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As Josh hustles down the empty corridor, his shoes clacking loudly against the marble floors, he has to concede that Sam had been right. It’s not something he takes great pleasure in admitting, but as the crotch of his pants threatens to rip, he knows Sam would fix him with a gentle “I told you so” look and a sympathetic pat on the back. He had been so proud of his tuxedo. Unwrapping the ribbon on the box with a flourish, he had ignored Donna’s eye rolling and crowed to Sam and Toby that he’d be the best dressed State of the Union attendee in history. Toby had grunted noncommittally. Everyone knows Toby has worn the exact same tuxedo to every event that requires one for the last decade. Donna had said that the tuxedo looked really nice, and would he please shut up about it? Then, she had kissed him, so Josh wasn’t exactly about to complain. Sam, with concern in his voice, had said that the pants looked too small. Josh had scoffed. He had measured himself carefully before buying it, and the tailor was allegedly one of the best in D.C. Sam had shrugged, not wanting to fight about it. But now, as he awkwardly pulls at the fabric in a futile attempt to stretch it out, Josh realizes Sam had been entirely correct. He adds eyeballing suit measurement to Sam’s list of freakish talents, along with knowing just about every major road and highway in the United States and memorizing the menu of every restaurant he visits. So Josh struggles down the abandoned hallway, his pants gripping his legs in all the worst places, and he’s forced to admit that Sam is right. He feels like he felt back when he was a Little League pitcher at age eleven, the stuffy baseball pants clinging to his legs and making it impossible to stand comfortably on the dirt mound.
Leo’s office is quiet when he arrives, a rarity he relishes. The Chief of the Staff is usually surrounded by any number of people who think their concern should be his top priority, buzzing around his head like the world’s most neurotic honeybees. Now, however, the dim lighting makes every object cast long shadows onto the dark wood paneling. There are no harried secretaries handling large stacks of paper. There are no foreign diplomats speaking to their interpreters in hushed tones, or junior staffers running around like being a few minutes late to a meeting is grounds for capital punishment, or military officials bringing grim news of some unspeakable tragedy. There is no President Jed Bartlet waxing poetic about the National Parks Service or the Roosevelt years or any other niche subject that he had somehow found the time to study in-depth while winning a Nobel Prize and running the state of New Hampshire. Instead, Josh sees Margaret, though she doesn’t seem to be working. She perks up at his arrival, setting the small book she had been perusing in one of her desk’s many drawers.
“Hey, Josh. You look great.”
“Thanks, you too,” Josh replies distractedly. “Can I go in?”
Margaret looks slightly offended at being brushed aside like this, but she nods. Josh, feeling slightly guilty, tears his eyes from the door for a moment to take in her appearance. She’s wearing a deep blue dress the color of a cloudless evening sky, and her fiery hair is styled dramatically, a far cry from her usual tidy bangs. Around her neck is a dazzling piece of jewelry that even Josh, who is the first to admit that he doesn’t know a thing about fashion, knows is gorgeous. Donna would certainly tease him about his ineptitude in the world of fine jewelry. No doubt she’d make some wisecrack about his ability to choose a wedding ring, even though they had both agreed that marriage wasn’t the best thing for their relationship at the moment. Josh wonders if Donna would like the elegance of Margaret's necklace, or if she’d prefer something less eye-catching. He resolves to ask her. Jewelry makes a thoughtful anniversary gift, at least according to the tabloid he had once seen on her desk. The necklace around Margaret’s neck seems familiar, though for the life of him, Josh can’t place why.
“It was originally for Jenny,” Margaret says quietly in answer to Josh’s curious gaze. “But she didn’t want it.”
Josh chews on that for a moment as the implications of her statement click into place in his mind like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Margaret doesn’t say that it’s Leo who bought the necklace. She doesn’t say that Leo had bought an expensive piece of jewelry and Jenny hadn’t wanted it. That Leo had taken it and given it to her instead. And that Margaret is wearing it as part of her finest outfit for the State of the Union address. But all of that is clear, and it makes a tiny piece of Josh’s heart shatter.
“It’s-” he coughs to clear his throat of the strange prickling sensation that’s risen up within it. “It’s beautiful. You look great.”
“Thank you, Josh,” she says, and this time she gives him a genuine smile. “Leo’s in his office. I didn’t want to leave him here alone, but if you’re here…”
“Go,” Josh says kindly before she has to verbalize her request. “I’ll wait with Leo, as long as it takes, and I’ll drag him to the Capitol myself. Go.”
Margaret smiles again, and Josh is struck by how pretty she is. Not in a romantic way, of course; she’s like a sister to him and Donna would run him over with a cement mixer if he ever so much as looked at another woman. He’s just happy to see her flourishing in a gown rather than languishing behind the White House’s busiest desk, the one inside the Oval Office included. He steps into Leo’s office, gently tapping his knuckles against the doorframe.
“Hey, Leo.”
“Hey, Josh.”
Leo is too immersed in whatever he’s reading to say anything further, so Josh takes the opportunity to take a good look at him. He’s in a tuxedo, no doubt one provided to him by Margaret. Josh has no doubt in his mind that Leo’s pants don’t have the uncomfortable tightness that Josh’s pants have. Leo’s tuxedos, just like his day-to-day suits, are always almost comically ill-fitting. Somehow, despite being one of the most powerful people in the world, Leo can never seem to buy a suit that fits him properly. Josh is certain that Margaret knows Leo’s actual size, as well as several talented tailors that could provide the Chief of Staff with the most well-cut suits in the entire West Wing, and yet, Leo’s pants always billow outwards, resembling circus tents more than an expensive pair of trousers. He wonders if Leo specifically asks Margaret to buy oversized clothing. Leo’s wearing his reading glasses, eyes moving rapidly back and forth as he pores over the top sheet of a thick stack of paper. The only light in the room is the dim glow cast by Leo’s small lamp, a glow that makes the lines of Leo’s face more gaunt. There’s an almost skull-like quality to Leo’s face, and it turns Josh’s stomach. The office is utterly silent, which strikes Josh as unsettling rather than peaceful. Josh realizes, almost as an afterthought, that Margaret has already left. He waits a moment before speaking. When it’s clear that Leo doesn’t intend to spark any kind of conversation, Josh clears his throat.
“We, uh, we need to go,” Josh says, inelegantly breaking the silence.
“Go where?” Leo asks distractedly, very much still absorbed in the documents in front of him.
Josh stares at him, his lips slightly parted. In a moment of panic, he wonders if Leo’s gone completely senile. He’s tempted to ask Leo to rattle off a list of names and dates, just to prove he’s still with him.
“‘Go where?’” Josh repeats incredulously, his voice rising in pitch. “Is that a serious question?”
Josh’s words seem to startle Leo out of the trance cast by the documents. Josh calms down slightly as Leo meets his gaze, the Chief of Staff looking utterly unimpressed. As always, Leo is fully aware of what’s going on. Josh feels slightly guilty for jumping to conclusions, but he rationalizes it by saying it was from a place of concern. He knows Leo would give him a stern lecture for even suggesting such a thing, and he resolves to never bring it up.
“This is important, Josh. I’ll be done soon. Why don’t you go?”
“More important than the State of the Union?” Josh asks, even more incredulous than before. “Leo, are you okay?”
Leo sighs deeply and sets the papers down on his desk. He removes his glasses and rubs his eyes. For a split second, he isn’t Leo McGarry, White House Chief of Staff. He’s just a tired old man sitting alone in the dark. The sight makes Josh’s gut twist. It reminds him unpleasantly of how feeble his father had looked in the hospital bed, growing more and more exhausted as the radiation waged war on rogue cells. It reminds him of how his mother had looked, scared and drawn, hesitantly picking up the phone every time a doctor called. Josh makes a mental note to join Margaret, Mallory, the President, and the First Lady in nagging Leo to take better care of himself. Then, Leo is staring at Josh with fire behind his eyes, and the larger-than-life shadow the President’s Chief of Staff casts looms over the both of them once again. Josh swallows hard.
“Hutchinson’s people just sent a briefing on the situation in Kashmir. It’s hell there, Josh. Hell. I need to have this read cover-to-cover before meeting with the President and the Joint Chiefs tomorrow. They’re on the brink of war. The address can wait.”
Josh raises his eyebrows and shifts awkwardly in place. Leo doesn’t usually tell him anything regarding foreign policy crises. Ostensibly, it’s so that Josh will have plausible deniability if the administration ever comes before a Congressional Oversight Committee after mishandling something, but Josh suspects that some part of Leo is just an old man who sees ugliness in the world every day, and wishes to keep others away from it. Leo’s always been like that. Josh knows it because the President had once confided it in him after a long night on the campaign trail. Leo’s always been the one to leap in front of the bullet, the then-Governor had said. He thinks it’s better for him to suffer than for anyone else to. It drives me crazy. Josh hadn’t known what to reply to that then, and he doesn’t know what to say now. Josh stands in silence for a full minute, processing Leo’s words as best he can. He knows he’s not going to solve the crisis in Kashmir, or be remotely helpful militarily. His job is to drag Leo to his designated chair to watch the President deliver his finest speech of the year, not anything regarding complex and volatile foreign policy. Although, with Leo’s infamous stubbornness, Josh isn’t sure he’s equipped to do either one.
“Well, that sounds incredibly important,” Josh finally says, fully aware of how inadequate his words are in comparison to the gravity of the situation.
“It is,” Leo deadpans, but he doesn’t put his reading glasses back on, which Josh takes as a sign to forge ahead.
Josh sighs. Leo raises his eyebrows ever-so-slightly.
“Leo, you need to be at the State of the Union right now. You need to sit in the seat reserved for you and hear his speech. You need to get up and clap when everyone gets up and claps. Honestly, you need to clap louder than everyone else in the room. Including Hoynes, the First Lady, and every Senator hoping for the President’s endorsement in their upcoming race.”
“Are you listening to yourself right now?” Leo challenges.
Josh knows Leo isn’t talking about his snarky final sentence. Josh makes a small noise of frustration. Leo stares at Josh, the enormous file on his desk forgotten, if only for the moment. Josh has nothing but love and respect for Leo, they both know that, but he can be just as stubborn as Leo is. He would rather eat the sails of Leo’s model ship than back down from this fight. It’s clear that something is off with the world-weary Chief of Staff. While Leo is one of the smartest people in the building and endeavors to be the most informed, Josh knows Leo would never avoid such an important calendar event just to peruse a file, as important as the file is. The Joint Chiefs are likely holed away in the Situation Room, but Leo has duties outside of the military.
“Because you’re the White House Chief of Staff!” Josh says, surprised at his own vehemence. “You need to be there! You can’t miss the State of the Union. For the love of God, Leo, it’s the State of the Union! We’re already a little late, but if we go now, it won’t look that bad.”
Josh takes a steadying breath. He doesn’t like getting riled up in front of Leo. It always makes him feel like a whiny, petulant child. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know how else to convey the urgency of the situation.
“We need to go now.”
“I’ve already heard his speech,” Leo replies. “A few times, actually. It’s good. It’s better than good. Toby and Sam worked their asses off. The speech is amazing and he’s the most brilliant orator since Kennedy. We both know he’s going to knock it out of the park.”
“This, however,” he continues, gesturing at the file on his desk, “is extremely unstable and time-sensitive. I need to have a firm grasp on the situation, Josh, and I need to have it now. What’s not making sense?”
“Leo, I- I would jump in front of a train for you, I really would. I know it’s been hell for you, even more than it’s been hell for the rest of us, but I’m asking you; please don’t lie to me. Why are you here, right now? Why are you avoiding one of the most important nights of the year?”
Josh knows his frustration is blunting his normally well-elucidated arguments, and he knows his desperation is making his voice take on the pleading whine Toby always says is so annoying, but he doesn’t care. It’s out of character for Leo, the consummate shrewd political operative, to be so mulish on such an important night. It isn’t the first time a file of this magnitude has been dropped on Leo’s desk, and it certainly won’t be the last. Josh feels instinctively that something is wrong, beyond the potential third World War developing on the other side of the globe, and he doesn’t mind being perceived as hot-headed or nosy to find out what that thing is.
“Kashmir-”
“Stop it with Kashmir!” Josh yells, his thinning patience finally giving out. “Why are you trying to avoid going to the address?”
“Excuse me?” Leo snarls.
Something flashes behind Leo’s eyes. He stares at Josh coldly and Josh feels as though he’s just been dunked into an icy lake. The memory of the first time his parents had looked at him like crashes down upon him unbidden. He had fallen in with a group of kids his father had labelled “no-goodniks.” One thing had led to another, and Josh had been caught with alcohol on school grounds, behavior punishable by expulsion. Noah and Rachel Lyman had been called into the headmaster’s office. Josh remembers stewing in his shame, squirming uncomfortably under his parent’s icy glares. As Leo’s eyes bore into his own, Josh finds the sensation unbearably familiar. The clock on the wall’s faint ticks are audible in the ensuing silence.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Josh says weakly. “I just- I just don’t understand.”
Leo sighs heavily, and Josh catches another terrifying glimpse of the stooped old man behind Leo’s tough-as-nails facade. Leo’s anger is gone. The doubt and exhaustion that replace it make Josh wish Leo would just yell at him. Anger, he can deal with. Disappointment, less so. As Leo avoids his gaze, Josh wishes he could just melt into the dark carpeting of Leo’s floor.
“There… there was a fight. We had a fight,” Leo mumbles, so faintly that Josh barely hears it.
Josh isn’t sure what he had been expecting Leo to say, but he knows he hadn’t expected that. It’s strange to picture Leo McGarry as a lovelorn teenager, but Josh admits, with a twinge of humor, that that's precisely what he sounds like. Josh imagines Leo dealing with a messy breakup between physics and history, and the ensuing mental image makes it difficult to keep a straight face. As far as Josh knows, war hasn’t broken out, so he decides it’s safe to make a logical leap and assume that the “we” of Leo’s embarrassed reply isn’t the United States and another country. From there, the gears of Josh’s brain are already turning. Leo hasn’t been in contact with Jenny for a long, long time, everyone on Senior Staff knows that. He and Mallory are getting along much better than they had been at the onset of the divorce. But for the life of him, Josh can’t think who else Leo could’ve possibly fought with that would make him close himself off like this. Josh wonders if maybe things had gotten nasty with Sam and Toby over some last-minute specifics in the speech’s conclusion. He knows they had all been quibbling over the language, himself included. But then again, he reasons, it’s Toby and Sam’s night to shine, and Leo isn’t the type to let a petty grudge over where to place a semicolon keep him away from his friends’ moment of triumph.
“A fight? Was it you and Jenny?” Josh finally asks, his uncertainty evident in his tone.
“No. Jenny and I haven’t had any fights, not after the big one,” Leo says. “She’s been… distant, but not hostile. We don’t talk much.”
The look on his face says that he doesn’t take kindly to Josh prying into his marital affairs. In truth, Josh isn’t keen on knowing the ins and outs of Leo’s personal life. He knows it’s not his business what Leo goes home to. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about Leo’s personal life, but it does mean that he’d be overstepping a boundary by asking about it. Unless it’s interfering with Leo’s work. Then, as his deputy, Josh would be bound by obligations to his post to get to the bottom of what’s going on. And, as Leo doggedly avoids his gaze and picks listlessly at a loose piece of paper on the desk, Josh decides that whatever is going on is certainly interfering with Leo’s work.
“So, if not Jenny, then…”
“The President,” Leo says curtly, all bashfulness forgotten. “The President and I had a fight.”
It’s clear they won’t be leaving just yet. Josh settles himself in the chair in front of Leo’s overflowing desk, taking care not to rip his pants. Leo collects the papers into a neat pile and stows them in a file marked with the seal of the President. Neither one of them says anything. Finally, Josh speaks up.
“Are you gonna tell me what happened?”
It’s a testament to the seriousness of the situation that Leo doesn’t chastise or even tease Josh for being nosy. Leo glances at his watch and sighs deeply. Josh feels his gut twist with anxiety as he realizes how close they’ll be cutting it. He tries to shove the thought out of his mind. His primary goal is to coax Leo out of his office and into his reserved seat in the House.
“I can’t.”
Josh looks at him, unimpressed.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Leo says, pulling a face. “Honestly, I wish I could. But it’s a sensitive matter. Personal stuff.”
“You had a fight about something so personal, you can’t even look him in the eye in a professional capacity, so instead, you’re hiding in your office?”
“I’m not hiding!” Leo protests. “Don’t be ridiculous, Josh. I’m reading an important briefing!”
Josh fixes him with the same look, and something behind Leo’s eyes crumbles. He sighs deeply and rubs his forehead, as if fighting back a headache.
“Yes, I admit I don’t want to see him right now. And I don’t think he wants to see me, either.”
Josh laughs, though it’s more of an incredulous snort than a laugh.
“Leo, you gotta be kidding me.”
“Trust me, I’m not.”
“You are his Chief of Staff! You need to be there! I don’t think the front page picture of your conspicuously empty chair cares what exactly you two are and aren’t fighting about, not when he’s giving the biggest speech of the year and you aren’t there!” Josh says, running a hand through his hair as his voice grows more and more high-pitched in his frustration. “I mean, come on! You’re smarter than this, you’re better than this!”
For a brief moment, Leo looks like he’s teetering on the edge of telling Josh everything. Then, the moment is gone. Leo composes himself and stands up. Josh follows suit so quickly, he nearly forgets the clothing predicament he’s in. Luckily, he manages to keep the fabric in one piece as he waits for Leo to make his way around the desk. Leo, however, doesn’t move.
“You’re right,” he says quietly. “I need to be there.”
“Yeah,” Josh replies, as gently as he can. “You kinda do.”
Leo glances out his window. Josh follows his gaze, only to be met with dark skies and a barely distinguishable cluster of buildings. He wonders if Leo is seeing something he isn’t. Leo usually does.
“I’m being an idiot,” Leo murmurs.
A quick look from Leo quells the yeah, you kinda are before it tumbles out of Josh’s lips.
“Leo, I- I might not know what’s happening between you and the President, but I know you’ll get over it. You always do.”
Leo sets his jaw. Uncertainty flashes across his face, as if he doesn't quite believe Josh’s words, but then it’s gone.
“You’re right,” Leo says again, seemingly reassuring the both of them.
He steps out from behind his desk and turns off the lamp. Josh refrains from pumping his fist in the air with delight. He wonders if this is what crisis counselors feel like after they’ve convinced someone to step away from the edge of a rooftop. The rush of relief and the sudden blanket of darkness make him bold, perhaps bolder than he should be.
“He cares about you a lot, you know.”
Leo pauses as he walks past Josh, who follows him eagerly and closes the office door. He doesn’t say anything, but nonetheless, Josh feels as though he’s been given permission to continue.
“Whenever he talks about you, he just- he really cares about you. And he talks about you a lot, too. I don’t want to make comparisons to the First Lady-”
“Then don’t.”
Josh smiles as they walk down the empty hallway. Leo’s usual sloping gait has been replaced by a brisk stride, and Josh finds himself trotting to keep up. Evidently, the significance of their absence from the speech has sunk into Leo’s mind.
“Fair point. I guess I just meant that he loves you as much as you love him. He’d take a bullet for you.”
“I would never let him do that.”
The response is so immediate and so succinct, Josh realizes that Leo has almost certainly thought about it before. Leo’s confidence and the strength of his devotion reminds him, strangely enough, of Donna. Josh realizes, with a touch of amusement, that Leo and the President have a similar style of affectionate banter as well. Following this indulgent train of thought further, Josh wonders if he and Donna are due for a fight.
“You’re not making this easy.”
“God, Josh, whoever said this job would be easy?” Leo teases.
They push open the doors and are greeted by the bracing cold of the night air. Leo quickens his pace, Josh on his heels.
“I appreciate you saying that,” Leo continues, his voice growing serious. “And I appreciate you being stubborn enough to wait for me.”
“I appreciate you not shirking your duties because of a fight, no matter how serious it was,” Josh replies, shoving his hands into his pockets as the chill of the January air seeps through his suit. “I just want tonight to go off without a hitch.”
“Or maybe you just don’t want to be my second child of divorce,” Leo says, humor in his tone.
Josh doesn’t need to look at Leo to see his signature half-smile. Under different circumstances, he might have prodded Leo to elaborate, but he’s content to keep his mouth shut and let the glow of being called Leo’s kid (and by Leo himself, no less) warm him from the inside out. Leo seems happy to let it hang in the air as well.
“We should’ve gotten our coats,” Josh says after a lengthy silence.
Leo laughs, his breath billowing in the frosty air.
“Yeah,” he says ruefully. “We should have.”
They hurry up the steps of the Capitol, make their way down more than a few corridors, and burst into the upper level of the chamber, where just about every head in the room whips around to stare at them.
“Oh, thank god,” C.J. whispers as they make their way to their seats. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, we're fine,” Josh replies, trying to steady his racing heart and warm up his frozen fingers.
Toby and Sam are as stony as the Lincoln Memorial, though a great deal more tense. Sam will likely mouth the speech along with the President, thrilled to hear his words orated so brilliantly. Toby will be on the lookout for any missteps, or any moments where the President diverges from the blocks of text on the teleprompter. Leo nods, meeting C.J.’s curious gaze with a look that tells her not to pry.
“Just had to clear up a few things back at the office.”
C.J. surveys the restless crowd, now finding their seats, before turning back to Josh and Leo.
“He waited for you, you know. They wanted to start, but he refused, saying he didn’t want to start until…”
She trails off, gesturing vaguely at them. The way she looks at Leo, however, makes it clear that Josh wasn’t included in “you.” Josh wonders if Leo feels foolish, or upset, or something else entirely. Leo’s expression, shrouded in the darkness of their section of the room, is unreadable.
“Ah.”
C.J. nods, her face going from intense worry to the usual game-day nerves. Josh flashes her a quick, apologetic smile before sitting down. Someone must have run to alert the President to their arrival, because a moment later, he’s behind his podium, to thunderous applause. Josh claps dutifully, but the second everyone sits down, his eyes flick to Leo. He does a double take as he observes him, wondering if the dazzling lights of flashing cameras are creating some kind of illusion. As he squints through the flashing, Josh realizes that his eyes had not deceived him. Leo’s eyes, focused like a laser beam on the President, are filled with tears. Impulsively, Josh reaches over and squeezes Leo’s shoulder. Leo, as if startled out of a daze, turns towards him and blinks a few times.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Josh whispers, so quietly he can barely hear his own words.
“Yeah,” Leo replies, a little hoarse. “Yeah, it is.”
…
Despite the hiccups and grand triumphs of the evening, it ends the way most of Josh’s nights do: hurrying back to the office to grab his things and catch a taxi home for a few precious hours of sleep. Toby and Sam had been the stars of the show, Sam beaming his million-dollar smile and Toby’s hands trembling from relief as the congratulations rolled in. Josh has no doubt that the two of them will have enormous difficulty getting to sleep, their adrenaline plowing through their exhaustion. Yawning loudly as he makes his way downstairs, Josh knows that’s not a problem he’s likely to encounter. He had made it the entire night without ripping his pants, though the stress of keeping them intact is not something he wants to repeat. He changes into the spare pair of sweatpants Donna makes him keep in his office before tugging on his shoes. Josh is pulling on his jacket and shouldering his bag when a familiar face enters the deserted communications bullpen.
“How’d I do, Josh?”
“Mr. President!” Josh says, unable to conceal the surprise in his tone as he straightens his posture. “Your speech was amazing, sir.”
The President chuckles. Josh knows he’s probably heard that sentiment a few hundred times already, but he hopes the President values his input enough to be touched by the compliment. His pager beeps, almost certainly a message from Donna nagging him to go home and sleep, as if that isn’t exactly what he wants to do. He admits that her concern is sweet, if a little bit annoying. He hopes she’s already tucked into bed, but he suspects she’ll wait up for him. Josh tears his mind from thoughts of Donna and forces himself to give his undivided attention to the Commander-in-Chief.
“Thank you, Mr. Lyman,” the President says, gracious as ever.
“No, really, sir, I mean it,” Josh says earnestly. “Toby and Sam did a hell of a job, but you’re the one who elevated it to- well, it was art, really.”
Josh suddenly remembers what Leo had said, about Jed Bartlet being the greatest orator since Kennedy. He’s tempted to repeat it, but something stops him. It’s true that he doesn’t want to sound like a “kiss-ass,” as Toby would call it. But more than that, he doesn’t want to tell the President anything Leo might not want him repeating. The love and loyalty Leo has for the President is no secret around D.C., let alone the White House, but Josh isn’t sure how much of the specifics reach the President’s ears. Once again, Josh forces himself to exit his musings and focus on the man in front of him.
“I’m glad you liked it,” the President says. “Sam and Toby are the best speechwriters on the planet, or at least, the best speechwriters that we know of. I’m lucky to have them. But I’m also lucky to have you.”
“Sir?” Josh asks, confused by the sudden change of subject.
He racks his tired brain for what the President could possibly be talking about, but he comes up empty. His contributions to the speech were no more than C.J.’s or Leo’s; a punctuation mark here or spelling correction there. He’s not a bad writer, not by a long shot, but he doesn’t have the gift that Toby and Sam do.
“For bringing Leo,” the President says in reply to Josh’s baffled stare, shooting him a meaningful glance.
“Ah.”
The President nods. He shoves his hands into his pockets and bounces slightly on the balls of his feet. The same kind of lighting that had made Leo look old and grizzled makes the President appear almost childlike. Maybe it’s because Josh can’t see his gray hairs, or the bags under his eyes. Or maybe it’s his mannerisms, their easy buoyancy brought on by the thrill of a job exquisitely done.
“Yeah,” the President continues. “C.J. filled me in. You did a good thing, Josh. It means a lot to him, even though he’s too damn stubborn to admit that. It means a lot to me, as well.”
“Just doing my job, sir.”
He tries for a flippant tone and almost manages it. The President smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with fondness. Josh feels a warmth in his chest not entirely unlike when Leo had referred to Josh as his child as they rushed to the Capitol.
“I think we both know that’s not true,” the President says.
Josh flashes him a lopsided grin, trying to keep things light. He’s not in the mood to have any kind of heavy discussion. The strain of the day is starting to catch up to him and he knows it’s only a matter of time before the edges of his vision start blurring.
“You went above and beyond today, Josh, and I just wanted to say thank you.”
“Well, uh, you’re welcome, sir,” Josh says, fully aware of how lame and inadequate his response sounds.
The President doesn’t make any move to leave, nor does he open his mouth to say anything else. Josh feels, strangely, as though he’s being invited to speak. Under different circumstances, he would choose his words with utmost care, but everything feels slightly hazy with tiredness and the unlikely paternal intimacy of the situation, so his tongue is loose.
“Leo didn’t tell me any details,” he blurts.
The President’s eyebrows raise, a gesture visible even in the dim light. The bag on Josh’s shoulder is starting to dig painfully into the muscle, but he pushes the unpleasant sensation aside.
“About your fight, I mean,” Josh quickly adds, feeling more and more like an unfolding trainwreck. “When I asked why he was running late to the address, he said you two had had a fight, but he didn’t mention anything specific. I just thought you should know that. Sir.”
The President is silent for a moment, considering his words. A gentle, thoughtful expression crosses his face, one that reminds Josh of his father so strongly, it feels like a punch to the gut. Leo had once said that Noah Lyman and Jed Bartlet might have been great friends, though they’d certainly have spirited debates on everything ranging from theology to the proper way to cook a turkey. Josh has never felt as sure in Leo’s assessment as he does right now, squirming under the President’s gaze.
“Thank you, Josh. I appreciate you telling me that, and I appreciate Leo’s discretion.”
“He’s in his office,” Josh says, steamrolling onwards despite the blaring alarms sounding inside his brain. “Leo, I mean. He’s back in his office.”
“I feel as though there’s going to be a second part to that statement.”
“I think you should go talk to him, sir.”
“And there it is.”
“Mr. President, I know I’m overstepping here, but he seemed really upset, and as his deputy-“
“Come on, Josh, you really think I’m going to believe that you asking me to talk to Leo at a time like this, under these circumstances, is strictly professional courtesy?” the President asks, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that puts Josh’s panicking mind at ease.
“Yes, sir. It’s strictly professional courtesy,” Josh says feebly.
It feels strange to say those words, when both of them know they aren’t true, but he says them anyway. It almost feels like he’s reading off a script. He isn’t sure what else to say. He’s certainly not going to compare Leo to a lovelorn teenager or mention the President’s remark about Leo taking bullets for others. It’s Josh’s job to determine what ends up on Leo’s desk, and it’s Leo’s job to determine what ends up on the President’s. Through basic logical reasoning, Josh knows he has to keep things as concise and professional as he can, despite the entire thing being about as unprofessional as one could get, short of a sex scandal or covering up a murder. For the third time, Josh has to force his ambling mind to pay attention. The President is fixing him with a look that’s somehow both coldly analytical and gentle at the same time.
“A professional courtesy, and not the request of a son worried about his father.”
The sentence is spoken quietly, but they still suck the wind out of Josh’s lungs. Josh expects to feel angry. He expects to want to punch the man standing in front of him, the man who had dared to have an opinion on who is or isn’t Josh’s father. But he doesn’t. Instead, he just feels tired. He feels like how his mother looked coming back from grief therapy sessions after his father had died. Were it a different time, on a different day, he would spend a long time chewing on the President’s words. He’ll probably do so later. But now, he just wants to go home.
“I…” Josh trails off uselessly, unsure of what to say.
Once again, the President waits in silence. Josh knows that he doesn’t have all the time in the world. In fact, he probably has the least time to spend talking about fights and fathers in the empty bullpen. And yet, he acts as though the moment is preserved in amber, without any need to hasten the words or actions within it.
“Yeah, I’m worried about him, sir,” Josh says. “I’m worried because I need him to be okay, and I need the two of you to be okay. This country needs the two of you to be okay.”
The words tumble out of his mouth before he can properly vet them. Neither he nor the President mention that the country and Josh have those needs for very different reasons.
“We will be okay. That, I can promise. We always are.”
“Will you go talk to him, sir?” Josh asks quietly.
The President’s gaze softens, but Josh catches a glimpse of the tornado of thoughts raging behind his clear blue eyes. Josh has never understood why so many media outlets tried to paint the President as stoic and wooden while they were on the campaign trial. Raw emotion is sunk into every line of Jed Bartlet’s face.
“Yes,” the President replies, the certainty in his tone indicating that he’s made up his mind.
“For the country, or for me?”
“For both you and these great United States,” the President says, only partially humorously, sounding as if he had truly thought about his answer. “And also for us, because I don’t like fighting with Leo.”
“That’s good,” Josh says, relief pooling in his chest and seeping into all of his limbs. “That’s- that’s really good. Thank you, sir.”
“Goodnight, Josh.”
“Goodnight, Mr. President.”
Josh adjusts his bag on his now-aching shoulder and starts walking out of the room, acutely aware of the President’s eyes on him.
“Leo cares about you a lot,” the President suddenly says. “You’re his pride and joy, you know that?”
“I could say the same to you, sir.”
And then, with a spark of humor, Josh adds: “but I don’t think he thinks of you as a son in any way, shape, or form.”
The President laughs.
“I should hope not. Go home, get some sleep.”
“I will, sir, thank you.”
Right before Josh finally extricates himself from the room, the President fixes him with a piercing stare.
“No, Josh, thank you.”
Josh knows better than to try to formulate any kind of clever response. Nodding respectfully, he hurries out of the room and up the stairs. It’s only when he’s met by the chill of the night air that he remembers to check his pager. Sure enough, there’s one message, from a certain Donnatella Moss.
Come home. I miss you.
Josh smiles to himself as he hails a taxi and clambers into it. Elsewhere in the building he’s just left, the President and his Chief of Staff are having an important conversation. Josh’s fingers quickly work out his reply, sending it with a soft beep.
I’m coming home. I miss you too.
The response is immediate.
Love you.
Love you too.