thing for her she'd only have to put up with it for another six months.

"We were supposed to meet CJ and the others in the convention hall twenty minutes ago."

He had no intention of going downstairs to watch Hoynes steal everything they'd worked for.  He also had no intention of saying that to Donna.  He finally managed to glance in her direction.  Even though he'd lost track of how many hours they'd worked today, he was fairly sure that it was more than ten and that Donna hadn't taken a break.  Yet she was ready for the convention, every hair in place, wearing one of those sleeveless gray dresses she always seemed to drag out for occasions like this.  He told her to go on ahead of him, making up some story about needing to change out of his jeans and meeting her later.  Donna, for her part, pretended to believe him and left.

He wasn't even going to watch the nomination on television.  His plan was to raid the minibar; with any luck, he'd manage to pass out before Donna got back.  Halfway through his first Scotch, however, his political reflexes kicked in.  He hadn't missed watching the Democratic candidate's nomination, whether on TV or in person, since high school.  So he reached for the remote.

It was all going to be orchestrated perfectly so that Texas would be the state to give Hoynes the necessary number of votes.  He knew how these things worked; after all, he'd been the one running the show four years ago.  He knew that nothing, no matter how spontaneous it might look, had been left to chance.  He told himself that none of it really mattered.

Except when New Hampshire dutifully declared itself for Josiah Bartlet and some sadist in CNN's control both turned the camera on CJ, Toby, Sam and Donna.

It was, he thought, likely to be the only honest show of emotion in the convention hall tonight.  He was in no mood to talk to them, but he suddenly felt the need to be where they were.  Not bothering to turn off the TV, he headed downstairs.

By the time he'd fought his way to the back through the crowd, South Dakota was casting its votes for Hoynes.  He stopped ten feet away, directly across from Donna and the others.  For a minute, he simply looked at them.  CJ and Donna huddled together, arms around each other.  He noted with surprise that Donna was crying.  He couldn't remember seeing her cry before, not even after Rosslyn.  He suspected that, if he'd come down here with her, she wouldn't have let herself break down like that.  He wondered idly what else he'd been keeping her from doing for the last four years.  Sam, who was also a little teary-eyed, stood near CJ and Donna. Toby, who had propped himself against a convenient wall, closed his eyes as though he couldn't stand to watch the proceedings.

And then, as planned, Texas' votes put Hoynes over the top, the balloons fell from the ceiling, the music blared, and everything was officially over.  A moment later, Donna caught sight of him.  They stared at each other until it looked as though she intended to walk over toward him, at which point he turned around and left the convention hall.

***

This time, at least, he didn't cut his hand.

The Hilton now had a fairly impressive fist-shaped dent in one of its walls, but he hadn't ended up with any visible wounds that would cause Leo to order more therapy for him.

"Josh?"

Unless Donna told Leo about this, of course.

Josh wasn't sure how she'd managed to hear him.  He certainly hadn't heard her come upstairs, hadn't heard any noise in the adjoining room, but here she was.  The minute his anger and bitterness and frustration got the better of him, Donnatella Moss showed up in his hotel room.  He'd assumed that she would have gone out somewhere with CJ and the others, but she must have come back to her room not long after he had.  Judging from the way her hair was mussed up and the fact that she'd changed out of her convention hall dress and into an old Bartlet For America t-shirt that stopped somewhere around the middle of her thighs, he assumed she'd been sleeping.

He found the sight of Donna in a Bartlet For America t-shirt profoundly depressing -- a kind of visual shorthand for all the things he wasn't allowed to have.

She took his hand, forcing him to unclench his fist, and examined it carefully.

"It's all right," he said.  "Really."

He tried to take his hand out of her grasp, but she wouldn't let go.  Instead, she placed a soft kiss on his palm; then, one by one, she took his fingers into her mouth, sucking on each one slowly.

He thought maybe he hated it.  Not the physical action, which was already beginning to have a pronounced effect on his body, but everything it implied.  After four years, Donna was offering her body to him out of pity.  This, he thought, was what his life had come to.  The woman he loved and had somehow managed to keep his hands off all this time had long ago run out of other ways to comfort him and so was tacitly agreeing to sex out of pity.

Unless, of course, she'd been struck by the finality of things back in the convention hall and this was her way of saying goodbye to what they'd shared for the last four years.

All in all, he decided, he'd rather be a pity fuck.

It occurred to him that this was probably, given the circumstances, a terrible idea.  He shouldn't let her do this; he'd be as guilty of using her as any of the local gomers she'd dated over the years if he had sex with her under these conditions.

But then she kissed him and it was every bit as incredible as kissing Donnatella Moss was supposed to be.  And when they broke it off, she was smiling -- the kind of smile she used to give him four or five times a day, the smile that started in her eyes and worked its way down to the corners of her mouth and made her practically bounce on her heels.  He couldn't remember seeing her smile like that since Mrs. Landingham's death.  He decided that anything which brought those smiles back couldn't be all bad.  So he kissed her some more and decided that, regardless of why she was doing it, he wasn't strong enough to turn her down.

***

The only thing that surprised Donna about making love to Josh was how quiet he was.  Whenever she had fantasized about having sex with him (and she had speculated about Josh and sex entirely more than was healthy, in her opinion), she had always imagined that they'd be happy and funny and chattering away just like normal.  She had, in her more cynical moments, wondered whether they were even capable of shutting up long enough to get to the actual sex.

As it turned out, they were.

She imagined it had something to do with Josh's mood, with all the loss and sorrow and tension of the last months, but they honestly seemed to have run out of words.

She told herself it didn't matter.  She told herself that words would be superfluous at this point.  Josh managed to say quite a lot to her in the way his lips touched hers -- almost reluctant at first, hesitant, and then suddenly frantic and desperate and passionate as any of the better fantasies she'd conjured up in the last four years.  He pulled her t-shirt over her head in one swift movement, then hitched his thumbs into the waistband of her panties, sliding them over her thighs and slowly down her legs.  She was much too aware of how her breath was coming out ragged and shallow in the quiet room.  She couldn't think of anything witty, or even coherent, to say, standing in front of Josh naked this way, so she waited for him to say something instead.  Men, in her experience, always had something to say in this situation.  But Josh simply stared at her, which she found vastly preferable to the empty compliments she'd gotten from other men in the past.  Other men might have felt the need to throw out words like "sensual" and "exquisite" when they saw her naked for the first time.  But Josh just standing there, looking as though she were some sort of goddess, was what made her feel beautiful.

She undressed Josh slowly, wanting to show him how important this moment was to her through the care she was giving his body.  She removed Josh's shirt and ran her hands across his chest.  The last time she'd gotten a look at Josh's chest was four years ago.  They'd taken a day off from campaigning, and she'd managed to drag him kicking and screaming out for a relaxing day at the beach.  Her memories of that day's half-naked Josh had fueled several of her favorite fantasies since then.  But this Josh looked different -- older and weary and scarred.  She wanted to say something about that; she wanted to express her gratitude that he had survived.  She wanted to tell him how frightened she'd been the night of the shooting and how powerless she'd felt then and in the months that had followed as she watched him fall apart and pull himself back together.  She needed to let him know how proud she was of him for not giving in to the pain and despair he'd felt then.  But they seemed to be in the middle of this strange no-talking dynamic; and Josh would have been incredibly embarrassed if she'd said those words anyway.  So instead of speaking, she pressed her lips lightly against his scar.

She moved her hands across his back, marveling at how smooth and strong he felt, and gradually worked her way down to the waistband of his jeans.  It occurred to her that there was something utterly unJoshlike in how passive he'd remained while she explored his body.  But once her hands dipped inside his jeans, he became himself again, stepping out of his jeans and boxers so quickly that she found herself laughing for the first time in weeks.

Josh's mouth was on her breast now, his tongue playing with her nipples.  She heard herself making little mewling noises and couldn't believe Josh wasn't stopping to tease her mercilessly about that.  She reached down and stroked his erection.  The way he responded to her touch was gratifying, mainly because she now had something to throw back at him if he ever did decide to use the word "mewling" in conversation.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before they ended up on the bed.  She wasn't even sure how they got there.  She was so caught up in the sensation of kissing and holding and touching Josh -- and being kissed and held and touched by him -- that their location seemed like a minor detail.  Eventually, however, she became aware of the pillows underneath her head and the agonizingly slow process of Josh's mouth moving down her body.  He placed a gentle kiss on her sex, and she heard herself moaning again.  He let his fingers run softly down her thigh before he positioned her legs over his shoulders and began stroking her clit with his tongue.  Her hands were tangled in his hair, pressing him even closer to her, silently urging him to increase the pressure.  His tongue moved in tighter circles as he found her most sensitive spot.  She could feel the pressure radiating throughout her body, building toward a feverish climax.  And then, at the very moment she expected to go over the edge, he stopped.  He looked up at her for an instant, his face registering all the sorrow and desperation he'd felt these last months.  He'd never looked like that in any of her fantasies; in them, he was either grinning ecstatically or smirking seductively.  She had never pictured him like this.  She started to say something -- to try to find words of reassurance for him -- but by the time she had the words formed in her head, his tongue was on her clit again and the sounds she produced when she came weren't entirely coherent.

***

All she'd wanted, Donna reflected, was to comfort Josh.  She hadn't been thinking about her own needs at all -- well, she corrected herself, not that much; not primarily.  But, Josh being Josh, he'd felt the need to take things over.  Not that she was complaining -- far from it.  However, she thought that it really was time to regain control of the situation.

Josh was currently holding her, placing these very sweet, very tender kisses along her shoulders, her neck, her forehead.  She reached out for him, snaking her arms around his chest and rolling the two of them over so that she was on top.  She started by wiping some beads of sweat off his forehead, and then she kissed his mouth.  In a parody of their usual dynamic, he tried to wrest control back from her by taking over the kiss.  And since she had no intention of letting him get away with that, she kissed him harder.  It occurred to her that, in doing this thing they'd never done together before, they had somehow managed to get back to being themselves for the first time in months.  Amazingly, she thought, their tongues didn't even need words to keep the banter going.

She moved her hand slowly down his body until she reached his thighs.  Trailing her fingers as lightly as she could manage, Donna eventually reached Josh's erection.  She let her hand move up his shaft, varying the amount of pressure she put on him until she found the touch that made him groan against her mouth.  Then, with a grin -- because he was entirely too focused on how she was caressing him to keep up the kissing competition and that meant she'd won -- Donna broke off the kiss and began moving her mouth down his body.

She thought she'd never met a man who enjoyed the whole foreplay thing as much as Josh seemed to.  Whenever she nipped and sucked at his nipples, he pressed her head closer against his body, as though he couldn't get enough of her touch.  When she dipped her tongue inside his navel, he actually whimpered.  And when she took him in her mouth, she thought he actually invented a few new sounds.

The truth was that she'd never much enjoyed performing oral sex.  In her previous experience, the act had always struck her as somewhat demeaning, and she'd never gotten any real pleasure out of it herself.  But, on the other hand, she adored receiving oral sex; and it only seemed fair to reciprocate on occasion.  This, however, was different.  This was fun.  Because this was Josh, nothing about the experience made her feel subservient.  With Josh, she felt completely in control and she could let herself enjoy using her tongue to explore him.  She marveled at how smooth and slick he felt even as she noted the hardness at his core.

When he ran his hand along the side of her neck, Donna knew he was signaling her to let go of him.  She couldn't help smiling at him as she centered her body over him because she was, for the first time in months, truly happy.

And when Josh smiled back at her, she thought that things would be all right now, despite losing the nomination, because they'd finally managed this.  As he slid into her and began thrusting, she reached for his hand and guided him to the right spot.  She was amazed at how very little she needed -- just a few strokes from his fingers and she was gone over the edge, even as she felt Josh spilling into her.

When it was over, she settled back into his arms, her head resting against his chest.  Nothing in her life, she thought, had ever felt as perfect as this one moment.  "You know," she said sleepily, "we really should have done this sooner.  We wasted entirely too much time."

Josh hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head.  "Yes," she heard him say as she drifted off to sleep, "we did.  We wasted all those years."

***

So this, Josh thought, was what saying goodbye to Donna felt like.  She was, at the moment, sleeping and sprawled over him, arms around his neck, head against his chest, one leg flung over his.  He swore she had actually giggled in her sleep a few times.  Typical, he thought.  The world was crashing down around their heads, and Donnatella Moss was laughing.

Which was, he supposed, one of the reasons he loved her.

It was also typical of them to do everything backwards -- to start a sexual relationship just when everything was ending.  When it was clear that they had no future together.

Because he knew what was going to happen next -- or, rather, what wasn't going to happen.  He was a professional political operative; that was all he had ever wanted to be.  Four years ago, he'd been assured of a brilliant future in Democratic politics.  Even if Bartlet had lost, Josh was still the guy who had engineered the strategy that had gotten a former New Hampshire governor to the nomination, beating out the party's prohibitive favorite.  He was set to be the golden boy of the Democratic Party.  No one could ever have believed that it would end this way.

Now he'd be lucky to find a candidate for city council who would hire him.

His non-political options, as unappealing as they'd seemed to begin with, were also dwindling.  Even if he could stomach the idea of working in a law firm, how many clients wanted to be represented by an attorney who'd made five grand jury appearances in the last year?  He'd made one hesitant overture -- to an acquaintance at Georgetown about possibly pursuing a teaching career.  The ensuing conversation about dealing with endless faculty meetings, committee assignments, grading semi-legible papers, and something he didn't quite understand called, mysteriously enough, "FTEs" convinced him that he'd be back in therapy within a week if he tried teaching.  At least three cheesy publishers had already approached him about writing a tell-all book; but even if he could write, the events of the last four years were not something he could ever imagine divulging to the world at large.

So here he was, four years after the greatest triumph of his life, with no real future to look forward to.  And the rational part of his brain told him that the best thing he could do for Donna at this point would be to let her go.

He also knew that he couldn't bear losing her.

When the phone rang at 4 a.m., he was in the middle of calculating exactly how much money he had left after the outrageous legal fees he'd faced in the last year and whether his savings would be enough to support the two of them while Donna finished college.

He supposed the call shouldn't have surprised him.  Of course, Hoynes would demand a meeting.  It was time for the Vice President to gloat, time to make Josh pay for his defection four years ago.  He explained all this to a groggy -- yet still indignant -- Donna, who advised him not to take the meeting.  He explained to her -- because he was still allowed six months of explaining things to Donna and he wasn't giving that up until he had to -- that this was the way things worked.  If the candidate called you at 4 a.m. and demanded a meeting, you lost as little time as possible getting to that meeting.  Especially if, in the back of your head, you clung to the hope that in a few years people would forget the scandal and only remember the election you won.

The minute he closed the door to his hotel room, leaving Donna behind, he was calculating the odds. Hoynes was weakened right out of the starting gate: too many people associated the Vice President with Bartlet.  Even though Hoynes had tried to distance himself as much as possible from the President, the popular conception was that Hoynes was part of the cover-up.  Which was true, Josh reflected.  It still rankled that the President had confided in Hoynes before telling any of the senior staff about his MS.  Seth Gillette had recently declared his intention of running as the Green Party's candidate.  Gillette, with his liberal and environmental credentials, would take voters away from Hoynes, not from the Republicans.  No way was Hoynes going to win this thing.

Hoynes should have waited four years, until people's memories of Healthgate had faded and the Republicans had had time to screw up.  Running now was an act of hubris on Hoynes' part.  No way would he win.

I'd sell my soul, Josh thought idly, to be able to put a guy with this much going against him in the White House.  I'd give up anything to engineer a victory like that.

***

John Hoynes sat in an uncomfortable-looking overstuffed chair in his hotel suite, sipping sparkling water in a crystal glass.  Josh nodded his thanks to Hoynes' assistant, who discreetly disappeared, then turned back to the victor.  He was, Josh noted, reading a biography of FDR and casually ignoring the low rumble of CNN in the background, endlessly looping footage from the nomination.

Even fresh from sex with Donna, Josh was able to slip almost effortlessly into his best politician's careless stance.  He figured he might as well make the most of it these last few months.  "Good evening, sir."

Hoynes looked up and gave Josh what could only be described as a smug smile.  "Josh," he acknowledged, tossing aside his book.  "Have a seat."

"You had a good night," Josh said; and if there was a hint of censure in his voice, well, was he really expected to take this happily?

"I did indeed." Hoynes settled on his chair, folding his hands together, and fixed Josh with an appraising look.  "How is he?"

Josh laughed bitterly.  "How do you think he is?"

Hoynes watched him carefully.  "Better than you, I'd guess."

"What's that mean?"

Hoynes ignored Josh's tone -- and the question -- altogether.  "So who's the scapegoat?"

Josh forced himself to lean back in his chair, to project an aura of calm detachment, even if that was the last thing he felt.  "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Okay, Josh," Hoynes answered, looking almost amused.  "I'd put money on Leo; he'd do anything for Bartlet."

"President Bartlet," Josh corrected sharply.

"Not for much longer," Hoynes answered evenly.  "Speaking of which, you're not going to be a professional political operative much longer either."

Josh glared at him.  "True, but while you won the nomination, your campaign is an incredible longshot.  Baker's an idiot, sure, but he's raised over $100 million dollars.  You really think President Bartlet's supporters are just going to hand over their donations to you?  Not to mention the slowing economy, rising energy prices, and the fact that you're too closely tied to the President to distance yourself from Healthgate."  Josh stopped talking, knowing he was likely to say much more than was prudent.

Hoynes nodded thoughtfully, then reached for his water glass.  He took his time, sipping slowly, before answering.  "That's all true," he admitted, abandoning the glass once again on the end table.  "It's going to be an uphill battle.  You're right about that."  Hoynes paused.  "You're usually right."

"I am,"  Josh nodded.  It wasn't even ego prompting him to answer in the affirmative; he was a brilliant political strategist.

"You also," Hoynes continued, "have something of a track record for getting the underdog elected."

Josh felt his breathing speed up and forced himself to exhale slowly.  Of all the things he expected Hoynes to say to him, that certainly never crossed his mind.  Suddenly Josh understood his choices:  Stay with President Bartlet these last five months and continue on to a life of obscurity, or sit here and let John Hoynes obliquely lay out a job offer that could lead to political redemption.

"I do," Josh answered finally.  "I'm thinking of getting a woman elected President in 2006."  He held Hoynes' gaze.  "I could do it."

Hoynes smiled then, but it wasn't friendly.  "I don't doubt it, Josh."

Josh took a deep breath.  "You have something of a track record for doubting me."

Laughing, Hoynes nodded.  "You're absolutely right about that, Josh.  But I'm a pretty smart guy."

Josh stayed silent.

Still amused, Hoynes leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lowering his voice.  "Trust me when I tell you I'm too smart to make the same mistake twice."

Shit, Josh thought, this is for real.  Unable to frame an appropriate response, he merely dipped his chin in acknowledgment.

Hoynes took his silence as a sign that he meant to play hardball and sighed.  "Josh, you want to do this the hard way?"

Josh raised his eyebrows.  "There's an easy way?"

"Sure," Hoynes answered.  "You stop playing the part of the wronged innocent, I'll stop being the guy who talks in riddles."

Josh pondered that for a moment, then nodded.  "Sure."

Hoynes watched him, evaluating.  "Good," he said after a moment.  "So here's the deal: you come run my campaign, you're my chief of staff when we get the White House."

Even though he'd been expecting something of the kind, even though he couldn't have asked for a more attractive deal, Josh was still shocked to hear it out loud.  He dropped his head, staring absently at the swirling patterns on the floor.

He couldn't leave the President.  He couldn't quit his job.  He couldn't leave Leo and Sam and CJ and Toby.  He couldn't jump ship like that.

On the other hand, if he stayed, he was basically condemning his career.  Could he really afford to put personal loyalties first?  Could he really afford to say no to John Hoynes?

"I'd hate to see," Hoynes commented, "what Baker would do if he won."

Josh jerked his head up.  "What?"

"You've studied his record, I'm sure.  Campaign moderate, govern right.  Tried and true in his grand old state of West Virginia."

Josh's mouth tightened.  "Believe me, I'm aware of his record."

"Irresponsible tax cuts," Hoynes listed, ticking the points off on his fingers, "oversight committees captured by his industrial buddies, reckless disregard for the environment--"

"Your record on the environment doesn't tend to be--"

"I'm from Texas, Josh," Hoynes pointed out.  "And I've been perfectly willing to toe the Democratic line on this issue since my entrance into national politics."

Josh looked away.  "True," he admitted grudgingly.  "But you've got to admit the Democratic Party would have had a much better shot at keeping the White House if you'd stuck with President Bartlet, or even let the nomination go to a stronger candidate."

"I'm the strongest candidate there is," Hoynes corrected.  "And that is a moot point.  I'm it, Josh.  You've got to decide if you want someone like Baker in charge, or me."

"Yeah," Josh muttered.  He really did not relish that particular decision.

"Josh?"

Josh met Hoynes' gaze.  "Yeah?"

"I'm going to need an answer."

"Right now?" Josh asked, careful to keep his voice neutral.

Hoynes glanced down at his watch.  "I've got a meeting in three hours and I'd like to catch a nap first."

Josh nodded.  "The campaign's going to be tough."

"I'm a tough guy," Hoynes answered.

"If I'm in charge, I'm in charge," Josh said.  "I run the campaign my way."

Hoynes nodded.  "Josh, I watched you last time.  You're in charge."

Josh glanced away, his gaze drawn inexorably to the TV, where Hoynes and his wife beamed, surrounded by euphoric campaign workers and dozens of red, white, and blue balloons.  Election night celebrations were so much better.

Josh met Hoynes' gaze.  "I have some people I'm bringing with me," he said slowly.

"Not a problem," Hoynes answered, the beginnings of a grin appearing on his face as he pushed himself out of his chair.

Josh tried his best to muster up a grin, to show some enthusiasm for his decision, but the feelings boiling just below his surface didn't seem much like happiness.  In fact, Josh somehow knew if he let himself feel right now, he'd end up in a little ball in the corner, regretting this deal with the devil.

So Josh put on his best politician's face and stood, feeling a little dizzy.  "I'm in then.  I'll do it."

Grinning now, Hoynes took two long strides to Josh and shook his hand.  "Excellent, Josh.  Welcome aboard."

***

By 7 a.m., Donna had showered, found a pair of jeans and a t-shirt to wear, checked Josh's schedule for the day, called the office to confirm that nothing needed Josh's immediate attention, and chided herself repeatedly for smiling.  This was no time to beam like a lovestruck sixteen-year-old who'd just been asked to the prom by the coolest guy in the class.  This was serious.  This was sad.  This was the end of the Bartlet administration.  This was the time to deal with matters of national importance.  Her relationship with Josh was not a priority.

Although she'd always known that he'd be able to put that mouth of his to the most amazing uses.

When he got back from his meeting with Hoynes, she promised herself, she'd sit him down and force him to discuss exactly where they were going with this.  As soon as Josh got back--

He didn't so much open the door as he exploded through it.  He was just suddenly there, grabbing her in a fierce hug and twirling her around the room.  "Donnatella Moss," he announced, and his entire face lit up with the joy of it, "we're back in the race."

She heard herself squeal like the sixteen-year-old she'd just declared she wasn't as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him for all she was worth.  Only Josh, she thought, could pull off a political miracle like this and save everyone's careers.  "How?" she asked.  He'd get to explain some little-known rule about party nominations; he'd love that.  "Hoynes won.  How is it even possible for President Bartlet to--"  And then Josh's entire face fell, and she got it.  She moved out of his arms because she needed to distance herself when she heard this.  She couldn't let herself be distracted by the feel of Josh's arms around her when he explained this.  If this could be explained.

"Not President Bartlet," Josh said quietly.  For all the excitement he felt about getting back into the race, he clearly hadn't recovered from yesterday's defeat.  "We're going to work for Hoynes."

Donna shook her head because she simply couldn't reply, couldn't find the words to express how completely unacceptable that idea was.

He tried to explain.  He told her about Hoynes' offer, his initial reaction, the reasons he'd accepted.  He talked about how Hoynes was the underdog, about what a challenge the election would be, about what it would mean to all the issues they cared about if the Republicans took the White House.

She still couldn't believe it.

Four years ago, they'd sat together late at night on a campaign bus and he'd told her all about working for Hoynes.  He'd told her how frustrating it had been and how Hoynes hadn't seemed to stand for any of the things that Governor Bartlet believed in.  Almost everyone else on the bus had been sleeping, so their voices had been little more than whispers and they'd had to lean close to each other to converse.  She'd come to certain conclusions about Josh then that had only intensified the better she got to know him.

She'd realized that Josh's personality held more contradictions than anyone she'd ever known.  He could be incredibly idealistic and ruthlessly pragmatic at the same time.  He had tremendous ambitions, but he was also capable of phenomenal self-sacrifice.  His outsized ego was matched by an enormous capacity for love.  What made Josh special, what made him more than just another skillful political operative, was this fragile balance between his compassion and his ruthlessness.

She wanted to tell him all that, but there was another problem.  This thing that had happened between them last night made her less sure of her place in Josh's life than usual.  Definitely it made her doubt whether he would respond to what she said in terms of the professional relationship they'd built over the last four years or whether he'd think she was assuming too much on the basis of the one night they'd slept together.  She was still trying to figure out how to say all this to him when he dropped another bombshell on her.

"We're leaving the convention with Hoynes," he said.

"What?"

"We're not going back to DC.  We start working for Hoynes immediately."

"You're not, like, giving Leo two weeks' notice or something?  You're just going to leave here with the guy who ran against us?"

"Donna, it's going to be a tough campaign, and I'm getting a late start as it is."

"You can't do this, Josh.  This is absolutely the worst thing you could do."

"Do you want Baker to win?"

"Of course not.  But I'm not talking about the election.  I don't give a damn about the election."

He grinned at her.  "Well, that's heresy."

"I don't, Josh.  I care about what this will do to you.  Working for Hoynes again is the worst thing that could happen to you.  This would--"  She hesitated, because she couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound melodramatic.  She gave herself a mental shrug and went with the melodrama.  "This would destroy your soul."

"Overstating again, Donnatella?"

"No.  Repeating.  You were the one who used to talk about how miserable you were when you worked for Hoynes."

"This is different."

"How?  Because you've convinced yourself you're working for the good of the Party?  You're still you, and he's still Hoynes.  He's not President Bartlet; all Hoynes cares about is winning, and he doesn't care how."

"I don't know that that's an accurate description."

"And yet it's one I've heard you use -- oh, when was that? -- yesterday."

"Well, when you're in the middle of a campaign, you say things."

"And when you change sides, you say something else?  This is what I worry about; this is what I think will happen to you.  You'll turn into just another politician who'll do anything you have to do to get your guy elected."

"I had no idea your opinion of me was so low," he said bitterly.

"It's not.  God, Josh, I -- I care about you.  It's just that I think working for Hoynes would bring out the absolute worst in you."

"Give me a little credit for being able to control my own destiny here, okay?  You're making it sound like Hoynes is the devil or something."

"That's not what I'm saying.  I don't think Hoynes is a bad person necessarily; God knows he's preferable to Baker.  It's just that you have this side to you, Josh, that really, really likes the power and the winning; and that's fine when you're working for someone like President Bartlet because you can channel all that into something worth fighting for.  But with Hoynes, his ambition and that ruthless side of yours -- it would just all get tangled up and you'd lose sight of everything that matters to you now."  She paused, because she didn't think it would help her argument in the least if she broke into tears.  She took a deep breath before adding, "And I think you'd turn into someone I wouldn't like very much.  Which is why I won't come with you."

He looked at her in utter astonishment.  Obviously the idea that she might not leave the Bartlet administration with him had never entered his mind.

"What?" he asked.

"If you leave, you'll have to look for a new assistant.  I'm going back to DC with the President."

"Donna," he said, and his voice sounded closer to pleading than she'd thought he was capable of.

"I can't do it, Josh.  I can't walk out on them now."

"I need you."

"Then don't go."

"I have to.  This -- it's a miracle Hoynes even wants me after everything that's happened in the last year.  If I don't win this election for him, I'll never have another chance."

"That's not necessarily true."

"Yes, it is.  You know that."

"Well then, so what?  You can find something else you'll love as much as this."

"No, I can't.  This is all I ever wanted to be, Donna.  I'm not like you with your ninety-seven majors.  This is what I'm meant to do."

"Regardless of what else it costs you?"

"It doesn't have to--"

"Because CJ and Sam and Toby are going to be pissed.  I don't even want to think about how Leo will react.  Or the President."

"I would hope," he said, with a look that indicated that he wasn't simply talking about the people they worked with, "that they would care enough about me to understand why I have to do this."

"And maybe they would think that you should care enough about them to stay."

"Donna," he said quietly, "I can't stay."

"And I can't go," she replied.

There was really nothing else either of them could bear to say at this point.  Josh looked at her for a moment, nodded and walked out the door.

She was actually quite proud of herself for not crying until after he'd left.

***

Josh swiped his hands one last time on his pants, then squared his shoulders and knocked.  Leo's familiar "Yeah" nearly cost Josh his nerve, but he managed to open the door and stumble inside.

Leo glanced up from the sheaf of papers in his hands and gave Josh the faintest hint of a smile.  "Josh.  I didn't expect to see you so early."

"I have to talk to you," Josh muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.  What was it about Leo that made him feel like an errant thirteen year old?

"Okay," Leo nodded, half his attention still on the folder in his lap.  He took a sip of orange juice.  When Josh still didn't speak, he looked up, expectant.  "Should I have Margaret block off my whole morning," he asked sarcastically, "or are you--"

"I'm leaving."  Josh stood there, shaking, as he waited for a response.

"Leaving," Leo repeated, his eyebrows crouching low on his forehead.  "For D.C.?"

"No," Josh answered, shifting nervously.  "I'm leaving the White House.  I'm leaving my job."   He felt, suddenly, that all the air had been sucked out of the room.  He struggled to breathe evenly, fighting the slight dizziness.

Leo stared, his fingers tightening on the papers until they started to crinkle.  "Excuse me?"

"I'm leaving the--"

"I heard you the first time," Leo thundered.  "I was hoping you would come to your senses and we could forget this ever happened."  He tossed the papers aside, rising to face Josh.  "What the hell are you talking about, Josh?"

"The Vice-President--" Josh began.

"I'll kill him," Leo muttered, glancing around as if in search of an appropriate murder weapon.  Josh had the sudden, inappropriate mental image of Leo in the parlor with a candlestick.  He shook his head.

"Leo, Baker can't win," Josh pointed out.  He hated the note of pleading in his tone, but he couldn't seem to help it.  This was Leo.  This was his mentor, and he needed Leo to understand.  He needed Leo's blessing before he could reconcile his actions with his conscience.

He obviously didn't have Donna's blessing.

Leo's eyes narrowed as he glared at Josh.  "Baker?  You're coming to me with Baker can't win?"

"He can't," Josh insisted.  "With the White House and both houses of Congress controlled by Republicans, the agenda of this country--"

"Bullshit," Leo hollered.

Josh froze.  Leo often raised his voice, but this...  This was fury.  And Josh had no idea how to handle it.  "Leo," he said, his voice tentative.

"No, Josh, don't even try it.  You are saving your own ass here, because you know that just as you were lauded for putting President Bartlet in office, you'll be blamed for the nomination going to Hoynes.  God forbid that Josh Lyman, political operative extraordinaire, come out of this a bit worse for the wear.  What?  Did Hoynes tempt you with my job?"

Josh looked away.  "It's not like that."

"He did," Leo nodded.  "I'm surprised at you, Josh.  I thought more of you."

Josh felt nauseous suddenly, his insides twisted up in knots.  "Leo," he pleaded.

"Make up your mind, Josh.  And choose well."  Leo stared at him, arms crossed.  "You walk out of here right now, you're done.  You can hitch a ride with John Hoynes or you can fly commercial.  Either you're with us, or you're not.  And while I'm a big proponent of second chances, there are some transgressions that are too big to be forgiven."

"Like lying to the American people about a degenerative illness?" Josh shot back.

"That's what this is about?"

"No."

"Josh--"

"It's not," he insisted.  "I just need...  My loyalty is to the Party.  If Hoynes is the nominee, I have a responsibility--"

"Get out."

Josh stood, frozen.  "What?"

Leo held his ground, his eyes flashing with anger.  "You heard me.  Get out."

"Leo--"

"We're done, Josh.  You're lying to me.  You're lying to yourself.  I could cover your ass for pretty much anything, but not this."  He shook his head in disbelief.  "What the hell are you thinking?  If you were frustrated with President Bartlet for pulling to the middle the first year, how are you going to handle a Texas Democrat?"  Leo paused, letting that hang in the air.  "Leave your badge and go."

"Leo?" asked a new voice from the door.

"CJ," Leo greeted her without taking his eyes off of Josh.

"What's going on, Leo?" CJ asked.  "Josh?"

Josh didn't turn either; he simply groped for his badge, tugged it out of his pocket, and dropped it onto the end table.  Leo watched, his mouth tightening.

"Josh?" CJ repeated, her voice shrill with ill-concealed panic.  "What are you doing?"

"CJ," Leo said, holding Josh's gaze.  "Mr. Lyman is no longer a part of the Bartlet administration."

"What?"  CJ took three steps and placed herself between the two men, turning her shocked expression to Josh.  "Josh, what's he talking about?"

"Why don't you tell CJ about your new job," Leo prompted.

"New job?"

Josh found he couldn't quite meet CJ's eyes.  "I'm working for Hoynes."

CJ gaped at him, taking an unconscious step back.  "What?  Hoynes?"

"Yes," Josh answered tiredly, staring at the part in her hair.  "Someone needs to make sure the Democrats don't lose the White House."

CJ shook her head slowly.  "Are you crazy?"

"No," Josh said, forcing his limbs into motion.  He lurched toward the door, resisting the urge to look back.  "I'm leaving."

***

Josh actually made it most of the way to the Bartlets' hotel suite before he had to stop right there in the hallway and lean against the wall.  He closed his eyes, forcibly slowed his erratic breathing, straightened his spine, and tried like hell to stop shaking.

"Inexcusable," Toby bellowed.

Josh's breath caught and his eyes snapped open.  Whatever small measure of calm he'd managed to regain fled at the sight of Sam and Toby marching toward him, bickering as always.  And as their words penetrated Josh's haze, he realized they were fighting over him.

"Toby, he's not an idiot," Sam protested.  "You can't just waltz up to him and say, 'Hey, jackass--'"

"I can and I will," Toby countered, fixing his gaze on Josh.  "Josh--"

"You can yell all you want," Josh blurted, "but it won't change my mind and, frankly, I don't want to hear it."

Toby stopped right in front of Josh, crossed his arms, and glared.  "What the hell are you talking about?"

Blinking rapidly, Josh considered the possibility he'd made a tactical error.  "What are you talking about?" he challenged.

"Seth Gillette," Toby answered quietly, beginning to look quite suspicious.

"Oh."

Sam frowned at Josh.  "Why are you in the hallway doing your weird relaxation thing?"

"It's not weird," Josh defended automatically.  "And I'm--"

"The King of All Idiotdom quit his job," CJ announced, bearing down on the group like the wrath of God.

Toby's eyes narrowed into little laser points of disapproval.

Sam, on the other hand, looked puzzled.  "Baker quit?  How do you quit being a nominee, anyway?  I mean--"

"Josh quit," CJ interrupted, exasperated.  She reached them and crossed her arms, fixing Josh with a disapproving look.

Sam's wide-eyed gaze swung over to Josh.  "What?"

Toby just kept glaring, his mouth drawn into a tight line.

Josh tried to answer, but CJ beat him to it.  "Josh is going to work for Hoynes.  Isn't that great?" she asked, her voice dripping with artificial sweeteners.

"Hoynes?" Sam spluttered.

"Yes," Josh confirmed, shifting so his spine lay a bit straighter along the wall.  "Someone needs to make sure that the Democrats keep the White House."

Toby actually grinned.  "So your reasons are purely altruistic."

Again, CJ jumped in and answered for Josh.  "No, he's angling for Leo's office in the--"  She stumbled a bit, her nose wrinkled in distaste-- "Hoynes administration."

"Hoynes?" Sam repeated, louder this time.

"Yes, Sam," CJ snapped.  "John Hoynes.  The man we beat the first time around.  The man who's been a perpetual thorn in our collective sides.  The man who is most assuredly not your beloved Real Thing."

"Josh?" Sam asked in this crushed voice.  "What are you doing?"

"I have to do this."  Josh hated the pleading tone.  Why couldn't anyone understand this?  "The Baker agenda--"

"Oh, stop it," CJ yelled.  "We care about you, Josh, and we're worried about the fact that you're going over to the Dark Side because you're pissed off that the President kept a secret from you--"

"It's not about that!"

Sam shook his head reflexively.  "Then what is it about?"

"It's for the good of the Party," Josh insisted.

"It's for the good of Josh Lyman," CJ shot back.

Desperate, Josh turned to Toby for support.  "What better way to bring the Party back together after such a bloody primary season?  We can't win the White House like this."

"That's true," Toby conceded.  "And honestly, Josh, I admire you for doing something to keep Baker out of the White House."

"Finally!  Thank you, Toby."

"And then, of course, I'm in awe of the amount of sheer stupidity a move like this takes."

"I am not stupid!" Josh exploded.  "I am not crazy, and I am not doing this lightly.  Do you think I wanted things to turn out this way?"

Josh's outburst hung in the air, like the aftereffects of a flashbulb.  Sam turned that whipped puppy look at Josh, Toby went right on glaring, and CJ froze, her gaze fixed some distance down the hallway.

"Turn out what way?" asked the President, strolling towards his senior staff.  "You kids were making quite a ruckus."

"We apologize, sir," CJ managed.

Josh just stared at the President.  Josiah Bartlet was such a good, decent man.  Yes, he had flaws and, yes, he was human.  But he was a damn good president.  It hit him then with the force of a baseball bat exactly what he would be giving up.  And as soon as he said it to the President, it would be real.  Final.

Josh could feel four pairs of eyes on him, but it was quite a struggle to raise his gaze from the ugly rug.  "Sir," he said finally, his voice quavering slightly, "CJ, Sam, Toby, and Leo are all monumentally pissed at me for what I'm about to tell you."  He glanced at CJ's angry face, the purposefully blank expression Toby turned toward him, and Sam's hurt look.  Then he straightened his shoulders.  "Mr. President, could I talk to you inside?"

"Josh," Sam whispered brokenly.  "Don't."

President Bartlet looked at each of them in turn, a small, sad smile on his face.  "I always knew I'd lose one of you over this," he said quietly, fixing his gaze on Josh.  "I just never thought it would be you."

CJ ducked her head, Sam stepped closer to her, and Toby touched her arm.  Isolated in his misery, Josh took one last look at his three compatriots, then followed the President into his suite.

***

She'd have to find a job, Donna thought idly.  The next six months were no big deal; wherever Leo chose to put her for the duration, there'd be enough work to keep her busy.  But she'd have to figure out what to do with the rest of her life after January.  Even when they'd lost last night, that part of it hadn't worried her.  She'd assumed she'd go along with Josh, no matter what he chose to do.  She'd never imagined spending the rest of her life without him.  She'd had a life without Josh once, but she couldn't quite remember how that was done.

Four years working together, she thought.  Three months taking care of him after the shooting.  One night as lovers.  How long was it supposed to take her to get over that?  And what precisely was she supposed to be getting over?  Losing a demanding, unreasonable boss?  Destroying a friendship?  Regretting what amounted to a one-night stand?

"You're still here?"

She looked up, surprised.  She thought this very well might be the only time Josh had ever entered a room without her noticing.  She wondered if that meant something.

She'd been sitting on the corner of his bed.  While she'd been crying in the adjoining room, the maid had come in here and tidied the place up.  The bed was all neatly made, as if what they'd done last night had never happened.

There was still an impressive dent in the wall, however.

"I was waiting for you," she said.  "How'd Leo take it?"

"Pretty much the way you expected.  CJ agrees with you, by the way.  Only she cast Hoynes as Darth Vader instead of Mephistopheles."

"You can't blame them for being bitter, Josh.  You're not even giving them any advance notice.  You just can't walk out on people like this."

"Why not?  It's pretty much the same way you walked out on me four years ago."

"Yes," she said quietly, "but I came back.  You're never coming back, are you?  Not even if Hoynes loses."

"Hoynes isn't going to lose."

"Yesterday you said--"

"Yesterday I wasn't running the show."

"Josh," she started.

"Look," he said, "I've had these little lectures from everyone.  You, Leo, CJ, Toby, Sam, and President Bartlet.  You all think I'm a deserter.  I'm a traitor.  I'm selling us out.  Well, guess what?  We lost.  We lost this one four years ago when the President didn't bother to tell us he had MS.  The only positive thing any of us can do now is keep Baker and his cronies out of the White House, and that's what I'm doing.  If you want to come along and help me, fine.  If not, you can just get out of here and let me pack because I have to be on a plane in an hour."

"You're already packed."

"What?"

"While you were gone, I packed everything up for you.  And I cleared your schedule.  I assume there's some stuff in the office that you're going to want me to send on, so once you know where you'll be, I can--"

"God, Donna," he said, with a bitter little laugh, "we can't even break up like normal people, can we?  I mean, this is the part where other people throw all these bitter recriminations at each other, and you're doing my packing and worrying about clearing my schedule."

"Josh, trust me on this.  I can bring the bitter right now if you really want it."

"No," he said, running a hand through his hair.  She thought about how much she was going to miss watching him do that.  "I like this much better."  He pulled her into his arms.  "Do you have any idea how much I'm going to miss you?" he asked.

"Probably about as much as I'll miss you," she answered.  She kissed him one last time and debated whether she should tell him that she was in love with him.  She decided against it; he'd obviously made up his mind and she wasn't going to be able to stop him.  Talking about love when they'd never said it before would only complicate matters.

He was halfway out the door when she decided that she had to say something and called his name.  He turned around and smiled at her, and she realized that he probably thought she had changed her mind and that she was going with him.

"I just," she began, "I wanted to say that I'm not sorry last night happened.  That's all."

He didn't say anything in reply.  He nodded once, turned around and walked out the door.

When CJ came looking for her an hour later, Donna was still sitting on the bed, staring at the space where she'd last seen Josh.

***

November 5, 2002

Election night, Donna thought, was really just too depressing when the best man for the job wasn't even in the running.

Although they no longer had a personal stake in the outcome -- excepting Josh's damn Party loyalty -- Sam, CJ, and Toby had invited Donna to join them at CJ's to watch the coverage.  Leo was in Manchester with the Bartlets, who were passing the evening in private, having had enough of the limelight on this particular subject.  CJ would, of course, have to be back at the White House after the concession speech of whichever candidate lost to rattle off one of the two statements Toby had spent all week perfecting.  But she could be at home among friends to hear the actual results.  Polling over the last week showed Baker's razor thin lead over Hoynes eroding, and the Seth Gillette factor tossed another variable into the most bitter presidential campaign in decades.

To say that the atmosphere at CJ's was tense as polling closed on the East Coast would do the collective mood in the room vast injustice.  It was a marked contrast to the last presidential election, when the frenetic pace, ringing phones, and constant chatter at campaign headquarters didn't pause until the West Coast closed and Bartlet won California, Oregon, and Washington.  And consequently, the presidency.

At CJ's, they sat in tense silence, marred only by occasional scathing remarks about Baker and his sycophantic spokeswoman, Karen Harrison.

"She just misused the word 'myriad,'" Toby remarked.  "'A myriad of issues'?  It should be 'Republicans agree with Senator Baker on myriad issues.'  And it should also be noted that more than half of the country disagrees with Baker on myriad issues."  No one replied, and Toby resumed sitting rigidly in the armchair, a glass of scotch clutched in one hand.  Toby refused to talk about Josh.  In fact, Donna didn't think he'd even said Josh's name since the night he quit.  Toby did, though, have Ginger quietly order copies of every single one of Hoynes' public speeches, ostensibly to keep track of the notes Hoynes chose to hit in the campaign.

Toby's obstinate silence on the subject was increasingly hard on Sam, who was sometimes reduced to hurling epithets at news clips of Hoynes as he walked through the bullpen.  Josh seemed to have taken a good deal of Sam's boisterous optimism with him when he left.  Sam and Donna had gone out and got themselves blistering drunk a few times; fully soused, they were able to vent some of their bitterness and disappointment to each other, but they never spoke of those nights.  Another new development with Sam was his growing impatience.  Without Josh there to pace and mutter and grumble about waiting, Sam seemed to feel obligated to take over the role.  He couldn't even sit still to watch the pundits on TV.  He was up and down every five minutes, bringing Donna refills before she needed them, and sometimes just pacing.

"Sam," CJ groaned.  "You're blocking the TV."

"Who cares?" he answered.  "They're not saying anything.  They're just blathering on about historic elections and degenerative illnesses."

"Yeah, but they're going to start calling the West Coast any time now," CJ countered.

"Again," Sam grumbled, "who cares?  We already know which states Hoynes will win; the only variable is Florida, and they're not going to call it until they hit ninety percent of precincts reporting."

CJ refused to take the bait, instead curling further into the corner of the couch, a chenille throw across her lap.  She was on her second drink, even though she had to face the press later on -- she was still angry.  Donna had, at one point, confessed to CJ about her one night with Josh.  CJ, ever the press secretary, had vacillated between outrage ("'Deputy Chief of Staff Screws Assistant, Screws Over President' -- This is the headline I'm going to have to spin!") and incredible compassion.  At work, however, CJ referred to Josh as Mr. Lyman, and communicated with him via Hoynes' press secretary, and only when absolutely necessary.

"If that man," CJ said, "does one more possible breakdown of electoral votes, I'm going to fly to New York just to shove that damn dry erase board up his ass."

Beside her, Donna grinned mildly, then went back to sipping her beer and staring at the TV without really watching it.  In between incessant analyses of which states were key to each candidate -- commentary provided by the guy with the dry erase board currently targeted for death by CJ -- the networks cut to the crowds outside of Baker's and Hoynes' respective headquarters.  Donna didn't pay much attention to the shots of Greenbriar, West Virgina; but whenever they showed Hoynes' headquarters in Highland Park, Donna's breath caught.  She relentlessly scanned the crowd of Hoynes' supporters for her erstwhile Jewish Yankee, even though she knew he'd be inside working the phones.  He'd be in the thick of things, right where he loved to be.  Only the few times Donna had caught a glimpse of him during the campaign -- standing behind Hoynes, of course -- he looked awful.  She could tell from the pallor of his complexion and the deepening lines in his face that he wasn't sleeping.  But since it was no longer her job to worry about Josh Lyman, Donna did her best to stop worrying.

It rarely worked.

She was in good company, though.  According to Margaret, Leo had set up a complicated clandestine network of intermediaries to keep tabs on Josh.  Mostly, Margaret said, he worried about the PTSD -- he couldn't make Josh's career decisions for him, but after dragging him back from the precarious edge, Leo felt obligated to safeguard Josh's sanity.  Or at least make sure someone he trusted was in a position to perform that function for him if it became necessary.  Donna wondered if Leo was in New Hampshire scanning the networks for his former deputy.

When Tom Brokaw announced that they were about to call Florida, CJ froze, Toby leaned forward, Sam stopped pacing, and Donna held her breath.  Florida was key; Hoynes hadn't carried enough of the northeast to win without Florida's twenty-five electoral votes, even assuming he won Texas and California.

"We're ready to call Florida," Tom Brokaw said, "for Senator Gregory W. Baker--"

The networks cut to scenes of blissful chaos in West Virginia, and nobody in CJ's living room moved.

"He lost," Sam mumbled, falling onto the couch beside Donna.  "I can't believe he lost."

Toby shot him a warning look.  "He should've known better.  He should've stuck with us."

"Hoynes?" CJ asked.  "Or Josh?"

"Both," Toby snapped back.

"It doesn't matter," Donna said, more to herself than to the others.

Sam glanced over at her.  "Why doesn't it matter?"

"We lost four years ago," Donna answered, repeating what Josh told her months earlier.  "We lost this one when President Bartlet didn't tell us about the MS."

"This isn't the President's fault," Sam insisted.  "If Hoynes hadn't run--"

"We would probably still have lost," Toby interrupted tiredly.  "This whole discussion is pointless."

"We lost," CJ mused.  "This is terrible."  She downed the rest of her drink in one long swallow.  The glass clattered loudly against the wood when she slammed it down.

"Baker," Sam spat.  "I can't believe it.  This is beyond terrible."

"I hope Josh is okay," Donna blurted.  Then she froze, because the mutterings all around stopped and three pairs of eyes honed in on her.

"He brought it on himself," Toby answered quietly.

Donna glared at him.  "So that makes it okay that he's somewhere in Texas hurting?  He's going to blame himself for this.  He's going to feel responsible for Baker winning.  He's going to be upset."  She shrugged.  "Besides, he hates Texas."

"Anyone with taste hates Texas," Toby commented.

"Donna," CJ interjecting, tossing a glare at Toby, "it was his decision to leave.  He could've been right here tonight, surrounded by friends.  But he left.  And there's nothing we can do about it now."

Donna ducked her head to hide the tears stinging her eyes.  Sam slipped his hand into hers and squeezed.

"You could call him," Sam suggested.

Donna's head jerked up.  It was the first time any of them had mentioned trying to contact Josh, trying to mend some of the broken fences.  Demolished fences, more like.  Reduced to splinters, Donna thought darkly as she finished off her third beer.  She didn't think this could be fixed, at any rate, and she had no idea how Josh would react if she called.

Before she could ponder Sam's suggestion further, Toby made a strangled noise and CJ breathed, "Oh, God."

On TV, Hoynes walked out to the podium in front of his headquarters to make his concession speech, and, suddenly, there was Josh.

Donna thought she may have dug her nails into Sam's palm, because he yelped and pulled his hand away.  That was the only sound any of them made as they watched Hoynes, his wife beside him looking dutifully somber, concede the election to Baker.  But every single one of them stared not at John Hoynes, but at the man just behind him, the man whose entire body radiated disappointment and self-recrimination.  Josh wore his best suit, but it hung oddly on him.  Donna studied his face and decided he'd lost weight.

For most of the speech, Josh kept his chin down, ignoring everything he'd no doubt been told to do in case of a loss -- it's important to look confident, even as your world comes crashing down around you.  But at the end, when Hoynes added some false words of praise for President Bartlet and his supporters, Josh took a deep breath and looked straight into the camera.

The look on his face -- Donna leaned forward, her gaze fixed on Josh.  On the look of sadness and... if she didn't know better, she'd think he looked sorry.  She'd think that he chose to look at the camera then, that he knew they'd be watching for him, and that he was trying in some small way to apologize.

At CJ's, Donna's tears won the battle with her self-control, Sam dropped his head into his hands, Toby stared up the ceiling, blinking rapidly, and CJ unfolded herself from the corner of the couch and wrapped an arm around Donna.

Sniffling, Donna glanced around.  "Should I call him?"

CJ, Sam, and Toby exchanged looks. "Donna," Toby answered quietly, "I know you feel bad for Josh right now.  I am not indifferent to his current predicament.  But he brought it on himself."

"Yeah," Sam shrugged, "but--"

"You reap what you sow," CJ offered, squeezing Donna's hand.  "We may have lost, but at least we fought the good fight."

Donna ducked her head, and when she spoke, her voice was soft.  "Josh thought that's what he was doing too.  Can't there be more than one good fight?"

She looked around at the tired, angry faces of her friends and colleagues, but no one had an answer.  So she turned her attention back to the TV screen and waited for the networks to replay Hoynes' speech, hoping for one more glance of the one who was missing.

THE END

06.19.01