A/N: I've gone and written a CSI story. Who knew?

Post 9x5. This idea came to me in the shower, and I just wanted to get it down. It’s short and unbetaed.


Riley:

We've decided there’s nothing else to be done tonight on this case, and we're all a little bleary-eyed, so Catherine sends us home. Hopefully fresh eyes will help us find the piece we're missing.

Greg and I walk to the locker room together, and I turn to watch him as he takes his coat off the hanger in his locker and searches for his keys. He’s not paying any attention to me, like he's forgotten I'm here. I've been here for six months, and in that time Greg has been great to work with. He's brilliant, creative, and has a knack for knowing how to lighten up a scene. But the look on his face now, when he doesn’t know I’m watching, is sad.

I act on an impulse. "You want to go grab a beer?"

Looking startled, Greg turns around to face me, and he looks so tired, I almost take it back, but then he says, "Sure, why not," and we’re out the door.

I follow him in my car to this dive, definitely a local's joint. We settle into a booth, and Greg looks around, like he’s taking stock of the place.

"You come here often," I ask. It sounds cheesy, but I'm not trying to pick him up. I'm trying to get the feel of this new place and these new people. It never hurts to know where your coworkers to go to drink.

"Not until recently," he says. "I needed a new place. We all used to hang out, you know, with Warrick, and I needed a bar without the ghosts. After a beer or two, they're too damn easy to see."

I've never been one to beat around the bush, and he's the one who brought up the ghosts, so I ask the question that’s been bothering me for weeks. "Like the ghosts at the lab? There are plenty of them around, and I don’t think it’s just Warrick Brown."

Greg takes a long pull from his beer, and he looks at me with hard eyes, eyes that don’t belong in the face of the carefree guy I thought I was getting to know. I didn’t plan on this when I invited him for a beer, but it looks like I’m testing our growing friendship. Have I gone too far, or will he trust me?

“Her name is Sara, and as far as I know she’s very much alive. Although, I won’t say that I wouldn’t kick her ass if she walked in the door right now.”

I’m a little shocked. I’ve heard about Sara Sidle, the CSI who was kidnapped by the Miniature Killer and survived, only to leave the lab a few months later. She dated the boss, I think, although Grissom is so quiet and withdrawn I can’t imagine him dating anyone. The voices of my psychologist parents in my head remind me that these people have been through hell, and just because it was six months ago and before I arrived doesn’t make it less real. I need to tread very carefully here.

Greg leans back in the booth and stares at a point just over my head.

“Sara . . . she was my mentor. At one time I would have said that she was like a sister, and I still love her that way, but that mentoring relationship was so strong, more important than the friendship we had before.” He cracks a very small smile, “You know, back when I used to pull her hair.”

“Ah. I knew you were the type.”

“Yes. Well, I’ve improved my game since then. Not that I stood a chance. Sara was always for Grissom. And when she left the first time, I thought it was his fault. And maybe it was, some. But this time, it’s her fault. And Grissom, he’s . . .” Greg trailed off.

“It’s ok,” I reassure him. “I don’t know Grissom well, but I can see he’s a damn fine criminalist. But I also see that you guys are fiercely loyal to him. That kind of loyalty doesn’t come without a reason. I might not be part of the family yet, but I’m part of the team. And I’d like to be your friend. You can trust me not to go telling tales out of school.”

Greg gives me an unabashedly appraising look. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I can feel that this is the moment. We’re bonding now, or we won’t -- ever.

“He’s broken. He’s so very broken without her, and now I understand why it had to be him. Because while, years ago, I might have thought I could love her, but I would never have shattered without her. And he has.” There’s a tremble in Greg’s voice, and he takes a deep breath. “I don’t know why she can’t see that. And it makes me angry to see them hurt over something they could change when there’s so much we can’t do a damn thing about.”

I nod, slightly, to show I understand, but there’s nothing to say. What I can say about this man’s pain when I don’t know anything about him or the people he loves? He cocks his head slightly, gives a little shrug, and comments on the news story from the television above the bar. We’re done with the introspection for one night.

But now I know there’s more to CSI Greg Sanders than meets the eye. There are people who matter, and you don’t always know who they are when you meet them. But I suspect that Greg matters to me, that this burgeoning friendship is one to hang onto.

So, the great thing about my West Wing and fan fic addiction is (aside from the DVD's, and we won't talk about how much money we've all spent on 7 seasons of DVDs, now will we?), is that it's free. So, I won't be spending any of my hard earned graduate stipend on an LJ account, so instead for your reading ease, I'll just keep the top entry as a list of the fics you'll find below in the order in which they appear, top to bottom, by clicking on "recent." Enjoy!

*All stories originally posted on Yahoo! JDFF or Yahoo! AinsleyHayesFic except "Digging In"*

”How to Anger a Rotarian-Or ‘You Won’t Find a Rotarian Not Wearing a Seatbelt’”
(S3) Insertion, “The Women of Qumar”

"Don't Take it Out on the Post-Its" - (S2) Sam and Toby after Sam's ill-fated debate spot with one Ainsley Hayes.

“A Side Trip Home” – (AU-S3) A challenge response where Josh’s dad survived the cancer. Takes place the day before “Bartlet for America”

"The First Half Hour" - (S7) speculation, prior to how it actually played out, on how we learn of Leo's death

"Hitting Her Stride" - (S7) Donna is coming into her own as the Santos campaign's spokesperson, and she and Josh begin to thaw some. Heavy references to Donna's injured leg, but not angst.

"Digging In" - (S2) The actual moment Josh learns of the President's MS, and his reaction

How to Anger a Rotarian—Or “You Won’t Catch a Rotarian Not Wearing a Seatbelt”
Author: Liz
Rating: G

A/N: I think it says something about how much I love “The Women of Qumar” for Allison Janney’s amazing performance that I just this week noticed this odd, unexplained Josh thing that I had to go further with. In case no one else noticed either, and you’re wondering what on earth this little dialogue-only piece is about: the president is being sued over supposedly telling people they shouldn’t wear their seat belts. Sam is in damage control mode and wants a national seat belt law. His meeting doesn’t want to talk about it. They want to talk about the Rotary club.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Josh?”

“Yeah”

“Sam called. He says ‘please, for the love of God, apologize to the Rotarians so he can do the business of the nation.’”

“Sam said that?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure it wasn’t Toby?”

“Toby’s the one with the beard? Bald?”

“You’re not funny.”

“What did you say that could possibly piss off Rotarians that much?”

“Nothing. I said that they were a shining example of Tocquevillian democracy at work.”

“Josh?”

“What? Ok. I made a crack about David Ashton’s lapel pin and I had to listen to a ten minute diatribe about Rotary community work and scholarships and, I don’t know, teddy bears.”

“Those are the Ruritans.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The teddy bears. They’re names are Rudy Ruritan and the Ruritans give them out to emergency service providers for children who are scared.”

“Donna? Your dad’s a Ruritan, isn’t he?”

“He is, and it’s a perfectly normal and honorable thing to be! You’re not going to make fun of my dad now are you?”

“Yeah, cause the cheese head picture on your desk wasn’t enough.”

“Josh! Just apologize to Ashton so Sam can go back to work!”

“Yes, dear.”

“Don’t Take it Out on the Post-Its”
Rating: G
A/N: I found this on my hard drive, and it amused me. It was supposed to be a challenge response to writing a fic about the first West Wing episode you ever saw. “In This White House” was it, and I was hooked from the teaser. This is totally unfinished, from the original conception, but it stands I think.
Disclaimer: The dialogue you recognize? That's Aaron's.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Toby, come quick! Sam’s getting his ass kicked by a girl!”

“Ginger, bring the popcorn.”

Toby followed Josh as he jogged back to CJ’s office and settled in on her couch to watch the carnage. Toby had to hand it to his deputy though, he took the opportunity of the commercial break to get it together, and he handled himself quite well in the next segment. Sam was smart, Sam was professional, and he took his ass-kicking like the professional that he was.

Which was how Toby came to be lurking in Sam’s office, sitting in the visitor’s chair with the light off. Sam stalked through the bull-pen speaking to no one, and went straight in his office, turning on the harsh over-head light and the desk lamp, and took his frustration out on his phone messages. Toby didn’t know it was possible to even do that, but there Sam sat, reading each message before slamming it down on his desk and viscously flipping to the next one. The corners of Toby’s mouth tipped up just slightly in a smile, and said, “You know, I’m pretty sure it’s not the post-it notes’ fault.”

The look on Sam’s face changed from angry determination to shock as he jerked his head up to face Toby, of whose presence Sam had been totally unaware.

“God, Toby.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Yeah.”

“You did good, you know, after.”

“I was unprepared. I was over-confident.”

“Yeah.”

“I should never go into debate spots like that.”

“No.”

“She made me look like an idiot.”

“No.”

“No?”

“She made you look un-prepared and over-confident. And then you got it together, and she made you both look like smart, articulate people debating an issue. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it just a little.”

Sam thought about it for just a second, about the fire that had been in the blonde woman’s eyes, and then he smiled, that rakish, Sam smile and said, “You know, I did.”

“We had popcorn.”

“You save me any?”

“You eat cold, stale popcorn?”

“I just ate crow. I’m thinking cold, stale popcorn sounds pretty good about now.”

“If there’s any left, it’s in CJ’s office.”

Sam thought about the abuse he would most certainly have to take from CJ and decided he would really rather just go home, and with a small laugh, he said, “Yeah. Never mind. Good night, Toby.”

“Night, Sam.”

Sam turned off his lights, grabbed his brief-case, and headed home.

Title: A Side Trip Home
Rating: G
Disclaimer: West Wing characters are the property of Warner Brothers, etc. I don’t know who owns “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” but it’s not me.

A/N 1: This was originally posted on Yahoo! JDFF in response to Rick Yunker’s challenge. He wrote “Father's Day is coming up in a few weeks. I'd like to issue a story challenge in honor of my late father, whose shoes I fill so poorly. Write us an AU in which Noah Lyman defeats his cancer to continue as a living breathing presence in his son's (and by extension Donna's as well) life. Reexamine some moment in the last eight years of the Bartlet White House factoring Noah's influence on our favorite duo into the story.” I don’t usually get inspired by challenges, but I liked this one.
A/N 2: This is set the day before “Bartlet for America”
A/N 3: I put a tiny little bit of my father in here, my own Father’s Day tribute, even if he’s never heard of such a thing as fan fic.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Josh Lyman’s office”

“Well, I still contend that it’s Donna Moss’ office, but if you say so.”

At the voice of Noah Lyman on the phone, Donna ceased the delicate balancing act she had been performing of rearranging the memos and note cards on her desk around her steaming coffee cup and her still unwrapped secret Santa gift, and with a bright smile, she focused on her caller.

“Yes, well surely you figured out long before I did that the best way to control Josh is by making him think that he’s in charge.”

“Ah, so you do seek to control him? I told him he was just being paranoid.”

“You know what they say, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that no one’s out to get you.”

At that, Noah let out a hearty laugh and Donna closed her eyes and knew that his face was at that moment lit by the same dimples so familiar to her in his son.

“Josh is on the Hill. Shall I tell him you called?”

“Well, actually Donna, he called me, but I went to the office this morning and missed his call.”

“And he called home because that’s where he expected you would be, being retired and all.”

“Retirement is for dead people, Donna, don’t let anyone tell you different. Retirement is a myth and a scheme perpetuated by investment houses so they can make a fortune off commissions while you save for a “retirement” that’s so mind-numbingly dull you’re willing to work for free before you lose your mind.”

The rant was so very Josh-like that Donna thought for the hundredth time that her boss had surely come by his intensity honestly, as well as his passion for service. Donna knew that “working for free before he lost his mind” was actually Noah Lyman speak for the pro bono work at his old law firm which he continued to do because he could afford to work for free and liked to keep his mind sharp and wanted badly to continue to do some good in the world. His bout with cancer had robbed him of some of his stamina, but continuing to carry this light case load fulfilled this need while leaving him time with his family.

They chatted a little longer, Noah declining to call Josh on his cell phone, afraid of disturbing his son while he worked. Donna promised to tell Josh that his father had returned his call and went back to reorganizing her desk.

When Josh returned later, she followed him into his office with a stack of messages, reeling them off while he put up his coat and back pack and settled in to his desk. “—And Mike Casper called about the Tennessee church thing. They’re still working on it. And your father called, said he was returning your call.”

Josh looked up from his computer screen. “Yeah? How long ago?”

“About half an hour ago.”

“Ok, thanks. Close the door, please?”

The door closed behind her with a soft click. Josh sat down in his chair and took a deep breath that he exhaled in a rush that puffed out his cheeks, and scraped his hand through his hair. Josh reached for the phone on his desk, and then changed his mind and instead retrieved his cell phone from his belt and dialed the familiar number home.

“Noah Lyman.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Josh! Imagine my shock at hearing from my son at 7:30 on a week day morning. I thought you only called on Sunday nights.”

“Yeah, Dad. I—look, are you alone?”

“I can be. Just a minute.”

Josh mentally followed his father’s path through the house. He knew he started in the kitchen from the rush of the water as he rinsed out his coffee cup, and knew when he was in the hall by the sound of his shoes on the hard wood. He knew when Noah was on the stairs by the labored sounds of his breathing as he climbed. He knew he was alone in his study by the distinctive creak of the hinges and the heavy “thunk” of the old oak door. Josh took an enormous amount of comfort in the familiarity of it all, in his ability to see and hear home without actually being there. Problems didn’t seem so large when he could just go home in this small way. He knew his father was about to speak again by the soft sniffing sound he made as he settled down in his chair.

“Ok. What’s on your mind son?”

“You know, it’s ridiculous. I’m not even supposed to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

Josh got up from his chair and softly turned the locks on all of his doors and sent a silent prayer to a God he couldn’t really believe cared about such trivial human things, that no one in Westport, Connecticut got their kicks by monitoring the conversations on his parents’ cordless telephone three days before Christmas. He imagined, closed in as they both were, with his father’s voice in his ear, that they were together in Noah’s study.

“You’ve been watching the news, right?”

“Of course.”

“So you know who’s testifying before Congress tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s gonna be bad.”

“What are you doing about it?” Josh knew his father was sending him a piercing look; he didn’t have to be present to receive it or feel its import.

“Trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to stage a diversion.”

“I didn’t think they let you in the situation room,” Noah chuckled.

“You’re a riot, you know that? No, see, Leo doesn’t want me to help him.”

“Why not?”

Why not, indeed. Josh thought about it for a minute as he stared out the windows of his office.

“He thinks he doesn’t deserve it.”

Noah was baffled. “Why the hell not?”

“He fell off the wagon at the worst possible time during the campaign, it’s gonna come up, and he thinks I’m just supposed to abandon him to his fate.”

“Why you?”

“No one else knows.” Only that wasn’t true, the President knew, but just a sure as he said so, someone in Westport really would be getting their kicks by listening in on his parents’ cordless phone three days before Christmas.

“Has Leo ever abandoned you to yours?”

Josh thought of holes. Holes in the ground. Holes in his window. Holes in his memory when he knew he’d yelled at the President but couldn’t remember what he’d said.

“No. Not even when I deserved it.”

“Then get to it,” Noah said, in the same tone of voice he once used to send Josh up to do his algebra homework.

“Yeah. You might call him today, you know, just to say hello. He’ll know it’s because he’s testifying, and he’ll try to play it off, but the support, even if you don’t talk about it, will mean a lot.”

“Ok. Give Margaret a heads up for me.”

“I will. Thanks.”

“So, what’d you get Donna for Christmas?”

Startled by the sudden change of topic, he stammered, “I . . . um . . .well”

“Stop procrastinating and go buy her tickets to Aieda. Your mother says it’s playing at the Kennedy Center next month.”

“Tickets, plural? You want me to pay for her to take some gomer to the opera?”

“Well now you’re just being an idiot.”

“Hey, I’m an important man,” Josh exclaimed in his best indignant voice.

“And I’m your father. Leo’s a good man, he’ll be alright. And you’ll know what to do.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Josh hung up the phone and unlocked his doors and settled down to make a mental list of all the people who could possibly help him tomorrow, and found that as always, a little side trip home and a talk with his dad did wonders for his concentration. Later as he passed through the bull pen, the radio on Donna’s filing cabinet was softly playing “I’ll be Home for Christmas.” Josh paused in his list making just long enough to think that, Christmas or not, he understood the sentiment well.

This is my most recent LJ post, but it was my first fic ever, maybe from February or March, well before we even had any spoilers for "Election Day," and this was my speculation on how Josh, Donna, and the Santos campaign might learn of Leo's death. This takes place in a world where "The Cold" happened, but there was no resolution yet.


Title: The First Half Hour
Character: Josh, Donna, Santo’s Campaign
Category: Romance, angst
Pairing: Josh/Donna
Rating: Teen
Summary: Speculation on how the Santos campaign learns of Leo’s death
Feedback: I’d love it.


Donna sat propped on the bed of her hotel room, which looked like a war zone, scattered as it was with papers and shoes and the remains of the Chinese left-overs she’d taken up with her after the last meeting of the evening finally broke up. The disorganization was unlike her, and it irritated, but if she had time to clean up, she would have time to sleep as well. As it was, she had to settle for being dressed for bed, in boxers and an old and threadbare University of Wisconsin tee-shirt, while reading her briefing notes for tomorrow morning. “No, make that this morning,” she thought as she rubbed her tired eyes and looked at the alarm clock on the night stand. Two a.m. God, had she really signed up to do this again? Of course she had, but she’d been campaigning for the better part of a year now, and she was tired.
She put away the briefing notes and reached to turn out the light, but as she snuggled down into the pillows, sighing at the first moment of total relaxation that she sometimes cherished as her favorite part of the day, there was a knock on the door. Donna groaned, but didn’t open her eyes, and the knock came again, firmer this time. She reached for the lamp and padded her way to the door, telling the person on the other side to wait just a minute, but in a voice so quiet she knew it probably couldn’t be heard. A glance through the peep hole showed the back of an unruly head of curls, and she opened the door with an exhausted “What, Josh?”
But Josh turned back to face her as the door opened, and even as he words left her mouth she could tell something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Josh’s face was ashen, his jaw clinched and the muscle on the side of his face twitched as it tended to do when he was upset.
“Donna,” he said, and his voice shook.
“Josh?” She took him by the hand, not thinking about the significance of such a gesture, even though things has begun to change since spontaneous kiss a week earlier in another hotel room, and led him into her room and shut the door.
Josh released her hand and walked further into the room, rubbing his hand over his face, resting the other on his hip. She took in his disheveled appearance, dress shirt un-tucked and wrinkled, tie and jacket long discarded, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, certainly nothing unusual. Except his face. Donna had only seen that look when she told him his father had died. Oh, God. His mother? Had something happened to his mother? She’d talked to Mrs. Lyman recently, but things happen, and if anyone knew about the injustice of random acts of fate, it was Donna. She followed him to where he now stood in front of the window, placed her hand on his shoulder, and she could feel his trembling resonate through her arm.
“Josh.” This time more firmly, a command to bring him back to her, to the present so that he could tell her what had happened. He spun around and wrapped her in his arms, buried his face in her hair at the base of her neck, and held on tight. Stunned, Donna held on too, now able to feel that his whole body was shaking, and she realized that she was afraid. The waves of emotion coming off of Josh, they could only be grief or despair, were nearly tangible, and she selfishly wanted to delay the moment when she would know why, and she would have to share in this darkness.
Josh tightened his grip, if that was possible, and finally spoke.
“He . . . Leo had another heart attack.”
“No.”
“Donna, Leo’s gone.”
“No.”
And suddenly Josh was strong and Donna was weak. Josh became Donna’s anchor and she couldn’t breathe because the sobs that welled up were choking her, even though she made almost no sound. The silent sobs were painful, like dry heaving, and she couldn’t make it stop. Josh was cooing in her ear, making the soothing sounds that you make when faced with another’s despair and waited her out. Donna finally began to regain her self, and Josh placed both his hands on her cheeks and rested his forehead against hers, and Donna began to feel stronger and to think more clearly, only to discover that clearer thoughts were not comforting.
“Does the president know?”
“I don’t know. Ron’s probably told CJ by now.” And then he staggered under another thought. “God. Toby and Sam.”
Donna realized that he was right about CJ and the President, but Toby and Sam were out of the official information loop, and it was up to them to make sure they knew before CNN did.
Josh called Sam first, and sitting on the edge of Donna’s bed he looked so alone and sad that as he talked, Donna climbed on the bed and proceeded to wrap herself around him. She sat on her knees, put one on each side of Josh’s hips, wrapped her arms around him, one around his waist and the other under his arm and up to the opposite shoulder, and placed her chin on the other shoulder, thus surrounding him with her warmth, holding him up physically as well as emotionally while he delivered the worst of all possible news to the scattered members of their extended family. When he finally finished, Josh leaned his head back onto Donna’s shoulder, and she could feel the dampness on his cheek where it met hers. Setting the phone aside, he placed his own arms over hers and cried softly. It was the first time Donna had ever seen him cry, and the intimacy of the moment was nearly as overwhelming as the grief.
Collecting himself, Josh said, “We gotta have a meeting. I gotta tell the congressman, and then we need to tell everyone else.”
Donna’s voice switched into work mode, though she didn’t let go of Josh. “I’ll get everyone together while you talk to the Congressman.”
“No. Get Bram to do it. I can’t do this by myself, Donna. Come with me? Please?”
Donna called Bram, giving no explanation except that he should gather the staff and meet them in 15 minutes. Then she stepped into the bathroom to quickly redress in jeans and a sweater, pushing away thoughts of another night she had re-dressed in the first things she could find with a knot of dread in the pit of her stomach. Emerging, she grabbed her keys, reached for Josh’s hand. “Let’s go.”
They waited in the outer room of the Santos’ suite in silence. After a minute, Matt and Helen came out wrapped in bath robes, sleepy eyed and stumbling a little, as if not actually awake. Helen leaned in the door frame of the bed room, while Matt stood in the middle of the room, and if he was surprised to find both Josh and Donna in his hotel room at 2:30 in the morning, he didn’t show it. “What is it, Josh?”
“Congressman, at 1:00 this morning, Leo’s secret service detail heard a crash in his hotel room. They entered to find him unconscious, and called an ambulance, and he was . . . pronounced dead . . . upon arrival at GW.”
“Another heart attack?”
“Yeah,” but his voice was gravelly, nearly gone.
During the exchange, both Donna and Helen had moved to stand closer to the two men. Donna’s hand rested between Josh’s shoulder blades, while Helen now stood at Matt’s side, their arms around each other. Josh cleared his throat and continued, “I’ve called staff meeting in a few minutes.”
“Okay,” and Matt looked bewildered, lost, shell shocked, Donna thought. She and Josh left them standing there and walked two doors down to the room where the staff had assembled. There was a tension in the room, an understanding that something must be wrong. All eyes fell on Josh as he closed the door, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. Rubbing his hand through his hair, Josh thought that this would be the 5th time in less than 30 minutes he’d had to inform someone that Leo was dead, and every time it just got worse, more real, and he couldn’t form the words. Donna looked at him and understood, and giving him a slight nod, faced the room herself and repeated to the campaign staff the same words Josh used to tell the congressman. A murmur of disbelief rippled through the room, and Josh finally found his voice again. “No one except Donna, Lou, or myself is to talk to the press. Lou, put together a statement for us to use in the morning. Something short. Just facts. Nothing about the ticket. Let the press know we will issue a statement at 7:00.” And with that he left the room.
After a brief word with Lou, Donna left as well, intent on finding Josh, but she didn’t have to go far. He was leaning against the wall, right outside the door, staring straight ahead, dry-eyed and pale. Donna looked at him, and she began to fear what this could do to Josh. Recently he had seemed to be well and stable, but he was also only just recently beginning to let her back in, and she was still unsure of her new footing when it came to Josh’s psyche. One thing was for sure, though, he needed sleep, and he needed to step out of campaign manager mode and just be Josh for a little while if he was going to handle this at all well. Wordlessly, Donna reached for his hand, and when he finally met her gaze, she tugged on his arm and led him back to her room.
“Donna, I should . . .”
“You should sleep. Lou can handle this right now. It’s ok. Trust her.”
“Yeah.”
Donna pulled back the covers on her bed, and began talking to Josh as she would to an over-wrought child, her voice steady and low, telling him to take off his shoes and helping him with the buttons on his shirt when his hands shook too much to release them himself. She practically placed him under the covers, helping him to swing his legs up, and as she tucked him in, it wasn’t lost on her that he was trusting her, too. She crawled into bed on the other side, and automatically Josh pulled her to him and held her tight. Lost in their grief and shock, searching for the oblivion of sleep, neither paused to consider that this was the first time they had ever shared a bed.

Title: Hitting her Stride
Author: Liz
Disclaimer: All West Wing characters are the brilliant creation of Aaron Sorkin
Summary: Post-ep for the Debate.
AN: Who didn’t watch the Debate and long for “Game On”? Thanks to Chai, who continues to remind me to write, even though I can’t seem to finish the story she’s wondering about.



She was working the press. She, Donnatella Moss, was working the press during the presidential debate. She had watched CJ do this, during debates, speeches, press conferences, and now she was doing it, albeit with less fluidity of speech, less practiced movement among reporters, but just as CJ had, Donna would find her rhythm. She could feel it coming to her.

“Donna! Congressman Santos and Senator Vinick just took opposing stances on a moratorium on federal executions while the system undergoes review, yet neither elaborated on their positions. What more can you tell us about the Congressman’s position?”

“Congressman Santos believes that while our justice system contains many safe-guards against wrongful conviction, honest mistakes are made by honest people. In light of recent cases of exonerations of death-row inmates, the congressman believes we should consider if there are systemic problems that can be fixed to insure that justice is served in all cases. Um . . . Mark.”

She was hitting her stride. Josh could see it as he watched her from across the hotel ball room that had been set up as the press pool area. His ears had perked up at the capital punishment question. He wasn’t sure how familiar Donna was with that area of Matt Santos’ platform, and he surly hadn’t given her anything to work with from the podium up there tonight. But a small smile played at the corner of his lips as he listened to her answer. He should have known that Donna would have familiarized herself with everything, most likely when still working for Russell. The smile left his lips as the thought finished out. But without even realizing what he was doing, Josh turned his back on Donna and focused on his own gaggle of reporters, totally trusting Donna to handle whatever came her way.

While the debate finished at 10:00 the spin lasted until well past midnight, and the Santos staffers climbed into the suburban which would carry them back to their hotel exhausted and completely talked out. The adrenaline that had carried them all through the night was spent. Josh and Donna found themselves seated together, Lou and Bram across from them, and Donna laid her head back on the seat, sighed, and closed her eyes. Josh looked out the window, acutely aware of the woman beside him, and thinking of other times, times when her head would have rested on his shoulder rather than on the seat back. Times when the debate had gone so well that hours of spin were not needed, when the staff pulled the plug and went home, permitting their man’s stellar performance to spin itself. Matt Santos was good, but he was no Jed Bartlet. Josh emitted his own sigh, and closed his eyes.

Donna heard him, and realized it was the first time she had seem him relax since she left the White House. When they were only meeting on the road that wasn’t odd, but since she joined the campaign she had seen Josh fueled by caffeine and adrenaline and . . . something else. Not exactly fervor, more like desperation. She had seen him work himself into the ground like this before, but then, she had been in a position to do something about it. Now she felt as if she had no right to even mention what she saw. If he was relaxed now, then so would she, and she would pretend that they were someplace else, sometime else, when she could rest her head on his shoulder.

. . . . . . . . .

The long day and night on her feet, and the 3 inch heels she’d worn for the benefit of the cameras had taken their toll on Donna’s injured leg. It ached when she got in the suburban, but the ride had allowed it to get stiff. As she climbed out of her side of the vehicle, she audibly winced in pain. Bram gave her a questioning look, but Donna shrugged him off. “My leg fell asleep.” And Bram, never considering her injuries, accepted her at her word, hitched the strap of his briefcase up on his shoulder, and strode into the hotel like man intent on his bed, leaving Donna behind to make her slow progress around the back of the vehicle and towards the double glass doors.

Josh was just outside those doors, having paused to discuss the early morning schedule with Lou, when he glanced around and noticed the careful way Donna placed one foot in front of the other, and the blank expression on her face. “Excuse me,” he said to Lou, and walked to Donna’s side, and saying nothing, put his hand on her right arm to help support her. He felt the instant when she almost shrugged him off, that slight twitch in her arm, before she gave in to her need for help, and he forced down the wave of despair at the knowledge that she didn’t want his help.

As she walked, Donna felt her leg loosen up, and she stood straighter, sighing softly in relief. “I’m ok now. Thanks,” she said to Josh, and offered him a bright smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Josh studied her face, and he knew pain when he saw it. “Give me your bag,” he said, holding out his hand. “Really, Josh, I’m-” but he cut off her words by simply taking the bag from her and falling in step beside her toward the elevators, matching his gait to hers. Lou, still at the doors watched them with an impassive expression, wondered just what the hell was it with those two.

Once in the elevators, Josh punched the button for Donna’s floor without asking which one it was, and Donna kept her surprise to herself. “Does it hurt like that often,” Josh asked her, without taking his eyes off the elevator door in front of him. “No, just when I’ve been on my feet a lot.” “Those ice picks you’re wearing can’t help,” Josh scolded. “Josh.” Put off by her tone, Josh closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair in a frustrated gesture, and wondered why it was that he had insisted on helping her and hadn’t turned her over to Lou.

Recognizing how she sounded, Donna felt guilty. She was just tired and off her game and didn’t know what to say to Josh. He got off the elevator and walked with her the rest of the way to her room, and was about to say good night as she let herself in, but suddenly Donna heard herself ask, “Would you like to come in for a drink?” Josh thought he could have been knocked over with a feather at that question, especially after the coldness in the elevator, but that something that ached in his soul propelled him forward. “Sure.”

The minute the door closed behind them, Donna kicked off her shoes and sighed at the relief as her muscles relaxed and her whole foot took the weight of her injured leg. Josh frowned at the obvious tension in her face, at the way she limped slightly as she made her way across the room, jabbering on about seeing what she could find in the mini-bar. Josh absent-mindedly answered that “whatever was fine” and glanced around looking for a way out of the awkwardness that accompanied any tete-a-tete with Donna these days.

“You did well with the press tonight, especially that moratorium thing. I didn’t know if you’d been briefed on his position.”

“I’ve been reading up in my spare time.” And before it was her job to spin for Congressman Santos, it had been to job to spin for his opponent, so her reading up on Santos’ various positions pre-dated her employment with his campaign, but she decided to refrain from pointing that out. Instead she handed Josh his drink and turned to sit in one of the hotel room’s small chairs where she could prop her foot on the edge of the bed. Josh’s gut twisted just a little bit more as he saw a grimace flicker across her face, and as Donna raised her drink to her lips he blurted out, “You shouldn’t drink that!”

Donna looked up at him, startled, and asked with undisguised confusion, “why not?”

Josh made an expansive gesture that indicated the entire room and all of Donna’s travel belongings scattered around. “Because surely somewhere in all of this stuff you have some pain medication that you should be taking for that leg, and if you have that drink, you can’t take it.”

Donna crinkled her nose like a child faced with cough syrup and said, “It’s been ok lately, so I didn’t get it refilled last time.” Except she did, of course she did, and buried it in the deepest, darkest part of her massive suit case, making it as much trouble as humanly possible to get to. She hated the stuff, hated the fuzzy feeling around her brain, hated the vague feeling that she was still actually in pain, but just not quite able to process it, hated wondering what else she couldn’t see through the medication haze.

And Josh knew it. “Donna.”

“I’m fine, Josh. I’ll sleep with it on a pillow tonight and wear flats tomorrow, and I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not fine! I haven’t seen you move like you’re moving tonight since—You’re not fine.” Josh raked his hand through his hair, and turned his head to the side, staring at the standard-issue, hotel ugly window drapes instead of Donna’s face.

Donna was shaken by this proof of Josh’s concern, this small glimmer of warmth after so much cold between them. His outburst of emotion deserved an answer.

“You’re right, Josh. I did good tonight, and 99 percent of it was my answers and my research and a great deal of practice in front of mirrors, but that last little bit was dressing the part. I will always have a leg that’s been patched back together, and it’s always going to ache if I spend too much time on my feet, and for a great many years to come, I hope, my job will require me to do just that occasionally. But I did it Josh. And I want to do it again tomorrow, and I don’t want to see it through a haze.” As she spoke, she sat her untouched drink on the table next to Josh’s, conversational props it turned out that they hadn’t needed, “And if it will make you feel better if I don’t drink that, then I won’t. But I won’t take more than Advil because I need to be sharp tomorrow. I have a job to do.”

Josh understood, and gave her the acknowledgement she deserved and that he had withheld out of wounded pride and spite for far too long. “You do it well.”

“Thank you.”

They sat quietly, each trying to absorb the moment, professional acknowledgment combined with personal caring, a combination that had remained elusive since the day Donna resigned, and for the first time each felt that maybe, just maybe, they could be ok again.

Donna yawned, and Josh took his cue to go. “Take the Advil,” he said as he made his way to the door. And with a smile to himself, he decided to take a risk, to do something that the Donna he used to know would appreciate, and he reached down and scooped up her shoes. “And just in case, I’m taking the ice picks with me.” And with that, he swept out of the room, leaving an achy, exhausted, bewildered, and smiling Donna behind him.

My very first Live Journal entry!!! This story didn't really fit in any of they Yahoo boards where I'm a member, so I decided to try this. Let me know what you think.



Title: Digging In
Author: Liz
Summary: Josh learns of the President’s MS
Rating: R, some language, not too bad
Author’s Notes: I enquired a while back on another board if anyone could recommend a story that captures the actual moment in which Josh learns of the President’s MS. No one did, so I wrote one myself.
Feedback: Please.
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.



Josh stood in the reception area outside the Oval Office leaning on Mrs. Landingham’s desk. This meeting had been a last minute addition to his schedule for the night. Donna was packing up her things for the evening and reminding Josh of his early morning appointments and insisting that she had, in fact, framed Roger Rabbit, when Margaret called. She couldn’t offer any answer when Donna enquired about the reason for the meeting; she only knew that Josh was to meet the President and Leo at 10:00. Josh was at a loss for a reason, but not really worried, and the passed the time as he waited by peering into Mrs. Landingham’s cookie jar, contemplating the merits of oatmeal raisin versus chocolate chip

“Josh.”

Leo’s voice from the door way startled him from his cookie comparison, and he dropped the lid of the jar back in place with a crash that did not bode well for the intricately cut glass.

“Yeah. Hi,” Josh said with a wince.

Leo made no remark on Josh’s clumsiness, and indicated with a jerk of his head that Josh should follow him back out into the hallway. Josh followed Leo into his office, and Leo circled the room, closing all of the doors, before taking his seat behind the desk. Josh paced the room with an excess of energy that had been with him all day, and gave in to his curiosity.

“What’s this about?”

“It’s about what it’s about.”

Josh was taken aback by the lack of good humor that usually characterized Leo’s terseness, and in the back of his mind, faint alarm bells began to sound.

The room remained silent for a few more moments and Josh continued his slow pacing as they waited for the President until Leo spoke again with the same uncharacteristic tone.

“Josh, I don’t need to remind you how to behave to the President, right?”

Josh ceased pacing and spun around to face Leo with a look of shock on his face.

“The hell is this meeting about, Leo?”

Leo’s expression opened up and he put is palms out toward Josh as if asking for peace.

“I know. I know. It’s just—I need you to keep it together, okay.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

As they finished this conversation, the connecting door from the Oval Office opened, and the President entered the room, and along with him came a tension that was so noticeable that it was like a fourth person in the room. Every instinct inside Josh was now on high alert. He was poised to hear anything, and expected to find that there was some grave and unavoidable national catastrophe looming on the horizon. An asteroid was hours away from plunging into earth. Nuclear missiles had been launched and were currently in flight toward multiple, major US cities. Something unspeakably horrible. It had to be to justify the atmosphere in this room.

The President did not sit, but instead stood behind the high-backed chair closest to his office door. Leo remained standing behind is desk, and Josh, who had ceased his pacing in the center of the room when he turned to confront Leo, suddenly would have given anything in the world for some object to lean against as the other two men had.

The President looked straight at Josh’s face and with cold eyes and an emotionless voice, began, “Josh, we’ve called you in here to tell you that 10 years ago I was diagnosed with relapsing-remitting multiple sclerosis. As you’ll know, I did not disclose it during the campaign. None of the campaign staff, including Leo, knew anything about it. I did tell Hoynes, and now it’s become an issue. We’re telling the staff, and you’re the third to know, after Leo and Toby, who’s a regular Sherlock Holmes and figured it out all by himself.” This speech, though begun in a tone lacking emotion, ended in one laced with bitterness and rancor, qualities to which Josh was utterly unaccustomed in this man. Josh had no way of knowing how this same discussion had gone with Toby, that the President had found it excruciating. Indeed, he’d found it humiliating. Josh was not Toby, and he would never berate the President. He would never call the President on the carpet the way Toby had, and in less defensive, reasonable moments, the President knew that. But his need to avoid a repeat of earlier scenes overwhelmed all else. He’d do better with CJ and with Sam. Josh would be okay.

Josh felt the combined pressure of the President’s and Leo’s stares as they awaited his reaction, and he stopped breathing. He was nearly certain that his heart stopped beating. He didn’t blink. He was absolutely still. And deep inside he felt what could only be described as the tightening of a coil or a spring, a physical certainty that this was wrong.

“Josh, do you understand what I’m telling you?”

The stillness would not let go. It was as if Josh was incapable of answering the President’s question as the spring inside him wound tighter and tighter.

“Josh?” Leo, this time, was prompting him to answer. His voice was stern, but in it Josh heard a reminder of Leo’s earlier enjoinder to please keep it together.

Josh opened his mouth to answer but found that no sound would come out, so he cleared his throat, blinked hard a few times, and tried again. “Um. Yes, sir.”

“Okay, then. You have any questions?”

The President might have been offering to answer questions, but stationed as he was by the door, as if poised for a get away, Josh had never felt as if questions would be more unwelcome by this, for the moment, cloaked in his power and his self-righteous anger, most imposing of men. Josh was unsure of his footing, and glanced down at the floor before meeting the President’s look again.

“Not—not right now, Mr. President. Thank you, sir.”

The President placed his hands in his pockets and nodded to Josh and Leo before turning on his heel and retreating to his office. The silence he left behind in the room held sway as Josh stood rooted to his spot staring at the closed door. When he finally turned to face Leo, he found him seated at his desk again and looking much older than he had only moments before, now that the crucial moment was over and his boss was gone and his defenses were down.

“Leo?”

“What do you want to know Josh?” The fight was gone from Leo’s voice, and instead Josh heard resignation and exhaustion.

For some of his work in the Senate, Josh had done research for a bill that provided research funding for MS, so he did not require a crash course on the disease.

“How long have you known?”

“About a year.”

“A year!”

“Keep your voice down. He’s probably still in there, and have a seat, will you, you’re making me dizzy.”

Josh moved to the couch, but found he could not sit, and instead continued to pace as the stillness finally left him.

“A year?”

“The flu, before the State of the Union. Apparently fever and stress can trigger an episode.”

“You mean when he collapsed?”

“Yeah.”

“Who else knows?”

“You’re the nineteenth. Mostly family and the doctors that diagnosed him. The anesthesiologist from the shooting. The Vice President. Myself. Toby. Now you.”

Josh stopped pacing and scratched his head. “Wait. You said, ‘the doctors that diagnosed him.’ What about his current doctors?”

“They don’t know.”

“They don’t know?!”

“Josh-“ Leo warned as the volume of Josh’s voice began to rise again.

“But Leo, how—“ and then, understanding dawned. “Dr. Bartlet.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. Look, there’s plenty you need to know, and you’ll know it. But we need to tell Sam, and we need to tell CJ, and I really want to limit the number of times I tell this entire story. So, I don’t know what else you’ve got on your plate tonight, but maybe you should go home, get some sleep.”

The last thing in the world Josh would do tonight was sleep, not with this thing continuing to churn at his insides.

“Maybe. I’ve got some other stuff to do.”

“Okay. I think Toby’s still around.”

Josh left Leo’s office and headed toward Toby’s as if pulled by a magnet. The closer he got to it, the faster he walked, so that by the time he reached the deserted Communications bull pen he was practically at a run. He entered Toby’s office with the most cursory of knocks, and slammed the door behind him as he entered.

“How long have you known,” Josh demanded, taking a battle stance in front of Toby’s door and badly needing to lash out now he had finally let go of the spring somewhere during the trek from Leo’s office.

Toby looked up from his legal pad and looked Josh squarely in the eyes and required no explanation.

“Since the night everyone was working on the Correspondents’ Dinner speech.”

“The President said you figured it out on your own. He was pissed.”

Toby picked up his rubber ball and began to squeeze it in his hand.

“I didn’t figure it out so much as I figured out that there was something terribly wrong.”

“How,” Josh asked as he finally took a seat on Toby couch.

“Because John Hoynes is running for President four years early. He’s got polling out there, and he’s campaigning in the north east. High tech corridor crap.”

“Goddamnit.”

“And he volunteered to smack down the oil companies—“

“Damn it!”

“Yeah.”

“So why the hell didn’t I figure it out,” Josh asked, of himself as much as Toby as his incredulity forced him back up off the couch.

“Because you didn’t, Josh! Because you didn’t. Because I’m the one who had to talk to Hoynes about the oil thing, and I’m the one he likes to taunt with how much he knows and how much I don’t know and really, who in their right mind would ever imagine that something like this could possibly be? I’m cynical and paranoid and when it came down to it I was supposed to be wrong, only I wasn’t, and now we’ve entered the fucking twighlight zone!”

Josh exhaled an indeterminate sound that could have been a sigh or a grunt of agreement or an ironic laugh and returned to the couch, and for long moments, the two men sat in silence. Josh began methodically reviewing every policy and every campaign strategy this could affect, every possible way to spin this thing and every possible legal implication. Toby watched Josh’s expression grow pale and grim, and reflected on the selfish satisfaction of having another human being share this awful burden with him now, because Leo had known for too long, so he didn’t count.

“Josh, what did they tell you?”

Roused from thought, Josh didn’t hear the question, and raised his eyebrows at Toby.

“What did they tell you?”

“Not much. Just that he has the thing. Campaign staff didn’t know. Leo didn’t know then but did later. The State of the Union collapse was an episode. They’re telling us now because of Hoynes. And I figured out because of something Leo said that Dr. Bartlet is acting as his physician. That’s about it.”

Toby leaned forward and placed his elbows on his desk and spoke in a low voice.

“Josh, the real issue here is that Hoynes thinks that the President isn’t going to run again, and he thinks that because the President gave him reason to. Leo thinks differently. Josh, you and me and CJ and Sam, the White House, the Democratic Party and the American People are sitting in the middle while Leo and the Vice President and probably the First Lady play a high stakes game of chicken with the President’s psyche and his health and who knows what the collateral damage will be.”

Josh could see that Toby was right, but he was beginning to think that having this knowledge simply sprung on him, without the dubious benefit of days of foreboding and deducing, allowed him to get over the shock and move on. There was no point, no possible gain, in imagining every possible outcome, every possible way for this to play. Josh wasn’t a chess player, and, unlike Toby, the palace intrigue played no direct part in how he obtained his current knowledge. Therefore, in his view, they had to pick a strategy, and go with it. To do this, Josh knew he needed three things. He needed to know everything that was still being held back from him. He needed to hear from the American people what would be their initial reactions to this kind of news. And he needed to know if he was trying to engineer a re-election campaign or to usher out a one term President with his pride intact and in possession of a list of accomplishments of which he could be proud. Obviously, re-election was his preferred option, but he needed to know before they could move forward.

In a crisis, Josh was a man of action. Pick the thing you can do something about and do it. Clearly, he couldn’t provide himself with the information Leo had refused to give him tonight. And clearly, he couldn’t choose whether or not the president would run again. But getting information from the public was his job. This was something he could do.

“Toby, I’m going to Leo with a proposal, and I need you to back me up.”

Toby raised his eyebrows and waited for the rest of Josh’s idea.

“I want to call Joey Lucas. She’ll know how to do a poll that will let us know what initial public reaction to this kind of disclosure will be. We have to do this. We can not go into this blind, even if it’s bad news.”

“You want to start involving outside people already?”

“Just Joey. She’s—She’s one of us, Toby. I trust her. I do. I wouldn’t ask anyone else to do this, and I can’t do it myself. It needs to happen fast, and I’m not that good. CJ is, but we need her elsewhere. We need Joey.”

Toby rubbed his beard as he considered Josh’s words and finally decided.

“Yeah, okay.”

Josh rose from the couch and stood by the door.

“Toby, we’ll get through this. Jed Bartlet is the best president this country has seen in decades, and this doesn’t change that. It just makes it harder. We gotta dig in.”

“The sky is falling, Josh.”

“I know.”

Josh walked out of Toby’s office and in to the darkened bull pen. Joey’s number was somewhere in Donna’s rolodex. The sky was falling, but Josh was good at digging in.