Not surprisingly, they ended up at Josh's place.

Or perhaps it was surprising for the rest to return seeking comfort to this place, this sparsely furnished, largely ignored, high-priced condominium in Georgetown.  Of course, during The Recovery -- and they all thought of it that way, though they'd never admit it -- each of them spent enough time at Josh's condo on one pretext or another for the starkness to become familiar.  And oddly comforting.

Also, the building had a hell of a front stoop.

So when it came down to it, where better to spend their last Saturday night?  At least their last peaceful Saturday night?  Considering the subject matter that was bound to arise as soon as the alcohol hit their respective bloodstreams, they couldn't be anywhere in public.  And getting soundly drunk in the White House was generally frowned upon -- outside the yearly blitz of holiday parties, of course.

And so they ended up at Josh's place.

At first, their intention was merely to mope together, to commiserate over a beer or two.  Possibly less, because Josh was worried about the amount of beer consumed.  Or, rather, the amount of beer that would be left unconsumed and in its proper spot on the bottom shelf.

"Donna rations the beer," he explained as he dug in his refrigerator, examining the meager contents critically.  He really needed to keep some actual food in the house for when he had company over.  Or for the rare occasions that he was actually at home and hungry at the same time.

Sam, who had arrived bearing Sam Adams, scrunched up his face.  "She rations it?"

Josh sighed into the depths of his Kenmore.  "Don't ask."

"What aren't we asking about?" asked CJ, as she, too, handed over a six-pack.  Pete's Wicked Ale.  Just because it sounded dark and moody.  Kind of like she felt.

"Donna," Sam explained with a grin.  "Apparently, she rations Josh's beer."

Her curiosity piqued, CJ turned to Josh.  "And when, exactly, is Donna here to ration your beer?"

"She's not," Josh answered defensively over the refrigerator's impatient hum.  "She just -- when she's here, she counts beers."

Sam nodded in mock understanding.  "And why does she do this?"

Josh busied himself with the beer, pushing aside half a loaf of bread and some apple juice to make room.  "She started during, you know...  When she was helping out."

"Oh," Sam said, stupidly.  He gave CJ a desperate look, but she merely shrugged and watched Josh's back.

Josh emerged from the fridge, handing CJ a cold beer from his original collection.  "Where's Toby?"

"Fast Fong's," Sam answered.

Josh nodded.

The three fell into an odd silence.  An uncomfortable silence, as they stared everywhere but at each other.  Josh picked at the label on his beer bottle, Sam pulled fastidiously at a thread in his dark blue henley, and CJ, arms crossed, examined her toes for chips in the dark red polish.

Finally, Josh cleared his throat and dipped his chin towards the door.  "You guys wanna--"

"The stoop?" Sam interrupted gratefully.  "Sounds good."

CJ, comfortable in jeans and a loose, v-neck top, kicked off her sandals and followed them out into the night, barefoot.  She hissed a little at the cool concrete, then settled on one side of the stairs, stretching her long legs out across one step.

Sam, ever the gentleman, waited for her to situate herself, then slipped down two stairs and sat.  He rested his arms on his jean-clad thighs and stared absently out into the night.  "Full moon," he commented.

CJ snorted.  "Fitting, eh?"

Josh stood paternally at the top, shivering a bit in the crisp spring air, then dropped down on the step above CJ.  This, too, had been their tacitly agreed upon arrangement during The Recovery.  Josh was closest to the door, because at first, it took such effort for him to lift himself up from his awkward position on the stairs that Donna insisted he be near the top of the steps.  CJ, who hovered almost as much as Donna early on, a little below him and to his left, turned sideways to keep an eye on him.  Toby just past CJ, spending most of his time staring blankly across the street, lending an air of quietude and the occasional bit of smoke from his cigar to his compatriots.  Sam, even with Toby, but closer to the middle of the staircase and sitting almost backwards on the step so as not to be rude to anyone.  And Donna just one step down from Josh to his left.

Only Donna wasn't there because she didn't know.

Another silence grew, as they thought about everyone else who didn't know.  And everyone who would soon know.  And what that would mean.

"Fast Fong's," Toby announced, grumbling, "is a gathering place for idiots."  He deposited the fragrant sack of food on the stair above CJ's legs, just to the right of Josh.  Then he picked his way carefully through the forest of limbs and entered the condo, dropping his coat onto a convenient chair and procuring a beer.

When he rejoined the group on the stairs, he settled two stairs below CJ in his customary place.  Sam handed him some beef and snow peas, then found a container of garlic shrimp for himself.  Josh confiscated the garlic chicken, and CJ grabbed the sweet and sour pork.  The large container of rice ended up in between CJ's ankles -- which earned Sam a very dirty look -- so they could all reach it.

Toby, watching CJ inhale her food, raised an eyebrow.  "Good?"

"Why is it," CJ paused to swallow, "that men feel free to comment on women eating heartily?  Do I look overweight to you?  Does it look like I should be eating less food?"

Josh rolled his eyes.  "CJ--"

"And even if I were overweight, what gives you the right to make those kinds of faces because I'm enjoying my food?  Women aren't supposed to eat, is that it?  We're just supposed to nibble on salad and try not to take up too much space?"

Josh fought a grin, glancing back and forth between Toby and CJ.

"I was merely making sure your food was to your liking," Toby answered quietly.  He took a swig of beer.  "Sam, how's the beef?"

Sam gave his superior a startled look.  "Um, fine?"

Lips pursed, CJ considered Toby for a moment, then shrugged.  "I'm just saying, I like my food."

Toby didn't even look up from his fried rice.  "Good."

Sam stared at the two combatants, confused.  "You know--"

"So," Josh interrupted, "what'd you kids do today?"

Sam swung his perplexed gaze up to Josh, CJ snorted and took another bite of pork, and Toby didn't deign to answer.

"Small talk?" Sam asked.  "You're making small talk?"

"No," Josh managed around a mouthful of garlic chicken.  "I'm asking what you did today.  It's our, you know..."

"Last Saturday before it all goes to hell?" CJ offered.

"That's it," Sam decreed, dropping his cardboard container onto the stair with a decisive thunk.  "We need more beer."

"I'm, like, a third of the way through this one," CJ noted, smiling.

"Me too," Josh pointed out.

Sam nodded, rising.  "Drink faster."

Toby watched his deputy disappear into the house, then tucked back into his food.  The beer bottle at his elbow was conspicuously empty.  Moments later, Sam emerged from the condo, two beer bottles in each hand.  He distributed them as he threaded his way through the small crowd, then settled back down on his step.

By tacit agreement, Josh, CJ, and Sam drained the last of their first beers and started on the second.  The rest of the meal passed in silence, each of them lost in their thoughts.  Dark thoughts.

Finally, Josh tossed his near-empty carton aside and asked, "Seventeen people?"

CJ and Sam turned baffled looks his way.

"I was number seventeen, yes," Toby confirmed.  "Counting the president."

"You really weren't," Sam replied.  "Charlie knew."

Toby gave a careless shrug, still working on his snow peas.  "All right then.  I was number eighteen."

"Don't worry about it, Toby," CJ said.  She leaned down to pat the top of his head.  "You still made the top twenty."

"Give me the list again," Josh frowned.  "From the top."

"The president," Toby began, ticking off the people with a chopstick.  "The First Lady.  The three daughters."

"That's five," CJ noted.

"The six doctors."

Sam lifted a hand.  "Does that count the one at GW the night--"

"No, Sam."

"Okay," CJ said, "the First Family and six doctors.  "That's eleven."

Josh broke his silence.  "Does anyone know whether the Surgeon General was one of the six?"

"No, Josh," CJ answered, her tone exaggeratedly patient, "we don't.  Why?"

"Because, CJ, if she knew, it plays badly.  It looks as though she was appointed Surgeon General to shut her up."

"Thank you for that ray of sunshine," CJ muttered.

"The president's brother," Toby continued.

"Twelve," Sam said.

"Hoynes," Toby continued.  "Fitzwallace."

"Fourteen."

"Leo."

"Fifteen."

"The anesthesiologist at GW."

"Sixteen."

"Charlie."

"Seventeen."

"The four of us."

"Twenty-one."

"Oliver Babish."

"Twenty-two."

"Joey Lucas," Josh added.

"Twenty-three."

They passed a curious glance around, waiting for more additions to the list.  None were forthcoming.  Disembodied, canned sitcom laughter floated out into the night, fracturing the sudden quiet.

"And we're supposed to believe that none of these people told anyone else?" CJ asked.

Sam nodded.  "Zoey obviously said something to Charlie."

"And a damn good thing she did," Josh replied.  "Suppose the Republicans had gotten their hands on that health form before we did?"

"Makes you wonder," Sam said.

"About a lot of things," CJ completed his sentence.  "First, what other documents are out there that we haven't found yet?"

"Second," Sam said, "who else has talked?  And to whom?"

"The doctors can't talk -- confidentiality and all that," Josh answered.

Toby stared morosely into his beer.  "A noble idea," he replied.  "In theory."

"In theory?"  Josh leaned back onto his elbows, stretching his legs down over CJ's and crossing his ankles.

CJ glared at him, rescued the remnants of the rice, then pulled her legs up to her chest and wound her arms around them.  "You really don't think these doctors ever share stories with, you know, their husbands or wives?"

Josh shook his head.  "No."

"After a long, hard day monitoring the president -- the president, Josh -- during emergency surgery after an assassination attempt," CJ argued, "you really think that GW doctor wasn't bursting to tell somebody?  You don't think he felt betrayed by this revelation like we did?"

"Right," Sam nodded, "so he goes home, swears his wife to secrecy, and tells her the story."

"I don't see--" Josh began, shaking his head.

"So now it's six months later," CJ interrupted, "and his wife is fed up with his hours, and filing for divorce.  You really think she feels a lot of loyalty to this jackass who slept with some pert little intern after she helped put him through medical school?"

Josh gave CJ a strange look.  "Uh, CJ?"

"Solidarity to the sisterhood, Josh."

"And the ex-wife," Sam continued, "she just happens to be a Republican . And it's a company town, right?  So she probably knows a politician or two."

"You can't swing a dead cat in this town without hitting a politician with a grudge," Josh intoned.  CJ glanced up at him with a strange look.  He shrugged. "It's an expression."

"It's a stupid expression," CJ commented.  "Also cruel -- a dead cat?"

"Not to mention imprecise," Sam added.  "I mean, are you hitting the politician with the dead cat, or are you hitting the politician with the grudge?  And how would you hit somebody with a grudge?  A grudge--"

"Can we please?" Toby sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

CJ gnawed her lip for a moment.  "What about the six other doctors who've known for eight years?  He was the Governor of New Hampshire when he was diagnosed; who knows who they've told."

"Yeah," Sam nodded.  "'Hey, honey, guess what I did today!'"

"'What, dear?'" CJ answered, batting her eyelashes.

"'I gave the Governor a CAT scan.'"

"'Oooh, honey!  Really?  Why?  Is he sick?'"

"'As a matter of fact--'"

"For the love of God," Toby interrupted.  "Can you two stop doing Evening at the Improv?"

CJ glared at him for a moment.  "You honestly think Liz hasn't told her husband?" CJ asked.  "Annie's a bright kid.  You think she hasn't picked up on what her parents, her aunts and her grandparents are concerned about?"

"No one's talking," Josh pointed out.  "Look how long they were able to keep it from us."

"Mrs. Landingham," CJ said.  "Does anyone seriously believe that woman's been working for the president all these years, and she hasn't figured it out?"

"There's no reason to assume she has," Toby said.

CJ looked at Josh.  "How long could you keep something like that from Donna?"

"Five minutes tops," he admitted with a rueful grin.

"I rest my case," CJ said.

"Yeah," Sam said, "but those two cases aren't exactly analogous."

Josh furrowed his brow.  "What?"

Sam looked over at Toby.  "Come on -- Josh and Donna, and the President and Mrs. Landingham?  Totally different dynamic at work.  Just because Josh is--"

"Sam," Toby sighed.  "I see your point, but now is not really the time."

"Just because Josh is what?" Josh interjected.

"No kidding," CJ seconded.  "And I wasn't saying the relationships are, you know, similar," she paused, shuddering a bit.  "God, what a scary thought."

"Hey," Josh said.  "I still don't know what you're talking about."  He wondered for a moment if he should slow down his beer intake.  Then he decided that decision was far too taxing to contemplate and took another swig.

Sam, Toby, and CJ exchanged looks; then CJ cleared her throat and said, "Nothing.  Just that Mrs. Landingham may not have said anything, but she knows."

"But that's the point," Josh protested.  "She hasn't said anything.  None of us have said anything."

"Except Zoey," Sam pointed out.

"To her boyfriend.  Who is also the President's body man.  Perfectly understandable."  Josh was on his second beer -- the Donna inside his head was already threatening to cut off his supply -- and he was feeling very big brotherish and protective.

"Of course it's understandable," CJ said.  "I totally get it.  When I heard, I wanted to call my parents and tell them so I could cry on their shoulders."  She looked around at her male co-workers, all of whom were snickering with amusement at the thought of CJ resting her six-foot frame on her elderly -- and much more petite -- mother's frame.  "Oh, what?  You big macho men didn't have people you wanted to run to for comfort?"

Josh looked down at the empty space where Donna usually sat.  "Maybe comfort is the wrong word.  Maybe warn is better.  Maybe there are people we'd like to tell to get the hell out of Dodge while they still can."

"Don't do it," Toby said.  Then he finished off the rest of his second beer.  He grabbed the bag of half-empty food cartons, plus a handful of bottles, and headed inside.

"That would look extraordinarily bad," Sam agreed.

"Why?" Josh asked.  He was having trouble focusing on the conversation.  The Donna inside his head had stopped fretting about his beer intake and had started admonishing him for hiding things from her.

"Anyone who was around during the campaign is going to be subpoenaed," Sam explained.  "If she has to testify that you told her to leave--"

"It looks like Donna knew something damaging and you were trying to hide it," CJ concluded.

Toby returned, bearing beer.

"I wouldn't--"  Distracted, Josh accepted the third beer without comment, placing it beside him on the stairs.

"And your explanation would be what -- that you just wanted to protect her?" CJ continued, nodding her thanks to Toby.  "That opens up a whole new can of worms."

"Thanks," Sam took the bottle gratefully, concentrating on the twist off top instead of the conversation going on around him.

"What are you talking about?" Josh demanded.

Toby hunkered down and looked at his beer bottle as though it were his only intelligent conversation partner.  "We should just tell the two idiots so they don't get blindsided in front of a grand jury," he muttered.

"Oh, right," CJ snorted.  "'Cause the rest of us have nothing that will look bad in front of a grand jury."  And then she took a long pull of her beer.

"My life is above reproach," Toby told her, then followed her lead.

"Only because it's so damn dull," CJ countered.  "And you think Henry Shallick can't turn your marriage--"

"Former marriage."

"To a member of the House into a conflict of interest?  And you," she said, pointing at Sam with her beer bottle, "with your predilection for call girls--"

"Predilection?" Sam exclaimed in protest.  "One friendship does not constitute a predilection."

"Anybody ever smoke a joint in college?" CJ asked.  "Get a speeding ticket?  Been drunk in New Orleans on a presidential campaign?"

"None of that has anything to do with the President's health," Toby pointed out.

"That doesn't matter," Sam answered, his tone bordering on morose.  "If it gets to the stage with grand juries and impeachment hearings, the Republicans will just gather every bit of gossip and innuendo they can find."

"And then they'll hold press conferences," CJ continued.  "They'll yell loudly, and they'll try to cover us with as much mud as possible, and they'll hope that people forget that this is all about a good man making one stupid mistake and a seventeen-year-old girl handing a busy woman one too many forms to sign."

Her words hung there for a long moment.  CJ untucked her legs and turned a bit, stretching them down diagonally past Josh's.  Josh absently grinned at her, then polished off his second beer.  Sam mulled over the implications, and Toby merely stared at the crack in the sidewalk below.

"Still," Sam said, "the good news is that none of us knew about this beforehand.  We weren't knowingly hiding anything from the American public."

"Weren't we?" CJ asked.  She closed her eyes for a second, as though she were fighting off a headache.  "Did any one of us see something during the campaign that struck us as odd, something we chose not to question at the time?"

No one spoke for several minutes.  Finally Sam, in a relieved tone, said, "No one answered yes."

"No one answered no either," Josh replied.

"So," Toby shifted a little, his gaze still trained on the sidewalk, "that means it's started already."

"What's started?" Sam asked.

"The not trusting each other.  The fear that if, say, you saw something and told me, I'd pass it on to the wrong party in order to save myself."

"From there," Josh continued quietly, "we go to choosing sides."

"Factions," CJ agreed.  "Worrying about who'll be loyal and who'll sell us out."

"None of us would sell the others out," Sam protested.  He leaned towards CJ, unconsciously willing her to agree with him.

"And Jed Bartlet cannot tell a lie," Toby countered, draining the rest of his beer.  He carefully placed the glass bottle next to its compatriots, in a crooked line across the stair below him.

"Someone's going to take the fall," Josh said.  "That's the way these things have worked historically."

Toby nodded.  "Look at Nixon."

"Okay, now, that's just ridiculous," Sam protested.  "President Bartlet may have made a mistake, but you can't compare him to Richard Nixon."

"Do you think Nixon's senior staff thought they'd done anything evil?" Toby asked, wanting another beer, but lacking the energy to retrieve it from inside.  "Don't you think they thought all their actions were completely justified?"

"But that's the point," Sam answered.  "They broke the law.  Even if they thought there was good reason, they knowingly broke the law.  We didn't have a clue."

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," CJ intoned in a frighteningly accurate parody of Oliver Babish, "my clients are innocent.  They're stupid, but they're not criminals."

Everyone fell silent again.  Josh sat up, freeing the steps for CJ's long legs, and struggled with the twist top to his third beer.  With a faint smile to thank him for the legroom, she grabbed the bottle, freed the cap, and handed it back.  Sam watched the interplay with interest, wondering how it was possible that they could turn on each other.  Discounting the possibility entirely, even as the doubt slithered its way into his consciousness.

"So which one of us will it be?" Toby asked, turning for the first time to sit sideways on the stair.  He glanced at each of them in turn.  "Who's the fall guy?"

"If we use the Nixon analogy," Josh mused, "CJ's safe.  All the president's men, you know?"

"That's a relief," CJ muttered.  "I knew one of these days sexism was going to work in my favor."

"Actually," Sam said, "I'd put my money on CJ taking the fall."  The other three turned and looked at him in astonishment.  Sam shrugged.  "She's the public face of the administration.  She talks to the press every day.  Somewhere in all those briefings, someone must have asked you the question, CJ."

"Believe me when I tell you that I'm spending tomorrow reviewing every tape I have of those briefings," CJ replied.

"Which question?" Josh asked.

"The president's health," Sam answered.  "Someone must have asked about the president's health, and CJ must have made a blanket statement about the president being in excellent health."

CJ nodded.  "Sadly, I really don't even have to review the tapes."

"Me," Toby said, "I'm putting my money on Josh."

"Thanks a lot," Josh mumbled.

"It's either you or Leo," Toby said.  "It fits the stereotype.  We might even be able to spin it."

"Spin what?" Josh asked.

"The shady political operative running the show from behind the scenes.  Bartlet's a figurehead; you and Leo are the guys with the real power.  You knowingly took a sick man, and you turned him into a viable candidate.  It's a plausible story."

"It is not!" Josh yelped.

"I could sell it."  Toby shrugged, pulling out a cigar.

"Oliver North," Sam added, nodding.  "Iran-Contra.  Josh fits the profile."

"I'm a scary right-wing military guy?"

"No, you're the colorful guy with the blonde secretary."

"Assistant," CJ replied automatically.

"Donna has nothing to do with this," Josh said.  "And what's-her-name--"

"Fawn Hall," CJ said.

"Yeah.  She had nothing to do with Iran-Contra.  She just answered the phones and took care of North's schedule . But she got trashed in the press."  Josh looked mildly nauseous at the thought, and CJ strongly considered confiscating his beer.  Then she decided it wasn't worth the fight.

Toby shrugged and repeated, "I could sell it."

Josh's eyes narrowed and he stared down at Toby.  "You could, couldn't you?"

Toby nodded absently, concentrating more closely on blowing the perfect smoke ring.

"You just create your own version of reality and sell it to the country lock, stock, and teardrop," Josh continued.

"You mean barrel?" Sam asked.

"Huh?"

"The phrase I believe you're looking for right now is 'lock, stock, and barrel.'"

Josh ignored him.  "You guys are the spin doctors, after all."

CJ glanced up at Josh, catching on.  "Yeah," she gestured at Sam and Toby, "the two of you both."

Sam looked over at CJ, eyes wide.  "What about us?"

"You could be the fall guys," Josh answered.  "The communications department orchestrated a campaign of misinformation, duping their own press secretary by keeping her out of the loop and--"

"Which is not, you know, unprecedented," CJ pointed out.

Josh nodded.  "Right.  Hell, we can play it so you puppetmasters are sexist too.  Poor CJ hit her head on a really shady glass ceiling when she took this job; she was an innocent bystander in all this, her only fault her credulity."

"Please," Toby snorted.  "The press knows CJ."

"What's that supposed to mean?" CJ demanded with a menacing glower.

Toby ignored her, his gaze still locked on Josh.  "Who in that press room would believe that CJ Cregg wouldn't kick the shit out of anyone who knowingly lied to her?  And who would believe that Sam, for one, would risk the consequences of lying to her?"

Josh frowned, considering the point.  "True."

"Hey!" CJ protested.  Then she flashed a small grin.  "You guys are really that scared of me?"

Sam nodded quickly, Josh rolled his eyes, and Toby said, "No."

CJ's grin widened.  "Excellent."

Waving an impatient hand in the air, Josh said, "My point is, you two could just as easily be the fall guys."

"Why both of us?" Sam asked, miffed.

"Because, Robin," Toby answered on a stream of smoke, "we go down, we go down together."

Sam frowned.  "That's not very sportsmanlike, Toby."

Toby shrugged.  "We're a team.  Besides, no one person could pull this off."

It was CJ who found the courage to say it.  "I'm not sure the whole lot of us can pull this next part off," she said, her tone weary.

Another silence, heavier, even than the ones that came before.  Sam ran one finger over the neck of his beer bottle, Josh dropped his face into his hands, CJ gnawed her lip, and Toby sighed.

No one said anything for several long moments.

Then CJ shivered, although the air was not chilly.  Josh tilted his head towards the door.  "You guys want to--"

"Call it a night?" Sam asked, almost fearfully.  Too many things were up in the air, too many stark possibilities had been dragged out into the murky light of the full moon.

Josh offered an echo of his familiar smirk.  "I was going to say 'head inside for more beer,' but if you guys want to go--"

"More beer," CJ interrupted, unfolding herself from her step, then leaning down to collect several empty bottles.

Toby pulled himself up, tossed the butt of his cigar over the railing, and ignored Sam's pointed sigh.  "Beer," he concurred.

Josh hung back as CJ started past him, reaching down to squeeze his shoulder as she went.  Sam, next, gave Josh that familiar grin, and if it was lacking a bit of its normal luster, well, at least he'd made the effort.  Toby met Josh's gaze with a brisk nod, and then brushed past.

Josh considered this for a long moment, considered the complexities of their relationships, and the cruelties of their reality.  And if these small, wordless gestures weren't a promise, at least they were a start.

And then Josh followed his compatriots inside.

THE END

05.09.01