I am immediately tense.  I haven't heard anything from Donna, but she was going to talk to Leo today.  About Josh.

Speaking of Josh, he's fuming in his office -- something about the music in the foyer.  Of course, it could be anything with him these days.  There's no sign of Donna, however, as I make my way to Leo's office.

The door is ajar, so I bypass Margaret and peek inside.  Leo is alone, sitting at his desk with his hands folded.  It's strange to see him so still; usually, he's kinetic, flipping through endless memos or scribbling illegible notes into the margins of incredibly boring reports.  I knock softly on the doorframe and he jumps a little at the sound.

"CJ," he waves me in.  "The door?"

I nod and close it behind me, settling into the chair he indicates.  We stare at each other for a moment, awkwardly formal.

"This is about Josh," I say finally.  "Donna talked to you?"

Leo nods gratefully.  "How did we miss this?"  He looks awful, like he's aged several years in the past couple of days.

"I don't know."

He glances away, then says, "I'm talking to someone at ATVA."

I frown, trying to place the acronym.  "Trauma Victims?"

"Right," Leo nods. " From what Donna said, I'm thinking Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."  His voice is wound as tight as piano wire.

"Me too," I admit.  I don't want to ask him this, I really don't, but I have to know.  "Is that -- I mean, what's going to happen?"

Leo gives me a curious look.  "What are you talking about?"

"With work," I clarify.  "Does the President--?"

"No," Leo shakes his head.  "I don't want him to have to..."

Of course.  The President needs plausible deniability.  In case someone figures out that a man who was shot and nearly killed by white supremacists may need a little help getting over it.  "Got to protect the President," I say bitterly.

Leo slams his fist into the desktop.  "I'm doing the best I can here."  He is glowering at me.  "You think I want to have to weigh political problems against Josh's well-being?"

I stumble over my words.  "I didn't -- No, of course not."

Leo watches me, eyes narrowed, then sighs.  "This is not a good position to be in, but it's light years better than where Josh is right now.  I'd gladly sacrifice my political career as long as Josh comes through this.  But I can't make that decision for the President, CJ."

I will not cry in front of Leo.  I will not.  "I know," I manage.

Leo sits there, uncomfortable having tipped his emotional hand.  His gaze drops to his desktop and he begins shuffling through the stacks of memos.  "There's a guy who's going to want to talk to you."

"A guy?"

"ATVA," Leo explains.  "They'll want to interview all of us who are -- who are close to Josh."

"Interview?" I raise my eyebrows.  "This isn't, like, surreptitious therapy for the rest of us, is it?"

Leo looks at me like I've gone round the bend, then cracks wise.  "Yeah, CJ, cause if by talking to someone to help Josh you get some, you know, peace out of it, that would really make me crazy."

We share a genuine smile, and the awkwardness of the conversation disappears.  "You're talking to them too?" I ask.

"Yes, now get out."

I grin at him, even though his attention is already on his work.  My hand is on the doorknob before I turn back.  "I know Josh was devastated when his father died," I say quietly.  "But he couldn't have found a better protector.  I'm sure Noah would thank you if he could."

I swear there are tears sparkling in Leo's eyes and he may even be blushing a little.  He holds my gaze for a long moment, then finally nods his thanks.

"Get out of here," he says, his voice husky.

***

Oh, this is not good.

Josh just yelled at the bullpen.  Now let me clarify -- Josh yelling is not unusual, nor is Josh yelling at one or two people in the bullpen unusual.  However, Josh coming out of his office, yelling at all and sundry, and comparing the office to a hockey game is quite out of the ordinary.  Then he stalked into his office and slammed the door.

Toby and I share an eloquent look, then silently retreat to his office.  Toby closes the door and then leans against it.

I start to say something, then get a good look at him -- I don't think I've seen Toby this rattled since That Night.  He's staring into the middle distance, his brow furrowed.

"Toby," I ask softly.

He comes back from wherever he was and stares at me for a moment.  "He said he could hear the sirens."

I am cold, suddenly.  My whole body is cold and shaking.  "What?"

"Sirens," Toby repeats quietly.  I've always been able to gage Toby's level of upset by just how softly he speaks.  I am alarmed when I nearly need to take a step closer to hear him when he continues.  "Josh said he could hear the sirens all over the building."

I sit down abruptly.  "He's hallucinating?"

"He said he meant bagpipes."

I frown at Toby.  "The music in the foyer?"

"Yeah."  Toby gives me a beseeching look.  "CJ, you remember when we discussed..." he pauses, "you know, the staffers' reactions?"

I know immediately what he means.  He still hates any reference to the time just after the shooting when he was going through some sort of manic phase.  I decide to put him out of his misery.  "I talked to Leo."

Toby takes a moment to process this.  "What?"

"Well, first I talked to Donna," I say by way of explanation.  "Then she talked to Leo, and then I talked to him.  Leo, I mean."

"Okay."

"We were both -- we are both worried about him."  I hesitate, not because I don't want Toby to know, but because I don't want to talk about it again.  "We think he's -- well, that he might be suicidal."

Toby's mouth drops open, and I do believe he's speechless.  Under any other circumstance, I would probably find that amusing.

Instead, I rush on, "Or edging towards suicidal.  Donna and I decided Josh needs more help than any of us can give him--"

"Suicidal?" Toby demands.

I push myself up from the soft leather chair.  "He said some things."

"What things?"

"Toby--"

"CJ, you went to Leo because he 'said some things'?" Toby explodes.  "You may have just ruined Josh's career!"

I open my mouth to yell right back at him, but there's a sharp knock on the door.  Toby jumps away from it in surprise, then yanks it open.

Josh is standing there, glaring at us.  God, I hope this office is reasonably soundproof.

"CJ, what the hell is going on with that painting?"

Okay, so he didn't overhear that last comment from Toby, but I am momentarily at a loss.  "What painting?"

Josh rolls his eyes.  "Not five minutes ago you were harassing me with a picture of the painting--"

"Outside the Blue room," I interrupt.  "What about it?"

"That's what I'm asking you!" Josh all but shouts.

I take my time answering, and when I do, it's in a controlled, quiet tone.  "Why are you asking me now?"

"Because I would like some information on the damn suicidal pilot, but everyone else around here is too busy blathering on about the painting--"

"Josh--"

"So," he continues, talking right over my objection, "I want to know what the story is with the goddamn painting!"

My gaze darts to Toby, but he is watching Josh carefully.  I nod at Josh and explain, "A French Jew named Auggie Houseman bought it in 1937.  When the Vichy Laws were enacted, the Nazis seized all of his assets, including the painting."  I am hesitant to go on -- Josh has turned alarmingly pale -- but he makes a 'come on' gesture.  "Auggie Houseman died at Auschwitz, but his daughter, Rebecca, survived the war and ended up here.  She's the woman from the tour--"

"Who freaked out," Josh whispers.  His gaze is unfocused and I'm considering dragging him bodily to a therapist when he barks, "We damned well better be giving that painting back."

"We are," I confirm.  "Rebecca Houseman should be here this afternoon."  I glance at Toby, then take a step towards Josh.  "Josh, I--"

Josh backs up, hands out defensively.  "Whatever," he says as he whirls and heads for his office.

Toby watches him go, that same look of controlled panic on his face.  Yeah, I think, welcome to my world.

The door shuts with a click and Toby leans heavily against the frame.  He meets my gaze and gives a decisive nod.  "What'd Leo say?"

"He called ATVA."

Toby raises his eyebrows.  "What about--?"

"He said Josh's job is not in jeopardy," I answer quickly.

Toby shrugs.  "For now."

"Leo sounded pretty determined," I say.  "Also, the guy from ATVA wants to talk to all of us."

"From Rosslyn?"

"No," I answer, then reconsider.  "Well, probably. I meant all of us who are concerned about Josh."

"Ah," Toby says in his about-to-argue-the-point voice.

"You will talk to the guy, right?" I ask in my answer-yes-or-I'll-hurt-you tone.

"Yes, CJ," he answers, annoyed.

I treat him to a full-fledged grin.  "You are a caring man, Toby Ziegler.  Thank you."

I swear, the man does not deal well with anything that could be construed as praise.  He pulls the door open and indicates the bullpen.  "I have work."

I walk past him.  "I find 'you're welcome' to be a phrase suitable for any occasion."

"Go away."

***

Some sixth sense makes me head for the Blue room.

Josh is standing in the middle of the hallway, oblivious to the people streaming past as he examines the painting.  I forget the name -- The Cliffs of Somethingorother.

I reach him and mimic his pose, starting at the wall.  The painting is, as Bernard suggested, rather unimpressive.  The cliffs themselves are rendered stunningly, but the tiny house underneath the threatening clouds -- it's all a bit overdramatic.

I glance over at Josh, but he doesn't appear to be paying much attention to his surroundings at all.  I may as well be a piece of furniture.

"Josh?"

It takes a minute, but he returns my gaze.  "Yeah?"

I tilt my head towards the painting.  "What do you think?"

"It's ugly."

"Yeah," I grin at him.  He almost sounds normal.

"I just... I can't believe she survived," he says softly.

"The Holocaust?" I ask.  I'm a bit hesitant, because I know something of his family's history.

"Yeah," he nods.  "My grandparents survived Birkenau.  Barely."  He looks dazed, like he's not fully present even as he's talking.  "My grandmother, she actually worked in this small -- I forget the English word for it.  She deloused things.  Clothing, mostly.  The Nazis stripped the -- the new arrivals.  They took everything, even their clothes, and my grandmother was in charge of going through the clothing and delousing it."  He pauses, staring again at the painting.  I take his hand, but he doesn't appear to notice.  "She found out later that the chemicals she was using to delouse the Jews' clothing were the same chemicals the Nazis were using to kill the Jews.  The doctors, they think the cancer that killed her was linked to her exposure to those chemicals."

I am utterly terrified that I will say the wrong thing here.  "I didn't know that."

He gives me a bitter smile.  "It's not really dinner conversation," he says.

"Josh," I whisper, "I'm so sorry."

He shrugs off my words and pulls his hand away.  "It's okay," he answers flatly.

Sam, displaying his customary lack of timing, arrives.  He approaches somewhat warily, staring at Josh.

Josh shakes his head and backs away.  "Not now, Sam."

"Josh--"

"No!" Josh yells, then hurries away.

Sam turns to me.  "He just..." he pauses, fumbling for words.  "He yelled at the president."

"He what?"

"In the Oval Office," Sam continues, ignoring my shock.

It takes me a moment to formulate a question.  "Josh yelled at the president in the Oval Office?"

Sam nods, his statement bleak.  "This is bad."

The man has a gift for understatement.

"Does Leo know?"

"He was there."

"What'd the president say?"

Sam blinks at me.  "Nothing.  Leo sent Josh out of the room."

I finally notice Sam's appearance -- he's rumpled and shell-shocked.  I pull him into the Blue room which is, thankfully, empty, and sit him down.  I wonder absently if we're all heading for nervous breakdowns.  I hope we can at least manage to stagger them.

"Sam, are you okay?"

He nods.  "Sure."

I'm not convinced.  His eyes are kind of unfocused.  "Has Leo talked to you about Josh?"

That gets his attention.  "Oh, God -- Did Leo fire him?"

"No," I rush to reassure him.  But it occurs to me that the scene in the Oval Office must have been pretty bad if Sam jumped to that conclusion.  "Leo called in someone from ATVA to talk to Josh."

Sam is still staring at me.  He looks heartbroken.

"It's going to be okay, Sam.  We need to meet with the guy from ATVA on Saturday."

He nods again but doesn't speak.

It's all getting to be too much.  Josh is yelling at everyone, including the president, obsessing over a suicidal pilot, and identifying his family's tragic past with an ugly painting.  Sam seems to have zoned out, Donna looks like hell she's so worried about Josh, and I'm trying my damnedest to hold it all together until Saturday.

Saturday seems very far away.

"CJ?"

I look at Sam and realize that I'm crying.  "I'm fine."

Sam shakes his head slowly.  "No," he says, blinking back tears.  "I don't think any of us are."

He stands and engulfs me in a surprisingly comforting hug.

"We will be," I mumble into his shoulder.  I can feel the tension in his body fade as he begins to cry.  "We have to be."

THE END

12.28.00