Josh remembered CJ's first, impromptu New Year's Eve party with probably more affection than he should, considering he couldn't really recall much after they'd popped the cork off the champagne bottle.  But they'd been wonderful times -- the excitement of an upstart campaign and the budding friendship and respect among the top-level staffers.

Wonderful times, Josh reminded Donna throughout the day as they fielded last minute questions about the budget.  Donna endured his reminiscing with her usual equanimity, inserting the occasional barbed remark about that night having been before he sucked her into his life of craziness and no sleep, even on honest-to-goodness federal holidays.  She also took some sadistic joy in recounting stories she'd heard (no doubt from CJ) about his drunken antics that night in Manchester.

"Seriously, Josh, just be glad CJ didn't invite Danny to that party."

"I did not perform any part of The Music Man, Donna, so--"

"Well, a woman who'll kiss on the very first date is usually a hussy," she sang as she breezed out of his office.  "And a woman who'll kiss on the second time out is anything but fussy.  But a woman who'll wait till the third time around, head in the clouds, feet on the ground.  She's the girl you're glad you found."

Josh blinked to clear his head of some pretty interesting images, then yelled, "Hey, I need that report--"

"This is version 57," she hollered back.  "They're up to 62."

"Oh," he said to the empty room.  "Okay, then."

He had, of course, no way to verify the truth of Donna's claims about that long ago New Year's party, because that would mean admitting to CJ or Toby or Sam that he really was a lightweight.  Josh preferred to maintain the fiction that his colleagues disbelieved Donna's remarks about his sensitive system.

And so he chose to disbelieve Donna about the thing with the shower cap and the re-enactment of his talent show routine from childhood and possibly a karaoke-like rendition of Blue Christmas, though that last thing made a certain amount of sense.  Back at CJ's first New Year's party, after all, Josh had just broken up with Mandy.  Again.  And not for the last time.  He couldn't remember what the fight was about -- that was like asking him to remember which drop of rainwater hit his left elbow during a downpour -- but he remembered Mandy storming off, her pique made all the more absurd by the Santa hat atop her curls.

A few days later, CJ had realized belatedly that it was New Year's and not a single blessed one of them had anything resembling actual plans -- save the Governor, of course, and no one from the still-distrusted staff was invited to that party except Leo.  A determined CJ had braved the wintry New Hampshire air to get her hands on three bottles of champagne.  Toby had tagged along, and they'd returned with tales of slow-moving plows kicking sand incessantly onto their windshield and state-run liquor stores posing as rest areas on the highway.

"Seriously," CJ had repeated, amazed.  "It's an invitation to drunk driving."

"It's a red building at a rest stop," Toby'd countered.  "It's not like they give you bourbon in a no-spill travel mug."

They'd carried the bottles of liquor into CJ's hotel room and squashed themselves into the small space, sitting and lying anywhere there was room.  The plus side was that they were close enough to keep the liquor flowing without actually making much of an effort to move.

When Josh thought about that New Year's party, he remembered CJ and Toby leaning on each other and laughing so hard it gave CJ the hiccups -- laughing, Toby Ziegler!  And he could still hear Carol and Ginger (though he'd known her only as "that redhead" at the time) singing loudly along to the Top 40 "Best of 1997!" countdown blasting out of an alarm clock radio pushed far past its limits.  He could close his eyes and see Sam and Kathy playing a drunken round of war accompanied by much laughter.

And just like that, a tradition was born.

Every year, it would occur to CJ the week before Christmas that she hadn't made plans for the party yet, and every year, she would rope them all into performing various tasks for her, because every year, the party grew larger and more formal.

"What was Zach's excuse this year?" Josh called when he saw CJ's tall frame slip past his doorway.  Every year, they invited Zach, and every year, he came up with an absurd reason not to attend.  No matter how hard they tried, they couldn't get him to explain where he spent the holiday.

CJ leaned her upper body into his office, one hand anchored on the door frame, and smiled at him.  "He's babysitting his neighbor's cat."

"Babysitting?"

CJ waved her free hand around in the air.  "Petsitting."

"Right, but my thing was more that he was doing this on New Year's Eve."

"Apparently, the, you know, fireworks at midnight might scare the cat."  She pointed at Josh expectantly.  "You bought the vodka?"

"Yes."

CJ raised an eyebrow.  "You actually bought it, or you sent Donna--"

"Hey," Josh protested.  "It's taken care of."

Laughing, CJ withdrew.  "Tell Donna I said thank you."

The second year, the party was at CJ's almost-bare apartment, unpacked boxes shoved behind a tasteful Chinese screen in the living room, forced into closets and the spare bedroom, and Josh thought he remembered spotting one hidden underneath the sink.  But no one had cared about that; they were still reeling from their electoral victory.  They'd won, and it was amazing, but it also meant they were busier than they'd ever been on the campaign trail, something none of them would've thought possible before Election Day.

Toby and Sam had arrived at the party bleary-eyed, wrung out writing the Inaugural.  Josh had been exhausted too, more than a little busy assembling the President's Cabinet and, you know, a staff for Leo.  For reasons that now escaped him, though, Josh had convinced CJ to invite many more people than she'd originally intended.  And so their numbers swelled with the attendance of Larry and Ed and Bonnie and Margaret and Nancy, and many other faces Josh found completely unfamiliar.  And, of course, the second year was Donna's first with them, and she and Josh had downed too much alcohol while trading ever-wilder tales of New Year's past.

"Hey, Donna," Josh said, smiling a little with the remembrance.  He wandered out of his office during a lull in the barrage of last-minute phone calls from the Government Printing Office. "What year was it that you--"

"1991."

Josh leaned casually against the partition in front of her desk.  "How did you know what I was going to ask?"

"Because," she answered tartly, "that's the only year with art."

Josh remembered the picture she'd shown him later, an incredibly young, incredibly flushed Donna with her arms thrown around two girlfriends, all three of them dressed in what could only charitably be described as dresses, shivering in the crowd at Times Square.  She'd looked so incredibly, delicately young, so innocent in the picture, despite the dress, nothing like the poised, elegant woman she'd become.  Josh's smile faded.  "Yeah," he said, hitching a thumb in the direction of the Northwest Lobby.  "I'm going to see Toby."

Donna didn't look up, but he could see the edge of her smile.  "How will we ever get by without you?"

The second year, Josh and Donna had been so engrossed in their storytelling, they'd all but hidden out in the corner of CJ's living room all night.  That, Donna had informed Josh the next day while withholding the Advil and water he so desperately needed, was Josh's first mistake.  You have to, she'd explained, make sure you're still able to stand without holding onto a stationary object before you start on your fourth glass of bubbly.  Champagne, she'd continued, ignoring Josh's perfectly valid point that they'd actually been drinking sparkling white wine and not champagne, can really sneak up on you.  Josh had no doubt moaned something incomprehensible that Donna, in her inimitable way, chose to take as assent.  Then she'd given him the Advil and the water, and even a cool washcloth for his forehead, and he'd mumbled a thank you to whatever deity had chosen to send him this medicinal angel.

Actually, Josh tried not to think about the aftermath of that party, the shock of waking up in his bed next to Donnatella Moss.  And the surge of... something he refused to examine too closely that had immediately followed once he'd realized that, yes, he was awake and, yes, Donna was asleep beside him. A heart-stopping moment later, he'd noticed that he was under the covers, she wasn't, and she still had on all her clothes except those hideous-yet-adorable snowboots she insisted on wearing. 

Josh realized he was walking through the hallways smiling like a dimwit and attempted to control his expression.  It wasn't working; those snowboots really had been adorable.  They had this ridiculous faux fur lining peeking out of the top, and he kind of missed the sound of her clomping into the office on snowy mornings.

"Snow," Leo said, stopping short in the hallway when he saw Josh.  "Can you believe it?"

"Yeah, snow in winter," Josh answered with a smirk.  "That's one for the record books."

Leo gave him a look.  "It just snowed last week.  There are still snowdrifts taller than some small cars."  He shrugged off his meteorological displeasures.  "Has the GPO imploded yet?"

"Not yet, but Donna and I have some money on--"  Josh checked his watch--  "well, on right about now."

"I don't understand."  Leo shook his head.  "It's not like they can't see this coming.  Every year, we send them a budget."

"Yeah, but in all fairness, it's 377 pages, and we're still tinkering."

"We're not tinkering," Leo argued.  "We're spell-checking."

Laughing, Josh acquiesced.  "Sure.  Listen, I've got it under control.  You can take off."

Leo raised an eyebrow.  "My party's upstairs, Josh.  It'll take me all of a minute to get there."

"Seriously, Leo, Donna and I have it covered.  We're getting Indian food in an hour, then I'm turning on my cellphone and we're heading to CJ's."  Josh frowned slightly.  "Well, I'm heading to CJ's and Donna's heading to Jack Reese's place, and then *they're* heading for CJ's."

"Josh," Leo said evenly.  "Let her go."

Blinking, Josh asked, "What?"

Leo's gaze never wavered.  "Let her go early.  I've got my cellphone, and Margaret--"

"Already left, actually," Josh interrupted.  "She's in charge of the cold cuts."

"Whatever.  Get out of here, Josh."

Josh backed up a few steps, cutting through the Roosevelt Room.  "Okay, but first I need to talk to Toby."

The third year, CJ's party was a smashing success.  There were at least thirty people at CJ's, and even Mandy had managed to have a good time without slapping Josh around, which meant his night turned out pretty good.  He figured Mandy, like the rest of them, was still feeling that spirit of camaraderie, after a decent fall Congressional term.  Not to mention Mendoza's nomination.  Zoey had argued her way into an invitation, and CJ and Josh had ended up monitoring her closely to make sure she didn't drink anything with alcohol in it.  As it turned out, they needn't have worried; Zoey spent most of her time conversing with Charlie.  Mallory made a brief appearance, and spent most of her time sparring with Sam.  And Donna had spent most of *her* time monitoring Josh's alcohol intake, which turned out to be a good thing, since he didn't wake up to a hangover.  (Or Donna in his bed, but again, that was something he preferred not to dwell on.)

"Donna's looking for you," Larry called, pausing in the lobby so he could see Josh in the Communications bullpen.

Josh checked his watch and grinned.  "Tell her they're right on schedule, and I'll be there in a minute."

"It's something about the typesetting on Title 43, Subsection 12(b)(6)."

"They can't really just pick a font and go with it?" Josh wondered.

"Apparently not."

Josh rolled his eyes and peeked into Toby's closed office.  This time of year, whenever he saw Toby, he remembered 2000, the sirens in his head, and the apprehensive look on Toby's face.

The fourth year, Josh had realized later, the party was more for him than for the rest of them, a celebration that he'd managed to make it through the year alive.  New Year's fell only a week after his day-long intensive therapy session with Stanley Keyworth, when he still wasn't sure he was going to make it out of the hole.  That year the music was low and confined to one room in deference to Josh's fragile mental state.  Josh spent the evening sitting in a chair at the other end of CJ's apartment, watched nervously by the senior staffers and attended by Donna.

To be honest, he didn't remember much about that year's party either, except that he'd finally started feeling something again, which meant there was pain and anger and guilt, but he could also feel his friends' affection and worry and love for him.  He'd been so numb for so long, and after Donna dropped him off at his townhouse (and lost her bid to accompany him inside), all this feeling overwhelmed him.  Josh had cried himself to sleep, as if he were an eight-year-old instead of a thirty-eight-year-old, so relieved that this hellish year was finally, finally over and he could move on.

Josh realized belatedly that he was standing in Toby's window, staring in at this man who, Josh learned later, had staunched the flow of his blood with his hands.

"Josh." Toby's voice was muffled by the door, but still loud enough to startle Josh out of his thoughts.  "I've got a section on Head Start that I want you to read."

Josh closed the door behind him and settled onto the couch, forcing an annoyed Toby to circle his desk to drop the speech on Josh's lap.  "Are you planning to stop working any time in the near future?" Josh asked, skimming his fingers over the tabs until he found one marked "HS."  Josh flipped the papers open and scanned the marked section.

"I'm working with a novice," Toby reminded Josh.  "I have to go over every single word."

Josh kept reading.  "I thought you said he was one of those guys."

"Sam," Toby corrected.  "Sam, the eternal optimist, said he was one of those guys."

"I support a vision of government that not only guards against external enemies and physical threats, but that protects its citizens from the ravages of poverty, of hunger, and of deprivation; a government that offers bright young children a head start in life, a chance to nourish their bodies as well as their minds," Josh read. Eyebrows raised, he looked up at Toby. "You don't think he's one of those guys?"

Toby stared at him. "How do you know I didn't write that section?"

Josh grinned outright.  "No statistics."

Toby gave him a baleful look.  "Give me that."

Laughing, Josh handed it over and pushed himself up.  "I have to go discuss the intricacies of serifs with someone from the GPO."

"It needs serifs," Toby insisted.

"You think I don't know that?"

"I'm just emphasizing," Toby replied.  "You can't expect people to read 377 pages in a sans font."

"Thank you, Simon & Schuster."

"Get out," Toby replied almost cheerfully.

Josh paused in the doorway. "You know, you're the second person to tell me that in the past ten minutes."

Toby didn't deign to reply aloud, but his expression was a sarcastic remark in itself.

The fifth year, they'd all been feeling tense and angry and cornered, so even though more people attended than in years past -- CJ swore later that she'd invited thirty people, and half the West Wing had shown up -- it felt private.  It was a brief respite from the political storm, a temporary shelter with catered cold-cuts and cool champagne.

Still angry with himself for his inability to save Leo from harm, and still flummoxed by Cliff Calley's actions -- Josh had spent most of his time sober and brooding and brushing off various tipsy attempts to get him to lighten up.  Until a flushed Donna appeared on the arm of a laughing Sam, and they'd sat with him and all but force-fed him some cake and a glass of champagne.  An hour later, he was feeling no pain, and almost by reflex, he and CJ and Toby and Sam and Donna ended up on CJ's townhouse stairs, even though it was too cold to sit on the cement steps.  They stood, shivering in the crisp night air, their words low, their faces lit only by the streetlight a half a block away and the light pollution spilling out of the apartments above.  Things had brightened a little at midnight, though, because they all believed things had to be better this year.

"Tell them it needs serifs," Josh ordered as he breezed into his bullpen.

Donna paused in the act of shrugging into her jacket to glare at him.  "No kidding, Josh."

"Hey, I'm just repeating Toby's demands."

"Tell Toby he can explain to them why the numerals are in a different font than the letters."

"No, I don't think I will," Josh answered.  "Tell them to invent a font that satisfies our need for serifs and the numbers that do the little thing."  Donna looked amused by his vague explanation.  Josh lifted his chin, indicating her jacket.  "Where are you going?"

She eased her fingers into her gloves and gave him a hopeful look.  "Home.  Josh, every year this is their last question, and I already gave them their marching orders and told them you'd call to confirm.  So, really, all I'd be doing anyway is waiting for you to hang up the phone after repeating everything I just told them.  Logically--"

"Go home," Josh ordered, his tone almost wistful.

Donna paused, probably surprised by his ready agreement.  He wasn't generally agreeable to anything that involved her leaving him.  "What?"

"Go on," Josh repeated.  "Get out of here.  I'll deal with the GPO."

Still somewhat uncertain, Donna nodded.  "Okay."  She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder.  "I'll see you at CJ's?"

He knew he should smile, but he couldn't quite manage it.  The thought of witnessing some sort of midnight kiss between Donna and Jack Reese made him vaguely ill.  "Yeah," he agreed, pointing at his office.  "I'm going to make the call."

"Okay," Donna said.  When she reached the glass double doors, she hesitated and looked back at him.

Try as he might, he couldn't read her expression.  "Go," he repeated.

She nodded, ducking her chin as she slipped out.

"Yeah," Josh murmured in the empty bullpen.  "See you."

***

The sixth year, this year, they'd won reelection after a campaign that should have been a walk in the park, considering their opposition.  But there was the MS revelation and the censure and the Republican Party's successful attempts to call the President's credibility into question.  They'd won anyway, and they were heading into their second term.  Their last term.  And things felt strange to Josh, almost fatalistic.

When he arrived at the party, Josh staked out a friendly corner of CJ's living room, over by the kitchen entryway, and settled in with his champagne.  Josh wasn't an introspective man, not by a long-shot.  He mouthed the proper words at therapists, and intellectually understood they meant something, but without therapy, he wouldn't pay much attention to his inner workings.  He lived in his mind, really, preferring to give his emotions a friendly wave once or twice a year.  Usually on New Year's Eve.  No matter how clichéd and trite, it really was a time for looking back at the year, despite Donna's lectures on the arbitrary date, and how Winter Solstice was a more accurate place to mark the year's end.  Josh supposed knowing when the Winter Solstice was probably meant he'd have to pay far more attention to nature than he cared to, and so he stuck with the Gregorian calendar and took stock on December 31st.

When Josh looked back at 2002 he wasn't terribly impressed.  He'd pushed watered-down versions of good bills through an opposition Congress, he'd helped in some small way to get the President reelected, he'd even, briefly, had a girlfriend.  From all external accounts, it seemed like he'd had a pretty good year.  Why didn't it feel that way?

"Mi amor," CJ said from just behind him, "more champagne?"

Josh choked out a laugh.  "No, thanks."  He held up his glass as evidence.  "I'm fine."

"You're brooding," CJ answered, moving closer to him, leaning casually against her kitchen counter, flashing a wave and a broad smile to someone Josh didn't recognize.  She looked amazing, her color high, her smile bright, her eyes sparkling.  CJ had been a wreck for a week after Simon's death, then she'd pulled it together, the only crack in her armor that small trembling of her lips when the day grew too long.  She'd admitted to Josh, her hand clasped firmly in his during one of their late-night TV time-outs, that Simon's murder would have knocked her for a loop even if it hadn't so eerily echoed Josh's own shooting.

Simon's death had affected Josh strongly too.  His occasional flashbacks were, for a couple of weeks there, more than occasional, though he did his level best to conceal that from Leo's sharp gaze.  But mostly, Josh watched his friends mourn the tragedy, the loss of this man that most of them knew only casually.  And somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he wondered what it would've been like had he died that night at Rosslyn.  He thought he finally had a glimpse of how it was for them, those first weeks that he remembered only in nightmares.

Josh shook off the dark thoughts and matched CJ's lighthearted tone.  "Did Donna feed you that word?"

"Excuse me?"

Josh found himself watching Donna, who was entertaining Margaret, Carol, and Joey with a story that had her gesticulating wildly, her smile vivid even from across the room.  "She likes that word," Josh explained.  "If I'm not laughing, Donna thinks I'm brooding."

Donna glanced away from her conversation for a moment, her gaze searching out Jack Reese, over in the corner chatting amiably with Bonnie.  As far as Josh could tell, Donna was falling for Jack Reese, a man who, by all accounts, wasn't her type.  First of all, he was Republican (though Cliff Calley, Josh reminded himself, was also a Republican).  Second, he didn't seem like a complete ass.  Definitely not Donna's type.

"Well, in this particular instance, the word fits."  CJ took a sip from her flute.  "You were staring at Jack Reese, then you were watching Amy."

"I'm evaluating the crowd," Josh parried, his gaze drifting to his ex-girlfriend, laughing brightly at something Margaret was saying.  Josh understood, now that he had a little distance, that Amy, like Mandy before her, was too similar to him.  Neither Josh nor Amy was willing to put each other before their jobs, and that just couldn't work.  They enjoyed the battle, the strategizing, the fight too much to compromise.  It had been fun, but he enjoyed Amy a lot more now that they weren't constantly at cross-purposes.

He glanced around, noting the throng in CJ's living room.  "You're right, it's getting unmanageable.  There are people here who, I swear to God, don't even live in D.C.  People in D.C. don't dress like that."   Josh lifted his chin to indicate a dark-haired woman in a short, tight dress covered in cherry-red beads.

CJ followed his gaze and grimaced. "Damn, that looks painful."

"For whom?"

With a grin, CJ answered, "For her.  Beads are not the most comfortable things to be chafing at your arms all night."  She mimed walking, arms swinging at her sides, and Josh winced.  She nodded, "Exactly.  But I take your point.  I wouldn't want to dance too closely to her."

Josh raked his gaze purposefully over CJ's own silken sheath, a simple dress of deep burgundy that did amazing things for her body.  CJ shook her head, amused at his leering, and brushed a hand over the fabric at her hip.  "Yes, this dress is eminently touchable.  And, no, you can't touch it," she grinned.

Josh made a disappointed noise, then cast his gaze back into the crowd.  "Cruel woman.  Anyway, my point was more that the D.C. fashion is generally understated and not-too-sexy."

CJ tossed him a mischievous look.  "Are you saying I'm not sexy?"  She struck a playful pose, her hip jutting out, a hand at her waist accenting her slim body.

"Oh, CJ," Josh answered, leaning into her, a smile playing about his lips.  They'd been like brother and sister for far too many years for her to take his solicitation seriously, so he played it to the hilt.  "You are by far the sexiest woman in this room.  Won't you please take me home and--"

"Oh, stop it!" CJ laughed, pulling away.  She used her champagne flute to point to Ginger and Larry.  "I'm going to go talk to some fun people. Go mingle or something."

"Yeah," Josh answered absently.  His attention wandered to Toby and Andy, who were seated on the couch, looking more together than usual.  They were a hands-off couple, but their obvious affection shone through as Toby solicitously held a plate of carrot sticks for Andy.  Andy'd had Congressional responsibilities -- some fundraiser somewhere, no doubt -- but Toby had convinced her to blow it off in favor of an intimate party with friends and the father of her baby.  This succeeded on two fronts: It looked good in the press, and it allowed them to be together somewhere that didn't involve cameras and judgmental observers.

They seemed happy, Josh decided.

Josh stood near the kitchen, sipped his champagne, and tried to figure out why he wasn't happy this New Year's.  Good things were happening to the people he loved.  Toby and Andy had reconciled and were expecting twins.  Sam was moving on to better things, had seized the opportunity to live up to his remarkable potential.  Donna was finally dating someone who wasn't either a complete jerk or a serious conflict of interest.  Hell, even Leo had a girlfriend (even though, Josh admitted, the term "girlfriend" seemed ridiculous when applied to a woman like Jordan Kendall).  Josh should be happy for them. He shouldn't care that Donna was with Jack Reese.  He shouldn't care that Amy was here at the party.  He shouldn't care that she'd arrived with two friends from the WLC instead of a date, but he did.

"Josh," said an almost-familiar voice, "Happy New Year."

He turned and came face to face with Will Bailey.  Sam's replacement.  Josh tried his best not to hold his bitterness at Sam's departure against Will, but he usually failed.  The West Wing didn't feel right without Sam's idealism and perfect white shirts, and Will wasn't some poor schmuck off the street just doing a job that needed doing.  He was the guy who'd orchestrated the situation that required Sam's absence.

"Back at you," Josh answered, a beat too late.  "I thought you were in Latvia."

"France," Will corrected gently.  His smile was self-deprecating.  "I don't think people vacation much in Latvia."

"I thought your family owned half of Europe," Josh answered.  "I figured you must have a hideaway in most of the European nations."

"Mostly I have friends and family who have places in various European nations."  Will accepted a glass of champagne from Carol, who was circling with a bottle and as many empty flutes as she could carry.  "Thank you."

"You're welcome!" Carol called cheerfully as she disappeared behind a gaggle of Personnel people.

Will sipped the drink with the offhand elegance of a man from a generation ago, a gentleman born to manners and wealth.  Perhaps, Josh mused, it was his childhood on the Continent.  "I don't actually own much property.  A small house in New York."

Josh nodded as if that information confirmed what he'd suspected.  "Long Island?"

Will acknowledged the barb with a wry smile.  "No, actually.  Upstate.  My sister has a flat in Brooklyn I can borrow when I'm in the city."  He shifted, turning to face Josh more directly.  "Look, Josh, it was never my intention to try for Sam's job.  In fact, I don't want Sam's job."

Josh raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Okay, yes, I want Sam's job in an abstract way, because his job is... well, it's an amazing job.  But I don't want to take his job.  I didn't ask Sam to give my name to Toby, and I flat out refused to work in Sam's office."

"What happened?" Josh demanded, his voice a little more bitter than he'd expected.

"As it turns out, saying no to Toby Ziegler is harder than you'd expect," Will replied, his tone sardonic.  "But I understand that you and Sam are friends, and I understand that you resent me.  I just wanted to say..."  He stopped, laughed softly.  "I don't know.  I guess I wanted to apologize for taking your friend away.  Sounds ridiculous."

Josh ducked his head for a moment.  "No," he answered finally.  "It doesn't.  Thanks, Will.  I appreciate it, and I really don't, you know..."  He waved his free hand vaguely in the air, "resent you.  Sam's going to be great in Congress."

"Okay," Will answered, clearly disbelieving Josh's professed lack of hard feelings, but willing to let it go.

"Josh, Happy New Year."

Well, Josh thought, it's a parade of my greatest hits.  Now if only Mandy would appear in that damn Santa hat...

Josh pasted on a smile and turned to greet Amy.  "You too, Amy.  Have you met Will Bailey?"

"No.  Amy Gardner."  Amy smiled and offered her hand, radiant in her short blue, shimmery dress.  She had a way of choosing clothes that seemed unremarkable, but that came alive and projected an understated sex appeal when she donned them.  "I read part of the Inaugural.  You wrote the thing about real equality?"

Will nodded.  "That was me."  His brow furrowed in consternation.  "You read it?"

"Amy is the self-appointed feminist guardian of the Bartlet administration," Josh explained.  "Ruthlessly editing speeches with an almost single-minded -- Ouch!"

Amy managed to whack his arm without breaking eye contact with Will.  "Abbey Bartlet passed it along," she explained.  "She wanted to know if we could get some stronger language in about the Violence Against Women Act."

Will's eyebrows rose.  "Stronger language?  It's--"

"I took care of it," Amy interrupted with a smile.  "The language is fine, and it says what we want it to say to feminist organizations.  Josh, you should dance with me."

"Well, that would require me to dance," Josh answered quickly, "which is not a favorite activity of mine in the first place.  And we'd probably look pretty silly since no one else is dancing."

With an eloquent eye roll, Amy leaned closer to Will.  "You'll have to excuse Josh.  Subtlety goes right past him, and sometimes you just have to be rude.  Would you mind if I borrowed him?"

"Please do," Will answered with what was almost a half-bow.  He lifted his glass and gestured toward the kitchen.  "I'll just... get some more champagne."

"Thanks," Amy said, handing her flute to him.  "Could you hide that somewhere?  I'll be back for it in a few minutes."  Amy took Josh's hand and pulled him toward the hallway, toward the bedrooms.  He caught a fleeting glimpse of Donna's crestfallen expression, and stopped halfway down the hallway.

"Uh, Amy?"

"Oh, relax, Josh, I'm not taking you back here to ravish you."

He shrugged with one shoulder, still skeptical.  "Okay."

She gave him in impatient look.  "Would you prefer to have this conversation in public?"

"Well, considering I have no idea what this conversation's about, I might feel a little safer--"

"Oh, shut up," she interrupted, giving his hand a strong tug to get him moving again.  She pulled him into CJ's spare bedroom and pushed the door closed.  Her hand moved unerringly to the lamp, and Josh blinked against the sudden brightness.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever been in this room, and its soft blues surprised him.  Most of CJ's apartment was eclectic, decorated with treasures from her travels and unmatched but somehow harmonious accents.  This room, though, looked like a page out of a catalogue from one of those places that sounded like it should sell power tools, but that actually sold coordinating pillows and bedspreads and curtains.

Josh wandered toward the window and looked out at the alley behind her building.  Nothing out there but trashcans, a stray cat, and CJ's Mustang.

"Listen, Josh, I just wanted to..."

He turned to face her when she trailed off and was surprised to see vulnerability in her face.  She so rarely allowed her emotions to show that when she did, it made Josh almost... afraid.  "What's wrong?" he demanded, his voice too harsh for the moment, for the silence in the room.

"Nothing," she answered, a flash of annoyance flitting across her features.  "I figured since this--" she waved at the space between them-- "is pretty much over, we could call a truce."

He was honestly puzzled.  "I thought we had."

"Josh," she said firmly, taking a step toward him, moving in that catlike way that he still found fascinating.  "Adults?  They actually discuss the end of a relationship, they don't just stop calling."

"You didn't call either," he answered defensively, his lingering guilt over getting her fired suffusing his voice with misplaced blame.

"I was angry!"  Amy stopped, looked away, took a breath.  "Look, it was fun while it lasted, but it didn't last that long."  Her voice was softer now, imbued with emotion.  "We're too alike."  She shrugged, then straightened her shoulders.  "But you're a good ally to have, and I don't want this to keep making conversations with you difficult."

"You think conversations with me are difficult?"

Amy gave him her "welcome to the conversation" look.  "I can't imagine why."

Josh had to look away for a moment, to digest her words.  "Okay," he said finally.

Exasperated, Amy turned to the door.  "I don't know what made me think you could talk about this like an adult--"

"Wait, Amy."  He reached out, touched her bare shoulder, remembered nights in bed, remembered the feel of her skin against his.  "I'm sorry.  I thought you were finished."

She half-turned, something like expectation in her voice.  "I am."

Realization hit.  "Oh," he fumbled for words.  "You wanted me to say something."

Her only answer was a bitter chuckle.

Josh dropped his hand from her shoulder, tucked it into his pocket.  "I'm sorry I got you fired."

She laughed again.  "Josh, that was the game.  I'm not mad at you for that.  In fact, I'm not mad at you at all."

"Okay," he said again.  Then, "I didn't mean for it to end like this."

Amy turned the rest of the way around as the crowd in the living room began to shout the countdown to 2003.  "Neither did I," she said, her dark eyes intense.  "Thank you for Tahiti."

Josh's face felt warm, from embarrassment or the champagne, he wasn't sure.  "Sure," he answered lamely.

"Happy New Year!" fifty voices cried.

Amy reached up, cupped his cheek, and pulled him closer.  She kissed him softly, almost chastely, on the mouth.  "Happy New Year," she whispered.  The sound of the door opening, the crowd's laughter growing louder, and when he opened his eyes, she was gone.

***

Josh emerged into pandemonium, a flurry of kisses and hugs, and before he knew it, Margaret kissed his cheek and drew him into the chaos, delivering him to Bonnie and Ginger.  A dozen kisses later, Josh was standing before Toby and Andy, still seated placidly on the couch.  Toby had a lit cigar in his hand, dangling over the arm of the couch to keep it far away from his pregnant ex-wife.

"Happy New Year," Josh said, leaning down to kiss Andy's cheek.  Toby merely nodded, then handed Josh a cigar.  "I don't think Donna will let me smoke this, but thanks."

CJ appeared out of nowhere, the phone to her ear, smiling in that way of hers that surely rivaled the sun's brightness.  "We love you, Sam," she said into the receiver, her eyes sparkling.  "Happy almost New Year. Here's Toby."  She handed the phone to Toby, kissed the top of his head, gave Andy a hug, and then wrapped her strong arms around Josh.  "Happy New Year, mi amor," she said softly.

Josh's hands slid over the fabric of her dress, and he clutched her closer.  "You're right about this dress, CJ," he murmured suggestively.

Laughing, she pulled back and kissed him quickly on the lips.  "You're incorrigible."

"That's what all the girls say," Josh tossed back.

CJ glanced over his shoulder and smiled, but before Josh could turn, two arms wrapped around his waist from behind.  Some part of his mind was alarmed that he could identify Donna from the feel of her lithe body pressed against his back, but mostly he just enjoyed it, his arms landing atop hers.  CJ leaned into him again, to kiss Donna's cheek, and Josh gave Toby a very smug look.

Toby rolled his eyes and kept talking to Sam.

CJ departed, no doubt to hug the rest of her guests, but Donna didn't move, her chin resting on his shoulder, her head tilted to lean against his.  "We did it," she said softly.

"Did what?"

Her arms tightened briefly, and her body moved against him as she laughed.  "We won an election this past year, Josh, or hadn't you noticed?"

He squeezed her hands and she relaxed her grip, allowing him to turn and pull her into a proper hug.  "Yes, we did," he answered, telling himself not to let his eyes drift closed, telling himself not to hold her quite so closely.  "Happy New Year, Donnatella."

"Happy New Year, Joshua," she answered, pulling back to smile up at him.  Her smile was truly breathtaking, and he had to look away for fear he'd kiss her in a most un-assistantlike manner.  His gaze settled, somewhat unfortunately -- or fortunately, he supposed, depending on your point of view -- on Jack Reese, whose sharp eyes were trained on them.  Josh's hands moved from her waist to her arms, skimmed up to her shoulders, cupped her face softly, and tilted it down.  He pressed a brief kiss to her forehead, then released her.

Donna's expression, when she lifted her head, was clouded with confusion and something that looked remarkably like hurt.  She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Toby was calling Josh's name, holding out the phone, and then Josh was talking to Sam.

"Josh," Sam said, his voice cheerful even 3,000 miles away from their tradition, "Happy New Year."

"Where are you?" Josh asked, smiling at the painting on CJ's wall because Sam wasn't there to be smiled at in person.

"Fundraiser," Sam answered shortly.  "Union leaders, local businesspeople, even some DNC brass."

"Campaigns need money," Josh pointed out reasonably.

"Yeah, that's just because we didn't manage to fix campaign finance reform," Sam argued.  He sighed.  "I wish I was there.  I miss you guys."

"Yeah," Josh answered, ducking his chin to avoid Donna's steady gaze.  "You're missing a good party this year.  The gang's all here -- except you."

Donna rolled her eyes and reached for the phone, but Josh avoided her grasp.

"Gee," Sam said, laughing, "you sure know how to make a guy feel missed."

Josh swallowed a bitter remark about choices and said, "Yeah, listen, Donna's about to tackle me if I don't hand over the phone."

"Okay," Sam answered, sounding almost uncertain. "I'm sure I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah," he promised, sort of, and passed the phone to Donna, who frowned slightly as she started to talk to Sam.  And when Josh tried to slip away, she touched his arm with two fingers.  He stayed, watching her as she talked, studying the blue of her eyes, the curve of her smile, the gold of her hair, and wondering why, all of a sudden, he couldn't seem to look at her without looking at her.

Perhaps, he mused, the question was how he'd managed to look at her for five years without really looking at her.

Donna laughed at something Sam said, and Josh had to look away. His gaze collided with CJ's. Her pensive expression didn't change as she held his gaze, but after a moment, she glanced pointedly at Jack Reese.

Josh turned his head, fixing his gaze on the Navajo blanket tossed over the back of an armchair, tracing the patterns, focusing his attention on the bright greens and blues.

Then Donna's fingers grazed his arm, and she covered the mouthpiece and said, "I need to find Bonnie; don't move."

He considered leaving.  It was past midnight, the party had nowhere to go but down.  But he knew she'd follow him there, and having her in his apartment after two glasses of champagne and this cursed awareness might be more than he could bear.

Donna was back too soon, and she, like Amy before her, tugged him down CJ's hallway by his hand.  But unlike Amy, she didn't bother to argue with him on the way, and he didn't bother to protest.  Donna chose CJ's bedroom, pulling Josh inside and closing the door with considerable force.  Josh didn't examine his surroundings, lit only by a small bedside lamp, figuring Donna would hiss something at him and they'd be done.

"Yes?" he prompted, wanting to get it over with and get out of there.

"What's your problem?" Donna asked, her tone a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.

Josh shook his head slightly.  "I'm sorry?"

"Why were you so..." she shrugged, "weird with Sam?"  She sounded concerned, but it was too dim for Josh to read her expression properly.

"Weird?" Josh echoed, puzzled.  "I was weird with Sam?  What are you talking about?"

"You're mad at him for leaving," Donna decided, narrowing her eyes at him.  She crossed her arms.  "I can't believe you.  Josh, this is an amazing opportunity--"

"I know that.  You're crazy.  I'm not mad at him for leaving."

"You can't stand Will Bailey," she said in a tone that suggested she considered that a relevant point.

"I don't know Will Bailey," Josh countered, his hands migrating to his hips the way they did whenever he felt challenged.  "I have no opinion of Will Bailey."

"Josh, Sam did a good thing, an honorable thing.  He's an honorable man."

"You think I don't know this?" Josh demanded, his tone harsh.

"I think you miss Sam, and instead of actually telling Sam, who is, by the way, on the other side of the country away from his friends and suddenly on the other side of the looking glass and who could, quite frankly, use some support right now -- Instead of telling Sam that you miss him," she continued, ignoring her grammatical lapses and his attempted interruptions, "you're angry with him for leaving you."

"That," Josh began, "is so--"

"He didn't leave you, Josh," Donna said, her voice softer, empathetic.  "He's just..." she smiled, "over there for a while.  Either way, he'll be back in two months."

"I know that," Josh answered quietly, reminding himself that he did know that, and he was being childish, and he really needed to give Sam some inside information on Bill Pennyworth from the California DNC.  "I'll call him tomorrow."  Josh stared at Donna for a beat too long, then glanced at the door.  "You'd better go back out there."

Her brow furrowed.  "What?"

"Jack," Josh said, tilting his head in the direction of the living room.  "You should go back out there before he--"  Josh stopped himself, sighed.  "You should go back out there.  He doesn't really know anyone yet."

"He's doing fine.  He has actual social skills."  Donna answered with a small, fond smile that made Josh vaguely nauseated.  She studied him for a moment, then shook her head, her expression bewildered.  "Before he what?"

"Just go," Josh ordered, trying for masterful and hitting, he suspected, something akin to desperation.  He turned away, took a few steps towards the window.  Same view as the spare bedroom, he noted absently, hearing Donna's inhalation and steeling himself for more questions.

"What did he say to you?" she demanded, an undercurrent of anger in her words.

Surprised, Josh glanced over his shoulder.  "Who?"

"Jack."

"Nothing," Josh answered too quickly.

Donna advanced on him, arms still crossed.  "Josh," she threatened.  "You implied that Jack would think that..."  She flushed, but kept moving towards him as she struggled for a euphemism.  "That Jack would think we were in here for, you know, and I want to know what made you think that he would think--"

"Good thing Toby's not listening to you," Josh remarked, trying for the joke, the deflection.

Donna ignored that.  She'd become far too skilled at getting past his hastily constructed defenses.  "Josh.  Why would he think that?"

"I didn't say anything to him, Donna.  I'm not interfering."

She stopped, far too close to him for his sanity, and tilted her face up to him, her blue eyes luminous in the dimness.  Josh watched her almost fearfully, unable to read the inscrutable expression on her face.

"I know you're not," she said quietly.  She stared at him for a moment, took an uneven breath, and gave a little shrug.  "Why aren't you?"

Josh stared at her, not understanding, nearly undone by the desolation in her voice.  "Why aren't I what?"

Donna exhaled sharply, turning her head, stepping away from him.  "Never mind."

"Donna."  He touched her shoulder, his fingers settling onto her bare skin, and she froze.  "Did you..."  It was like that moment at the top of a roller coaster, anticipation and fear mixed up in this one, never-ending instant.  He didn't know how to say it, didn't know how to ask if she'd meant what he hoped she'd meant.  So he repeated her name. "Donna."

She looked up at him, hope and nervousness mixed up in those blue, blue eyes, and then he knew how to say it.  He usually tripped over his words, and so he said it by not saying it.

Josh was kissing her, suddenly, that lissome body pressed up against him, those thin, elegant arms encircling his neck.  And she was kissing him back, oh, God, was she kissing him back.  He thought she tasted like candy canes and expensive coffee and other delicious things.  And he felt like he was falling, plunging down that first hill, exhilaration and joy coursing through him, and then he stopped thinking and just kissed her.

"Oh, for the love of God."

Josh and Donna jerked apart, eyes wide, and turned to face CJ, who stood in the doorway, hands on her hips.  CJ lifted a hand and rubbed at her temples, but that did nothing to dispel the pained look on her face.  "Shit."  She pushed the door closed and glared at them.

"Well, hello to you, too, CJ," Josh tried, grinning goofily.  Donna kicked him in the shin.

"This," CJ said, "just can't end well."

"See, there's where I think you're wrong," Josh started.

"Oh, would you stop?" Donna warned him, but when he looked over at her, she was flushed and still breathing hard and trying not to smile, and he tightened his hand around hers.

"Okay," CJ interrupted.  "Let me say first that this is not happening in my bedroom.  Second, you arrived with a date," CJ reminded Donna.  "And third, this is not going to play well in the Washington Post."

Donna lifted her chin.  "We already won the only election we needed to."

Josh barely restrained himself from kissing her again.  By force of will, he squeezed her hand, then let her go.  "Donna, you need to--"

"I need to tell Jack it's not going to work out between us," Donna interrupted with a sensible nod.

Josh was grinning smugly, until he realized he wasn't sure what she meant.  "Which us?"

"What?"

"You said it's not going to work out between us," Josh explained worriedly.  "Us, you and Jack, or--"

"Are you really that dimwitted, Josh?" CJ interrupted impatiently.  She inhaled slowly, a calming breath while she figured out what to do.  "Okay.  You two aren't leaving here together.  I don't care what happens when you leave here," she lied.  "Just -- Donna, go take Jack home.  Josh, stay here with me until they leave."

"Why can't--"

"Because you're a terrible liar, Josh," CJ answered, and Donna concurred with a laugh.  "If you walk out there right after her with that smug smirk--"

"I am not smug," he insisted.

Donna moved toward the door, leaning up to kiss him on the way, and murmured, "Not yet, anyway."

Josh realized he was grinning like a fool, but couldn't seem to make himself stop.  He watched Donna until she disappeared through the doorway, and then jumped when CJ slammed the door behind her.  "Look--"

"CJ."  He held up a hand.  "I think the last thing I need right now--"

"Too bad.  Do you remember what I told you in Manchester?"

"CJ, you've told me many things while in Manchester, including that thing about a certain political demonstration at Berkeley that involved--"

"Josh."  She glared.  "About Donna.  About your kneecaps?"

"Ah."

"Yes."

"She's almost thirty years old, CJ."

CJ looked unimpressed.  "And you're forty going on fourteen.  Just..."  She shrugged.  "Try not to mess this up."  The words should probably have been insulting, but the affection in her tone just made Josh smile.

"I won't.  Mess it up, I mean.  I'll try."

CJ nodded slowly.  "You know what?  I need another drink."

"You know what you need more?" Josh asked, grinning.

"Josh," she warned.

"The Post gave him one of those global cellphones.  I've got the number."

"Josh."

"Seriously, CJ, I'm sure he'd be happy to--"

"Josh!"

He laughed and swept her into an impromptu hug.  She held him tight and murmured, "I really am happy for you, Josh."

Josh pulled back and grinned at her.  "Has anyone ever told you that you throw a hell of a New Year's Eve party, CJ?"

She rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling.  "As a matter of fact, yes."

Josh hooked a thumb at the door, suddenly antsy to get to his townhouse, worried that he'd left it messy, that he wouldn't have coffee in the morning.  "I'm going to--"

"Get out of here," CJ said.  "Josh," she called after him.

He paused in the doorway, looking back at her.  She pursed her lips in that way she had that told him she was trying to convince herself not to ask for something she knew she shouldn't want.  His grin softened around the edges, and he dug out his wallet, found the scrap of paper, and pressed it into her palm.  "Happy New Year, CJ."

THE END

01.06.03